Proxima Riven:

by Harmon Cooper

  “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  “You attacked us in Steam and nearly killed Frances Euphoria.”

  He shakes his head. “Again, I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  “You killed the bleachies.”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve gone mad since coming out of Cyber Noir, haven’t you?”

  “You sent your biggest cock holster, Rollins, to my hotel to kill me. Oh, I remember one now. Your whacko daughter, under your wing, killed Zedic Woods. Then there’s the fact that you continue to employ orphans, starting them on a one-way road to corporate totalitarianism at an early age. And how can anyone forget that your company imprisons people through a device you co-invented with Ray Steampunk. Lemme see, what else? How ‘bout the fact that your goons are currently looking for a RPG metal that will give you enough power to destroy a Proxima world. Need I go on? Here’s one, you’re currently holding one of our team members, Rocket, Rudraksh Vilas Paswan, illegally. That’s a new one right there.”

  “I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!” He says, scrambling in his chair.

  “Jeez, get a load of this guy,” I say to the Humandroid. “You guys got an anger management class as part of your company benefits or something? It helps to let go, Strata.”

  He points a crooked finger at me. “You really are the same stupid son of a bitch that you were before you were stuck in The Loop, aren’t you? Don’t think I’ve forgotten just how much of a pain in the ass you were! I will … ” he bites his lips and clenches his fists together.

  “You’ll what?” I ask cooly.

  “I want to know where my son is, dammit,” he says in a low voice.

  “Well, we want Rocket back. Sounds like both of us has a dilemma the other can solve.”

  “I don’t have … ” An idea flashes across his eyes. “Fine, we can trade.”

  I fold my hands together. “Now we’re talking. Rocket for Luther?”

  “Yes,” he says excitedly. His Humandroid counterpart starts to say something and he shushes him. “Rocket for Luther.” He looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m serious. We will release Rocket when you give us information regarding Luther’s whereabouts.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” I tell him, “I’ll bring Luther to you.”

  ~*~

  I stroll my happy metal ass right out of the Revenue Corporation’s headquarters.

  A black van lowers and I get in the back. Everything has been stripped out, aside from a single bench against the sidewall. The van lifts into the air and it is at this point that I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I smile, relax even further into my seat and close my eyes for a moment. My live feed from our conversation has already been sent to Solon, the Dream Team’s lawyer, and the others. Testicular torsion, an operation and one-act play starring a cantankerous bastard by the name of Quantum Hughes and directed by a War Faun that goes by the name Doc was an utter success.

  Me: We did it.

  Doc: Watching the feed right now and … That’s it! Confession!

  Frances Euphoria: Woot! Woot!

  Sophia: THIS IS AMAZING! YOU BUSTED HIS BALLS!!!!!!

  I wait for Rocket to say something. Nope, nada, zilch, squat. I never thought I’d miss his banter and bullshit as much as I already do.

  “I got you back, kid,” I whisper as aeros moves into a higher airlane.

  Strata agreed to trade Rocket for Luther. We have video of Rocket being taken by the Reapers. The dots are connected, our case is built. A damn good case too.

  The digital exchange is set to take place in twenty-four hours, and that means we have until this time tomorrow to get a Reality Splitter made that not only frees my stupid ass, but also is able to cut through the OMIB of Strata’s storage world, where Rocket is being held.

  And that’s if it even works there. Sophia seems to think that it will.

  Time is of the essence. If ever there were a time to stop screwing around, that time is now.

  Our case is built, dammit, every board has been laid. But the foundation still needs a little work, and a home isn’t a home without a happy family inside.

  Rocket is part of that happy family, and if push comes to shove, I’ll gladly trade what’s left of my life for his.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After switching vehicles twice, I’m whisked away to Doc’s Goat Cakes truck. The guy selling organic snow cones, whatever the hell that is, waves at me. He points to a sign that reads ‘droids are people too’ and gives me a thumbs up.

  “No they’re not,” I say under my breath.

  Then I laugh.

  “That’s what I like to see,” he says, “a little good ol’ fashioned humor!”

  I stop in front of the Goat Cakes truck and give my surroundings a quick scan. Nothing out of the ordinary, which is good.

  Me: I’m letting myself in.

  Doc: We’re aware that you arrived.

  Me: Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being tracked or targeted.

  Doc: You are.

  I look left, look right. My Humandroid sensors don’t catch anything, which means one of two things: either Doc is bluffing or he’s hidden his defense system so well that even a Humandroid can’t spot it.

  I’m going to go with the latter.

  Frances already has my droid dive rig set up, which mostly consists of cabling spliced together with electric tape, and Doc has his own spot set up next to me. I should have known a section of the bed folds forward to make a pretty swank ass haptic chair. Doc sits in it now, finishing a bag of white cheddar popcorn.

  He chuckles to himself.

  “What?” I ask. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

  “You got under Strata’s skin, Quantum, and damn if you didn’t do a good enough job for him to confess to hostage trade! I almost didn’t think you could do it – not doubting you here, just saying it shouldn’t have been so easy – and boy was I wrong! He’s probably figured out by now that he’s been duped; even so, he’ll keep Rocket peachy keen at least for the next twenty-four hours.” Doc picks at a bit of popcorn kernel with his tongue.

  “I sure hope so.” The jammiest bit of jams sits at Doc’s control center, gearing up to be our in-game. I mentally instruct my Humandroid interface to scan Frances. My eyes dilate and for a moment, I can see her nude body through the outline of her clothing.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat,” Doc tells me, “and don’t either of you worry … ” He crumples up the bag of popcorn. “We will get Rocket tomorrow, we’ll get you too.”

  “We’ll try. We still have collateral, remember?” I turn my finger to my face.

  “You’re not giving yourself away, and yes, we have collateral. We have Luther’s body. Not that we can really do anything to it, but I’m guessing Strata doesn’t like the fact that we have it.”

  “My thoughts are that it’s a big set up,” I say as I relax onto the couch next to Doc. “I can’t tell if he knows it’s coming or not.”

  “He doesn’t,” Frances says. “We have him this time.”

  “Yeah, sez you.” Doc wipes some white cheddar dust off the front of his shirt. “Strata knows we’re up to something and we know Strata is up to something. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I tend to agree with Doc there, Frances, we’re both trying to get each other by the juevos.”

  The faun in his human avatar form muses, “Now, if I were the sorry son of a bitch, I’d have something done to Rocket to make sure he isn’t able to join us at the last minute. I’d have all my henchmen ready to spring once we showed up with Luther, and just for shits and giggles, I’d make sure everyone is outfitted with a couple of permalog collars. It will only take them getting one of us to seriously put a dent in our forces.”

  “We’d have NPCs in this scenario too,” I remind him. “Aiden, the Lobby Boys, the other Loopers.”

  He nods. “True, but that’s what I’d do if I were Strata. I’d overwhelm us until you, F
rances, Sophia or I get caught in a collar.”

  “We’d waste the Reapers,” I say, “we always do.”

  “Yeah, but he’ll be there at the drop off, strong as an NVA Seed with his Meridian Circle back at his McMansion powering his evil ass. Even if we put up a damn good fight, he’ll get one of us, and once one domino falls … ” Seriousness flashes across Doc’s face. “But we won’t let that happen.”

  “No we won’t,” I tell him. “Let’s make this one count. Have you already contacted Chrono?”

  “He’s standing by in Tritania. As soon as we have the Sky Iron, we’ll port there. Then we’ll get your ass out and then we’ll get to Rocket.”

  “Bada boom, bada bing. Wait.” I eye them both. “Did you say I was first, then Rocket?”

  “I did.”

  “No, Rocket before me.”

  “We have to test the Reality Splitter before we try it in Strata’s storage world. Frances and I already discussed this. No need to feel guilty; this isn’t about you, it’s about him.”

  “He’s right, Quantum, it’ll be better to make sure you can get out first, then Rocket.”

  “So then I’m the guinea pig?”

  He smirks. “Aren’t you always?”

  “But we have completely different scenarios. I’m supposed to, um, kill Dolly with the ax. Then I’ll be able to log out because she’ll no longer control the world. Rocket situation is different. He’s being kept against his will.”

  “Aware of that. Chrono and I will use what’s left to forge a Reality Butter Knife to test while you’re gone. Who said it needed to be an ax?”

  “I assumed. And a butter knife?”

  Doc grins. “You heard me.”

  “How will we get his cuffs off him?” Frances asked. “No one went over that. I get that we’ll cut the game time continuum of the storage world to get to him, but how will we get the cuffs off?”

  “I have a pair too, remember, and I have one stipulation for an item going into my list,” Doc says. “I must have a fundamental understanding of how it works. I can take them apart quickly. That won’t be a problem.”

  ~*~

  No time for farting around once I arrive in the dive yurt. Aiden is in his recliner and has since added a lava lamp just to give the place a little flare. He reads the business section of the Tritanian Times, his feet in a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo branded house slippers.

  “You day trading now?” I ask instead of saying hello.

  He appears behind me suited up. He’s in a black cutaway jacket that’s frayed at the collar. Great big goggles with tiny windshield wipers rest on his head and for once, he hasn’t gone with a blade or Gatling gun arm.

  I flick my fingers and my black duds appear. I refuse to play dress up for Steam. “You ready to scoot? We’re late for a very important date!”

  A spawning point appears and we both press it.

  We’re whisked away, down the rabbit hole and out the other end. Our forms tornado into shape inside the contraband shop. Joel sits on a stool and Steampunk Santa and Sophia are having a heated discussion about, well, science. No idea what they’re talking about but I’m pretty sure they’re arguing.

  “Not so, my adequately educated but accolade-driven young doctor! An OMIB-Palisade is neither a stationary object nor an object in motion. It is akin to a black hole, or perhaps more accurately, to energy. Neither created nor destroyed which is why I believe they are dangerous.”

  “He just came from one!” She throws her finger at me. “And you have no idea what you’re talking about. NONE of that makes any sense. You see … ” Sophia raises a finger and math equations appear.

  “Let’s not turn this into a scene from A Beautiful Mind,” I tell her. “Are we good, where are the rigs?”

  “The rigs?” Steampunk Santa tsks. “These, my boy, are much more than simply rigs! These are Steamsuit XO-76s, the only four that exist in Steam.”

  “And why are you letting us borrow them again?”

  He furrows his bushy brow at me. “Have you ever heard the phrase no questions asked, no answers questioned?”

  “No?”

  “Good. Follow me.”

  Steampunk Santa pulls down on a rope and a square portion of the roof lowers, letting in the orange light from outside.

  He unfolds the ladder and we follow the stocky weapons dealer up. Doc is the last on the ladder. It ain’t easy climbing it with his goat hooves, and Joel ends up offering him a hand, which Doc steadfastly declines. It takes him twice as long to get up there, and once he does, he’s met by ooos and aaahs from the Dream Team.

  Frances Euphoria: DROOL. I always wanted to fly in one of those!

  Four exoskeletal suits stand before us, each about fifteen feet high. Angular bars of steel jut from various points on their bodies in a way that loosely reminds me of the quills of a porcupine. Their heads are all Transformer, red eyes too, and their legs thick, like they’re wearing oversized paint buckets for shoes.

  Air hisses as the front shell of the first Steamsuit splits open.

  “It’s all yours,” says Steampunk Santa.

  “Just like that?” I ask as I approach the towering suit.

  “Do you want a demo or something or do you think you can figure it out?”

  “Pretty sure we can figure this one out.” Doc shoulders past me and the front of the Steamsuit next to me splits open. He pulls himself up and situates himself in operator’s chair. As soon as his body is secure, the vehicle’s shell shuts and locks into place with a hiss of hydraulics. The identifier YoRHa 4S is stenciled across the front of the Steamsuit.

  He’s airborne moments later, steam billowing out of the back of the craft and the bottom of his big metal stompers.

  “Well if it’s that easy … ”

  Aiden one-hand cartwheels into the craft with YoRHa 9S stenciled across the chest. He lands in the operator’s chair and the craft closes around him, locking him in.

  “That was cool!” Sophia says in a way that reminds me of Rocket.

  Aiden’s craft has a single, Slice Bang-ish weapon on his right arm which is so large he’s forced to drag it on the ground behind him when the vehicle is on the ground. He lifts up into the air, does a twirl, and joins Doc.

  Sophia gets into her Steamsuit, which is outfitted with giant rotating gears for arms and shoulder mounted sound cannons. Her craft closes in on her once she’s settled and she hits the air moments later. Hers is marked YoRHa 2B.

  Doc: What’s taking you so long?

  Me: Just saying goodbye to our friends down here.

  I turn back to Joel and Steampunk Santa. “The detonators are set along the other two walls, Wall Titan and Wall Maria, correct?”

  “That’s correct,” Joel says, his eyes fixed on the Steamsuits that are now airborne.

  “And if we set some kablooey at Wall Rose, you’ll be ready to kaboomski on your end, at a moment’s notice, right?”

  He nods. “If that means what I think it means, yes.”

  “Good. Then we’ll get this done, you’ll get your riot, and we’ll get our Sky Iron. One more thing – any thought on how we get in good with the Steam Breeds? We kind of didn’t go over that and while I do have a vintage Easy-Bake oven, item 282, we don’t really have time for me to whip up something yummy.”

  Joel gives me a curious look. Finally, he says, “The Steam Breeds aren’t too bright, but their leader controls the power source for the fourth dimensional tripwire protecting Wall Rose. Most will think you are one of them as long as you are in your suits. Do not, disembark or let them think otherwise. Unfortunately that’s all I can tell you.”

  Frances Euphoria: I’m sure we’ll figure out a way – we always do!

  “Got it.” I step up to the Steamsuit with YoRHa A2 stenciled across its metal chest.

  “One more thing,” Steampunk Santa says, “do not think for one moment that you will be adding these Steamsuits to your inventory list. I expect them to be returned once you are finished. Do
not worry about wear and tear, however, Chacho and I know a guy who knows a guy who can fix pretty much anything.”

  “You got it, bub.”

  As soon as I’m secure and my head is against a leather headrest, the suit closes around my form. The lining around my arms and legs inflates ever-so-slightly to lock them in place and a brilliant display of lights flash across my face, accompanied by a beeping sound with each new letter. Text appears on my viewing pane.

  [Welcome, Steamboy_889.]

  [ D-NAS interface initiating ...]

  [Checking black box ...]

  [Black box confirmed.]

  [Weapon status green. Initializing … ]

  [Weapons confirmed. Ammunition at capacity. Loading OS updates … ]

  [OS updates loaded.]

  [Syncing to D-Nas … ]

  [D-NAS G2G]

  “Yippie ki-yay!” I shout, and again, my voice isn’t my own. What I hear now booming and bass-tacular, its sound increased by a series of tubes connected to a small gramophone at the front of the Steamsuit’s throat.

  Steampunk Santa gives me the double thumbs up. I have two large blades for arms, one of his which has a Gatling gun with a small map of Steam inlayed on the receiver.

  “Um … I want to fly!”

  [Flight sequence initiated.]

  The wings extended outward and lock into place with a clicking sound. With little hesitation, I lift into the air, as easily as a person would take a step forward.

  [Flight mode status green.]

  The control interface is completely intuitive, and after performing a few flips, air moonwalks, and a perfect petit jeté, I join the others.

  Doc’s voice sounds out in my ear.

  “Nice moves, really, I’m impressed. Now that you’re done acting like an asshat, are you ready to get this show on the road?”

  Rather than answer, I zip forward, twist, and excrete a cloud of dark steam.

  ~*~

  Grandstanding has been the way I’ve lived my life up until now in the Proxima Galaxy. It is my personal philosophy, a great way to win friends and influence people, my raison d'être. No sense in stopping now.