by Nick Cole
Another silence fell between the two. Keel finally got up. “Well, Ackabar has no shortage of insurgents. You should be back at home patching up whatever shoddy tech the MCR stole from the scrapyard in no time, if that’s what you want.”
Leenah hugged her knees. “Can I still work on your ship until then? You said I do good work.”
Keel rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, you do. Sure thing. The Six is all yours until you get the chance to join up with the terrorists again.”
“They’re not terrorists. They’re freedom fighters.”
Keel began to backtrack through the sophisticated—if dusty—machinery toward the modified freighter’s lounge, then stopped. “You know, I understand killing for self-defense. Even for money if the target has it coming—like those insurgents on that base I plucked you and the general from. But I don’t buy into freedom fighters or Republic governments killing for ideals. Then everything becomes okay, a means to a greater end. And all that’s really left in the end is a body count and a new list of targets.”
Keel turned to continue on his way.
“Is that what you were doing on Jarvis Rho?” Leenah called to him from her place in the Six’s guts. “Ridding the galaxy of rebels—insurgents—who had it coming?”
Keel halted and faced her. “Maybe.”
The princess rose and walked over to him, her face seeming to fight back a swirling panorama of emotions. “And the one who launched the attack. Wraith. Your partner. That’s you, isn’t it?”
Keel didn’t reply.
“And so,” Leenah continued, looking down as she spoke, as if she were working out the solution to a logic puzzle. “You figured, she might be worth keeping around. So you took off your armor and put on your human face and came to rescue the princess.” She looked up at him.
Keel’s face was locked, his jaw set tightly. He wondered if, somewhere behind his eyes, a hint of the remorse he now felt was showing. “Look. Every day something comes to snuff you out. Either you don’t let it—you let ’em know that you’re not gonna die—or you make it so your dying only makes things worse. That’s how the galaxy works.”
“Does it have to be?”
Keel felt… perplexed by this question. He remained silent.
“They say, after the joining ceremony and debriefings, that most people last a year in the MCR. Thirteen months is cheating death. Two years is a miracle—unless you have a command. You found me three weeks after I’d jumped to the other side of the Republic. I was so new to Rho that I hadn’t made a single friend beyond the general. And I’ll let you guess why he wanted to make friends.”
Keel nodded. Leenah was attractive. And the boy general seemed like the type who loved himself. Those types always set out to make love into a conquest, if only to justify how wonderful they were. “So…” he said. “Let’s say I am Wraith. And say the MCR are still galactic terrorists feeding disillusioned youths into the Republic’s jaws. And I won’t play for either side. Where does that leave us?”
“Ravi told me on Tannespa, before he got his new bots, that deep down, you were a good man. I believe him. I trust Ravi.” Leenah looked back at the violet glows behind her. “I’m a good mechanic. Would my leaving the ship make life better or worse for you?”
“Worse.” Keel took Leenah’s hands and squeezed them gently, not to make her heart flutter, but to assure her that what he was about to say was the truth. “Lots worse.”
“Then… I’ll stay.”
***
Garret was working at Keel’s blaster-smithing table when the captain arrived. Keel frowned at the way his own tools and instruments were pushed to the side or placed on shelves or hangers, none of which were the correct shelf or hanger for the tool in question.
“Good work on the TT-3 bots, kid.”
Garret beamed at the compliment. “Thanks. You know, I’ve got something else I’ve been working on. It’s about the war bot.”
“Yeah? What?”
Setting down his spanners so he could move his hands freely, Garret held his arms wide. “A war bot is big, right? And they’ve got a ton of weaponry. When I finished reprogramming Maydoon’s model, it was armed with something less than a full payload because it was going to be used as a servitor bot. But it can still level a company of soldiers, easy.”
“Sounds fun,” Keel said.
Garret let out a breathy laugh, as though the dry comment was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “I’d say not. High-velocity blaster in its arms, tactical micro-rockets, grenade launchers… lots of fun.”
“We need to make sure it doesn’t use those against us.”
Garret clapped his hands, making a damp sound like two fish slapping together. “Exactly. And that’s what I’m working on. A control cylinder that can override its primary directives. I’ve got the hardware all set, but I need to test it. So I’ve coded a war bot AI in a partition I set up on the Six’s main drive. You see—”
Keel nodded. “I think I’ve followed about as much as I’m able. Good thought, good job, keep it up. But if you feel like taking a break, we should be dropping out of hyperspace soon. You should check it out if you’ve never seen it in person.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Garret said, sounding somewhat absent. “Be right up there.”
“Does that invitation extend to me?” Leenah emerged from the ship’s maintenance hatch and carefully dogged it shut.
Keel gave a half grin. “Sure.”
***
The swirling blue of hyperspace came to an abrupt stop, and a myriad of stars sharpened to tiny points in the darkness as the Indelible VI dropped into subspace. The orange-and-green planet of Ackabar took up most of the ship’s cockpit view. But it was the flotilla of Republic destroyers and corvettes that grabbed Keel’s attention.
“Looks like Ackabar’s status as an independent world came to an end,” he commented to Ravi as he silenced the various comm chimes that pealed upon their return to normal space.
The navigator nodded. “There is a high probability that it was absorbed through Republic tax enforcements. We will face a success rate of ninety-three point six five three eight eight nine one four—”
“Ravi, we’ve been over this,” Keel interrupted. “I’m not a bot or an AI. Give me a round number. Telling me the odds to the tenth power doesn’t really make much of a difference.”
Ravi twitched his mustache at this. “It might make a difference…”
“Not one that I can see.” Keel reached out and took the incoming Republic hail. A destroyer helmsman wasn’t the type of sailor you wanted to ignore—no matter how fast your ship was.
“This is Captain Ethan Bowlerro of the freighter Woodchip,” Keel said. He pointed to Ravi. The hologram transmitted the doctored identification.
Leenah leaned forward to look at Keel, filling the space between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats. “What if they recognize the ship or false ID?”
“It’d be a first.” Keel moved his hands across the comm dash. “Never been in trouble for falsifying identities.”
“Yet,” Ravi added.
The Republic helmsman asked over the comm, “Freighter Woodchip, are you importing cargo?”
“Hoping to find second-hand driver generators for resale,” Keel said smoothly.
“All exports are restricted until a Republic planetary governor is installed,” the helmsman said, the tone of her voice suggesting she’d repeated the phrase several times already. “All traffic to or from the planet is prohibited until further notice. An emergency refueling station is provided at the following nav coordinates.”
“The bot’s not down there,” Garret said, his gaze fixed on a datapad. “It was here, but it looks like it jumped out. No sign of it since, so it’s probably still in hyperspace.”
Ravi turned to face the coder. “Perhaps you can give me the coordinates? I may be able to determine a probable destination based on exit vectors.”
Garret nodded.
Keel swipe
d through comm messages on his dash. “Well, may as well see what Lao Pak has to say.”
The pirate king appeared superimposed over the canopy view. Garret jumped with a start and hid himself.
“What are you doing?” Leenah asked.
“If Lao Pak thinks I’m working with Captain Keel, he’ll kill me.”
Keel looked at the coder attempting to hide in the second row of seats. “He’ll kill you either way unless we make good on finding Maydoon. If Lao Pak smells a payoff, he’s the most forgiving pirate in the galaxy. But you can relax. This is a recording.”
“Keel!” Lao Pak screamed into the camera. “I have good news! Now that you have Wraith on board with big plan, admiral say he work with us. He want Wraith contact him. I send you message later when I have encoded channel.”
Keel shrugged. “See? It worked itself out. Here’s another message.”
“Keel!” Lao Pak screamed again. Only this time someone shifted behind him.
“That’s Drex,” Garret said, his voice trembling.
Keel recognized the pirate he’d leveled while taking Garret to his ship back on Tannespa. He had a good idea what was coming next.
“Why you steal my coder?” Lao Pak screamed, his face turning red with anger. “I tell you no! I say, ‘No take coder!’ You promise! Now you die, Keel! I buy more Hools. Lot more. You dead man flying, Keel. You die so bad, Ravi die just from watching.”
The message ended abruptly.
“He’ll get over it,” Keel said, unconcerned with the pirate’s empty threats. That’s all they were. Honor among thieves was all fine and good, but with enough credits on the line, everything was negotiable. “Got anything, Ravi?”
The navigator tapped a finger against his lips. “Yes. I am having something. Vadoria.”
Keel moved the ship into position to make the jump to hyperspace. “Good, let’s plot a course for—”
“Or En Shakar,” Ravi said. “There is a fifty percent chance of either. Well, technically there is a forty-nine point seven three one six eight eight eight eight seven one eight percent chance the ship jumped to Vadoria, and a fifty point two six eight three one one one one two eight two percent chance it jumped to En Shakar.”
Keel looked at Ravi blankly.
“But since you have again instructed me not to be so precise,” Ravi continued, “I am thinking you should flip a credit coin.”
“A coin.” Keel repeated. “Thank you for that, Ravi.”
Leenah laughed at the exchange. “Maybe we should just stick around here until the bot shows back up on Garret’s tracker?”
“For how long?” Keel asked. “The Republic isn’t going to let us just sit out here indefinitely. If the bot is headed far enough toward the core, it could be weeks.”
“Less than that!” Garret shouted breathlessly. “I just picked up something! The war bot is on En Shakar.”
17
“I know! I know!” muttered Rechs through gritted teeth. “En Shakar is a rough approach. It gets better below the storm.”
Outside the canopy, ice and sleet swirled and rattled against the hull like a typhoon of broken glass.
“Anchu baba no tengi ru?” chattered the wobanki.
“Of course it’ll hold. Atmospheric stabilizers go bad all the time on lots of ships. Just watch for the outer marker. We don’t make that turn, we’ll be all over the ice.”
“Tantaar!” the catman screeched.
“You’ll need a new identity if you ever hope to work inside the Repub again. You’re most likely a wanted cat now. Trust me, leejes record everything on their buckets. You got a bounty too.”
“Dubba dubba En Shakaru?”
“Watch that nav! It’s off the grid. That’s why it’s safe here.”
Or at least as safe as any place in the galaxy can be these days, thought Rechs. The Republic was getting a little crazier every day as it tried to hold on to what it could not.
Times have been worse. Back before the Big Jump. Way back.
But he blocked out those old memories and fought to keep the Crow on final for the run up the canyon approach to Mother Ree’s.
The storm tossed the freighter hard, and Rechs reached over and brought in the compensators just to hold the glide path. They whined in obedience as a relay surge alarm began to annoy the flight deck. The ship was always doing that.
They dropped below the perpetual storm that tormented the upper atmosphere of the tiny ice moon, and Rechs spotted the massive jagged scar carved into the blindingly white face of snow-covered En Shakar. He backed off the throttles and dropped the nose of the Crow, aiming for the canyon, searching for the outer marker.
“Beelie beelie markaru!” shouted the wobanki triumphantly.
Rechs knew the catman was nervous. He should be. There was no star port for repairs within sub-light range if they botched this. And sending out a distress signal was likely to attract the Repub.
“Now you’ll see some flyin’,” Rechs whispered as he concentrated on lining up with the beacon inside the ice canyon.
The freighter shot down beneath the plane of the planet’s surface and disappeared into the translucent blue ice of the shadowy canyon. It was like entering another world man had never been meant to see. When he had the beacon locked in on auto, the ship flew between the jagged edges of a narrow ice crevasse and disappeared within the optical illusion.
Rechs switched on the running lights, revealing a world of glittering diamond, hidden in the subterranean darkness. Far below was a massive, silent sea, trapped beneath the ice of frozen En Shakar; huge thermal vents flared and roared far down in its crystal-clear depths. Leviathans moved in a pod way down in the darkness, passing between the shafts of light that came through rents and cracks in the ice.
The wobanki chittered.
“It’s down here. Trust me.” Rechs pointed off toward port, drawing the wobanki’s attention to the tiny atoll that erupted through the surface of the sunless sea. From its crescent shape erupted a volcanic mountain, and carved into its side was the monastery of Mother Ree. Tall and beautiful like she’d once been, long ago.
Rechs dialed in the maneuvering thrusters. “Get the landing gear out and tell them who we are.”
Letting the wobanki do the talking might make things go a little smoother, he thought—and wondered if she would ever forgive him.
Who? asked that old voice from long ago deep within him. The little girl in back? Or Mother Ree and the young woman she once was?
But Rechs didn’t answer questions only he could hear. At least not when anyone else was around.
He angled the Crow and fired the landing thrusters, doing his best to bring the ship in just right for a three-point landing. He got the two rear landing gears onto the platform first, then the forward main. Good enough.
Through the metal-ribbed canopy, Mother Ree’s disciples in white thermal robes were already appearing on the landing platform. They had no weapons; she’d never allow that.
He wondered if he should dress in his armor. Threaten them. Intimidate them.
“You can’t hide in there forever,” she’d once said to him. “Someday you’ll have to come out, Tyrus. Someday you’ll have to be vulnerable. Just like the rest of us.”
Now, years later, he would have to obey that young woman—the young woman who’d promised him that reckoning.
“All right, let’s go get this over with,” he muttered to the wobanki as he climbed out of his seat.
“Blasteroos?” asked the wobanki.
“No. It’s not that kind of place. Not those kind of people. We’re just dropping the kid off. Then we’re outta here.”
Rechs banged on the door of the cabin he’d given the girl for the trip. Just two quick strikes as he passed on his way to the boarding hatch controls.
“This is where you get off!” he shouted. In the darkness of the lounge he passed the idle war bot. “If she’s not out in five, I’ll order you to remove her, hunk-a-junk.”
The
bot clicked and whirred as it came up from its downtime power setting. “Yes, sir,” it replied.
At the hatch, Rechs watched the boarding ramp lower itself to the surface of the monastery. When he’d heard the ka-thunk of locked hydraulic struts, he cycled the hatches and strode down the ramp. The wobanki followed agilely, its long tail swimming back and forth as though tasting the cold oxygen far beneath En Shakar.
And then Rechs saw her. She was older now, but he recognized her nonetheless. Recognized her eyes. Sparkling. Glittering like the ice high above. Blue and alive with that fire he’d seen long ago—when she’d been no longer a girl, but not yet a woman. When she’d been a prized harem slave.
If he’d thought, in all the long years since then, that she bore him some ill will, some promised fate or fantasized doom, he was wrong. His gunfighter’s eyes saw only the aging woman catch her breath at the sight of him. No one else saw it. Only him. And then she was moving forward, arms out, with the warm smile of a woman who has lived and loved. Those fantastic glittering blue eyes held back a tear, which made them shine even more.
She reached out and clasped his face between her hands. “Oh,” she began, her voice wavering. “General Rex. Tyrus, you’ve barely changed.” She drew him to her and kissed him on the cheek, with her eyes closed. Like the young woman she’d once been had always wanted to do.
Tyrus held her—awkwardly at first, and then just as he’d wanted to all those years ago when she’d fallen in love with him. When she’d been someone else. When the galaxy had changed again.
Back on some rock the Repub wanted the Legion to erase.
***
A long time ago…
“We’ll hold the line here, General Rex. Long as we can,” Lieutenant Hilbert gasped. “Just get her to the rendezvous, sir. Get her off this hellhole. And sir—don’t let them kill her.”
And then… “For the Legion, sir.”
A long-dead legionnaire had just vowed to General Rex, as Tyrus Rechs was then known—General Tyrus Rex, the T-Rex of Andalore—that he and what remained of his company, just four other men, would hold the line for as long as they could in order to get the high-value target to safety.