Defiance

  “We see that you managed to find Master Vervor's Niff technician,” Mikralos said. “The Enforcement Directorate reported he was missing after the calamity at the fabrication facility.”

  “Find? Yeah, I guess you could say I found him, alright,” she said. “He was tucked away, deep, in the Fifth Gate Zone. Took some doing, but I got him out of there. I had to enlist the help of a big, red friend. You should meet him, sometime. I'm sure you two would have lots of things to talk about. I can set up a meeting with him, if you'd like.”

  Mikralos's running lights pulsed in surprise.

  “How... fortunate, that your friend could help you in your hour of desperation,” the Gatekeeper said with some startled hesitation. “Do pass on our thanks to him, whomever he might be. And, for future reference, we are sure if your friend were to come calling, we would have a warm welcome awaiting him.”

  A Skevvian nurse wrapped her tentacles around the Niff's wheelchair and took him off to a side room for examination by an auto-doc pod. Jessica watched him go, then turned back to Mikralos.

  “Hmmm... I'm sure that can be arranged,” she said. “My crimson friend is quite the character, a real jokester. You’d laugh your head off, so to say. Where are your bodyguards, by the way?”

  “Attending to another matter, on our orders,” Mikralos said, his chassis lights pulsing an irritated pattern. “Our bodyguards need not concern you, pilot. We are more than capable of handling our own security needs. This is a medical facility, Kramer, not a sordid, ethyl-soaked den of throwaways and malcontents like the type you seem to frequent.”

  “Well, Mikralos,” she said, a nasty smile now on her face, “I could use a drink, after the day I’ve had, let me tell you. I even helped add a few decorations to my friend's wall. I really, really hope you get to see them, sometime. I think you'd fit right in.”

  Mikralos bobbled in his hover, trying to mask his reaction to the veiled threat of the Headhunter, to remain unmoved, but failed. She could see she was getting to him. Physical force was useless against the near-omnipotent Gatekeepers, but Their Old Code frowned on immediate, violent retribution. Vendetta was their preferred method of striking back. Verbal needling enabled her to get into their heads, to screw with their superiority complex.

  Just like Dad used to do, she thought.

  “Yes, well, despite your irksome verbal interplay,” Mikralos said, attempting to recover his poise, “we have some good news for you, Mech Pilot Kramer. We understand you are unsettled by the recent events at the fabrication facility, and that the unfortunate passing of many on Master Vervor's staff will cause an impediment to your contracted match schedule. You were slated to fight, in the coming days, in another shield match. It was, as you know, to be a lead-up to the final encounter with Master Pilot Masamune Kyuzo. We regret to inform you that match has been canceled. After a short delay to pay respects to the fallen, and to sort out other minor repairs, you shall face Masamune in one gate-week's time.”

  Her haughty mood evaporated, and Jessica's fists clenched. The wounded hand lent its pain to her protest.

  “Damn it, blob,” she said, “I need more than eight days to unscrew the repairs I need to do, and I need to do it in a place that has less bullet holes and laser scorches on the walls. This whole this really is just a set-up, isn't it?”

  “We have no idea what you happen to be jabbering about,” Mikralos said, a coo in his voice now that the tables had turned, “and we remit once more that you seem to have suffered some sort of head trauma. We beseech you to seek medical attention, now that you are present and able to be scanned by this facility's medical staff.”

  A hologram emerged in mid-air, emitted from a lens on the hull of the Gatekeeper's armored chassis. It was the damnable contract, with a sub-paragraph highlighted in pulsing colors.

  “No, Pilot Kramer,” Mikralos said, now confident in his advantage over her, “rest assured, this is a contingency clause, as agreed to, in the contract we have between us. Perhaps your Ascended can explain it to you. In small words, of course.”

  The hologram blinked out of sight.

  “Prath... Prath isn't really available right now for consultation,” Jessica said slowly. “We kinda... parted ways, right before the place got shot up.” She felt like she had been punched in the gut by the Gatekeeper's reminder.

  Mikralos's armored Nine bodyguards entered through the medical facility's doors. Their large frames blocked her view of the being walking behind them. When they saw Jessica, their weapons began to hum, charging up. Their master dismissed the defensive response with an idle wave of a silver claw.

  “Behold, Pilot Kramer, our bodyguards,” Mikralos said. “As we stated, earlier, you needed not worry yourself about their absence. They were elsewhere, attending to a matter of our own concern. Ah, Master Technician Prath, we greet you in the Ways of the Old Code.”

  A tall, orange ape stepped around the two Nine troopers. He gave a slight bow to the Gatekeeper, placing an upturned palm out in front of him in formal greeting.

  “Honorable Mikralos, Master of Berva Proxima Arena,” Prath said, “I return your greeting, in the Ways of the Old Code. I thank you for informing me of the incident at the fabrication facility, and for bringing me here to look in on my dear work companion, Master Vervor.”

  The formal exchange done, Prath walked to the nurse's station. Jessica tried to draw his attention, to say something, but he strode past her without a word.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  UNITED GATECARE AUTOMATED MEDICAL FACILITY

  “Ape... ape, where are you going?” Jessica Kramer said, trying to talk to her former crew chief. “Don't I rate at least a 'hello?'”

  Prath ignored her and continued down the hallway, peeking into various rooms and reading chart holograms on door screens to see if the wounded Myoshan shop owner, Vervor, was in them.

  “Ape! Prath, gate-damn it, say something!” she said, slapping her hand to her side.

  The tall Ascended turned to her, his eyes expressionless.

  “I beg your pardon, Pilot,” Prath said, “are you swearing in my direction? Please stop. I find profanity offensive, and a sign of low character. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm searching for a sick associate. Ah, here we are.”

  He cracked open the door to a rehabilitation room. Vervor was inside, tubes and probes infiltrated throughout his wounded body. Machines next to the medical bed gave readouts on his condition. He appeared asleep, or in an induced coma.

  Jessica stood in the hallway, confused and infuriated. The door closed with a click before she could follow Prath inside the room. She put her forehead against the cold metal of the door frame, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry, Prath,” she said, grinding the words out in a low tone that only she could hear. She thought to herself, Damn right, you're sorry, dung-for-brains, in every damned sense of the word. She thumped her head on the door frame. This sucked.

  The head-thump was loud. Prath opened the door. He was still cold to her, she could tell.

  “Can I help you, Pilot?” he said. “No one in here requires insulting, if that's why you're here.”

  “Prath, I... I want to say... can I come in, please?” Jessica asked.

  “It's not my room, Pilot. You should ask the occupant,” Prath said. “Master Vervor? A visitor for you, sir. I will be leaving.” The machines continued to beep and whir, but Vervor did not respond.

  “No, no, don't go, ape. Please,” Jessica said, swallowing hard.

  “Ah, Pilot, I find your presence here to be painful,” the orange Ascended said. “I knew that you would probably be here, but I had to come, nevertheless, if only for the sake of Kitos and Vervor. I am relieved that neither you or the Niff were killed as a result of the attack on the shop. Now, if you don't mind, I will check in on Kitos, then I'll be on my way, away from this place, and you, and any more self-inflicted anguish.”

  She did not move from the doorway. A t
hought crossed her mind, and her face hardened. Prath cocked his head to the side, regarding her.

  “Come, now, pilot. Please let me pass. I have an appointment with a mech team in the Third Gate Zone.”

  “Contract,” she said, a sudden defiance in her voice.

  “I…I beg your pardon?” Prath asked.

  “The Third Gate can wait, ape,” Jessica said. “You signed a contract. You put your big brown paw on the table, just like I did, when we agreed to this whole screwed-up 'noose' fiasco. You and I are bound, ape, by the Old Code. You have to see it through, or face the penalty clause.”

  A frown was now on Prath's face.

  “Were there a true and just legal system established here on Junctionworld,” Prath said after a pause, “I would tell you to sue me, and see you in court. However, since this place is run by narcissistic bandits who only pay lip service to litigious matters, contract disputes in this misbegotten place inevitably end in gun duels. Even now, you continue to exasperate me. You will excuse me if I politely release myself from our contract, without the invocation of the penalty clause. I have better things to do today besides killing you, Pilot.”

  “Whoa, back it up a minute, ape,” she said. “One, you are not a better shot than me, and two, if I don't have you on my side, Masamune's just going to take me apart in the arena, anyway.”

  “Back it up, yourself, pilot,” Prath said. “One, I taught you how to shoot. Two, guilt is not going to work, this time. You already tried that, remember? You used it as a weapon against me, in the shop. Using it as leverage, now, is not as painful, but just as insulting.”

  “Listen, Prath, I—” Jessica tried to say.

  “No, it is you who should listen, Jessica,” Prath said, overriding her. He held up a finger, emphasizing his point. “There isn't a day since what happened to Jered that I'm not haunted. Haunted. I have relived that moment, over and over, and have blamed myself more than you can possibly know. I still blame myself to this day, even without your recent vulgar reminder. My pain is not something for you to idly toss about in an argumen—”

  “Prath... I think Dad killed Jered,” Jessica said, interrupting him this time. She felt tears start to form as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

  The Ascended stopped his finger wagging, his tirade paused as the full weight of her words set in. A wave of nausea pulsed through her, and her knees felt like water.

  “And I'm... sorry, Prath. For what,” she said, her voice cracking, “for what I said at the shop. I’m really, really... sorry.”

  Prath's gaze remained fixed ahead, trying to comprehend the revelation. He started to sit down, even though the nearest chair was across the room. Jessica held his large forearm to steady him. His face was an expression of shock and disbelief.

  “You're... quite sure?” Prath said, his eyes pleading for it to not be true. “Solomon? It was... it was Solomon?”

  “We did a circuit-dive,” Jessica said, her words burbling through tears, “just like you wanted to before I... before I screwed up. The logs were all there. Dad even put up an interactive avatar defense to ward off me or anyone else in the family from finding out more. It's... it's true.”

  “An avatar screen?” Prath said, surprised. “You... you actually talked to him?”

  She shook her head, trying to wipe away the tears.

  “Well,” she said, sniffling, “it was him, but it wasn't. I talked to a ghost, ape. The digital ghost of a real bastard, it turns out. Me and Kitos were in the circuit-dive when they snatched him and shot up Vervor and killed half of his crew. The Judah module was sabotaged. A node was removed on purpose, and Dad's the one who did it.”

  She guided the stunned Ascended to the chair besides Vervor's bed. He mumbled to himself for a moment or two, then grew silent.

  After holding his head in his hands, he looked up. He appeared hollowed out, more wounded than when she had accused him of causing the death of her brother. There was a glimmer of something else, though.

  “'Kitos and I,' little human,” the Ascended said.

  She sank to her knees in front of him.

  “'Kitos and I.' Sorry, Prath,” Jessica said. “I'm sorry, for everything.”

  She brushed away their mutual tears. Prath held her, and they both cried in each other’s arms. She felt his long fingers start to preen her hair, and she smiled through her sobbing.

  A voice rasped out from Master Vervor's med-bed next to them.

  “Dear Gates,” Vervor said, his voice groggy and full of pain, “what kind of afternoon holo-drama pap is this? If you two are quite done leaking from your faces, would one of you unplug me so I can be put out of my misery?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  FIRST GATE ZONE

  MAELSTROM GARDENS HABITATION POD COMPLEX

  Masamune Kyuzo looked down at the little human being tugging at his pant leg.

  “Up!” she said, her little hands grasping up to him.

  “Daddy's busy, little one,” Kyuzo said to his daughter, Miko. “I don't have the right interface chips to upload this arena footage direct into my brain. I have to watch it, the old-fashioned way.”

  “Up!” his persistent daughter said.

  He smiled back. He paused the hologram of Kramer's fight with the Wardancer and scooped his daughter, Miko, up with his arms. She squealed with glee as he held her up in midair with his prosthetic arm.

  “Fly!” Miko said, giggling.

  “Yes, yes, 'fly,'” Masamune said, still smiling. He spun his artificial hand's wrist three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, letting his daughter twirl at arm's length in a slow pinwheel. She squealed and giggled louder as he tickled her ribs with his organic hand as she rotated above him.

  “Took-took-took! Gotcha!” he said, making her squeal with peals of laughter. “Took-took-too—”

  The proximity alarm of their residential hab-pod’s security system went off with a low, grating chime. They had visitors. Kyuzo set his daughter down when he saw the crowded view of the front door's camera. It was a Gatekeeper and a foursome of armored Nines.

  “Go see momma, Miko,” Kyuzo said, his voice now all business. “Go.”

  “But, fly, Daddy, fly!” little Miko protested.

  “Go!” he said sternly, pointing towards the wing of the habitat that contained the bedrooms.

  The toddler started to cry, and the front door's intercom button sounded.

  “Anora!” Kyuzo said, calling out to his wife in another part of the hab.

  Miko's crying volume grew. The intercom chimed again.

  “Anora, come get the baby!” Kyuzo said, louder and more urgent.

  “What?” said his wife from one of the back bedrooms.

  “The baby, come get her,” Kyuzo said, trying to keep the child calm. “I have business!”

  “What business?” Anora called back to him, mild annoyance in her voice.

  “Would you just come and get her, please,” Kyuzo said, exasperated.

  The front door unlocked on its own. Masamune grabbed his crying daughter and handed her to his confused wife, her hair wrapped in a towel. He shut the door to the bedrooms before she could react or question. She tried to protest, to hold on to Miko's squirming body, but he activated the habitat's panic button. The seams of the door disappeared behind a hologram of a full-wall Japanese mural.

  He looked for his pistols. They hung on the rack, beside the opening door. Damn. Not that there's much I can do, but I hate being caught short like this, he thought.

  A pair of Nines entered the room, their short laser carbines scanning across the room without pausing to target him.

  “Clear,” one chirped into his headset microphone.

  “Gate-damned, pinheaded meatbots,” Kyuzo swore. The nearest Nine regarded him with solid black eyes, but made no move to restrain him. The threat of the charged carbine was enough for Kyuzo, and he offered no resistance.

  The Gatekeeper filled the doorway. He entered the domestic habitat in a slow, cautious manne
r, his running lights pulsing in a nervous, curious pattern.

  “Master Mech Pilot Masamune Kyuzo,” the Gatekeeper’s high-pitched voice said, “we greet you in the Ways of the Old Code. You will forgive our imposition upon your domicile.”

  “It seems,” Kyuzo said, “I am in no position to prevent you from doing otherwise, Honorable Dionoles. Welcome to my residence, such as it is.”

  “We must admit, we are mildly surprised and amused, Desecrator,” Dionoles said. “We were not aware that you were situated in such... basic living accommodations. So... plain. Fascinating, really.”

  A small claw from the Gatekeeper’s chassis pushed a left-out child's toy away in disgust.

  “Actually, we do better than most,” Masamune said, “despite the ever-increasing fees and taxes. It is not always easy, living under such generous and caring beings such as yourself, Honored Gatekeeper. Tell me, should I also expect Honored Mikralos, soon?”

  “No, you should not,” Dionoles said. “Mikralos is attending to another matter, which requires our presence here. One assumes you have heard news of the distressing incident at Master Vervor's fabrication facility?”

  Masamune's brow wrinkled as he ran his fingers through his hair. He estimated how to get around Dionoles and the Nines, and retrieve his pistols. He felt naked without them, even in the face of such power.

  “Master Vervor's?” Kyuzo asked. “No, what happened?”

  “A rather disagreeable forced entry by beings unknown, master pilot,” Dionoles said, chuckling to himself. “Well, unknown to most. There appear to have been numerous casualties among the staff, and one of the technicians was taken. A Niff, if we do recall.”

  A pulse flashed in the fluid of the overbeing's containment vessel, and he paused.

  “Ah, well, it appears that the kidnapped technician has been returned,” the Gatekeeper said. “The recovered Niff appears to be in the care of the Pilot, the daughter of Kramer. Gates, we warned that damned fool this would turn inverted...”