Tyche's Ghosts

by Richard Parry

  Algernon gave Nate a quick look, those white eyes feeling like they were asking something. “You go into combat with your troops?”

  “My crew,” said Nate. “They’re not my troops.”

  “You are the emperor.”

  “So?” Nate shook his head. “You don’t get us at all.”

  “I have a small sample size,” said Algernon. “I mean of the right way of doing things. I have a very large sample size of astronomical screw-ups. October Kohl taught me a clever word. ‘Clusterfuck.’ Is it appropriate?”

  Clusterfuck. Trust Kohl to teach a machine to swear. “What’s the right way?” said Nate.

  The airlock hissed open, and Algernon was gone, a flash of gold as the machine sprung forward before the doors had got half-way. Nate blinked. “He doesn’t fuck around.”

  “Neither do we.” Grace stepped out into the beating heat of the Ezeroc homeworld.

  “He also doesn’t answer questions,” said Nate, then ducked out behind her.

  Ahead, he saw the massive war mech, crunching toward the facility Kohl had busted a hole in. Five AI constructs were speeding forward, making for the Tyche. The Ezeroc were a huge piled mess on top of flashing gold, the occasional peep of plasma lancing out. Nate saw another golden armor suit windmilling in the air, held there by the force of an Intelligencer’s will. Nate’s HUD said the one in the air was Ebony, and the confusion of insects had Kohl at its heart.

  An Ezeroc, close to the airlock, lunged for him. Nate didn’t look, blowing it to pieces with three shots from his blaster. The future sense worked great for situations that were immediate. Or, he was just lucky with a blaster. Nate’d take it, either way.

  Algernon sped toward the five AI Service-class constructs. His borrowed laser carbine lanced across the battlefield like a surgical spear, and one drone exploded as its fuel cell ruptured under the intense heat.

  They returned railgun fire, and Nate goggled as Algernon stopped, as if Newton was just some guy who had no idea what he was talking about. As quickly as the golden man halted, he was moving ahead at the same velocity, an ebbing trail of smoke in the air showing where he’d dodged a railgun round.

  Grace was carving a path toward Kohl, or Ebony, or the Intelligencer. It didn’t matter, they were all in the same direction. She made a slash with her blade, slicing through a massive drone towering above her. It exploded, the force of her will behind the strike, pieces of chitin scattering across the melee.

  Nate leveled his blaster at one of the Service-class drones, firing, and was rewarded by the spectacular sight of his plasma bolt being twisted and redirected away. He looked at his sidearm. “Even the little fuckers can do it.”

  “Stop. Talking!” Grace’s voice was strained, and Nate had to allow she was doing most of the work here.

  Algernon blew another Service-class machine to pieces, then scooped up its railgun. The other three were on him, and Nate couldn’t keep up with the movement of the four metal forms. Nate leaned—

  A railgun round will hit your head.

  If you duck forward, a second round will hit your torso, destroying your heart.

  —back as a railgun round zipped by his helmet, and he wasn’t sure if it was a lucky stray or aimed. Twin contrails of burnt air eddied away on the hot air.

  Grace or Algernon. Grace or Algernon.

  The massive war machine spat plasma, obliterating the area where Algernon and the enemy AI fought. There was the bright triple explosion of fuel cells rupturing. When the debris and fire cleared away, Algernon was down, golden limbs smoking.

  Algernon it is. “Hope. Hope, we’ve got a man down.” Nate ran toward the fallen machine. An Ezeroc skittered toward him, so he shot it in the head, blowing the top off the creature. It fell over, legs drumming as he ran.

  “Coming,” said Hope.

  “Hope, it’s not … it’s not safe,” said Nate.

  “I know,” she said. “Saveria is here.”

  Great. My Engineer and a nineteen-year-old girl. No problem. Still, the alternative was leaving Algernon at the mercy of the war machine, and Nate wasn’t wired that way. Algernon was a part of his crew.

  Nate reached Algernon, finding the machine down and mostly out. His eyes blinked in a random pattern, smoke coiling from the ruins of his arm and leg. Nate stood atop the fallen machine, legs wide, sword ready. Suit speakers on, he shouted at the war machine, “Come fight someone your own size!”

  The battle seemed to pause. Ezeroc backed away, wary. Kohl surfaced, golden armor covered in ichor. Ebony still hung in the air but had stopped struggling. Grace froze, and he could feel her fear. For the first time, a sense of fear/fear/terror hit Nate, and he wondered if this was what Grace lived through.

  GRACE My love, my life, what are you doing

  NATE Buying you some time

  GRACE There is another way, always another way

  NATE Our people will die, go get the guy in charge

  GRACE We don’t know if that will stop them

  NATE If you have another plan, a good plan, lay it on me

  Grace glanced at the war machine, then the Intelligencer, and then continued her approach on the Intelligencer. The war machine crunched forward, feet grinding against the stones of the Ezeroc world.

  Algernon spoke, voice hissing with static. “Upgrades.”

  “You what?” said Nate.

  “This one is modified.” Algernon’s eyes blanked out. “By the way, I’m blind.”

  “I’ve got you,” said Nate.

  “You can’t beat it,” said Algernon. “It destroys cities.”

  “Sure,” said Nate. “You’ve been wrong at least twice today.” Then he ran, the top of the war machine turning to follow him. Plasma spat in his footsteps, but Nate—

  Step to the left.

  Stop, for two seconds.

  Duck low. Use your metal arm to lift that rock. Hunker behind it.

  Now run.

  —ducked low, dodging, using the terrain as temporary armor. If there was ever a time for some luck, now was it. He considered the sword in his hand, and the mass of the machine behind him.

  Maybe there’s time for just a little luck. Nate sensed his runway was ending. His future sense options were running dry. Either Lachesis was tired of him, or there was a future death impossible to avoid. He twisted, throwing the black blade with all the strength in his metal arm. Machinery whined, the sword tumbling end over end.

  The war machine shuddered to the side, but not fast enough. The black blade bit hard, burying itself in one of the sensor arrays at the top of the construct. It swiveled, bringing its secondary sensor array around, just in time to receive bolts from Nate’s blaster. Shots fired from the hip, his flesh and blood hand doing just fine here. The sensor array exploded in a shower of metal and plastic, sparks arcing. Turns out you can’t bend plasma if you can’t see it coming.

  The machine stumbled aside, weapons firing, trampling into the Ezeroc horde. It shoveled a path through their ranks, the insects unable to stop a machine made of Guild-forged metal.

  Nate caught sight of the Tyche’s airlock opening, Hope, Saveria, and Providence coming out. Providence? What the fuck? The battlefield was no place for a child. Hell, it wasn’t a place for Nate. He’d argue he was here under extreme duress. “Hope, what the hell are you doing?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GRACE TRIED NOT to think of what would happen to Nate. He’s lucky. He’s the luckiest man you’ve ever met. Nate had died and come back to life. If that wasn’t the embodiment of luck, Grace didn’t know what was.

  It’s just … the time he’d died, Grace had been the one holding the blade. She was human. The thing Nate was trying to break a piece off of was a war machine, a leveler of cities, an example of superior force.

  He’s lucky. You’re not. Focus.

  There was no time for masks here. Raw need pushed Grace forward. There was a man ahead, wearing the uniform of her father’s Intelligencers. But where a human mind
should lay was something else. Human thoughts overlaid with the sibilant hissing of the Ezeroc.

  Grace shoved Ezeroc aside with the power of her thoughts. She tried to ignore the stream of blood from her nose. Grace couldn’t do anything about it anyway. Her helmet was in the way.

  To her left Ebony hung in the air. Kohl was coming up behind Grace, but slower, because he had power armor, which was weaker by far than the gifts the Ezeroc had branded Grace with. Grace reached the Intelligencer, stopping ten meters from him. She looked at his twin swords, then at his twin blasters. No ship suit. This man wasn’t a man. Not anymore.

  He smiled, but his eyes were flat and dead, like a snake’s. “Grace Gushiken. Come to kneel?”

  She laughed. “Two swords. You take too much of them into yourself.”

  His lips twisted into a snarl. “And you take too little.”

  “Hell,” said Grace. “You even talk like dear ol’ Dad. You know you’re not the first, right? You’re not even version two. You’re just the latest in a line of experiments that ends here.” There was a shuddering crash, and Grace risked a glance to her right. The war mech was stumbling through the Ezeroc forces, plasma cannons firing blind. That man. That lovely man. She turned back to the Intelligencer. “You didn’t bring enough machines.”

  “I don’t need machines,” said the Intelligencer.

  Grace readied her sword. “Before you die, what was the name your parents gave you?”

  The man’s face slackened a shade, as if uncertain. “It was … I think it was Michael.”

  “Remember their faces. They will guide you home,” she said. She looked at Ebony. “First things first.”

  GRACE You will release Ebony Drake

  NOT-MICHAEL You cannot beat me

  GRACE You WILL release her

  Grace turned her attention to the clutch of will around Ebony, extending her own thoughts. Ebony’s armor descended, then halted. Michael’s will was strong, impossibly so. Almost as strong as Grace’s. She gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes closed. “You will release her!”

  The building behind Michael rippled, a shockwave running along its length. Ceramicrete cracked, flaked, and crumbled. Ebony fell to the ground.

  Michael readied his swords. “You think you’ve bested me, don’t you?”

  “Evidence suggests so,” agreed Grace. She felt light-headed. Pulling the Tyche from the inside of the falling Memory had been hard. Fighting across the battlefield had taxed her. But struggling with Michael was like arm-wrestling a titan. She felt drained, a power cell close to empty. Light-headed or no, now was the time for masks. Grace pulled on an old favorite. Face blank. Eyes resolute. Will strong, spine straight. She wouldn’t bend. This would be easy. As El would say, a piece of cake.

  When Michael attacked, the twin flurry of his blades was expected, but the speed and strength of it were not. He fought with a power greater than any man, as if his limbs were machine parts like Nate’s. Ezeroc upgrades. Grace had defeated previous examples of Michael before. The Ezeroc continued to tinker, experimenting with the human blueprint. Making better monsters.

  Grace had the force of her will and fought back with not just the strength of her flesh but her thoughts. Silver ship-forged metal struck against twin nanoblades, metal chiming over and over. Michael struck again, moving in for a disarm, but it was amateurish. Like Michael had learned fencing through a less effective teacher. Or he hasn’t learned it at all. The Ezeroc may have programmed him, just like a shark knows how to hunt and kill.

  She spun under a strike, swept his leading foot, and as Michael fell, Grace rose, lashing out with her blade. One of Michael’s hands spun free, trailing blood, the sword falling to the broken ground. Grace stabbed down for the killing strike, but Michael rolled, coming to his feet like water poured in reverse.

  He looked at the stump of his severed wrist, the blood already stopping. “Your father said you weren’t to be harmed.” His eyes looked toward the Tyche, then widened. “Two Engineers? He may overlook your death with such a prize.”

  “You can’t have them,” said Grace.

  “You can’t stop me,” said Michael. “It’s like you can’t learn.”

  “You’re missing a hand,” Grace said.

  “Yes, but that can be replaced,” said Michael. “I was waiting for the Engineer. Now she’s here, we’re done.”

  “We’re—” Grace was cut off as she was thrown into the air. Such strength! She landed in a crouch, blade up. The Ezeroc who’d ringed her battle with Michael continued to stand still. She felt the flow of mental energy and understood. Michael was drawing power from them. An Ezeroc Queen, old and cunning, with a massive brood, would be this strong. Kazuo Gushiken had worked out how to tap into that reservoir.

  Once-Michael had been playing with her.

  Maybe, just maybe, if Grace hadn’t pulled a starship from inside another as they fell to earth, she might have been strong enough. Or if she hadn’t fought a hundred Ezeroc to get here, she would have the will to stand. As it was, the force the Intelligencer commanded was mighty. She’d fought its like once before, above this planet. Over a hundred other espers had helped, their wills with hers.

  This time, Grace was alone.

  The slap of Michael’s will knocked Grace from her feet. She fell, sword clattering from her hands. The darkness was soft and needed her to wear no masks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  HOPE SPUN THE battle panorama on her holo. She reclined on her acceleration couch, one leg swinging over the side. Engineering hooked into all the ship’s cams, the Tyche’s eyes and ears noticing everything around. Hope could bring up the audio feed if she wanted, but she wasn’t fond of the sounds of dying.

  Even if it was Ezeroc. And especially if it was AI machines.

  She had the Tyche listening across the EM spectrum, the chitter-chatter of the AI playing from one of her console’s speakers. The air was awash with it, but the largest concentration came from the hole in the ground. The hole had disgorged a giant war machine and five smaller AI and didn’t look like a fun time at all. Just the kind of place October might go, if he wasn’t currently surrounded by insects that wanted to kill him.

  “I hate being here,” said Saveria, leaning against Hope’s acceleration couch. The smell of vanilla surrounded Hope, and she loved it. “I don’t mean with you. I want to be out there.” She pointed at the holo where 3D images of the battle were unfolding.

  Hope reached up to touch Saveria’s arm. “I know what you meant. The good news is it’s very hard to die in here. Someone would need to core the Tyche with a powerful weapon, like a railgun.” On the battle holo, railgun fire lanced out from the Service-class constructs, missing the cap by a whisker. “Umm…” Back aways, Hope didn’t like being left behind. She watched what happened on the crew’s cams and wanted to help. Then Hope had almost died like about a hundred times, and Engineering felt a lot safer.

  “I’ve got a lot to make up for,” said Saveria. “You know, on account of killing an entire space station.”

  “I’ve looked at the logs,” said Hope. “It wasn’t your fault. They were pirates.” She wondered what it’d be like, living on a space station, pirates coming in for the kill. Hope shook her head. Not fun. It would be very scary. She focused the cams on the hole opened in the side of the building at the other side of the melee. Lots of machines in there, lying in racks. Dormant. Waiting for something.

  Or someone.

  “So everyone keeps saying,” said Saveria. “Say, did that big machine just knock Algernon on his ass?” Without realizing it, Hope was upright, eyes wide, leaning toward the holo. Then she ran, snaring her own rig and a spare from the racks on the wall. Saveria hurried behind her. “Where are we going?”

  Hope keyed the ship comm. “El? We’re going outside.”

  “We are?” said Saveria.

  “Don’t be crazy, Hope,” El said from the comm. “It’s madness out there. You’ll die. Stay with the ship.”

 
; “No,” said Hope. “You need to take the ship into the hole in the ground.”

  “You what?” said El. “There’s static on this connection. Fzzt. Crackle. You’re breaking up.”

  Nate’s voice came from the comm. “Hope. Hope, we’ve got a man down.”

  “Coming,” said Hope.

  “Hope, it’s not … it’s not safe.”

  “I know,” said Hope. “Saveria is here.” She clicked the comm off, in time to come across her cabin, where Providence sat on Hope’s bunk, knees pulled up to her chest. “Providence, put this on and come with me. This is very important.” Hope leaned forward, putting her own rig beside Providence, keeping the spare for herself. “It will be easy to die outside. Please don’t.”

  Providence scrambled up, eyes wide with fear. “Aren’t there Ezeroc outside? Like on Earth? That, that, uh, killed, uh…”

  “Yes, and we will solve that problem,” said Hope. “It’s what Engineers do.” She spun on her heel, keying the rig to clamber on. The machine unfolded, climbing up her as she ran for the cargo bay ladder, encasing her in heat-resistant armor. Her visor lapped over her head as she hit the deck below, and then she was in the airlock without really thinking about it.

  Saveria arrived next to her, fingering the hilt of the short blade at her waist. Providence skidded to a halt in the airlock, and Hope hit the panel, shutting the Tyche away. The airlock cycled. Too slow, too slow. She overrode the airlock controls, the outer airlock grinding open in a gust of exchanged atmosphere.

  And then they were outside. Insects scrambled across the battlefield. October was under a pile. Ebony hung in the air, Grace making right for her, or for a weird-looking man in white. Nate had just made the shot of the century, throwing his sword through the sensor array of the war machine. His eyes met hers across the distance.