Driftmetal V

by J. C. Staudt

  “You want to commandeer all the robots now?” Chaz asked, his face showing scared.

  “The heir to the Roathean throne is sleeping a few rooms over,” I reminded him. “That army is the only thing between that kid’s keister and the marble chair it belongs in.”

  “It makes me uncomfortable when you talk about kids’ keisters,” Blaylocke said.

  “Well, we don’t have a psychiatrist on board, so that’s something you’ll have to get through on your own. You coming, Chaz?”

  “Where?”

  I pulled out the Evelyns’ remote and tossed it to him. “To pick up some friends.”

  Chaz and I could hear people gathering on the main deck as we made our way up top. We fell into line with crewmembers going upstairs. Once there, I forged a path to the quarterdeck and brought Chaz up with me. I waved my hands to silence everyone.

  “Time to get the lead out, boneheads. I’m sure Irkenbrand has told you all what’s going on. If not, ask him later. There’s a wrecked hovercruiser a few miles off through the woods. You’re going to search the wreckage for survivors and bring them to me alive. In exchange for doing so, I’m letting you keep your jobs. Be advised—you may encounter hostility. Everyone you find is to be restrained, so bring plenty of rope. If you have any questions, I don’t care. Get your gear and meet me on the ground.”

  We strapped up. Fleckers, pulsers, cracklers, lasers—everything the crew could get its hands on. I hoped we’d find some living synod members, but I wanted to be prepared for whatever weird augments those old fogeys had hidden beneath their life support systems. I got my cape. After conferring with Mr. Sarmiel, the first mate, to make sure things would continue running smoothly aboard the Ostelle in my absence, we marched into the woods.

  Well, I marched. Everyone else walked boringly.

  The wreck of the Highjinks was still and quiet. It would’ve been spooky, if not for the singing birds and the streams of sunlight breaking through the broken trees. Around the wreckage, Evelyns stood at attention, awaiting orders. The ground was littered with dead, Civs and Maclin operatives and synod members and robotic entrails.

  “Hello?” I called, then waited a minute. “Alright, boys. Have at it. Whoever brings me the fewest living prisoners gets a free meal, compliments of my foot.”

  The crew dispersed into the timber, a thicket of splintered trees and mangled machinery. I hung back while Chaz called the Evelyns to us with the remote. A few badly damaged robots chugged to life and attempted to follow his command, startling several groups of crewmembers. In the end, only about half the unit’s original number—fewer than twenty—had survived the crash in one piece. They were lined up for duty by the time members of my crew began to reappear.

  The first group was dragging a guy in what looked like a tin-can bodysuit, one of the synod members who’d had major organs replaced by the handful. His torso was dented and scratched, but he was still ticking away. Another group of crewmen emerged shortly after the first, escorting a man with leathery skin and angled bumps all over his body, a sign of heavy musculo-skeletal implantation.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” I said to the two ‘borgs. “It’s your lucky day. Congratulations on being alive. Let me assure you it will be my pleasure to change that if you don’t cooperate.”

  Maclin’s executives said nothing.

  “Off to a bad start. I’m looking for some names. Names of Galvos units, artillery emplacements, gunships—you know, everyone who’s camped out in Roathea. Aaaand, go.”

  Silence.

  “Are you both deaf and dumb? Merton, find out if they’re dumb.”

  Merton Richter stomped on Tinny’s foot and gave Musculo a crack across the face. Both cyborgs cried out.

  “There we are. So you can both make sounds with your mouths. Start making helpful ones.”

  Chaz took notes while they spouted off names. When we got to about two dozen, they ran out. By then, others in my crew had recovered new prisoners. These were mostly Civs and Maclin operatives too wounded to move under their own power. The operatives knew a few call-signs and that was it.

  “Thank you all for your help,” I said when we were done. “If you’re a Civ, go home. You no longer exist. Visit your local hospital if necessary and then find a new career. If you’re one of Maclin’s people, I have some unfortunate news. You’re not going to win this. I’m coming back, and I’m going to destroy you all. Take my advice and leave Roathea before that happens. If you’re dense enough to stick around, may the gods reprimand you harshly in the afterlife. Your invasion started out great while I was in charge, but ultimately, it will fail. According to the citizens of Roathea, being oppressed by the nobility suits them just fine. Sorry. You can’t rule the world by holding it hostage, apparently.”

  Everyone just stood there.

  “Get out of here. Guys, let them go.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Dorth Littage. “After all that work we just did crawling through the crash site to round them up?”

  “Work, huh?” I said. “Merton, take the night off. Dorth here has just volunteered to shovel the furnace room by himself when we set sail this evening.”

  Dorth flew into a rage. “What? No I didn’t. That’s crazy.”

  “You’ve both had some work done since the whole flecker incident,” I observed. “You remember that, don’t you? The day the Civs almost got me, no thanks to you? You can keep my engine warm, or you can stay here and take up with these clowns. Your call.”

  Dorth came with us. I really was impressed with how much better he and Merton looked without flecker particles melting over their faces. Ditmarus’s new eyes were good for more than just his looks.

  I stowed the Evelyns in the cargo bay for later use. The boat was noticeably more cumbersome with them inside, like a motorcar weighed down by too many backseat passengers. We shoved off for Grimsley that afternoon, several hours early on account of the crew being such hard-working stiffs. My dear old dad had really done a number on the poor guys. I had a ways to go if I wanted to lull them into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under them.

  Now that the rainstorm had moved off, the skies were clear the whole way to Grimsley. My relationship with Sable remained as cloudy as the storm we’d left behind. She hung with her grandpa the whole time, and we avoided each other entirely. I’d settle things with her when I was good and ready, I decided. Which was just one in the slew of rookie mistakes I was too stupid not to make.

  When we landed, I sent a bunch of crewmen into town to gather information on my parents’ whereabouts while I returned to the Timepiece Tavern for drinks. Having a crew this size again was great.

  By the time I finished my fourth drink—skim milk, on the rocks—I was holding a fresh scrap of paper with a hotel name and room number on it, compliments of my helpful crew. Whether they’d held a secret meeting with my dear old dad, begging him to come back and take over for me again, I didn’t know. Whether I was paranoid about this having happened… yes. I was.

  I knocked on the door to room 312 of the Holland Street Hotel with every intention of rebuilding the bridge I’d burned when I left my parents behind. However, while I was a rookie in romance, I knew even less about bridges.

  2

  The door opened slowly at first. Then Mom saw me and shoved it aside. She hugged me like she was trying to squeeze out my creamy filling, but I’m no pastry. I kept my wits about me and never lost my resolve, even when my dear old dad came to stand at the door and wait.

  “Muller. Thank the heavens you’re alright,” Mom said. “I wanted to believe Redg and Jase when they came by, but I had to see you with my own eyes. Come in, come in.”

  Dad closed the door behind us. It was the kind of hotel room that looked nice but smelled suspicious, like potpourri over cigarettes. There were two beds, an old desk, a stately armchair, and some frilly curtains the color of strawberry vomit. I sat in the armchair while Mom took a seat on the bed and Dad stood with his arms folded.<
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  “So did you beat ‘em, son?”

  “Beat who, Dad?”

  “Those lousy Maclin people and their robots,” he said.

  “Dad… the reason I didn’t want you around for the battle was because I knew the fleet was going to get crushed.”

  Worry sketched itself across his face. “Did they?”

  “I didn’t stick around long enough to see. But I have no doubt that’s what happened.”

  “You didn’t stand with the fleet and fight like a man?”

  “It wasn’t my fight. Not the way I would’ve done it, anyway.”

  “Looks like you’ve done at least some fighting,” Mom said, gesturing toward the cast on my left arm.

  “This happened before the fleet came into the picture.”

  “So you haven’t been back to Roathea?” asked Dad.

  “I was just there. Not inside the city though, no. That airspace is too dangerous for anything but a Maclin vessel.”

  “Your father wanted to board a CRC airship so he could join the battle. Thank the heavens they didn’t let him.”

  Dad grunted. “Said I was a civilian and had no business being anywhere near it. I said, ‘How about all them civilians on Roathea? How about them, huh? They got any business fighting for their own homes? Why can’t I help ‘em?’ I tell you… for all the perks privateering gets you, it don’t mean spit when it comes to getting any respect from the sky marshals.”

  “Dad, I say this with every ounce of respect I have for you. Boarding one of those boats would’ve been the dumbest thing you could’ve done. I’m glad they didn’t let you on.”

  “Easy for you to say. They let you go with them.”

  “They came with me, for the record. I got in and got out with my friends as fast as I could. I had no interest in the battle itself.”

  “Look, son. I know you’re sore at the Regency for what they did to our family.”

  “No, I’m sore at how this family responded,” I said.

  Dad cleared his throat. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, son… about everything. About what happened back there in Bannock. The whole business with the marshals. But I ain’t.”

  “Whatever, Dad. That’s fine. I didn’t come here expecting an apology from you. I just wanted to make sure you were both okay.”

  “I stand by every decision I’ve made for this family,” Dad continued.

  “We’ll agree to stand in different places, then,” I said.

  He twitched, something I might not have noticed if I didn’t know him so well.

  Mom noticed too. “Your father and I are trying to figure out our next move,” she said. “We’re at a loss.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Do you need money? I’ve got plenty. I’ll just—”

  “Nope. Nope. Stop. That’s not what this is about.”

  “I know what it’s about,” I said. “The Ostelle has been as much a part of your lives as it has mine. But I can’t take you where I’m going. It’s too dangerous. Besides, you wouldn’t understand.”

  Mom looked up at Dad, whose mouth was drawn up tight. “We’ll figure something else out, then, I guess…” she said.

  Dad stared at me, swiveling his jaw in silent disapproval. He wanted to know where I was going, and why it was too dangerous for tough old Ulysses Jakes. I wasn’t going to tell him. At first. But as the silence stretched out, and I felt the door of the hotel room pulling away from me like an extending spyglass, my perspective changed.

  “If you ever want to set foot on my boat again,” I said, “you’d better make up your mind first about whether you want to be passengers or crew. I’m captain now. I call the shots. So either you’re retired travelers, or you’re journeymen sailors looking for a little excitement. Are we clear on that much?”

  “Sure,” Mom said.

  Dad nodded.

  “Okay. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we’re going to a primitive colony.”

  The outrage was palpable. Mostly because Mom and Dad both started shouting in my face at once.

  “Calm down,” I said. I had to say it a few more times before they listened. “Yeah, primitives, that’s right. I happen to know a small number of them with varying degrees of likability. More specifically, one I like, and one I tolerate. There are a whole lot more in this city, and they need help.”

  “Help?” The way Dad said it, you’d have thought I’d segued from politics to pencil sharpeners.

  “I know you both raised me to think less of primies because it’s pretty much required by law, but I’ve discovered something interesting about them. They’re people.”

  “Not by any metric I ever heard of,” said my father.

  “Yeah, I know. Nobody likes them, they’re weak, they smell, whatever. We also happen to be their genetic descendants.”

  “That’s no reason to start acting crazy, son.”

  “I knew you’d both think I was nuts. That’s why I almost didn’t come.”

  Another outburst of simultaneous yelling.

  “If you’ve got such a problem with it, stay here,” I said.

  “Are you asking us to come with you?”

  “I had briefly considered it, but now I’m leaning away from the idea.”

  “That’s it,” said Dad. “We’re coming. Someone’s got to help you weather this phase you’re going through.”

  I sighed. They were my parents. I couldn’t say no to them. At least not without a giant fist-sized attack of conscience. “The boat’s docked on the east side of town. Be there by sunset, okay?”

  Mom hugged me by the neck and kissed my cheek. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time, Mull,” she whispered.

  I pulled away from her, said goodbye, and headed back to my Ostelle. My walk through Grimsley was replete with uncertainty. Never before had I realized I was making such a huge mistake in advance, but felt so powerless to change it. I had already discarded my aging parents twice. Or rather, we’d exchanged the honor once apiece. Maybe when I found my buried savings, I’d buy them a cottage on a nice little patch of green so they could float around and leave me in peace.

  They showed up on time, my parents. Early, in fact. They showed up just in time to see Ezra Brunswick stomp across the deck and give me the earful he claimed to have been holding inside all the way to Grimsley.

  “Now you listen here, Muller Jakes,” Ezra said, hunched beneath the weight of his ancient augments. “It’s about time I gave you a piece of my mind. You better do something about my little girl. Angus was like a father to her, and between losing him and half her friends, she’s about had it. Now you come along and play with her heart like she’s nothing but a common tramp. She don’t know which way is up no more. You either treat her the way she deserves, or you let her go. Understand?”

  My parents stood at the top of the gangplank, loaded down with their luggage, watching the exchange in silence. It was one thing for their son to be a crazed primie-lover, and another for him to toy with the heartstrings of an innocent girl. Sable had taken the biggest risk of her life on me; she’d given me the benefit of the doubt in more ways than one. That was just it, though—this sudden paralysis of mine wasn’t Sable’s fault, yet she was the one stuck paying the price.

  “I’ll talk to her,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to.”

  Ezra gave a grunting nod, as though he’d expected me to put up a fight and it took him by surprise that I hadn’t.

  “This probably isn’t the best time for me to ask a favor from you,” I said. “But will you give Chaz a hand in the workshop? I gave him a ton of work to do, and he’s too nice to ask for help. He’ll work his fingers to the bone if someone with a little technical know-how doesn’t step in.”

  Ezra scrunched his mouth sideways, beard shifting on his chin. “You talk to Sable. You do it soon.”

  “I will. These are my folks, by the way. Ulysses and Evelyn Jakes. Mom, Dad—this is Ezra Brunswick.”

  Handshakes all around.

  Ezr
a excused himself while I took Mom’s bags and handed them off to a crewmember. Others shouted greetings from their stations as they worked, most of them glad to see my parents and probably under the assumption that Dad would be taking command of the vessel again. Judging by the contented look on his face, I couldn’t help thinking he might be under the same assumption.

  We were away just after sundown, heading toward the Kalican Heights with the steam engines running at full bore. I went belowdecks, intending to find Sable, but I procrastinated by visiting Chaz and Ezra in the workshop. From the moment I entered the room, I knew I was about to hear something good. Chaz always took on this funny demeanor whenever he was on the cusp of a new discovery, like he was trying to keep his thoughts straight and they kept going crooked on him.

  “Muller. I was going to send someone to get you in a few hours,” Chaz said. “I don’t have anything quite ready to show you yet.”

  “You’re onto something,” I said. “Might as well give me a preview.”

  “I’ve been studying this Maclin firearm you picked up at the palace. It’s a remarkable thing.”

  “Yeah, I know. It pretty much single-handedly kept us alive in there. Those robots would’ve crushed us if Blaylocke and I hadn’t been able to snag a pair of these things from the operatives.”

  One of the rifles was laying out on a work table, partially disassembled.

  “It’s military-grade. No question about it,” Ezra said. “You can’t buy something like this on the street.”

  Chaz agreed. “Maclin developed these weapons long before we ever got involved with the Galvos Project, and I don’t think they ever intended to make them available to the public. They’re far more powerful than anything you could get on the open market.”

  “Or the illegal market, for that matter,” said Ezra.

  “There’s no way the Civs won that battle on Roathea,” I said. “Not when Maclin has weapons like these.”

  “The good news is, now we have weapons like these. It’s the plasma cells I’m particularly interested in. This mode button that switches between firing types actually has two different settings that both route to the plasma cell, but each mode uses it differently. The first works like a superheated laser to cause injury by what amounts to a very serious burn. The second is capable of disrupting electronics and mechanical components. It’s almost like a pulser, but way more powerful.”