The Orion Conspiracy (Max Mars Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  Max blasted at the thugs cowering behind the couch. Some of her shots impacted the fabric, setting the piece of furniture ablaze. Others zipped over the top, streaking past the orchestral musicians. The robots didn't seem fazed in the least. They kept creating beautiful music, filling the compartment with the glorious concerto.

  Max's fervent eyes glanced up to the chandelier in the lounge. It was an old-fashioned antique hanging directly above the goons. Max unleashed a stream of weapons fire at the fixture, severing the chain that held the massive structure. The chandelier crashed down and shattered atop the goons. The crushing weight and brass branches punctured their flesh, oozing a steady flow of blood onto the tile.

  Max angled her weapon at the remaining goons posted up at the entryway. She could feel the searing heat of the plasma projectiles as they whizzed past her. With blazing speed, she lined up one of the goons in her sights and squeezed the trigger. Before the projectile had even vaporized his head, she had focused on the next thug. She fired off two quick blasts, then targeted the last of the goons. But he managed to get a quick shot off.

  The bolt screamed toward Max.

  She ducked behind the pillar, shifting to the other side. She angled her weapon around and blasted at the creep.

  The shot severed his neck, and his head fell to the side, still attached by a flap of skin. His body twitched and shook for a moment. He actually tried to stand, then fell down. He looked like something out of a zombie movie. Max pumped another two shots into his chest, and the thug went limp.

  The air was thick with smoke. The couch was still on fire, burning a furious rage. Thick smoke billowed up to the ceiling, and the fire alarm sounded. Sprinklers activated, dousing the lobby with water. It was like a contained thunderstorm. Emergency fire bots rushed to extinguish the blaze.

  The lobby was lined with bodies. Blood stained the bulkheads and the deck. The crimson mess was becoming diluted with each drop from the sprinklers.

  The employees behind the counter cautiously peered over the ledge. The once luxurious lobby was now in ruins. The chandelier was a priceless antique from the 19th century. The marble columns had been imported from an ancient temple on Beta Altair. But the soothing music of Mozart still resonated from the robot orchestra.

  Max took a deep breath. Her eyes found Winston and she smiled. But as soon as she stepped from behind the pillar, a plasma bolt rocketed through the air. The searing pain was unbearable as it ripped through her chest. It was like somebody had stuck a hot poker into her rib cage, then twisted it around, making sure they hit every internal organ. Even with her advanced pain management techniques, it hurt like a mother fucker.

  The impact knocked Max off her feet. She slammed to the deck, and what little air she had left her lungs was forced out. She gasped for breath. One of the fallen goons on the ground had managed to squeeze the trigger, sending the deadly bolt into Max’s chest. She mustered her last bit of strength and used it to lift her weapon and fire at the bastard who had killed her.

  Max ended him in a blazing fury. Her arm dropped down to the deck after she finished the task. She desperately sucked air into her lungs, and clutched the burning hole in her chest. There was little blood. The heat had cauterized the wound, otherwise she would have bled out by now.

  Winston rushed to her and knelt down to attend to her.

  “I don’t suppose you’re programed with any medical knowledge, are you?" Max could barely choke out the words. She knew she was dying. But this time, she didn't think she was going to be revived.

  31

  Winston scooped Max off the floor and cradled her in his arms. He raced out of the lobby, stepping over the fallen bodies. He pushed into the corridor and raced through the crowded passageways, weaving in and out.

  “Where are you taking me?" Max stammered. Her eyes were droopy, and she drifted on the brink of consciousness.

  “You need immediate medical attention."

  “You can’t bring me to the med center. I'll be arrested by the OPD, and we don't know who we can trust—if we can trust anybody in that department."

  “Without medical attention, you'll die.”

  “No hospitals!”

  Winston said nothing.

  “No hospitals! Promise me!”

  “It is against my programing to allow a human to be harmed. Not taking you to a hospital would violate that basic programming."

  “There has to be another alternative,” Max said.

  Winston processed the situation. "I may know someone who might be able to help.”

  The operating room didn't look clean. A layer of dust covered the antiquated equipment. Grime coated the walls and deck. Dried spots of crimson blood stained the deck by the operating table. One of the lights flickered, possibly indicating some type of short in the power supply. This didn’t inspire confidence, but Max didn't have much choice. It was either this, or die.

  Winston laid her down on the operating table. Doctor Matsuda ambled into the room and brushed the robot aside, grumbling for Winston to get out of the way. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, and he held a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. Matsuda wore glasses and had long white hair. He reached up and grabbed an articulated arm that hung from the ceiling. He brought it down and hovered it over Max's body. Then he ran the scanning wand over Max's torso.

  Max's eyes narrowed at the doctor, and she managed to scowl at Winston.

  “Doctor Matsuda was one of the finest surgeons in the city,” Winston said in an upbeat, optimistic voice.

  “Was?” Max muttered.

  “Lost my license,” Matsuda said. He flashed a disarming smile.

  Max's eyes widened, and she fidgeted on the table, trying to sit up.

  “Be still," Matsuda said. “You'll blur the scan."

  Max reclined and tried to relax.

  Matsuda finished passing the wand over her body, and a detailed 3D image of her internal organs appeared on a display screen. Matsuda was able to manipulate the scan data and look at the injuries from every conceivable angle. The medical AI ran a diagnostic. A few moments later, the computer displayed a detailed report of all the suspected injuries.

  Matsuda squinted as he looked at the display. He puffed on his cigarette, and the cherry glowed orange. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and flicked the ashes onto the deck, then stuck it back between his lips where it dangled once again.

  Max wondered if he was going to continue smoking during the operation.

  “You're in bad shape," Matsuda said.

  "Thanks, Einstein. Can you fix me?”

  Matsuda shrugged.

  “How did you lose your license?” Her speech was labored and difficult.

  “Wrongful death."

  A look of terror washed over Max’s face. She looked even more pale and sickly than before. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Matsuda grabbed an injection gun and loaded it with a vial of medication. He placed the nozzle against Max's arm.

  “What is that?”

  “Light sedative.” He squeezed the trigger, and the vial of clear liquid emptied. Max felt the warm sensation wash over her body, starting at the injection site. Her pulse and respiration slowed. A wave of soothing calm enveloped her. A slight smile curled on her lips. She no longer cared about anything. Her surroundings became a tad blurry. As she glanced around the operating room, she noticed posters of animal anatomy—dogs, cats, Flotrixian morfgs. When she spoke, her words were slightly slurred. “Are you a fucking veterinarian?”

  “One of the finest in the city," Winston interjected.

  Max rolled her eyes.

  Matsuda took a pair of scissors and cut away the fabric surrounding the wound. The process exposed a little bit of her breast.

  “Watch it there…”

  “I'm a medical professional. I've seen it all before."

  “You were a medical professional,” Max snarked.

  “Do you want to be awake, or asleep, for the procedure?” Matsuda asked.

  “
Awake. I'm definitely keeping an eye on you.”

  Matsuda nodded in agreement. He injected her with an anesthetic, which promptly knocked her out. “She talks too much. Ruins my concentration.”

  Matsuda pressed a button on the RISS (Robotic Intelligence Surgical System) machine. Multiple arms swung down from the ceiling, each with specialized instruments. The surgical system moved with speed and precision, debriding the necrotic tissue, re-vascularizing damaged structures, and repairing the trauma.

  Matsuda leaned back and relaxed, taking a drag from his cigarette and sipping the scotch. That was the extent of his job now. The machine would diagnose and treat the patient. Modern doctors were essentially computer techs—making sure the machines ran smoothly, overseeing their diagnostic evaluations and proposed surgical solutions. 99% of the time, the RISS system was flawless. But a virus, corrupted file, or fluctuation in power could result in catastrophic outcomes.

  In the old days, the surgery would have taken several hours. But the estimated time of repair for the robotic system was less than 20 minutes. Matsuda poured another drink and lit another cigarette. By the time he finished those two indulgences, the automated surgeon would be closing the wound—if all went well.

  Matsuda stepped to the control terminal and monitored Max's vitals. The computer displayed a list of actions taken during the surgery and also displayed a confidence interval of probable success. A trained monkey could do Matsuda’s job, at least until things went wrong. The sudden flickering on the display screen was an indication that something wasn’t right. A moment later, the computer crashed. The robotic arms, once operating the precise ballet of surgery, froze in their tracks. The overhead lights flickered out, and Matsuda found himself enveloped in darkness.

  This was not good.

  If Matsuda didn't get the power back and the system online, Max would be a goner.

  32

  Matsuda frantically tried to get the system to reboot. But the power was out throughout the med center. The only light in the room was coming from the glow behind Winston's eyes and various points on his body.

  Winston activated emergency floodlights positioned in his brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Power fluctuation. The grid is unstable."

  “Does this happen often?”

  Matsuda shrugged. “Occasionally. Come with me.”

  Winston followed Matsuta as he raced out of the operating room. Winston's lights illuminated the corridor as the doctor made his way to a storage compartment. The hatch wouldn't slide open because of the power outage. Matsuda manually released the locking mechanism, and he and Winston slid the hatch aside. Matsuda dashed inside, still puffing on his cigarette. The amber glow illuminated his face as Winston tried to light the compartment from behind him.

  “Probably tripped a breaker. The power grid in this section of the station leaves a lot to be desired.” Matsuda opened the breaker box and flipped several switches, but the power didn't come back on. He tried again without success.

  “Don't you have a backup power system for the OR?" Winston asked.

  “I did. But it broke.”

  “Redundant power systems are required by law in critical medical facilities.”

  “Do you know how expensive those things are to fix?"

  "I'm not exactly getting rich over here removing kidney stones from cats."

  "We can use my power system. I can shut down my functions to minimize the draw. That should be enough to operate RISS device."

  "Matsuda nodded.

  The two raced back into the operating room, and Matsuda connected the surgical terminal to Winston's power port. It was located behind the body panel in his abdomen. It functioned as a two-way charge station. Winston powered himself down. He knew there was a possibility this would be the last time he attained consciousness. The surgical system was a heavy draw—it would deplete his battery quickly. There's also the possibility that it would overload his circuitry. Winston may not have technically been alive, but he sure didn't want to cease to exist. His programming didn't allow him to let a human being be harmed, and by not utilizing his power supply he would have been complicit in Max's demise. But even without the programming, Winston probably would've risked his being. It was just the kind of robot that he was.

  Matsuda powered up and rebooted the surgical system. The robotic arms swung back into action. Vital signs displayed on the monitor. Everything was low—pulse, respiration, oxygen saturation, blood pressure. One of the robotic arms placed an oxygen mask over Max's nose and mouth. The surgical system injected medication to boost blood pressure and elevate the heart rate. After a few moments, Max’s vital signs normalized.

  Sparks flew from Winston, and smoke wafted from his body panels. The power draw was overloading his system.

  The robotic arms applied a regenerative compound, then sealed Max’s wound with an adhesive gel. It formed a perfect skin seal. The robotic arms retracted to their resting position—their portion of the surgery complete.

  Matsuda studied the readout on the display terminal. Despite the interruption, the system was predicting a 96% chance of success.

  The lights flickered on as main power was restored to the operating room. Matsuda disconnected Winston from the power cable and plugged it back into its normal socket. He continued to monitor Max's vital signs, making sure they were all within the range of normal. When he was sure she was stable, he turned his attention to Winston.

  Matsuda waved his hand, fanning the smoke away from the robot. It was hard to say just how much damage had been done. Matsuda was familiar with troubleshooting robotic equipment, and dealing with robots like Winston was far less complicated than troubleshooting the surgical system.

  Matsuda tried to initiate a reboot of Winston's system, but the android was non-responsive. Matsuda hoisted Winston up and carried him to a gurney. He set the robot down and began to remove the body panels. He surveyed Winston's internal structures for damage. Matsuda hooked a cable into one of Winston's I/O ports and connected him to the computer. The diagnostic scan returned several faults within Winston's circuitry. One of the printed circuit boards had been completely fried. The lead wires from the battery pack had melted, and the remaining charge was suspect. The power cells had been damaged and would likely never return to their full capacity.

  If Matsuda was able to get Winston functioning again, and that was a big if, there was no telling how long his power supply would last. The robot would need a thorough reconditioning.

  33

  Max stirred as the anesthesia wore off. Her droopy eyes peeled open, and she struggled to focus. For a moment, she had almost forgotten where she was, or what had happened.

  Doctor Matsuda hovered over her, another cigarette dangling from his lips.

  Max's vision finally sharpened. She made the mistake of attempting to sit up, which caused a sharp pain to stab through her chest, tugging at the newly sealed skin. It felt like someone had stuck a kitchen knife through her flesh. She winced and laid her head back down, and the discomfort subsided.

  “Rest—good. Activity—bad," Matsuda said.

  Max glanced around the room looking for Winston. "Where's the robot?"

  “He's toast."

  “What do you mean?”

  “We had a slight malfunction during the operation,” Matsuda stammered. "Winston served as a backup battery. He sacrificed himself to save you."

  Max's heart sank. Winston was beginning to grow on her. She couldn't help but feel touched by his sacrifice. "Is he salvageable?"

  Matsuda shrugged. "We'll see."

  “What about his data center? He contains valuable information."

  “If I can activate his neural processor, then I can better understand the extent of the damage. The diagnostic scan shows no damage to his storage device, but you never really know."

  Max grimaced as she forced herself to sit up, using her hands to push herself from the table. Her chest was on fire.

  “You need to rest. Take
time to heal.”

  “I don’t have time to heal," Max grumbled.

  “Don't blame me if you rupture something and bleed to death internally."

  Max scowled at him and eased herself off the operating table.

  Matsuda rushed to assist her. “You shouldn't be up and walking around. You've undergone major surgery, and you are pumped full of drugs. You're not going to be steady on your feet for several hours."

  “I process medication fast," she said, still slightly slurring her words. Max glanced down at the gaping hole in her fitted top. The wound had been sprayed with a protective synthetic skin. It was roughly the same color as normal flesh, but slightly translucent. The hole in her top exposed a significant portion of flesh, along with a healthy dose of side-boob. “My tit is going to flop right out of this thing.”

  “Sorry, I'm all out of fitted bodysuits," Matsuda said dryly.

  “Hand me that role of surgical tape,” Max said, pointing to a nearby instrument cart.

  Matsuda complied. Max used the tape to secure the fabric around the affected area. It looked a little funny, but it would prevent a nipple malfunction. And it sure was better than wearing one of those ugly green hospital gowns. Though she figured Matsuda didn't have any of those around that would fit her, seeing how most of his clients were small animals. She got a mental image in her head of a dachshund wearing a hospital gown, and the thought gave her a slight chuckle. But the chuckle made her cringe with pain.

  “Try not to laugh," Matsuda said. He helped her hobble over to Winston. Max felt like a decrepit old lady.

  “You have another circuit board?” Max asked as her sad eyes surveyed Winston's disabled remains.

  “Let me see what I can dig up.” Matsuda rummaged through drawers, but came up empty-handed. He stepped out of the operating room and returned a few moments later with a circuit board pilfered from a broken maintenance bot.