Liberation's Desire

by Wendy Lynn Clark

  No.

  Oh, please, no.

  Her uncle had survived impossible assaults and holo-worthy battles without being resurrected once. And yet, this woman had imprisoned him.

  Cressida leaned into her husband’s arms, silent and strong. “I’m so sorry, Mercury. If we’d seen the message before we went into the Tube, we might have been able to figure something out. But now, well, we can only hope they let him go after they capture us.”

  “Worst case, he’s former military, right?” Xan’s concerned eyes met hers. “He should have a restore point.”

  She swallowed. Never mind the torture he endured now. “Yes. He does.”

  “So, then, he can’t really be killed.”

  She let out her breath. “Yeah. I mean, he won’t have any memories of me, but at least he’ll still be alive.”

  Everything, from his first awkward shoulder pat as the bachelor-soldier tried to give comfort to a hospitalized little girl, to his attempts at organizing her pretty princess birthday parties, to the proud tears in his eyes as he stood to honor her as an educated citizen on her graduation day. All the ways in which he had been her family when she had none.

  All gone.

  “I’m sorry, Mercury,” Cressida said again, fainter.

  She struggled to control herself. She and Cressida were far worse off, because they had no hope of resurrection. And neither did Xan or Yves—they would both be disassembled and melted down for scrap in the hands of the Faction.

  “At least he’ll have a life,” she said finally. “Unless the video is a fake?”

  Yves seemed stunned by the video. His mouth opened slightly, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the final image, which had disintegrated to static.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  The screen jumped to black. Yves closed his mouth and swallowed.

  Xan craned his head to see more than the other android’s profile without giving up his safe hold of Cressida. “Yves?”

  Yves, cool and controlled as always, turned to Xan. He still dismissed the video as a fake. Thank good—

  “Absolutely not. That video is 100 percent the real thing.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  Yves’ eyes widened in surprise and his brows folded into a confused frown. Had he not meant to say the words?

  Xan noted his reaction as well. “One hundred percent? That sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, surprise seemed to follow his statement.

  But he kept speaking and seemed to become more certain the longer he spoke.

  “I was unsure before I watched it, but my conclusions are always flawless. Your uncle must have vacationed near Undovan space.”

  No.

  Once again, the people she loved left her far behind. And like in the hospital, she was the one to blame.

  Yves turned to her, his arms already opening. “I, too, am sorry, Mercury.”

  Sorrow almost folded her in half. She threw her arms around him and took strength in his gentleness.

  But even though losing her uncle was the worst case, she hoped it wasn’t the first solution. She gripped her conviction tightly. “We have to do something.”

  “He wouldn’t want you to risk your life, Mercury,” her older sister said, gentle but firm. “No more than you’d wish it on him.”

  “We’re all in the same boat now,” Xan said.

  “Are we supposed to float here and do nothing while the warship collects us?”

  Cressida looked grim. Xan flexed.

  Yves unfolded his oculars.

  “Of course not.” His eyes glinted coldly behind the green glass. Figures and numbers scrolled across the convex sides, casting sinister tattoos across his bridge. “We’re going to board the warship and get him back.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The echo of Yves’ pronouncement filled their faces with shock, but really, nothing was more logical.

  His analysis always led to correct conclusions.

  Yves had started to doubt himself a little with the mistakes he had made in the garbage frigate, and before and after this Tube, but now that he thought about it a little, those were easily explained away. Now he had never felt so certain before of his inner truth.

  He laid out his plan. “Xan and I will break onto the warship. Xan, you rescue Mercury’s uncle. I’ll hack into the Faction network, reprogram the drones, and use them to free our ship.”

  “What about us?” Cressida asked, referring to her sister, somehow still in Yves’ arms.

  “You two remain here.” He let go. “When you get the signal, power up the ship and fly free.”

  “What about you?” Mercury asked.

  “Xan will have your uncle on board,” Yves said.

  “I said, what about you?”

  He smiled with his teeth. “I’ll be on the ship too.”

  She looked at him like she wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Her skepticism seemed to glow in the semidarkness. It was justified, because he deliberately hadn’t specified which ship.

  But to be honest, it was really time he reconnected with the Faction. It was his actual assignment, after all. All this time he’d spent hanging out with Mercury was for data purposes. But there was a limit to data gathering, and they had reached it.

  He stretched his lips wider. “With any luck, I’ll discover the specifications of the zero class and find a weakness to beat her.”

  “That’s hacking into the Faction.”

  The silence crackled.

  “Through the Undovan’s terminal,” he said finally. “Not a direct link.”

  “If they discover you, they’re not going to let you go,” Xan said, dead solemn.

  In his reflection, he revealed a sliver of teeth. “Then I won’t let them discover me.”

  Mercury’s cold hands slid around his. “Yves, please don’t do this.”

  “It’ll be fine.” He upped his thermal output to enfold her in warmth. “We can do this. I know we can.”

  “How?” Xan asked.

  Yves tapped his temple. “I have analyzed the Undovan warship’s specifications. I know its average crew, entrances and exits, security codes, and patrol sequences.”

  “No fucking way.” The x-class’s voice finally held hope.

  “I want to do something,” Mercury said.

  “Your participation is crucial,” he said. “From our interactions, I conclude the zero class is a gourmand. We can play on that weakness by fixing something—gold-dusted rose biscuits, for example—to tempt her palate.”

  Mercury balled her fists. “I’ll do it.”

  “Bargain with cookies,” Xan said. “Huh. How did that come up?”

  The same question swirled in Yves’ mind, but the conclusion printed, irrefutable as the conclusion of Mercury’s uncle aboard the warship. The words he kept speaking surprised him, as though they weren’t his own, but he was the one speaking them, so ergo they had to be. “I used my reasoning powers.”

  They discussed the plans, energized and hopeful, and then he kissed Mercury goodbye and joined Xan outside the breached exterior hangar.

  Before, the airlock would have pressurized between the ship and the hangar, but now it pressurized between the ship and space.

  The shred of the hangar where Xan had secured the magnet tape splayed like hungry fingers into the endless void.

  Yves really should have factored in the possibility of auto-turret malfunction, especially after he’d discovered the worms and trojans authored by the poisoned messages they had downloaded. Missing any malevolent code counted as a mistake. His calculations met a blind spot.

  A frisson of discomfort tingled in his fingers. He was missing something…

  No.

  This plan would work. He had complete confidence in it.

  In fact, he had never felt more certain or more cheerful about his situation. Usually, he harbored a few percentages of doubt. This course of action led to a perfect outcome.

  Xan flexed his de
bris-gloved hands, watching as the warship loomed larger and more detailed through the feet-thick glass. “Wish I could share your optimism.”

  “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous before attempting something this insane,” Yves assured him.

  He snorted.

  Then, he fixed Yves with a look. Infrared to infrared. “I hope you made some good memories in the kitchen.”

  Yves adjusted his magnetic jacket. Chunks of reprocessor junk and reflective coating Xan had constructed would give him a nonhuman shape on any scanner. “I fully expect to make more, thanks.”

  “You get trapped by the Faction, and those memories might be the only thing that stands between a gun in your hand and a matching hole in Mercury’s forehead.”

  Yves lifted a brow. “Y-class only act according to logic.”

  “Yeah, well, the Faction has a funny way of putting their assignment so it makes so much sense.”

  “Is that the voice of experience?”

  “I wish it weren’t.” Xan thumped his back. “We’ll trade war stories on the other side.” He hit the inter-ship com. “You guys ready to strap in?”

  “We’re ready,” Cressida whispered. “Tell me again how you’re not going to be blown up by those huge cannons out there.”

  “Those are long range,” Yves said. “The real risk are the heat-activated, armor-piercing auto-turrets—”

  “Nothing will shoot at us,” her husband interrupted. “Even if we’re discovered, they wouldn’t risk damaging their grappling arm. We’ll be back before they can assemble a boarding expedition.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to know where we’re going to hide?”

  “Secret is safe,” Xan replied. “I can’t give away what I don’t know. I love you too much for that.”

  Emotion filled her voice. “I love you too.”

  Yves didn’t need to ask. Only a few places safely ensconced them with sufficient atmosphere to survive. He could find them in minutes, and so could the zero class.

  He kept those less positive thoughts to himself.

  Mercury’s voice crossed the line. “Yves?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good luck.” She swallowed audibly. “Come back. We still have some other stuff to, um, research.”

  “Okay.”

  The connection cut.

  Xan snorted and elbowed him. “You are such a romantic.”

  The warship loomed. A mechanized arm reached out to tether the ships.

  Xan gave the thumbs-up and partially depressurized the airlock.

  The grapple arm connected with an audible clang and a mild tremor. Xan punched the airlock release. They flew out, sucked into space along with flotsam and bare scraps of magnet tape. To scans, they should look like debris dislodged by the grapple arm.

  Their magnet tape scraps attracted to the metal arm and adhered. They, and most of the junk, formed a fragile lattice.

  A few chunks missed and flew past the safe radius around the arm, out into open space. Open space bordering a huge, paranoid, automated war vessel.

  The warship’s Treatymaker-class anti-breach turrets activated and blasted the loose chunks into chaff.

  Yves contorted to fool the scanners. Somewhere, a debris-warning beacon ding-ding-dinged about entanglements on the arm until someone did something about it.

  As planned, a repair bay opened. A small, boxy repair drone hooked on to the arm and glided toward their position. It was about the size of a dog.

  It zapped the magnet tape adhering Xan.

  Xan began a lazy arc around the arm, well within the safe zone. He would throw the last net onto the warship at the peak of his arc. Yves would grab on as he floated past and be dragged “lifelessly” along to the nearest garbage chute.

  The drone reached Yves.

  The simple boxy device sported a fly-faceted camera for total, tri-dimensional visibility and an electric soldering gun. Good for external repairs, demagnetizing tape, and melting errant debris off grapple arms.

  He held his unnatural, inhuman position for the camera.

  The drone’s bright crackle approached his knuckles.

  At the precise second, he jerked his scrap of tape free and floated toward Xan. His scrap adhered to Xan’s larger net as planned. Now to be dragged—

  The drone extended its gun and severed Yves’ scrap of tape.

  Fuck.

  He floated free.

  Shit.

  The entirety of space loomed as Yves drifted away from the safe zone.

  Xan jackknifed and threw the extra lattice.

  Extra magnet tape stuck to the arm. The end flew toward Yves.

  Yves caught the last end of the thrown loop in his fingertips.

  Xan flew too far the opposite direction. His tape drifted to the edge of the safe zone. The rest of the debris flew past the edge.

  The auto-turret fired on pieces of debris, dragging the lattice—and Xan—closer to its bullet-chewing maw.

  Xan looked down at Yves. His face said what Yves already knew.

  In a few seconds, they would be royally fucked.

  The drone maneuvered slowly back up the grapple arm, slicing new scraps. Some adhered to the drone.

  A new plan formed. No time for subtlety.

  Yves yanked himself toward the drone. Its soldering gun buzzed noiselessly in the hard vacuum. Yves covered its eyes, sealing down the edges with magnet tape.

  The drone paused.

  It moved forward. It moved back. It bumped into the arm. It scraped.

  Then, the drone bumbled back into its hangar for repairs.

  It dragged him and Xan right in behind.

  The drone beached itself in the yellow circle of the maintenance area. Its hangar closed and the airlock cycled. Atmosphere hissed into the hangar, repressurizing. It finished.

  Xan tensed under the debris, the flash of his knife glinting in the semidarkness.

  No one entered the hangar.

  They waited in the maintenance zone. Yves’ specs said patrols regularly monitored the hangars. His information also said Xan was nearing the end of his oxygen reserves. He had fourteen minutes, and this evac pushed thirteen and a half. If he shut down, he’d be useless as the junk he was hiding under.

  Equally aware of his limitations, Xan stealthily moved under the debris, discarding his jacket. No sirens sounded. Unauthorized movement sensors seemed to be deactivated.

  Lucky.

  Yves grabbed a machinist’s drill, and Xan took a bolt shearer off the wall. An entire squadron in full armor could mobilize inside this giant airlock, so they took the extra time to fashion weapons. Xan constructed a bolt gun, and Yves upped the voltage on the machinist’s drill to form a more impressive lighting gun, which Xan admired. Its laser would melt a human; the EMP would stun a robot; the subsequent lightning would destroy either.

  They walked into the empty pressurized maintenance dock.

  Xan took a deep breath. “Where the fuck is everybody?”

  Yves pointed to the blinking light. “Radiation leak from the main cargo bay. The dockside crew retreated to shielded zones.”

  Xan rubbed his arms. “Did you get the feeling this was a little too easy?”

  Normally, perhaps, yes. “It’s a lucky break.”

  Xan sighted down the hall. “Too lucky.”

  “You’re not used to working with a y-class.”

  Yves overrode the radiation safety codes, hacking into the inter-ship network as mindlessly as yawning, and led Xan into a parts service elevator. They easily withstood its hard g-forces rocketing into the center of the ship.

  “It won’t be so easy once we split up.” Yves raised the map on the elevator screen. “Here’s the least occupied route to the brig.”

  Xan’s eyes glinted green and silver. “Where will I find you?”

  “The Faction connection is in the captain’s quarters.”

  They reached Xan’s floor.

  The x-class cocked the constructed bolt gun. “Try not to g
et caught, brainiac. I’m starting to like having another guy around.”

  Yves held the door. “Don’t get lost. Your captain’s not going to let me board without you.”

  Xan grinned as he disappeared down the hallway.

  Yves sealed up the hatch and headed the opposite direction.

  The Undovans seemed to be fans of imperial red. Artful sprays of the color glistened fresh on the walls.

  Wet paint? How odd.

  A frisson of discomfort bothered him. But it had to be paint. Logic dictated no other conclusion.

  Beneath it, the walls gleamed, a flat cerulean blue, the fixtures polished gold. Other floors soothed forest green; yet others shone a sunrise pink. But in each case, the sprays of imperial red struck him with meaning.

  Red of conquest.

  Red of death.

  But that was not going to happen to Mercury. He would guarantee it.

  Following the patrol map he’d made, he navigated through the enemy territory, deeper and deeper into the center of the ship. The Undovans followed the standard arrangement for deep space vehicles. The engines sat in the most protected center from any external forces. In the next ring outward, the command center, officer and crew quarters resided. Next came supplies, then every other possible thing that could be used as a buffer, should any particular part of the hull fail and rip out half a floor or two.

  Should the engines fail, whether in the center of the ship or outside, the catastrophe rendered any survival highly unlikely.

  He slipped into the captain’s chamber undetected and located the Faction terminal: a large onyx desk with a huge screen. A finger scanner stood between him and access to the rest of the New Empire.

  Xan’s warning returned to him.

  The Faction has a funny way of putting their assignment so it makes so much sense.

  But this was the only way. He had to ensure Mercury’s safety. Before, he had needed to save her to complete his assignment and pursue the rogue, but now he needed to know she was alive and safe for her own self. No matter what.

  And unlike the x-class, he would not crumble to the will of another. His assignment was based on logic and analysis, not whim. That’s why he would be fine no matter what the Faction threw at him.

  Yves slid into the chair and put his finger in the scanner.