by Andrew Linke
The projected map flickered in Moira’s vision and she heard a strained, modulated voice cry out, “Get out of there!” Then the connection failed again.
A slug ripped through the handrail beside Moira. She turned, blinked, her wetware automatically pivoting her arm into optimal position. She felt her finger twitch on the trigger of the flechette gun and saw a woman covered in fluorescent body paint collapse to the floor. An instant later she fired again as a man reached to pull the gun from the hands of his wounded comrade. He dropped, screaming in pain as the metal shards ripped into him.
Turning back down the escalator, Moira saw a large man with glowing tattoos crawling across his bare, muscled chest charging towards the base of the escalator. She dropped the flechette gun and swung her rifle around, even as she leapt down the stairs. The wetware took over again, directing her aim even as she fell. A metal slug carved away from the depleted uranium mass depleted ripped past Bosami’s head and ripped through the center of the tattooed man’s chest before slamming into the floor behind him. The tattooed enforcer buckled backwards and collapsed atop the deep hole that the bullet had ripped into the floor.
“Stand up and make for the door,” Moira called to the gang leader.
Bosami swore and nearly tripped over the body, but he still followed Moira’s instructions and ran towards the door, clutching the wounded side of his face with one hand.
Moira pulled the stun grenade from her belt, ripped the activation tab, and threw it back up the escalator behind her. She leapt over the side of the escalator and landed on the cracked tile floor beside the two conjoined dreamers, then ran for the door. Behind her, the stun grenade finished its countdown and triggered, unleashing a flash of strobed light, tuned to induce disorientation in most people and seizures in those even slightly susceptible to epileptic fits, as well as an intense burst of bowel loosening ultra low frequency sound. The party broke into chaos and the emcee fell to the stage, convulsing as his haptic suit clawed at his flesh in response to the sudden surges of pain and disorientation experienced by the crowd. Even those shielded from the blast of the stun grenade collapsed or threw themselves against display cases and walls as their shared experiential link was overwhelmed by B8Z’s agony.
Despite the sensory assault, over a dozen gang members managed to stumble down the escalator steps just in time to see Moira punch their leader in the jaw and shove him out the door. One of them, a wiry man with a long braid sprouting from the rear of his otherwise shaved head, grabbed one of his companions by the shoulder and held him back as the others raced towards the door. He nodded his head down the street in the opposite direction from where Moira and Bosami had gone. His companion grinned and they set off through the store towards a side exit.
Out on the street, Moira had Bosami by the back of the camouflage suit and was propelling him down the cracked sidewalk as quickly as she could. The right side of his face was burned from the heat of the hypersonic bullet passing mere inches away and Moira figured there was a decent chance that his eardrum on that side had ruptured, but none of that mattered to her. She just needed to get him back to Covington, alive if possible. Moira turned and fired a burst from her rifle, sending the pursuing gang members diving for cover behind piles of rubble as hyper accelerated shards of mildly radioactive mass vaporized the concrete all around them. She shoved Bosami around a corner and pressed forward harder, driving him towards the looming hulk of Zau/Heraxo perched atop their landing legs like an angry black insect.
“Zau, are you listening?” Moira said, not bothering to subvocalize as she continued to push her prisoner towards the port thoracic airlock.
“We regret to inform you that we are not currently {answering to that name/fraking donker we are}. Get in now Moira. They have a tank!”
“A what?”
“A {goddamned tank / nothing. We are not} concerned.”
“Who the frak are you talking to?” Bosami demanded. “And, hian, what is that thing?”
As he spoke, the ship raised their segmented rear appendage up above their thoracic section. The energy lance mounted at the tip of the appendage began to crackle with contained energy as Zau/Heraxo primed it to fire.
Moira shoved Bosami up the ramp into the airlock, then turned back as she heard the sharp whine of high torque electric motors accompanied by the echoing crash of rubble caroming off of surrounding buildings. At the far end of the street, an armored assault platform stormed out of a side street, skidded across the tortured asphalt, and slammed into a building before its treads regained their grip and launched it down the street towards Moira.
“I thought you said they didn’t have any tanks!” she screamed. She leapt up the ramp and slammed the cycle switch. The airlock door closed, seemingly at a crawl as Moira switched her slug thrower into nonlethal mode and pressed the barrel against Bosami’s back.
“They have no walking tanks, as you {specified in your query / don’t be such a pedantic ass}. It is merely a tracked weapons platform.”
“Heraxo, eventually I am going to find a way to kill you without harming Zau. And trust me, when that wake comes you are toast.”
The ship replied over both Moira’s implants and the address speakers, the words echoing all around and through her as Zau/Heraxo’s dueling personalities both attempted to convey the information each thought most necessary. The cacophony of syllables grew so intense that Moira wondered whether the ship’s syntellect had further fractured. By the time the airlock completed its cycle she thought that she understood the gist of the situation: The ship was routing power to the forward shields, preparing for launch, and priming the energy lance all at once, and all together that might be a sufficient drain on their strained power system to cause a complete shutdown.
The inner airlock door opened and Moira dragged Bosami through it and towards the aft cargo bay. As much as it made her skin crawl to turn her back on an approaching armored assault platform, she knew that her input would only complicate matters. The energy lance was fully controlled by the targeting computer which, while not actually a part of the compromised Zau/Heraxo syntellect, was designed to cede control to the ship intelligence. As de facto captain of the ship, Moira had ultimate say over whether or not it could actually fire the weapon, but manually overriding the targeting procedures was difficult by design. If she interfered, Moira would just be a third voice in the argument.
“What the frak is this thing?” Bosami demanded, whipping his head around wildly to take in everything that surrounded him. “Some sort of void ship?”
“Yeah. Some sort,” Moira replied.
Around them, and inside Moira’s head, the voices of the ship echoed again, “The platform is well within attack range, but has yet to fire. It is possible that it lacks munitions. Confirm with prisoner?”
Moira opened her mouth to ask Bosami if his stolen military hardware was armed, then snapped her teeth shut as the ship lurched upwards so fast that she and the captured gang leader were thrown to the floor.
“The hells was that?” she demanded, jumping to her feet and kicking Bosami to stand as well.
“We were fired upon by the platform. Our energy consumption analysis determined rapid, minimally compensated evasive action more efficient than engaging the shield for the anticipated yield of munition.”
The ship now hovered ten meters above the ground. The solid slug, propelled at supersonic speeds by the railgun mounted to the front of the assault platform, shot past only two meters beneath the ship and slammed into the face of the abandoned office tower behind it. Aboard the armored assault platform, the twitchy gang member slammed his fist on the wall beside his gunner station and swore. His companion with the braid scowled and pushed the accelerator forward, hoping to get beneath the strange, insectile ship before the energy lance on its whipping, scorpion like tail finished charging.
“Can you get away without killing them?” Moira asked.
“Of course we can. That was not a smart munition, nor was it ex
plosive. The fools appear to have only basic kinetic weapons. Easily avoided.”
“Then let’s get out of here…”
The ship pivoted its rear appendage, whipping it down beneath itself with speed that ought to have been impossible for such a mass of hardware. The lance sparked blueish white, releasing a bolt of coherent plasma attuned to disrupt the specific atomic frequency of the assault platform’s armor. The bolt slammed into the platform, melting the armor and twisting it inward until it bulged, buckled, and gave way.
The assault platform’s power cells overheated in an instant and exploded, ripping the aged war machine apart.
“We have eliminated the threat. Recalling remoras and setting a maximally conservative course for Covington,” Zau/Heraxo said. They rose up above the height of all but the tallest of the ruined buildings, pivoted to face the gleaming dot on the distant face of the world that was Covington, and applied forward thrust.
II
AT A command from Moira, the shackles around Bosami’s wrists loosened. She grinned at him over the sights of her rifle and said, “Get that suit off and lie down on the floor.”
“If you want me so bad you could have just asked,” Bosami sneered.
Moira laughed and fired a nonlethal round from her rifle. The loosely woven mesh of volatile fibers slammed into his chest, knocking him to the floor before dissipating in a cloud of dust. “Don’t flatter yourself. Now, unless you fancy another of those…”
Bosami coughed and wheezed, trying to catch his breath. After a moment he complied, dropping the restraints and beginning to shrug out of the camouflage suit. He kicked it off into a pile at his feet, where the corrupt stealth algorithms promptly began weaving a painfully complex self-referential design across the visible surface.
“Now strap yourself to that tie down point,” Moira said, gesturing with the barrel of her rifle.
You’re making a mistake bringing me in. I dunno how much the bounty is, but I can give you a fine haul for returning me now.”
Moira crossed her arms and laughed. Shaking her head, she said, “Right. I just smashed up your base and slagged a tank and now you’re offering me a reward?”
“Security review.”
“Come again?”
“You just showed me holes in my security. I ought to be thanking you. Besides, you’re clearly a good fighter and you got this pizda hian exo void ship on your side. That makes you a good asset to have in my pocket.”
Moira shook her head and moved to perch atop a locked cargo case. “I’m not in anyone’s pocket. I work for myself. Now finish locking yourself up.”
“I can pay good.”
“No doing. We’re flying back to Covington, I’m going to collect my bounty, then I’ll never have to see you again. Now show me how tight that restraint is.”
Bosami scowled and held up his arm, rattling the restraining strap against the tie down point. “Kuring Covington security donkers. They’ll put me out on bail and I’ll be back with my homies within a month. Donkers don’t actually want me in prison, they just need to prove to the corps that they have control of this whole fraking zone.”
“So you have nothing to complain about.”
“That’s not the point. I’m talking about kuro Covington making out like it owns everything.”
“They are the largest city in the zone and have the biggest guns.”
Bosami scoffed and shook his head. “You think Covington is the center of the shell? Babe, that town shouldn’t even be the center of the zone. We’ve got five hundred million kilometers of land. You could give every stuffed bastard in Covington their own little town and there’d still be empty space. And that’s just this zone. We got over a million zones and nobody living in most of them.”
“So jump your followers to a new zone. I’ve never heard of the Conservators stopping anyone from starting a new colony.”
Bosami knelt on the floor and bent his left shoulder forward, reaching across his bare chest with his free hand to point at a tattoo on the back of his left shoulder. Moira narrowed her eyes, inspecting the image. It was a simple tattoo, seemingly done in black ink using a primitive needle gun, depicting a winged skull flying above a line which split the lower third of a circle. “I want freedom for my people. You think I don’t know that there is plenty of room out there? I’d kill to get my people out of this zone and start our own colony, but the Covington types won’t have it. Donkers keep us down, prevent us from getting access to any ship that could make the transit, threaten to shoot down any ship what tries to leave the zone without authorization.”
Moira nodded, recognizing the problem that Bosami described. When she and Zau/Heraxo had first jumped into the zone their defense systems had lit up like a Graz parade. It had not been hard to talk down the Covington types though. When you were riding in an exo scout ship that had just demonstrated jump capability, the commanders of regional defense grids were more likely to be respectful than if you drifted into their zone aboard a cobbled together direct thrust pod. Their reception in Covington proper had not been especially warm, but Zau/Heraxo’s status as a curiosity had been sufficient for Moira to secure the local permits for temporary residence and work.
Bosami looked up at Moira, leaned forward against his chain and said, “Your employers don’t like anyone who doesn’t want to work for a corp. That’s all we want, see. A little individual freedom. Opportunity to decide what we do and when, without a contract lawyer looking over our shoulder.”
“I don’t work for a corp.”
“Bah,” Bosami turned his head and spat on the deck. “You work for corps. You think you are free, but you still do their bidding like a trained dog. My people, we can’t even get a ship to take us out of here. Fraking Security doesn’t let anyone come or go without their leave.”
He nodded towards Moira, then swept his free hand to encompass the cargo bay. “You though, you could help us. You got a pizda exo void ship and you’ve managed to keep anyone from taking it away from you. The weapons on this thing must be incredible. Come on and join up with us. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Moira smiled back at him and hopped down off the crate. She strode forward until she stood mere centimeters from the extent of his reach and inspected Bosami’s naked, tattooed body from head to toe, then shrugged. “Eh, you’re not my type.”
He lashed out at her with his free hand, growling in frustration and flexing his muscles as he strained to reach her, but the restraint held tight.
“I don’t think you’re being honest,” she said with a smirk.
“What you talking about?”
“About wanting to be free. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”
Bosami stopped straining against his chain and rocked back on his heels, fixing Moira with a quizzical expression. “Of course we want to be free. Why else would we live out in the wastes?”
“Because you are stupid.”
“Frak you.”
Moira turned away from Bosami and strode across the deck towards the doorway leading to the starboard access corridor. She paused at the door and turned back towards Bosami, saying, “I think that you’re more interested in rebelling against the Covington authorities than actually taking any effective action. I think you lack the organization or will to actually build anything. You’ve got enough followers that you could have gone out to a corner of the zone and established a decent settlement of your own, defended it against CDS forces with the borders at your back. But no, you stay within a few thousand clicks of the city and play at being rebels. It’s a game for you.”
“You think this is a game?” Bosami snarled. “I got friends been killed for this.”
“It is a game, for you. Because if you were serious about getting away you would have asked me to jump your whole sorry crew out of this zone instead of trying to recruit me into your army.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I’d have done it too, for a price,” Moira said, turning away aga
in.
“How much you want? Hey, don’t—”
Moira slammed the hatch shut and sealed it.
Moira settled down in her padded chair on the bridge and surveyed the panels arrayed before her. The bridge of Zau/Heraxo, like much of the ship, was an awkward commingling of human and alien technology. Flat panel monitors and holographic projectors were glued and bolted to whatever surfaces could support them, optical filters had been stretched over most of the original screens, and Moira had installed a heavy layer of padding and a somewhat uncomfortable, but functional, restraint web in the command chair. She had left all of the other chairs untouched, assuming that there was little chance that she would ever travel with another human aboard.
She allowed herself a long, relaxing breath and closed her eyes. The prisoner was secure. She would deliver him to the authorities, no matter how revolting she found them. In a few hours she would have enough credits to be set on raw and micronutrients for months and possibly make some repairs to the ship’s energy banks. Not that Moira looked forward to returning to the power bank chamber, where the walls and floor were still stained with soot and blood she was still unwilling to clean. She could have allowed the repairs to be undertaken by the ship’s remoras, or even a midge swarm, but that would have entailed trusting Zau/Heraxo with control over the power system self-repair protocols. Moira didn’t think that the ship hated her enough to intentionally kill itself just to spite her, but she was reticent to allow a corrupted syntellect anywhere near the grid tap.
“You seem relaxed,” Zau/Heraxo said, speaking through the ship speakers.
“I was trying to,” Moira replied, opening her eyes. “Is something wrong?”