Driftmetal V

by J. C. Staudt

  “You’re harboring the Regent,” he said, too sure of himself.

  “The Regent is dead.”

  He grunted a laugh. “His son isn’t.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” I asked.

  “My C.O. told us you were in the habit of underestimating Maclin,” he said.

  “Tell me how you found out.”

  He smirked.

  I hit him. “Tell me.”

  The operative gave me a bloody grin. “No matter where you run, Maclin will find you.”

  I hit him again. “Tell me how you know.”

  The operative said nothing; just hung his head and waited for the next blow.

  “Time to find your breaking point,” I said. “Evelyn Seven… commence coercion sequence. Limb stretching.”

  The robot pulled at the operative’s arms like a kid tugging on a doll. The operative gritted his teeth, his grunt mutating into a shout.

  I knelt in front of him and looked up. “How’s that feel? You let me know when you want it to stop.”

  Evelyn Seven applied a constant, increasing pressure. A tight hiss escaped the operative’s throat and ended in a shriek. His face screwed up. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “Stop,” he finally cried out.

  “Evelyn Seven, stop. Let him go.”

  The robot released its grip and let the operative crumple to the deck, holding his shoulders. He rolled onto his back, gasping at the pain.

  I collared him and pulled him to his feet. “Tell me. Next time you won’t keep your arms.”

  The operative drove his forehead into my nose and darted away from me. I dove and got a few fingers around the toe of his boot. He tripped and stumbled over, but scrambled back to his feet.

  “Stop him,” I shouted.

  The operative sprinted for the railing. I got up and darted after him, but I was too late. He leapt overboard before anyone could get to him. I arrived at the railing just in time to see him fall into the nearflow. For a second it looked like he was going to make it to the Churn alive. Then a heavy rock swept by and obliterated him.

  I turned back to see a few crewmembers rushing toward me. “A little slow on the draw, guys,” I said. “My fault for letting the jerkwad go. We’re heading for Gilfoyle’s place, Mr. Sarmiel.”

  Sarmiel looked confused. “What’s the heading, sir?”

  “Not quite sure, to be honest with you. He was a few miles southwest of Falkombe last time I visited.”

  “His house is built on a grav platform, isn’t it? If he’s moved, he’d be quite a distance off from the Knuckles by now.”

  “Let’s assume he hasn’t. We’ll start searching where we saw him last. Have Irkenbrand chart us some coordinates.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Since Mini-Max wasn’t among the dead or wounded, I assumed he was hiding somewhere and spent an hour or two looking for him. Sure enough, I found him cowering in a broom closet belowdecks. “There you are,” I said as I opened the door. “It’s a good thing you’re so sneaky, or those Maclin guys might’ve snapped you right up.”

  The young Regent said nothing.

  “It’s alright. They’re gone now.”

  He didn’t reply. When he turned toward me, his cheeks shone wetly in the dim light.

  “You did the right thing by hiding. You’re a smart kid, you know that? You take after your dad.” It was a lie, but I thought it might cheer him up. “Your dad was a clever guy, and you’re going to grow up to be just like him someday. Better, even.”

  Max sniffed. “My dad could do anything. Not me.”

  I crouched down. “That’s crazy talk. I know it’s hard, being without him. But you don’t have to know everything just yet. Growing up takes time. You’re a good kid, and you’re going to be a good man. Now are you going to come out of there, or should I have Ms. Kinally deliver your meals to your fancy new cabin?”

  He smiled a little and wiped his nose as he emerged.

  I felt for the kid. I was worried about him. Clearly, Maclin was continuing to pursue world domination despite the deaths of Jawhead and several of its other executives. I had to at least try working out a new trade deal between Gilfoyle and Pyras, even if it meant taking on more risk. I also wanted to learn the origin of this strange piece of tech I was wearing. It felt like a part of me now; an extension. Things had just gotten a lot more dangerous for us.

  When we arrived at the last known location of Gilfoyle’s house, the tycoon and his whole mining operation were gone. It took us two days of asking around on nearby floaters to find out where he’d relocated to, and another two days to travel to the section of Churn upstream where he was rumored to be operating now. During that time, I doubled the watch day and night for signs of Maclin ships. Thankfully, there were none.

  I also spent part of that time counting our bank haul. We’d stolen somewhere in the neighborhood of eight-hundred thousand chips. A piss-poor showing, given all the trouble we’d gone to.

  In notes, however, we had robbed the place blind. There were over four million chips worth of the little plastic cards, which came in denominations of up to a hundred chips per note. These were virtually worthless to us, of course, unless we wanted the Civs to know every time we used them to pay for something. No thanks. Chaz came up with a way to re-code them using a magnetic imprint. He theorized that this was the same method their creators had used to code them in the first place.

  We made what repairs we could to the Ostelle while she was airborne, but it quickly became clear that we’d need to settle her down for a nice long docking session as soon as we got the chance. With one day remaining in our journey to Gilfoyle’s, I told Chaz I wouldn’t accept any further delay when it came to my new augments. We were probably in for a fight when we got there, and I wanted to be ready. Chaz gave me his usual overmodest excuses, but as always, I believed in his expertise more than he believed in himself.

  And so, with Dr. Ditmarus present to oversee the medical aspects of the procedure, I lay on a gurney in the workshop beneath bright lights and waited for the room to fade out around me. I felt neither the intense pain of being eviscerated by Gilfoyle’s thugs, nor the dread of going under Dr. Gottlieb’s knife. This was Chaz, and in that moment I knew he was the only person in the world I’d ever trust to do this the right way. That he was a primie might’ve made a difference to some, but not to me. That was when I realized I wasn’t saving Pyras solely to fulfill a promise. I was preserving the last holdout of humankind because it was the right thing to do.

  Yeah, I know… I was starting to surprise even myself.

  So I rested easy, and when the needle went in, I didn’t feel the slightest bit of worry before the room went dark.

  When I awoke, I felt nothing. Literally, there was no feeling when I flexed my fingers or wiggled my toes. I blinked against the lights. I was still in the workshop. No one was there but me. I heard the rumble of steam engines, smelled the warm woodsmoke of cooked food. But I felt nothing.

  I lifted my left arm, then my right. I pinched the flesh of one forearm with the other hand, and vice versa. Everything was numb. A line of dried blood marked the edge of my left arm panel, so I fumbled it open to see what Chaz had done in there. The compartment held his plasma contraption, a heavy battery and a housing for the weapon’s muzzle, connected to my wrist port. I wondered how it was going to function without melting my arm off.

  It wasn’t until I tried to get up that I realized there were parts of me that weren’t numb. These parts were so un-numb, in fact, that I screamed. Seconds later, the door opened and Chaz rushed in with my Ma and Dad behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  “I’m fine. It just hurts a little,” I said.

  “Sounded like more than a little,” said Dad.

  “What did you do to me, Chaz?”

  He gave me a nervous smiled. “Everything you wanted and more. Dr. Ditmarus recommended we give you a numbing agent to com
bat the new drillwork.”

  “Drillwork?”

  “There are a few surprises,” he said.

  “I would expect nothing less from you, Chaz.”

  He proceeded to tell me all about them. My hydraulics had been fine-tuned, my solenoids adjusted, my enhanced eye linked to a matrix that gave me visual status readouts of every neuro-linked augment in my body. Really advanced stuff. I should’ve been bursting with pep and sparkle. Instead I felt like I’d been besieged by a herd of scorpions.

  “How close are we to Gilfoyle’s place?” I asked.

  “Closing in,” Dad said. “Another day, at most.”

  I looked at him strangely. “Thank you. I was talking to Chaz, but—”

  “The primie don’t know how close we are,” Dad said.

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure he does. Chaz tends to stay up on that sort of thing. Usually because he has a deadline to meet.”

  Dad looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. He turned to Chaz. “Will you give us a few minutes alone with our son?”

  “Sure,” Chaz said, and left the room.

  “What were you thinking?” Dad asked when he was gone.

  “That I’d get some new augments,” I said.

  “I mean about that primitive. You just let the doctor put you under so he could look around inside you and do whatever he wanted?”

  I made a face. “That’s kind of a weird way to put it. Chaz is the best inventor in the stream. Nay, the world. I wouldn’t doubt his skill for a second. And this isn’t the first time he’s operated on me, either.”

  Mom looked concerned. “You’ve always been a difficult child, Muller. You’ve given your father and me more gray hairs than we can count. But you’re a good boy. And you’re compassionate, when you want to be. Problem is, you can be too compassionate. If you keep hanging around with these primitives, you’re going to forget who you are. Where you came from. This one’s already filling your head with nonsense. It’ll just get worse if you don’t do the stand-up thing and cut ties with him and the other fellow… what’s his name?”

  “Blaylocke.”

  “That’s the one. You’re entering dangerous territory here, son. You need to sever this… relationship… and move on with your life. It isn’t healthy, and it isn’t right for us to have their kind on board our boat.” She took my father by the arm, as if to prompt him.

  “We only say all this because we’re worried about you, son,” said Dad.

  “Now more than ever,” Mom added.

  “There have never been many primitives in Atherion, have there?” I asked.

  “Air’s thin up there,” Dad said. “Their lungs can’t handle it like ours can.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true, but I didn’t argue the point. “Have you ever tried getting to know one of them?”

  Dad laughed. “Are you kidding me, son?”

  A year ago, I wouldn’t have given primitives a second thought. They were shunned in techsoul circles; the strange folk you stayed away from. For me to have arrived at a place where I thought of Chaz and Blaylocke as my personal friends—the former more so than the latter—was a bigger step than my parents were prepared for.

  “Primitives aren’t animals,” I said. “Just because your body’s made of stronger stuff doesn’t mean you are. Those two guys are some of the strongest people I know, redblooded or not.”

  My dear old dad shook his head. “Can you believe this, Evelyn? I’ve never witnessed such ignorance in all my life. I thought we raised him better than this.”

  Mom laid a calming hand on Dad’s. “It’s real nice of you to be so kind to the lesser folk, Muller. I know you’ve made your little acquaintances and all. We just think you’re headed down a path that’s… well…”

  “Lackwitted,” Dad finished.

  “You two sound a lot like Yingler,” I said.

  “Mr. Yingler is a decent man, trying to do what’s right by the Regency,” said my father. “I know that doesn’t agree with you, but it’s the fact of the matter.”

  “If the Regency is supposed to stand for order and justice,” I said, “tell me why Yingler lied and manipulated everyone to get what he wanted.”

  “I might ask you the same question,” said Dad. “You’ve done your fair share of lying and manipulating, as I understand it.”

  “I’ve never claimed to stand for order and justice,” I said. “I’m not too proud to admit I’ve done things my own way—the wrong way, at times.”

  “Fair enough, son. At least you know you’re misguided. That’s the first step toward recovery. There’s something else your mother and I have been wondering about. We understand Maclin is to blame for the attack on Roathea, but what do they want with you? Why did they attack us the other night?”

  “They were after the cabin boy,” I said.

  “The cabin boy…”

  “Yeah. He’s the Regent’s son.”

  They shared a look.

  “That boy is Maxwell Baloncrake?”

  I shushed him.

  “Where’d he come from?” Dad whispered. “How’d you get a hold of him?”

  “The same way I get a hold of a lot of things,” I said.

  “You took him?”

  “I was coerced into taking him.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You never let yourself get coerced into anything.”

  “Maybe convinced is a better word. Sable convinced me.”

  “Ah.” Dad raised his eyebrows knowingly. “The girl.”

  Mom’s eyes twinkled. “She seems like a nice girl. Not at all like that dreadful Eliza. Do you know what she did to my kitchen the night those cretins attacked the boat? Why, they may as well have done it themselves…”

  “Hush, Mother.”

  “How is she?”

  “I was about to go up and find out,” I said. “You’re welcome to come along.”

  Ezra was seated beside the bed when we arrived in my darkened cabin. Walking was painful for me, but whatever drugs Ditmarus had pumped through my veins were working in concert with the medallion to make things better than they should’ve been. Sable was still out cold, the sheets stirring on her chest with each soft breath.

  “Ezra, these are my parents,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “We’ve met.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Hasn’t budged in three days,” he said.

  I nodded. “She needs her rest.”

  “What she needs is to quit running around with scoundrels like you,” said Ezra. “For all Angus’s faults, at least he knew how to protect her.”

  “I beg your pardon,” my mother said, “but who are you to talk to my son that way?”

  I touched her shoulder. “Mom. Don’t. Let’s leave Ezra alone.”

  Ezra shook his head as if to shame me with the gesture. “If you cared about her at all, you’d be sitting right where I am.”

  “Sable means a lot to me,” I told him. “Dr. Ditmarus has done all he can. I suggest we move her to the infirmary so the doc can keep a close eye on her. I may not know your granddaughter as well as you do, but I don’t believe she’d want us all putting our lives on hold to sit here in the dark. There are some people who need us, and I think she’d want us to do right by them. I’ll be just as much here when she wakes up as you will. Right now, I’ve got a boat to run.”

  Ezra grunted. He took Sable’s hand and leaned over to kiss it. “You’re right, Muller. We ought to move her to the infirmary. But I’m staying right here beside her. And unless you plan on doing the same, I think you’d better go.”

  7

  I was in the cargo bay when I heard the first shouts of ‘Land ho!’ from the crow’s nest. The Evelyns, my dirty baker’s dozen, were lined up in the hold like a perfect military unit, dark and dormant. But it wasn’t them I’d come to see.

  Nerimund hadn’t shown a trace of charred black for days, but he was still as wooden as a pointy-eared beer barrel. I could feel th
e life inside him, though I couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t come out of his stasis yet. He was Sable’s creature, and even if there was no weird magic stuff he could do to help her, she still needed him. If there’s any truth to the power of positive thought or the influence of meaningful touch, now was the time to put those theories to the test.

  When Reggie Kitson burst into the cargo bay, I wiped my cheeks and stood. “What is it?”

  “Gilfoyle’s place, looks like, sir.”

  “Roger that. I’ll come up and take a look. How close are we?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes out, give or take.”

  “I’ll be up in two.”

  “Aye, sir. Is everything alright, Cap’n?”

  “I’m fine, Kitson.”

  He nodded, retreating through the doors.

  On deck two minutes later, I zoomed in with my enhanced eye to find Gilfoyle’s haunted castle looking uglier than I remembered. Probably that was thanks to the henchpeople overlooking every patio and balcony on the place. Before long I was able to pick out every last thug who’d been present the night I first tried to rob Gilfoyle. I assumed there were more I couldn’t see, posting watch around the other side of the house. These were the people who’d torn me to shreds and sent me to the Churn to die. They’d been acting on Gilfoyle’s orders, but ultimately it was their doing.

  I noticed with further irritation that at least two of the bastards hadn’t stopped at ripping out my augments… they’d installed them in their own bodies. There were my fibrilarms, a pair of strength-enhancing devices I’d woven into my bicep and tricep muscles, now worn by a man in a sleeveless shirt with a bad goatee. I saw my digitprops, bands of flexible metal melded along the contours of the hand, which make it nearly impossible to break a finger or sprain a wrist. A muscular woman with a steel recisor in her forehead was wearing those.

  How did I know the augments were mine? Because the thugs hadn’t been equipped with those augments the night they’d caught me. I had. I could only guess which of my internal augments they’d stolen.