Jon stopped and turned suddenly, as though startled by the sound of his own name. "Wha-?"
"The psychiatric reports I had you looking through. Did you get anything?"
"How can you be talking shop right now? We are in jail!"
"Have you got a better way to spend the time?"
"... Fine. But if we come out of this with our jobs, I want a raise. A BIG raise. I was supposed to be taking notes and getting you coffee, not riding shotgun on a suicide run and then doing hard time!"
"That's fair."
"Okay. Uh... The journals. One had an article about something called... Uh... A... ACT. Autonomous Combat Trauma. I guess these days soldiers don't do a whole lot of direct combat. It is all robots fighting robots. And when soldiers do get in a battle, it is usually against a robot, rather than another soldier. Evidently, lots of people can't cope with that. They think it has something to do with how, as a person, you can at least rationalize why a person would want to kill you, but with machines there's no reason. So people look for a reason, and if someone puts a bug in their ear that maybe they wouldn't have had to fight a machine if their own army's machines had been better..."
"You get the Neo-Luddites," Lex said.
"Bingo."
"Well, do we know where they hang out? Do they have a headquarters?" Lex asked.
"No. They are peppered all throughout the military industrial complex. Spread so thin it is impossible to pick them out," Michella said.
"And that's all we know about them?"
"Other than what we learned today. Before they took my slidepad and threw us in here, I got a message that the graphics guys had been able to read the labels on the things they were stealing. Something called Esche alloy."
"Which is what?"
Michella shrugged. "Not toxic, not radioactive, not explosive. Nothing."
"... I'll be honest. I was hoping you'd have an address or something that I could just send them to."
"Sorry, honey," she said with another shrug. "I can only work with what I've got."
"We'll just have to hope that Karter hasn't been busy."
#
On the Neo-Luddite space station, a call was finally making its way to Commander Purcell.
"Purcell here. Report," she said as she looked upon a choppy digital image of one of her troops on the screen of her datapad.
"We have acquired the package. It is in our possession, and we have not been pursued. ETA: Ninety-six hours."
"Exemplary work. I want you running silent and at maximum sustainable speed until you reach the rendezvous coordinates. Understood?"
"Acknowledged. Assault team, out."
No sooner had the transmission terminated than she was hailing her second in command, Marx. He answered a moment later.
"I want you to gather the medical team and have them revive Karter, full guard complement. Make sure that engineering is properly staffed and equipped to make the final adjustments to the partial CME schematics in preparation for their completion. I want all raw materials cataloged and sorted for maximum construction speed. Do you have all of that?"
"Yes Commander. But Karter is already awake," he replied.
"Who gave the order to revive him?" she growled.
"No one, Commander. The medics have never been able to get him entirely sedated since you gave the order to put him under again."
With teeth and fists clenched, Purcell stormed through the halls to the cell. The hallway around it was crowded shoulder to shoulder, as the 'full guard complement' that she'd described now totaled twelve men, not counting the three medics who were also on hand. At the arrival of their commander, the crowd slowly parted, revealing the clearly impaired, but certainly conscious inventor. His hair was more disheveled that usual, sticking roughly up in a manner that would suggest the last time he had slept, it had been against a wall. One eye was half shut, and his mouth hung slightly open with a line of drool dribbling out the corner. He looked roughly as though he had been bashed in the back of the skull with a board.
"Bosshlady," he slurred, spritzing the nearest medic with a dose of spittle. "I told you you couldn't just keep me sedated."
"Explain what's going on here," she ordered.
"The sedatives aren't taking effect. Every time we administer a dose, the level of stimulants in his blood rises to compensate. He's already a few CCs past what should be an overdose for his body mass. We can't risk another injection without potentially killing him."
"You know what's a funny word? Spelunk," he said, unleashing another volley of saliva. "It sounds like you dropped something in the toilet."
"How are you doing this?" Purcell growled.
"Also Trollop. Funny word. Heh."
"Tell me how you are counteracting the sedative!"
"I didn't just replace the outside parts. I got all sorts of extra bits and pieces. Heh. People said, 'Karter, you don't need an organ just for making caffeine.' And I said 'Screw you' and made one anyway."
"You have a caffeine organ?"
"People didn't actually say that, because I don't talk to people," he said, ignoring her. "But if I did, they woulda, and they'd have been wrong. Stupid hypothetical naysayers."
He raised his single arm to wipe the drool away, evidently forgetting that he had been using that arm to stay in the chair. In a slow, inevitable slide that no one made any attempt to stop, he fell to the floor. When his head struck the plating, it made a metallic clank that seemed to come from head and floor alike.
"Spelunk," he said.
"I need him coherent. We have the final components for the CME Activator."
"You got the stuff!" he said. "How much?"
"Eight kilos."
"Enough for a whole mess of them. Nice. Let me at the computers. I'll plug in the last chunk of data."
"You are clearly not in any condition to be working on weaponry."
"I could build one of those suckers in my sleep! … Am I still on the floor?"
"Yes."
"You guys have good stuff. What is it?"
One of the medics began to answer, but Purcell silenced him with a gesture.
"That organ of yours. Can it synthesize other chemicals?"
"Ma-a-a-a-a-aybe."
"Get those drug canisters out of here. I don't want him finding out what we gave him."
"You're clever. I don't like it," Karter grimaced.
"You say that you can complete the design in your current state?"
"Pff, yeah," he replied, splattering a large section of the floor.
"Good. You're easier to deal with this way. Get him his arm and leg, get him into the fabrication lab, and watch him very carefully. I don't want him trying anything stupid or dangerous."
"You don't want me succeeding at anything stupid or dangerous."
The recently fabricated mechanical prostheses were pulled from the nearby lockers and presented. After three tries, he managed to click the arm into place. Once the hand shuddered to life, he held it in front of his face and slowly rotated it, giggling. Purcell watched with a stern look on her face as her men helped him attach the leg and climb to his feet.
"Check his design updates thoroughly," she said.
The communicator at her belt delivered a piercing alert. She glanced down.
"I'll take this in my quarters," she said, marching quickly down the hall.
When she had returned to her room, and the door was secured, she brought up the secure connection to her benefactor.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" read the message from Remote.
"We acquired the necessary materials to complete the device."
"You acquired them by launching a blitz attack on a planet that was hosting a press convention. Every broadcast and every news site is flooded with news of you."
"As desired. It has always been our intention to make our organization and ideals known. The target planet also was the only one with a large enough quantity to supply our current needs in one strike."
"The inventor is completing the design now. The first prototypes will be complete in one week. Our location is unrevealed. At that time you will have your design and our association will be complete."
"You clearly do not understand the people you are dealing with. The pilot featured in the news reports. Alexander. His presence in the equation is a matter of great concern. Regardless of your faulty performance thus far, his removal from the equation is something that would earn additional compensation from me. Beyond that, you will take no further risks, or there will be repercussions."
"Noted. The next transmission you receive will be the completed schematics."
Purcell broke the connection without awaiting a reply. It wasn't the only connection she was looking forward to severing with that man. He unquestionably had enabled her and her soldiers to come this far, but they had also unquestionably reached the end of the leash. She knew not to even consider breaking their agreement. His carefully maintained anonymity wasn't enough to prevent a few things from being painfully clear. He seemed to have unlimited resources, both in terms of finance and information. Their current vessel had been provided in its entirety. There was no doubt in her mind that if she even appeared to be severing their partnership prior to completing their agreed upon exchange, he would find a way to inflict his will. So he would have his designs and she would have her weapon. After that? Things would change.
A smile came to her face. "Everything will change."
#
The Armistice was docked at the first stop, and after a short debate, Ma had agreed to allow Garotte to retrieve the first portion of the chips for the payment without her supervision. The reasoning was that a funk was a highly memorable creature that could link them to prior exploits, and Silo could not leave until she had been provided with a replacement for her prison uniform and her appearance had been altered somewhat. It was also decided that any further attempts to contact Lex, or anyone else on the outside, should be held until he returned. That left the AI and the woman to sit inside the ship, waiting for Garotte to contact them. As had been the case at every possible opportunity, Silo had scooped Ma into her lap and set about stroking her absentmindedly. Suddenly she set Ma aside and stood, taking advantage of the artificial gravity of the station to pace about the ship. For some reason, pacing just wasn't the same in weightlessness.
"Figures I'd get busted out of prison just to end up stuck in a ship," she said with a shake of her head. "Sad part is, this actually might be bigger than my cell. I guess it could be worse, though. Claymore is probably still stuck in a cell half this size... I wonder how they managed to keep Garotte from breaking him out."
"Please restate question," Ma replied.
The sudden sound startled Silo, causing her to jump. Years on Manticore had strengthened her legs enough to turn the frightened hop into a veritable leap, bashing her head painfully against the low ship ceiling.
"Ouch. Gosh, I keep forgetting you can talk," she said, rubbing her head. "Well, maybe you know. Why didn't Garotte spring Claymore?"
"I am aware of no attempt to liberate someone by that name."
"I guess he could be using a different codename now."
"Allow me to restate," Ma said, swiping a bit more. "We have made no attempts to liberate anyone aside from you."
"... Well that's strange," Silo said, furrowing her brow. "Were we going after anyone else after this?"
"Potentially. Garotte has not been vocal regarding the specifics of his plans."
"He must be planning to get Claymore next."
"Who is Claymore?"
Before she could answer, the slidepad designated as Silo's chirped.
"Are you there my dear?" came Garotte's voice in yet another accent.
Silo picked up the device. The screen displayed a video feed of Garotte. "Watch who you're calling 'My Dear.'"
"I've got a pocket full of chips and I've found a lovely little boutique. I seem to remember you asking for a new outfit," he said in a coaxing tone.
"Mmmhmm," Silo said with a roll of her eyes, "Let's see what they've got."
"Passing you the catalog now, my sweet," he said.
Ma worked at her pad for a few moments, reading out a sentence at low volume. "Garotte appears to have vastly increased the number of terms of endearment in his speech."
"He's probably told the store clerk I'm his wife. The man loves his characters," she said quietly, bringing up the catalog.
After a minute or two of waiting while she tapped through the selections in stock, Garotte remarked. "We haven't got all day, my pet."
"This is the first time I've had a chance to shop in three years, darling. I intend to take my time. Go take care of some of those other errands," she said, flipping more eagerly through the offerings.
"You ladies and your shopping. Very well, dearest. I'll pick up your purchases on my return."
"You spoil me, dumpling."
Garotte ended the transmission. Silo continued to slide through the remarkably deep inventory of the clothing outlet for a while. Ma, watching with deep interest, periodically traced out a few sentences.
"May I ask you something, Miss Silo?"
"Sure, sweetheart," she said absentmindedly.
"Based on prior experience, my questions may be of a rather uncomfortable sort, covering a subject you may be reluctant to engage in conversation regarding."
"Oh?" Silo said, glancing briefly at the creature.
"What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Garotte?"
Silo snorted. "Like I said before, there is no relationship with Mr. Garotte. Not the way you mean."
"I have attempted to discuss the relationship between Miss Modane and Mr. Alexander. Though there is an acknowledged romantic association between them, Mr. Alexander was clearly uncomfortable with the topic, particularly when I began to question some of the underlying inequities in the association. My observance of your own interactions with Mr. Garotte have shared many distinctive indicators of a similar association."
"Listen, hon. Garotte is just a friend. I really don't have very many of them right now, and he likes to tease. That's all. I don't have a 'romantic association' with anyone."
"I see. Why not?"
"Well I was in prison for three years."
"I see. Were you a part of a romantic association prior to your incarceration?"
"Not really. Off and on, I suppose, but never anything serious."
"Were you ever romantically involved with the individual you referred to as Claymore."
Silo scoffed. "No. Claymore is absolutely not my type."
"Explain, please."
"Well, you know how Garotte is... let's say enthusiastic about espionage?"
"Yes."
"I'm the same way about heavy weaponry. And Claymore is that way about the mission. I worked with him for years, and I don't know that he's ever really been outside of a mission during that time. If he isn't in one, he's plotting out the next one. I mean, there is focus and there is obsession. That's why I think he would have been a better addition to this mission than me, at least at first. He's got the most balanced set of skills and he's got the best strategic mind."
"These are not elements of your type?"
"No."
"Please state the appropriate criteria for your type."
"Oh. Well, I like him tall, fit. He should have a sense of humor, not take himself too seriously. He should be able to take care of himself, and understand that I can take care of myself. But he should want to take care of me anyway. Someone like that."
"Garotte seems to fulfill those criteria."
"There is nothing going on between me and Garotte. I told you. I've never let anyone get terribly serious for very long."
"Why not?"
"... I hadn't really thought about it, hon. I... I
don't know, I guess there was never really any room for it in my life. There were always more important things, you know?"
"I do not know. That was the purpose for my inquiry."
"Um... Well..." Silo said, finally pulling herself entirely away from the catalog.
"You are exhibiting many of the same stress indicators displayed by Mr. Alexander when I questioned him. You do not appear to be confident in your ability to address this subject. Why are discussions of this sort so trying? Is it possible that I have yet to interview someone who has attained a full understanding of the relational process?"
"I'd say that's very possible, sweetheart. I don't think anyone really understands how love works. At least, I sure haven't figured it out."
"Understood. If I am able to ascertain a definite explanation, I will be sure to communicate it to you, and to Mr. Alexander as well."
"You do that, hon," Silo said with a pat on her head.
Chapter 21
"Alright you three. On your feet," said officer Franco.
"Finally! I was wondering when you were going to let us talk to our lawyers," Michella said, springing to her feet and marching up to the bars.
"You won't be talking to any lawyers," the policeman said.
"What!? Why you fascist, megalomaniacal-"
"Mitch! Remember what happened last time?" Lex interjected, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Yeah! Keep your mouth shut!" Jon said. When a glare of righteous vengeance turned his way, he quickly amended, "... Boss."
"It seems that the footage you put up of the three of you taking care of the engine problem on the disabled truck has earned you the support of the public. We are getting a significant amount of pressure to release you. Public Relations thinks it is a good idea."
"Wait... the police force has got a public relations department?" Lex asked.
"In Rackton it does..." said Franco, clearly indicating his wishes to the contrary.
"And it has influence in sentencing?!" Jon remarked.
Franco's lips peeled back in a grimace. "Here is what is going to happen. And when I tell you that it is going to happen, I mean that it is going to happen. It is not a suggestion or an offer. It is not up for negotiation or debate. What I say goes. Do you understand?"
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