Defiance

by Bear Ross

  “Our associate is equipped and ready with the weapon, as requested,” Beliphres said, still continuing to stare down Dionoles. “We shall be standing by for your signal, Honored Mikralos, if needed.”

  “Do you have any associates left?” Dionoles said, sneering. “Word on the ground level is that your assets are rather sparse, these days, thanks to the Head—”

  Beliphres’s large combat claw deployed in the blink of an eye, slamming Dionoles into the office-bunker's thick wall. Spider-webbed cracks appeared in the concrete, radiating out from the crater left by the casino owner's chassis.

  “The lesser beings would call your bluster play-acting the part of tough guy, Dionoles,” Beliphres said, flexing his heavy close-combat weapon. “Do not dream you can possibly fill that role. You are a base and utter coward, and always shall be. Never forget that irredeemable fact, or the consequences of disrespecting us.”

  “Outrage! Cease this, at once! We demand it,” Mikralos said, pointing charged plasma cannons at each of the other two Gatekeepers in his office.

  Dionoles extracted himself from the wall, chips and concrete dust falling from the deep impression he left.

  “You will regret that, someday, Beliphres,” Dionoles said, his voice shaken.

  “We doubt it, bloatfish,” Beliphres said.

  “Are you two quite finished with the posturing and witty repartee?” Mikralos said, his charged cannons still pointed at each of them. “Quite done inflicting damage to our place of business? Yes, or no? Or shall we fetch the cleaning drones to remove your mingled ashes from the floors?”

  They both signaled their grudging agreement. Mikralos put his cannons away, attempting to regain his composure.

  “Good,” the master of Berva Proxima said. “Despite Dionoles's efforts, noteworthy as they are, we are not entirely convinced Masamune is a fervent believer in the spirit of our agreement with him. We propose another means of ensuring compliance. Beliphres, we require the use of your remaining asset for a small task.”

  “Name it, Honored Mikralos,” Beliphres said, casting a smug look at the Dionoles, who was still trying to shake off the effects of the bludgeoning.

  “Your trigger-puller has chosen a suitable position overlooking the arena, yes?” Mikralos asked.

  “Of course. Skreeb reports that he is primed and ready,” Beliphres answered.

  “Superb. We wonder, though,” Mikralos said, his running lights pulsing orange and black, “if this Skreeb fellow knows the whereabouts of the learning center attended by Masamune Kyuzo’s male offspring...”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  THE HEADHUNTER’S LAIR

  The Headhunter’s solid black eyes watched the last crate of firearms loaded into the back of the hovertruck. Nolo went through the tall, glowing racks of payment, verifying each veined, leathery egg was intact. His count done, the Model Ninety-Nine adjutant gave a hand signal to the Headhunter. The giant red cyborg waved a large claw, and the hovertruck departed.

  “Okay, that's out of the way,” the Headhunter said. “On to tonight's business. You've made sure the bets are spread around on the fight?”

  “Affirm, boss,” Nolo said, nodding.

  “We get to use the blobs’ arrogance to finance their own downfall,” the red cyborg said, a grin with a hint of smugness on his reinforced organic face. “Those credits are going to go a long way towards helping our effort. Sweet and appropriate, using their system against them, don't you think?”

  “Cogging is boss' duty, not selfsame's,” Nolo said. The Headhunter shrugged, shifting in his giant seat.

  “Still nothing on Beliphres?” the Headhunter asked.

  “Neg, boss,” Nolo answered. “Complete stealth. Should make appearance at arena for match, though. Target shows, selfsame will know.”

  “Good,” the Headhunter said. “Make sure the package gets delivered to Pilot Kramer, would you? I hope she doesn't take it the wrong way. Do you think it was too much? I’m not the best at gift-giving, sometimes.”

  Nolo smirked up at the armored titan.

  “Boss getting sweet on Kramer?” his adjutant said. “Sending package, intent to... persuade? Woo?”

  “Naw, Nolo, just protecting my investment,” the Headhunter said, smiling, the smallest of blushes coloring his pasty complexion. “I mean, it’s up to her if she uses the stuff, or not. ‘It’s the thought that counts,’ right?”

  “Selfsame hears boss,” Nolo said. “Selfsame does not believe.”

  “Heh. Very funny,” the Headhunter said. “I don't think it would work out, anyway, Nolo. She's too good for a being like me.”

  “Agree,” Nolo said.

  The smile dimmed from the cyborg's face as he pulled up a floating hologram of tonight’s plan.

  “Everything’s in place for the match?” he asked Nolo. “Not just the bets, I mean.”

  “Internal arrangements secured. Comms secured. Transport primed,” Nolo said, checking his data tablet.

  “Good,” the cyborg said. “The hits on Beliphres’ places were scrimmages. Berva Proxima’s the kickoff of the main game. There’s a lot of heads that need collecting.”

  “Agreed, boss,” Nolo said.

  A backlit 3d printer in the giant, dark chamber signaled it was done producing its current job. It was a custom mounting bracket for the latest addition to the Headhunter’s collection.

  The crime lord detached from his charging throne, crossing the room with heavy steps. He dipped a secondary claw into a nearby pot of boiling acid, pulling out a Skevvian skull. Small bits of fragmentation gleamed amid the cracked cranial surfaces, embedded by force into the tan bone structure.

  The Headhunter shook it dry, clicking it into the printed bracket's custom struts.

  “A handsome piece, Nolo,” the Headhunter said, marveling at the new trophy. “I can’t believe she helped take down a mini-mech while I was passed out. Make sure you thank Dodger for me. I even know the perfect spot for it.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  FIRST GATE ZONE

  ALLBEINGS COMMUNITY LEARNING CENTER

  Masamune Kenji left the learning center after the bell rang, his shoes loose from being untied. Tying shoes, despite his father’s best efforts, was still a skill he had not yet mastered. Kenji could run a training mech around the arena like a sprinter, but the finer points of shoestrings continued to elude him.

  All his schoolmates were chattering, excited about tonight's death match between his father and some human lady named Kramer. Young Masamune was excited, too. His father usually brought home ice cream after a match.

  Kenji made his way down the learning center’s front steps, happy to be out of class. A sleek, silvery grav-car waited there. The other children played, chasing each other, playing tag, or chirping about the latest arena news or favorite Unlimited fighter.

  He paid them no mind, fascinated instead by his reflection in the grav-car’s mirrored windows. Kenji found himself drawn to the dark windows of the vehicle, its muscular, flowing shape like something out of an action holo-show. He made funny faces in the dark reflective surfaces.

  A window rolled down, a cloud of sour-smelling vapor escaping from the grav-car. A shadowy reptilian figure emerged from the fog. It pointed the muzzle of its pistol at his face.

  “You. Mammal,” the being with dual camera eyes said to him. “You're Masamune's boy, right?”

  Kenji nodded, transfixed by the gaping maw of the gun barrel.

  “In,” the Shasarr cyborg said with a flick of the handgun towards the back seat.

  The car door opened, and Kenji felt his shoe slip off as he followed the being’s curt instructions. The door slammed shut before he could retrieve it.

  The vehicle blasted away, startling the other children swarming around on the learning center’s front steps.

  FIRST GATE ZONE

  MASAMUNE MECHWORKS

  Miles away, Masamune Kyuzo’s testing was nearly complete. Hepsah, his huma
n crew chief, had ironed out the last hitch in the claw’s strike sequence. Before a normal death match, he would be silently full of joy at this time. Now, with the Gatekeepers breathing down his neck, it was only a moment of quiet contemplation.

  “Final run,” Hepsah’s voice said over the comm channel, fed direct into his head. “Weapon is reading at full power. Verify.”

  “Verified, full power,” Masamune Kyuzo said aloud, his eyes closed in the sleep-like control trance. “Looking good up here, all across the board.”

  “All yours. Engage,” his crew chief said.

  Kyuzo’s sensors fed him the distances to the hanging metal target. It was a thick ingot of unprocessed steel, fresh from the refinery around the corner. Two heavy chains led to the floating lifter drones above it. Deep cuts from the previous test runs scarred its length, but none penetrated deep enough to his satisfaction.

  He snarled in his seat, and sent his mech's reworked forearm, with its glowing plasma blades, screaming at the metal test piece. With a flash of light and heat, the heavy claw sliced through the cylinder, cutting it in half. Thick, superheated disks, the segments carved from between the claws, flew in all directions of the strike's follow-through.

  His mech’s sensors gave him feedback on the damage. Excellent, he thought.

  Kyuzo preferred his plasma-edged sword, but this claw had been with him when he started in the arenas, when they first brought him here to Junctionworld. It felt good, having it back again.

  His crew chief, Hepsah, gave him a grin, checking off one last box on her clipboard tablet. A light came on in the corner of her screen, and she put her hand to her earpiece.

  “Masamune-san, I have an urgent comm coming through for you,” Hepsah said, her voice in his head. “Emergency status. It's your wife. I’ll patch it through.”

  Chapter Fifty

  SIXTH GATE ZONE

  VERVOR’S FABRICATION WORKS

  Prath clicked his tongue at the sad state of furniture affairs that lay before him. His last-minute efforts to secure three comfortable circuit-diving chairs resulted in one bullet-perforated bench from the shop assault, one stale-smelling chaise discarded in a nearby back alley, and a stained lounger borrowed from the bar on the corner. Slipshod, he thought, but it would have to do.

  “Jessica, love,” Prath said, “Kitos and I have isolated the last of the corrupted code that Solomon... that your father left behind.”

  “Good,” she said, a bit too fast for his taste. “Watching old Masamune replays while you guys circuit dive next to me is getting old. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Allow me to link into the module before you and Kitos join me, please,” Prath said, motioning to the shabby array of chairs. “I need you in proximity to the module, but don’t dive yet. Your digital presence might activate other subroutines that I’ve managed to place into dormancy.”

  “Sure, ape,” she said, a stoic look on her face. “Kitos can harness me up, and we’ll dive when you say so.”

  “Excellent,” Prath said, pulling as data-line from the interface computer on the bench and jacking it into the port in his neck.

  The Ascended took a semi-comfortable position on the stained bar-lounger, and closed his eyes, letting his consciousness filter and mesh with the module’s interface.

  He was once again in the computer’s gray maintenance room. Kitos’s elaborate representation of a work desk was there, as was his dear friend, Solomon Kramer.

  At least, what was left of Solomon. The extraction of the defensive barriers was not easy, and bits of his human friend’s frozen icon had rough, pixelated chunks of it removed. The gaping cranial gash left by the removal of the interception and deception protocols was most disturbing to Prath, and he avoided looking at or through it too closely.

  “Resume program,” Prath said. Kitos’s digital desk glowed in concert with the illuminated band around the room.

  The last vestige of his human friend came to stuttering life.

  “Pra-a-ath,” Solomon’s ghost said.

  “I know you are all that remains, my friend,” Prath said. “I want you to know, what I am about to do, I do not do lightly.”

  “Explana-a-tion,” the piecemeal avatar said as it blurred and rebooted.

  “None needed,” Prath said. Overhead, he heard Jessica make a slight squawk as Kitos tried to fit the awkward diving hood over her head. “None will suffice, anyway.”

  The Ascended snapped his long digital fingers, and a red dome flickered into virtual existence.

  “We do not have much time,” Prath said. “The maintenance interface is now sealed, Solomon. I want answers. The defensive barrier was rudimentary, able to address any of your offspring in a passable, functional manner. It has more memory devoted to it under my name, though. You must not have factored heavily on the children finding out, but you did for me. Why? Access that database, now.”

  The elder Kramer froze, then shifted in subtle tones. This footage must have been recorded separately, Prath thought.

  “Pra-a-th, what I did,” Solomon’s avatar said in halting speech, “Did for... for family.”

  “You did for your pride and paranoia, you mean,” Prath said.

  “Family... result of pride,” Solomon said.

  “Pride also resulted in its destruction, Sol,” Prath said. “You were so worried and ashamed about Jered’s wild ways playing into the Gatekeepers’ hands, you put him in the grave, instead.”

  “Un-un-unintended... consequence,” Solomon said. “Paid for it.”

  “You did, indeed,” the crew chief said to his former leader. “Your daughter is still paying for it.”

  “Hannah,” the ghost said.

  “In her own way, yes,” Prath said. “We have no idea where she is, or if she is safe, behind the Eighth Gate. We will, though, I promise you. No, I mean Jessica.”

  “Jessi-si-ca,” the Kramer avatar said, its head bowing. “Baby. My... my baby.”

  “She’s right behind me, Solomon, ready to dive,” Prath said, his digital hands glowing as he activated a hidden program. “She wants you purged. I need more answers, but I don’t have enough time. Prepare yourself.”

  Prath’s glowing hands came up, palms together. He separated them, and the digital ghost of Solomon Kramer cloned itself, two damaged copies now standing side-by-side.

  The Ascended rotated his cyber-self’s hands ninety degrees, and squashed them together. The copy of Solomon’s avatar shrank into a small, glowing point of orange and blue light.

  Prath summoned the compacted data cluster to himself, and placed it into a pocket on his avatar’s tool vest. With another snap of his large, brown fingers, the red dome around the room disappeared. Just in time, too.

  Kitos popped into the digital room first, followed by Jessica.

  “He’s ready,” Prath said.

  “’He’ is not my father, ape,” Jessica said. There was a small flash of anger in her eyes, but Prath saw her recover. Good, he thought. She’s gotten better, hopefully.

  “Naturally, love,” Prath said, trying not to antagonize her. He turned to the Niff technician. “Kitos, I believe we are ready.”

  Jessica’s avatar agreed, and gave the signal with the digital representation of her hand.

  The Niff technician's avatar nodded, his four sets of fingers turning and adjusting the holographic controls floating above his workbench.

  Prath reached out to her. He held her in an embrace that felt authentic, even if it was just sensory feedback from the program. She buried her face in his shoulder, trying to stop the flow of simulated tears.

  Jessica Kramer and Prath both raised a hand, a goodbye to the malfunctioning vestige of Solomon Kramer's ghost. His disrupted, pixelated image stuttered in one last error loop, whispering electronic gibberish to no one as it tried to reassert control over the Arkathan circuitry.

  There was a bright strobe of light in the digital workspace. The last of the visible infected code was gone from the NoName control mod
ule, and so was the last trace of his friend. For the most part.

  “Goodbye, Poppa,” she said.

  “Until we see each other again, Solomon, my friend,” Prath said, his digital avatar’s hand clasped over the thorny prize in his pouch.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  CENTRAL DATA TOWER

  CHAMBERS OF THE COUNCIL OF EIGHT

  GateLord Novalos, responsible for the Sixth Gate Zone and all that occurred within it, scanned the last report from Mikralos with mild disinterest. He sighed small bubbles in his protective life-support housing. This wearying enterprise would soon be over. Until then, he had to deal with the meddling and second-guessing of his fellow members of the Council of Eight. Here came one, now.

  “We are concerned,” GateLord Xenebris said, hovering closer to him. The Eighth Gate Zone’s commander left his bodyguards at the side chamber’s door.

  “Concerned?” Novalos asked. “With what?”

  “This plan of yours...” Xenebris said. “Years in the making, millions of credits spent, and now, tonight is the night of its supposed culmination. Yet, we do not feel... fully satisfied. What contingencies have you taken to assure the completion of this goal?”

  Novalos’s running lights pulsed in umbrage.

  “Our best field commander is on it,” GateLord Novalos said. “We have no concerns. He may be a horrendous businessman and arena runner, but you should have seen him during the invasion of this place. He was a veritable monster, a true killing machine.”

  “Yet he involves two lesser foot soldiers in the plan,” Xenebris countered, “one a less-than-reputable heel, the other a trembler.”

  “The Fifth Gate Zone recovery specialist? The casino manager?” Novalos said. “What of them? A good commander delegates to his subordinates, after all.”