Defiance

by Bear Ross

  “We fool ourselves with the illusion that we control the Nines, brother,” Mikralos said. “Yes, we are their masters, but we suspect that even the Eight GateLords do not know the full extent of the... tenacity of our bioprinted soldiers and servants. None dare address it, but our grip on them is unstable, tenuous, at best. We Gatekeepers have given them too much control over the mundane operations of our society in our quest for greater power. None of us dare face the ugly, growing truth. Why, even in our own realm of 'control,' the vexing matter of the Head—”

  “Do not say his name!” Beliphres and Dionoles said at the same time.

  “Headhunter,” Mikralos said, a sly grin on his face. “He is not the phantom of some childhood nightmare, you skittish little cheesebeasts. He is only a rebellious experiment, a Nine gone rogue. Is he enhanced? Yes. Would addressing the problem be monumentally embarrassing for all involved? Again, yes. But, is he still mortal? The answer, battle brothers, is the same. He will be dealt with, much like the Kramer whelp. You two... you two are genuinely amusing. One would think we were about to unleash what is behind the Eighth Gate down on your heads.”

  “Do not speak of them, either, Mikralos. To do so is to tempt misfortune,” Dionoles said. Even Beliphres was uncomfortable with the subject, his running lights pulsing in an uneasy pattern.

  “Very well,” Mikralos said. “Let us put the matter of Vervor's shop to the side, and move to the business of the daughter of Solomon Kramer. While Masamune Kyuzo is quite proficient in his craft, he is also quite human, and thus, subject to frailty and failure. An alternative plan must be formalized, one which we now wish to propose.”

  “We now call attention to those unconventional assets we spoke of, earlier, Beliphres,” Mikralos said, beaming confidence. “Pray tell, do any of your enthusiastic trigger pullers have access to a heavy sniper rifle?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  VERVOR’S FABRICATION WORKS

  Jessica Kramer remained still, her arms folded, not making eye contact or presenting a threat as the Enforcement Directorate troops milled about Vervor's shop. The responding units of Nine troopers secured the area and staunched the bleeding of the few Myoshan mech-techs still alive, including Master Vervor.

  This whole scene reminds me of my hab-pod, five years ago, she thought.

  They were Enforcement Directorate troops, equipped to deal with both criminal response and military defense. Once they assessed that there was no imminent threat, the majority of them left, returning to their readiness outposts scattered throughout the Sixth Gate Zone. Now, it was just a matter of mopping up the multicolored blood and gore.

  “Greet. Hostilities ceased. Area secured,” one of the uniformed troopers said to her in their truncated version of speech. “Injuries to self? Mobility impaired?”

  The Model Nine trooper's gear configuration marked him as a combat medic. He gestured at her leg cast with a mobile scanner. Jessica shook her head, waving him off.

  “I got hurt a few days ago in the arena,” she said. “Don't worry about it. Hey, Niner, who's in charge of this clown show, anyway?”

  “Selfsame Combat Medic 94887-w,” the bioprinted trooper said, holding his hand against his chest to identify himself, “reports to Centurion 33890-v, Sixth Zone Barracks.”

  “Yeah, great, thanks for the roster listing,” she said, pointing at the ground of the shop, “but who's in charge, here, at the scene?”

  “Confirmed. Lead Enforcer 77226-a. Direct front,” the Nine said, pointing at a Ninety-Nine officer standing by the door to Master Vervor's office.

  “You the big boss, here, Lead Enforcer?” Jessica called to the advanced model of synthetic soldier.

  “Confirmed. Advance and consult, please,” the Ninety-Nine said, waving her over. She limped to him, taking care not to slip on the slime trail left by the Niff, Kitos, when they took him. Whoever 'they’ were.

  “Ident,” the Lead Enforcer said.

  “Jessica Kramer. Mech pilot,” she answered.

  “Greet,” 77226-a said.

  “Yeah, great, greet, sure,” she said. “Hey, do you have any clues of who did this? I was stuck circuit-diving in that maintenance computer when it happened, so I didn't get to see who took Kitos.”

  “Ident question, 'Kitos?'” the Lead Enforcer asked. “Registered staff here at establishment?”

  “Yeah, 'Kitos,'” she said, trying to keep her anger and sarcasm in check. “You know, little blue Niff, about shoulder height on me, four arms, always looking scared and shaky? That's his slime trail, right there.” She pointed to the thick ribbon of defensive fluid.

  The previous medic she talked to passed by her and the officer, pushing a wounded Myoshan tech in a hovering med-unit capsule.

  “Where are they going?” she asked.

  “Honored Mikralos is sponsor of this establishment,” the Ninety-Nine officer said. “Medical care to be provided at his order.”

  “Wow, that's mighty kind of him, huh, Niner?” she said, cocking her head to the side. “If they didn't serve a purpose for the blob, I'm sure they'd be out on the street, huh? So, back to Kitos. Do you have the vid recordings of the attackers, or of them taking him away?”

  “Selfsame cannot confirm or deny existence of vid records,” 77226-a said in a terse manner. “Ident and location of subject Kitos to be determined later, if at all, depending on priority. Your testimony required at Sixth Zone Barracks for complete report.”

  Jessica liked that they didn't talk in choppy sentence fragments like normal Nines, but Ninety-Nines could be pretty damn arrogant, especially if you asked them uncomfortable questions. This one didn't seem to differ from that pattern.

  “So, what, you're not going to go out and look for him?” she said, astonishment in her voice. “They couldn't have gotten far with him. Void, he's just vapor, as far as you're concerned?”

  An Enforcer trooper emerged from the larger door of Master Vervor's office, his hands full of stacks of data chips. They went into a transparent bag held by the Ninety-Nine officer.

  “Upload complete?” 77226-a asked his subordinate.

  “Confirmed,” the trooper responded. “Evidence to Central Data archives.”

  “Hey, what the void's that? Is that footage from Vervor's security system?” Jessica said, protesting.

  “Not your concern, Pilot Kramer,” the Lead Enforcer said. “You will report to Sixth Zone Barracks, priority utmost. You will ride back with selfsame.”

  “I'm not going down there, meat-bot, I've got to find that Niff,” Jessica said, pulling away from the Lead Enforcer. “This is the same dung as when my parents died. Take a couple pictures, file some reports, then ignore it. Right? This won't be investigated. It'll just get filed away, and you'll just sit and wait for the next call, like a good little bio-drone.”

  “Pilot Kramer,” the Lead Enforcer said, his short tone growing more severe. “Junctionworld is singular crime scene. Every sector is overrun, but society continues cyclical grind. Being-on-being criminal activity is least of worries for selfsame. Order. Rebellion. Invasions. Enforcement Direct serves purpose of keeping blood from flooding ground level. One stolen Niff? Non-priority. Few resources for other purposes, besides defense of Overbeings. Ident Kitos is not even blip on Enforcement Directorate's sensors.”

  “Typical burdenbeast dung, Enforcer,” she said, sneering. “Unless it threatens your precious Gatekeepers, or gets in the way of them making money, you don't give a good gate damn about the rest of us, do you? You're just their errand boy, making sure the wheels of the machine keep turning. How's that for a purpose in life?”

  “Pilot Kramer, conversation is terminated. Report to Sixth Zone Enforcement Directorate Barracks for full debrief,” the Lead Enforcer said, brushing her aside.

  “You Enforcement dummies are a joke, you know that?” Jessica said, refusing to be ignored. “The Headhunter, too. All those resources at your disposal, Nines, drones, cameras out the wazoo, guns
, hardware, all that, and for what? Nothing, that's what. You both claim control over Vervor's little mech shop, here, but neither of you can stop someone from blowing the place to void and walking right out the door with a Niff, even when he leaves a trail for you to follow. Some crime lord he turned out to be, and you're not much better.”

  Several Nines in earshot of their conversations stopped their duties, stiffening when she said the rebel Centurion's name.

  The Ninety-Nine officer's normally-smooth face hardened in expression, and she found herself looking at the glowing muzzle lens of a heavy laser pistol.

  “Pilot Kramer, disarm,” the Lead Enforcer said. “Place your firearm on ground and step back. Move to selfsame's transport, priority utmost.”

  The Ninety-Nine officer's anti-grav command car glided across the rooftops and salvage yards of the Sixth Gate Zone. They were heading away from Berva Proxima, away from Vervor's shop, towards a run-down neighborhood in the wedge-shaped segment of Junctionworld. The Sixth Gate dominated the landscape, its triangular shape soaring a mile into the flickering gray skies. Off to the left, across from the Lead Centurion in the driver's seat, she could see construction bots and their attendant crews were rebuilding the Fifth Gate's nuclear impact zone. Huge, shallow craters of Shine, the weird, impenetrable material that formed Junctionworld's foundation, were still bare. The Ninety-Nine flew the vehicle with one hand. He crossed the other hand across his body, keeping her under the focus of the charged laser pistol.

  “This isn't the way to the barracks, is it?” she said.

  “Negative,” the Lead Enforcer said. “Selfsame admits, normal Enforcement process will not find subject ident Kitos. Selfsame knows who can. Pilot Kramer mentioned him earlier.”

  “Who? The Head—” she started to say.

  The Ninety-Nine cut her off with a look.

  “Stifle. Do not say his name. Unworthy,” the officer said.

  They continued in silence. Lead Enforcer 77226-a brought the grav car in low on an approach for landing. They passed dilapidated apartment towers and soared over shanty villages composed of scrap. Devastation and squalor, even by Junctionworld standards, as far as the eye could see. Am I gonna end up as a corpse on a void conveyor? Jessica thought.

  “Where the are we, Lead Enforcer?” she said, a bit of reluctant dread in her voice.

  “Sebyus. Refugee camp. Industrial sector,” the Ninety-Nine said. “Also... residence.”

  “Residence? Who the void lives... oh,” she said, as it dawned on her.

  “Affirm. 'Oh,'” said the Ninety-Nine officer, smirking as he looked at her. Jessica raised her eyebrows, surprised, and turned away to look out of her own window. A sarcastic Niner? I didn't know they could even do that, she thought.

  The grav command car landed in front of an Enforcement Directorate checkpoint. A black sedan waited there among the armored vehicles and mechs. Beyond it, the street looked like a ruined battlefield left to rot. The Lead Enforcer opened Jessica's door for her, handed back her revolver, then the shells, and directed her towards the checkpoint.

  As she walked away, the Ninety-Nine officer called for her to stop. He fetched a data-chip from the evidence bag and pressed it into her hand. Nodding to her, he left.

  She recognized the Ninety-Nine with the data tablet in his hand, waiting beside the hovering black sedan. It was Nolo, the Headhunter's right-hand Nine.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  THE HEADHUNTER'S LAIR

  For once in her life, Jessica Kramer regretted mouthing off to the authorities. More specifically, she wished she had not provoked the Lead Enforcer who deposited her here, deep in the heart of the Headhunter’s territory.

  Overwhelmed by her entrance into the crime lord’s headquarters, she suddenly remembered the vid-chip in her hand. She handed the small black square to Nolo, who looked questioningly at it, then at her.

  Before she could explain, a giant red cyborg on his skull-covered throne beckoned her closer.

  “Well, Pilot Kramer, nice to see you,” the Headhunter said. “This is unexpected. Please, come in, come in.”

  Holding her nose, Jessica stepped into the large room. The hallway leading to this place, with its rows of craniums and lamps, was grotesque enough. It did not prepare her, though, for the scale of mounted slaughter awaiting her in this main room.

  This was a temple dedicated to decapitation. The walls were festooned with heads from every race of sentient in Junctionworld, and then some. There was the lingering smell of rotting flesh in the air, but she seemed to be the only one bothered by it.

  “So, what brings you to my humble abode, pilot?” the Headhunter asked.

  He caught her eye and the pinched look of disgust on her face.

  “Oh, the heads…” he said, amused and mildly embarrassed at the same time. “Yeah... I like to think of myself as an artist, pilot, surrounded by my multitudes of... still-life portraits. Every one of them represents a special moment, captured in time.”

  The Headhunter rose from his combination of charging station and command chair. Cables and conduits snapped and hissed as they disconnected from him. Jessica eyes, already wide, went wider as she recognized the two spheres his main set of hands rested on. They were protective spheres for Gatekeepers. The settled contents of their occupants clotted the bottoms of the pink armored bubbles.

  Ignoring their conversation, the Headhunter’s adjutant, Nolo, clicked Jessica’s vid-chip into his tablet. After a quick scan, he became agitated.

  Nolo tried to approach the cyborg, to give him the news about Vervor's shop, but the Headhunter waved his attendant to wait just a moment longer. Nolo snorted, his face rigid and expressionless.

  Holy void, he doesn’t know yet, she thought.

  “Hey, Mister Headhunter, sir, I know this isn’t a great way to learn the news, but—”

  “Ah, ah, I'm sure it's very important,” the Headhunter said, holding up a smaller weapon arm in mock protest. “It's always very important. First, though, let me address this minor bit of business. We have an unsettled transaction, you and I. I think you might like it.”

  Panels pulled back, micromotors whirred, and a small set of manipulators deployed from one of his large weapon arms, a small item clasped in them.

  Jessica took the proffered token, and looked up to the Headhunter.

  “A credit stick?” she said, confused. “What the void is this for? Listen—”

  “Manners, Pilot,” the red cyborg said, smiling. “Something's bothering you, I can tell, otherwise you wouldn't be here. I've been looking forward to this, though. You and Nolo need to let me have my moment, here. Such sour faces, the two of you, I swear.” His subsets of weapon arms made mocking, playful movements.

  “Did you know the odds they were giving against you in that last match? Take a guess,” the cyborg said, his black eyes glittering.

  Was he giddy? He was giddy. She thought, sighing. Might as well indulge him.

  “I... I don't check the odds, Headhunter,” Jessica said. “Gambling was my brother's thing, not mine, and look where it got him. Besides, finding out how things are for or against you, before a fight, is bad luck. Every gladiator knows that. My luck's bad enough without borrowing more.”

  “Fair enough, fair enough, Pilot,” he said. “Just know, they were stacked against you. I love how you and the Wardancer tangled, there, at the end. A nice dual-disable result. You don’t see that often.”

  “Yeah, she got a new pair of legs out of the deal, I heard,” Jessica said, thinking of how the Wardancer Kierra looked in the post-match footage. “I got to keep mine. She was tough, though, and it made for some big coverage for the upcoming final fight. So, how much did you win?”

  “I don't know if you remember,” the Headhunter said, “but I had Nolo put a half-million on you, and you paid off, big time. That credit stick, there, is my way of saying 'thank you.' two hundred large.”

  Jessica looked down, trying to fathom t
he staggering windfall of credits. Boots. Parts. Ammo. Rent. Premium booze. Two hundred thousand credits could go a long way. She shook her head, and handed it back.

  “Don't want it,” she said. “I know the game, here, Headhunter. I take your credits, and you think you own a piece of me. Dangle a big enough payout in front of me, and you think I'll take a dive for you in the future, or become your hitgirl in the arena. It doesn't work that way, at least not with me.”

  The cyborg clapped, delighted. The boom echoed through the room.

  “There's that fire I like. What'd I tell you, Nolo?” the Headhunter said, turning to his agitated adjutant. “I told you she'd reject it, like it was nothing. I don't think it's a negotiating tactic, either. I tell you, you're starting to grow on me, young Kramer.”

  Jessica shrugged, letting her tight grasp on her nose loosen. She looked up at the menacing titan.

  “Look, I'm grateful for the offer, Headhunter,” she said, “but I need something more than credits. Like I was trying to say earlier, I need your help.”

  Nolo looked to the Headhunter, gave an urgent hand signal to the crime lord, who relented and let him approach. He walked past Jessica to the massive cyborg. Hushed tones in Niner-speak were exchanged, and the data-chip handed to the red crime lord for download.

  Kramer could see the cyborg's eyes narrow as he scanned the memory device internally. His horrific claws flexed with rage, and he dug deep furrows in the steel plating by his feet.

  “That gate-damned... bile-sucking... when, damn it?” The crimson cyborg demanded, turning to her, his expression death incarnate. “How did this happen, especially on my turf, in my gate-damned sector?” She gulped.

  “Just now,” Jessica said, quiet and cautious in the face of such power. “Less than an hour ago. Whoever it was, they came and took the Niff in the middle of a circuit dive. They killed a lot of Vervor's crew, and put a hole in his side, too.”