Defiance

by Bear Ross

  “'Returned?' Who took this technician?” Kyuzo said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “That is none of your concern, Master Pilot,” Dionoles said, relishing this verbal game he seemed to be playing.

  “Then, why, may I ask, are you here?” Kyuzo said, anger rising in him. “Was it simply to deliver this cryptic and nonsensical news?”

  “Of course not, underbeing. We are here to inform you,” Dionoles said, his lights pulsing, “that your arena appointment with the Kramer target has been moved up. There will be no interim matches for either party, as was originally contracted.” Masamune scowled at the news.

  “The match with the low-level Unlimited was supposed to be tomorrow night!” Kyuzo said, incensed. “I was about to leave for my shop for final installation and tests on that refurbished battle claw! What sort of contract is this, that you can cancel a match at will?”

  “Yes, well, we must all retain flexibility in such circumstances,” Dionoles said, the arrogance growing in his reedy voice as he spoke. “Do not presume to test us, Master Pilot, nor should you think you can subject us to your interrogatives. We... we do not answer to you. You have merely been informed. That is all you need to know, until we say otherwise. One gate-week from today, you will purge the last Kramer for us.”

  Kyuzo fumed, forcing himself to stand rigid as the Nines kept their weapons at the ready.

  “Are you... having conflicts with your assigned task?” the Gatekeeper asked, a slight hint of menace creeping into his voice. “Do we need to enhance your incentive? Where are your lifemate and offspring, incidentally? Somewhere behind that flimsy security illusion you are standing next to?”

  Slow black and orange patterns flowed through Dionoles’s running lights. Kyuzo's artificial hand gripped a dining chair by its back rail. The metal buckled as he squeezed. The two bioprinted troopers inside Masamune's house braced themselves, taking flanking positions next to their master.

  “Do not threaten my family, Gatekeeper,” Masamune said in slow, lethal tones. “Do not make this about more than credits, you... you glorified money-changer.”

  The Gatekeeper's hovering wobbled, signaling his amusement.

  “Such delightful insolence. We wonder, Master Mech Pilot,” Dionoles said with a haughty hint of a giggle, “how you would feel if your spanners and diagnostic tools began talking back to you? What would your reaction be to your weapons refusing to fire, or your prosthetics wanting things to their satisfaction before they performed their ordained functions?”

  “I am not a tool, Dionoles,” Kyuzo said. “I have contracted rights, even according to your own code.”

  The proximity alert hummed again, and Masamune saw the two Nines standing outside his door react. A small human ambled up the habitat’s walkway towards them, curiosity on his young face. It was Kyuzo’s son, Kenji, returning home from the learning center. The helpless father turned rigid.

  “Dionoles, your Nines at the door!” Masamune said, pleading. “Tell them—”

  On the viewer screen, the two bioprinted soldiers slammed the seven-year-old to the wall, one pinning him in place, the other searching his person and backpack.

  “No!” Kyuzo shouted, unable to make his way to the door. The Nine nearest him put a laser carbine up to its shoulder, the weapon whining as it powered up to full strength.

  Dionoles turned to him, his usual nervous mannerism gone in the face of having power over Kyuzo’s family. His running lights were pitch black.

  “Your contracted rights are whatever we say they are, human,” Dionoles said, a new-found steel in his high-pitched voice. “Remember that well. 82458-k, stand down. Allow the whelp to pass.”

  The crying boy came through the front door. Confused by the presence of a Gatekeeper in his living room, he gave the floating armored chassis of Dionoles a wide berth. Blubbering, he threw himself into the arms of his father. Kyuzo looked at his son's face. The boy's nose was bloody, his face scraped from hitting the wall.

  Masamune Kyuzo gritted his teeth as the Gatekeeper hovered out of the habitat pod. The Nines kept their weapons trained on him and Kenji as the overbeing departed.

  “You have eight days, Master Mech Pilot Masamune Kyuzo,” Dionoles called back. “Prepare for your task, and remember the consequences, should you waiver. We shall be in touch.”

  The Nines withdrew. The front door closed, and Masamune threw the crumpled chair against the wall.

  Chapter Forty

  FIRST GATE ZONE

  MAELSTROM GARDENS HABITATION POD COMPLEX

  The pair of Niner troops walking behind Dionoles paid scant notice to the thud against the interior of the habitat door. Masamune Kyuzo’s muted roar from inside, after the chair’s impact, only managed to turn one of their heads.

  “What a vigorous activity,” Dionoles said. “This giving of orders and reminding lower beings of their proper place can be quite invigorating, 82458-k. One can almost see the authoritarian appeal it has to Mikralos and Beliphres. Of course, it must be applied under the proper conditions, and in situations where the upper claw is clearly held. One does not wish to overstretch one's reach, after all.”

  The Nine next to the Gatekeeper nodded his silent acknowledgment of the overbeing's epiphany.

  “Also,” Dionoles continued, “have the casino armorer provide a selection of new armaments for our perusal. We are considering a chassis upgrade. Something big and nasty, like Beliphres has in his chassis, only more ornate, and not so uncouth.”

  82458-k communicated with the Heavenly Palace Casino's armored transport for retrieval. The sleek craft came in from its overhead orbit. Dionoles and his Nines boarded the armored grav-yacht, and boosted back into the swirling skies over Junctionworld.

  Chapter Forty-One

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  VERVOR'S FABRICATION WORKS

  Jessica Kramer was irritated. The whole fiasco of Beliphres's thugs shooting up the shop and kidnapping Kitos had taken precious days away from them. Getting all the parts back in the right places would take a while. In the meantime, they would have to make do with what they had.

  The final death match with Masamune was only a few days away, now that the Gatekeepers had pulled some obscure contract clause on her. Vervor, the Myoshan shop owner, was finally discharged from the autodoc facility, but he still wasn't up to full capacity. This is some burdenbeast dung, she thought.

  “So, now what do we do, ape?” Jessica asked her crew chief. She was trying to do better, but the inactivity of the recent days had worked her last nerves.

  “You have a choice, little human,” Prath said, extending two large fingers to make his point. “We know the control module's missing node is still on Junctionworld. You can restore the Judah module to full capability, or settle for 87% capability. Seven eighths of an Arkathan module still puts you ahead of nearly every fighter in Junctionworld, and then some, if you can utilize it properly.”

  “Agreed,” Master Vervor said, limping towards them. “I see no advantage in hunting down and grafting in a node that has been away from its main module for five years, especially when so much has to be done to rework the chassis and armor from the... original Kramer mech.”

  The repairs to the shop were almost done. Patches and paint covered the holes and burns on the walls. The bloodstains and explosive impacts on the floors were harder to remove. A contractor was due in, soon, to conduct an entire respray of the floor. Mikralos was picking up the tab.

  “I still don't like using parts of the old Judah frame to fix up NoName,” Jessica said.

  “I understand, love, but it is necessary,” Prath said. “Master Vervor's machines are still not functioning and calibrated to their top efficiency, and the parts from the Judah chassis are compatible, with some adaptation. We have less than a week, and we haven't even started tuning, yet.”

  “Besides, human,” Vervor said, easing himself into a chair with a low growl, “your command seat and carapace are a perforated mess from your last figh
t. My techs are still finding holes from the Wardancer in your cr-400 chassis. It's a wreck. We'll be lucky if we can meld the two together and fill in the gaps with weld-foam and void-tape.”

  The printed torso brace covered the Myoshan's body like transparent armor. The medical device’s purpose was to keep him immobile while he healed. It wasn't doing its job very well.

  “I still don't like it, ape,” Jessica said, her arms crossed.

  “Because Jered died in that old body of Judah?” Prath asked.

  She nodded, her head down. Vervor clicked his fangs.

  “Ah, human sentimentality,” Vervor said. “Superstition. 'Bad luck.' We Myoshans believe that a spirit doesn't haunt something attached to its death, it imparts its strength to it. The meat and molted scales of this mortal life filter away, but the soul remains, adding to its power.”

  “Do... do you really believe that?” Jessica said, looking up from her unhappy crouch. She started to smile. Vervor's eyes twinkled. Prath placed a hand on Jessica's shoulder.

  “Feh. Of course not, don't be silly, pilot,” Vervor said. “I'm a Myoshan of science, living in an interdimensional nexus, talking to a bunch of oversized aliens. My father believed in such nonsense, and you needed a mix of distraction and comfort. Hopefully, it worked.”

  “Now,” the short alien said, pointing his walking stick towards the loading bay doors, “I need you both to go mope somewhere else. The floor resprayers are here. Out you go.”

  “You're awful, you know that?” Jessica said. Her dark look cleared, and a wry grin spread across her face.

  “Yes, yes, pilot I know,” the Myoshan said, hobbling back to his small office. “I've been called worse by better. Take your Ascended and the Niff, and go do something positive, instead of grousing here in my shop. I have things to do, and little time in which to do them.”

  Prath turned to Jessica after Vervor closed the door.

  “He's right, you know,” the Ascended said to her. “Blunt, unrefined, and not-at-all diplomatic, but... he's right.”

  “Gates, what a dung-plug,” Jessica said. “I think he actually took some pleasure in getting my hopes up, just to smash them down.”

  “Well, maybe that's his method of coping with all of this,” Prath said. “Myoshans are, by nature, not the most cuddly and affectionate of the creatures to have come through the gates. That honor is reserved, of course, for the Ascended.” Prath grinned with large fangs, placing his hand against his own chest in mock humility. She laughed, pushing his other hand off her.

  “Damn it, ape,” Jessica scolded playfully, “you were holding me down, in case I was going to put a knife in him, weren't you?”

  “Well... were you?” Prath asked.

  She thought for a moment, playing the moment for humorous effect, rolling her eyes back and forth to evaluate her options.

  “Tempting... but, no,” she said. “A couple days ago, things might have been different.”

  “Yes, well,” Prath said, holding her head close, “I saw the situation had the potential for a perforated shop proprietor. No sense in not being prepared, little human. Myoshan humor is very grim, very dry, and abrasive as a paint scraper. You took it well. I'm impressed.”

  “Let's go check on Kitos,” the Ascended said.

  The Niff was already hard at work, having started without them.“What's his problem?” Jessica asked.

  “Kitos appears to be connected to the main Arkathan control module,” Prath said. “He no longer requires the interface hood, apparently. You mentioned his new hand can serve as a link. How did this happen, anyway? You never told me.”

  Jessica regarded the Niff laying in his chair, his eyes closed, a blinking data-line connecting his new prosthetic hand and the Arkathan module on the test bench. She looked away.

  “I'm... I'm not sure I'm ready to tell you, myself, ape,” she said. “It isn't a pretty story.”

  “Did you cut his hand off,” Prath said, “or did you find him this way?”

  “How can you ask me that?” she said with a surprised laugh.

  “Don't look so shocked, little human,” Prath said, grinning again. “Yours is a very bloodthirsty species, after all.”

  “No, I didn't cut his hand off,” Jessica said. “The beings who took him did that.”

  “And the replacement hand, and its connecting cranial implants?” Prath asked.

  “A... friend,” Jessica answered with hesitation.

  “A friend gave the Niff a new hand and brain interface parts?” Prath said, his curiosity stoked. “This must be quite a generous acquaintance.”

  She looked away, again.

  “D'you want a safe lie, ape,” Jessica said, “or the dangerous truth?”

  “The truth is never dangerous, little human,” Prath said. “Inform me, if you please.”

  “Well,” Jessica said, looking at the floor. “He's big, and red... and you've already met him, here, in the shop.”

  Prath's eyes went wide in realization, and a bit of horror.

  “No,” Prath said.

  “Yup,” she replied.

  “Jessica... are you saying the Headhunter did this?” Prath said, his voice low as he looked around.

  “Stop whispering, ape, it sounds silly,” Jessica said. “Yes, the Headhunter helped me get Kitos back, and patched him up.”

  “And your arm?” Prath said. “I'm afraid to ask, but... how did you manage that?”

  “They dropped part of a building on me,” Jessica said, holding her now-healed hand. “They didn't do it on purpose.”

  “Who are ‘they’ that didn't drop a building on you, 'on purpose?'” Prath asked, giving her a hard look.

  “The Nines,” she said, looking sheepish. “I mean, not Enforcement Directorate guys, you know, but the Recykes that the big red guy keeps around, after their expiration date. The Headhunter wore himself out on the earlier targets, so we had to do the last assault on our own,” she said, looking sheepish.

  “There were Recyke Nines, and you were assaulting buildings to rescue Kitos?” The Ascended looked apoplectic.

  “...and a piece fell on me,” Jessica said, unable to stop confessing. “After we took out this mini-mech thing with a demo charge. It's okay, though. Please don't be mad?”

  “Oh, it's okay, you say,” Prath said, holding his hands to the sides of his head. “Please don't be mad, you say.”

  “Ape,” she said, “you were just congratulating me for taking things in stride with Vervor, for not being rattled by unexpected... surprises. 'The truth is never dangerous,' remember?”

  “Oh, indeed I did say that, little human,” Prath said, his hands now clasped over his eyes in disbelief. “I just wasn't prepared for something out of some tawdry, low-brow action holo-movie. Honestly, Pilot.”

  Kitos murmured something in his circuit-dive, his lips moving as if he were talking in his sleep.

  “I will bring him out of the circuit dive,” Prath said. “Please give me a minute to process this information, first. I'm not sure I can take much more dangerous truth today.”

  Prath took a second data line from the test bench, laid back in the bullet-ridden chair next to Kitos, and plugged the data line into his neck.

  “Prath, what the,” Jessica said, surprise. “When the void did you have a jack-port installed?”

  “Language. Oh, and I've had one for years, love, I just don’t flaunt it,” the Ascended said. “You think I tended to Judah for decades without plugging in? A good technician has to know his mech better than himself. It makes the acts of your father even more abhorrent, unfortunately.”

  A sad look crossed his face. He shook off the thought of his friend’s betrayal.

  “Let us find out if Kitos has a destination for us,” the orange crew chief said, “and we'll be on our way.”

  Prath laid back, his eyes fluttering. Jessica watched them both for a few moments, their eyes rolling underneath their eyelids, their lips moving in muted whispers.

  She saw a pe
rmanent marker from the test bench and contemplated drawing something profane on Prath's forehead, then thought better of it. Maybe some angry eyebrows, she thought, smiling. I’ll let him slide, this time.

  Prath and Kitos snapped upright out of the trances at the same time, just as she thought twice about picking up the marker. She pulled her hand back in surprised guilt.

  “Pack everything. We're going for a ride,” Prath said. “You might want to stay here, at the shop, for this one, action girl.”

  “Why, where are we going?” Jessica said. “Did you locate the missing module? Anything more from my dad?”

  “Nothing from Solomon,” Prath said, his expression heavy, “nor do I wish to open that door. I probably wouldn't be able to comport myself in a professional manner, digital ghost or not. We do know the location of the node, though.”

  “I-I was able to affix coordinates, pilot,” Kitos said. “After last interruption, of course. Location is in Fourth Gate Zone. More precise: old service hangar attached to residence. Unoccupied. Condemned, according to Central Date records.”

  “No,” Jessica said.

  “Yes, love,” Prath said as he disconnected the data line from his neck. “The node is at the old habitat pod, the home of the Fourth Gate Kramers.”

  “However,” Prath continued, “We're not going to do any buildings assaults or demolition. It will indubitably be harder than that. Help pack up, if you want to come, and load up in the transport. We leave in five.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  FOURTH GATE ZONE

  KRAMER HABITATION POD AND HANGAR

  Jessica Kramer felt like she was trapped under the rubble again, only more helpless, this time.

  The trip in Vervor's shop vehicle, a boxy van on hoverfans, was more than just cramped. The hover-van was configured for Myoshans, who were about half the size of Jessica. Kitos, being a Niff, and flexible, could wedge himself into the driver's seat and manipulate the controls with his lower set of arms. Kramer and Prath had to ride in the rear cargo section with the tools and spare parts.