Driftmetal III

by J. C. Staudt

  “I’ll make that request the next time I speak with them,” she said.

  “I hope that’s soon, because until then, you can consider my response a ‘maybe.’”

  She nodded.

  “So…” I said, “how big is this legion of ours?”

  “Larger and more expensive than anything you could afford in ten lifetimes.”

  “How do you know what I can afford?” I did some quick math, estimating how many of the Galvos Mk. VII models I’d be able to buy with my own money. The updated models were far better than the Mark-Sixes now, and they’d no doubt cost more too—if Maclin would even sell them to me. That possibility was sounding more and more remote as time went on, however.

  Cordelia licked her lips. “I don’t,” she said. “But I can show you it’s less than you might think. Follow me, please. All of you.”

  I’d gotten used to our usual territory, the rooms and hallways in which we’d been allowed to roam for the duration of our stay so far. Today, Ms. Foxglove led us down a hall I’d never seen before. It looked a lot like all the others, except that the perpetual subterranean chill intensified as we crossed through a tunnel that ran between our building and the next.

  Then we began to travel upward. After several minutes of doing so, we emerged onto a long parapet, where a plain concrete overhang sheltered us from the beating sun. When I looked down onto the courtyard below, a sea of painted cement teemed with hundreds of hovers, dropships, mobile gun emplacements, and grav platforms. The fleet stretched into the distance, perfect lines of identical aircraft shrouded on all sides by the high concrete walls.

  “My gods,” Ezra whispered.

  “Oh my dear heavens,” said Thomas.

  We were awestruck, every last one of us. I was too dumbfounded to speak.

  “This is the fleet that will carry you to Roathea,” said Ms. Foxglove. “The fleet that will deliver the Regency into our hands.”

  “Your hands ain’t no slouches, and that’s a fact,” said Ezra.

  “If I arrange a meeting between you and the synod, will you agree to command this fleet, Mr. Nordstrom? I think you’ll find their stipend quite generous.”

  “As long as they promise me they can deliver what I’ve asked for. If they can agree to my requests, I’m satisfied.”

  “Time will tell, on that score.”

  “You just get me that meeting.”

  She nodded. “In the meantime, I should make clear that anyone who does not wish to take part, whether for loyalty to the Regency or due to some other moral discrepancy, may remain here while we launch the attack. You will be allowed to leave Maclin shortly after we have gained control of Roathea. You may go on with your lives as though you were never here, and we will disavow all knowledge of your involvement.”

  “What if… heavens forbid… the attack is unsuccessful?” asked Thomas.

  “However small the chances of that may be, I would have to consult my superiors on what’s to be done with you.”

  “So we can pretty much count on being disposed of, then,” I said.

  Cordelia twisted a lock of her long black hair between two fingers. “I couldn’t say for sure, Mr. Nordstrom.”

  We headed back to our domicile, where I waited for the better part of two hours before I heard back from Cordelia. She summoned me—alone—to yet another remote location in the compound. I was not given the option to invite any of my companions. Even Angus was forced to stay behind while I went off to steal his dream job right out from under him. Everyone wished me well—everyone except Angus, who was wearing a hollow, pitiful expression as I marched from the bunk room.

  Minutes later, I found myself standing before a tall set of gothic blackwood doors banded in telerium. I was almost as disturbed as I’d been when I’d learned about the medallion’s pseudo-sentience. Using techsoul bone metal as a building material is like using a string of intestines as a jump rope; you just don’t do something like that unless you want to make a statement.

  The doors eased open—slowly, ever so slowly—without so much as a squeak. The massive room beyond was a study in excess. I strode into the echoing chamber with my robotic attendants, who stopped when we reached the circle of reflective marble at its center. My heart was pounding, but with excitement rather than fear. The shaft of golden light beaming down from a hole in the ceiling made it hard to see anything around the edges of the room, but I could just make out the faint silhouettes of people seated in the high semicircle of arched alcoves surrounding it.

  “I’m here,” I said. The room echoed, helping me say it again.

  “Welcome, Mr. Jakes,” said a flat, shallow voice that seemed to phase in and out with some electric quality.

  “So you know my real name. How did I not see that coming? Do you guys really just sit around in here all day? That sounds fun, although it must be hard on the eyes.”

  I heard the patter of stifled laughter through the chamber.

  “We have heard your list of demands, Mr. Jakes. Is there anything you wish to add or retract?”

  “Demands is an interesting word. But let me start by thanking you for your hospitality. The accommodations have been quite… spacious. What I’m asking for, essentially, is my freedom. And freedom for all my friends, of course. That’s what all my demands, as you call them, boil down to.”

  “What is it that you really want, Mr. Jakes?”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve told you everything I want.”

  “What is it you hope to get out of this life, when all is said and done?”

  That struck me as an awkward question, from somewhere out of left field. “What is this, a therapy session?”

  “Answer, Mr. Jakes.”

  I grunted. “Okay… fine. I guess… I want to enjoy myself. I want a little adventure in my life. I want to disprove all the people who thought I’d never amount to anything. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

  “Lead the legion to victory on Roathea. Take the capital and secure its borders. Kill the Regent and his family. If you do all of these things, you will have everything you’ve asked for.”

  “There’s one thing on my list you have the power to give me right now,” I said.

  “You will have what you have asked for,” the voice repeated, “after you have satisfied our requirements.”

  Anger flashed inside me. “The medallion belongs to me. All that other stuff is a payment for my services. Give me back what’s mine.”

  “You forget yourself. Your service to us has been in payment of your debts. Or have you forgotten all the damage you’ve caused? You are bound to the synod for more than your freedom, Mr. Jakes.”

  “You people are a bunch of sadists.”

  More laughter.

  “Hardly, Mr. Jakes. But our decision stands. What is your response?”

  I wanted to walk away. I wanted to flip them the double bird and tell them they could go get bent. But that would mean sitting back and leaving the fates of everyone I’d come to know and love in the hands of Angus Brunswick. It wasn’t that I doubted Angus’s ability to get the job done. It was that I really wanted all the things on that list. I also wanted to be there to make sure the invasion went my way—whichever way that happened to be when the time came.

  The more pressing matter in my mind was whether this synod of weird Maclin executives could be trusted. If they wouldn’t give me back my medallion now, why should I believe they’d come through for me with the other stuff? The short answer was that I shouldn’t. The one thing I knew was that if the Regency didn’t fall, things were going to get much, much worse for my friends and me.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. The words echoed through the chamber, as if to remind me that by saying them, I’d set my decision in stone.

  “Yes,” said the voice, as if they’d been certain of that all along. “Report to Ms. Foxglove for further instruction.”

  “Hold on just a minute,” I said. “I have one more question. Why me? Cordelia gave me the bas
ic rundown already. She explained why you want someone outside Maclin, someone non-military, someone who hates the Regency and who knows the robots. But you investigated my past and found out my real name. I’ve been a pretty despicable guy. Why me?”

  “For one simple reason. You have been wasting your potential for years, living the life of a petty criminal. Your resourcefulness, determination, and ability to accomplish your goals are commendable, to say the least. You’re worthy of higher pursuits. You’ve just never permitted yourself to rise to greater challenges. Isn’t it time you began expecting more from yourself?”

  It was my turn to laugh. “As flattering as that is to hear, I couldn’t disagree more. I find it helps to expect as little of myself as possible. That way I’m never disappointed.”

  “You have flown an eventful path in life, Mr. Jakes. Some of the items on your list of demands are aimed at helping the friends you’ve made along the way. Surely they, if no one else, should expect something greater from you.”

  I considered this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that’s the thing about friends. The bad ones make you better. The best ones get better with you. So when do we set sail—or, set hover?”

  “As soon as you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now,” I said.

  The voice laughed, alone this time. “Not quite, Mr. Jakes.”

  6

  Angus handed me the most complicated-looking bluewave comm I’d ever seen. I turned it over to inspect its various knobs, dials, and buttons. It looked more like a brick-sized remote control than a comm.

  Angus waved his hand as he explained its uses, gesturing toward each of the neatly formed platoons standing before us in the cargo bay. “Each unit has been designated its own call sign. Whereas you used to command Kelvin, Celsius, and Fahrenheit as individual prototypes, those trigger names now correspond to an entire platoon each. If you ever need to give an individual command, you can do so like this.” He pressed a button and spoke into the receiver. “Celsius five. Step forward.”

  A robot in the front row of the nearest unit, fifth from the end, took a step.

  “Remember, if you don’t issue commands through this device, your orders will be limited to the units within earshot. Their built-in bluewave receivers should work perfectly while you’re transmitting. Otherwise, if they can’t hear you, they can’t know what you want them to do.”

  “So I should avoid losing both this and my voice,” I said.

  “More or less. Each Galvos soldier is armed with its own hybrid rifle, and is thereby equipped to neutralize threats of every kind. Their sensor arrays include instruments for identifying the best payload to use on any and all available targets, so you won’t have to micromanage them where that’s concerned.”

  “This’ll be like playing a wargame.”

  “You’re invading Esperon’s capital city. This is not a game, Hal.”

  “So I’m controlling everything. What happens if I die?”

  Angus raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “Try not to.”

  That’s reassuring. “How do I remember which unit is which?”

  “Memorize them.”

  “They’re identical.”

  “When we sketch out the invasion plan, you’ll have time to place each platoon exactly where you want it. All you have to do is remember which unit you put where.”

  “How many units are there, total?”

  “The smallest unit you’ll be able to control without moving down to individuals is the platoon. That’s forty automatons. Three platoons make up a company, and six companies form a battalion. The legion contains ten battalions, for a total of six thousand troops. You’ll be in command of every last one of them.”

  I almost lost my balance. “Six flipping thousand?”

  “Roathea is a big island. Even with surprise on our side, the Regent will have reserve forces of men-at-arms at the ready. Plus any civilians who have a mind to put up a resistance.”

  “When they see us coming to save them from the Regency, they’ll fall to their knees and worship at our feet,” I said. “Even if a few of them do start to get rowdy, I’m sure the Mark-Sevens will be able to handle it.”

  “I hope you’re right. Unfortunately, we don’t have much choice where that’s concerned. The people will react as they will. Is that something you’re prepared to deal with?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You haven’t thought through all the implications, have you?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “No, but I’m sure you have. All the nights you’ve spent having wet dreams about leading this army to victory must’ve involved some assessment of the risks.”

  “If you don’t want to take this command, just say so. I’ll—”

  “You shut your filthy yap right now or we’ll pick up where we left off in the control room. There are two ways you’re getting this command: the executives change their minds, or I drop dead. Since one of those things is never gonna happen, here’s your chance at the other.” I spread my arms, inviting him to come at me. I didn’t care that Angus was bigger than me, or that I didn’t have all the usual augments I’d gotten so used to falling back on. Going up against a more powerful enemy has never deterred me before, and Angus was no exception.

  He stared at me for a few seconds, then smirked. “If only you were worth it.”

  “You’ve got a niece sitting in a jail cell on Roathea who seems to think you’re worth it. So far, I haven’t figured out why. But I’m willing to bet she’ll go on thinking that, whether or not you’re the big man in charge of this whole operation. And you know what else? Even after what you did to her to get here, I’d wager she’s still going to forgive you. I’ve learned all too well how hard-headed you Brunswicks are. She’s got a soft spot for you. You’re more fortunate than your pessimistic attitude implies. We’re done for today. You can show me the rest of this junk tomorrow.”

  I tossed the remote control unit onto the table and walked away. I spent the next hour or two wandering the halls, thinking. I hoped Sable would forgive me, too, for letting her take the fall. The fact that she’d wanted me to skip town and find Angus didn’t make it any less my fault. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d understand if she didn’t. There was much more to be done if I wanted to redeem myself. This invasion was my best chance—and as far as I knew at the time, my only chance.

  For days uncounted, we plotted and planned, schemed and strategized, until Angus and Ms. Foxglove had come close to making me change my mind again. Knowing I would finally be able to get away from them when we launched the attack was one of the only things that kept me sane through the arduous tactical repetition, the training drills, and the live-fire demonstrations they put me through daily.

  The work was hard, but things were even harder on the home front. Now that they weren’t working on the Galvos Project anymore, my companions were getting antsy. Being in direct contact with Angus for large swathes of the day was already getting on my last nerve, so one could imagine how coming home to Blaylocke affected my state of mind.

  We began to try each other’s patience at every turn. I felt their growing resentment towards me as their boredom turned to restlessness, and then to discontent. I was the big man on campus now; they were just waiting in the wings. Hail the conquering hero, who hadn’t yet conquered anything bigger than a full course dinner.

  I persevered, however. When it was all over, I was not only ready by the estimation of Angus and Ms. Foxglove—I felt ready. And as I knew from experience, that made all the difference.

  Launch day came, and it was time for everyone to decide who was going and who was staying. We were grizzled now, and maybe even a bit hardened, like men who had been in the easiest prison ever built, with gourmet meals and no bars on our jail cells. Blaylocke’s curls had become a golden-brown shag. Angus’s beard was like a pillar of orange flame, while Ezra had followed suit with a white waterfall of his own. Rindhi was walking again by this ti
me, favoring a cane over his wheelchair and a book under his arm. Chaz, the most constructive of us all, had invented a dozen new gadgets he was ready to stake the future of the world on. Nerimund was still weird.

  And Thomas Smedley, ever my pale, dark-haired dandy, had finally stopped dreaming of Gretchen Wilshire. Maybe he still dreamed of her, but he didn’t talk about her so much anymore, and I saw that as a good thing. Sometimes a little holiday from the world is the best thing for a person, especially one whose life has changed as much as Thomas’s had.

  “Has everyone reached a decision?” I asked, as we sat to breakfast that morning.

  Thomas spoke up first. “Rindhi and I would like to come, if it please you—in the event that you require advisement or translative services.”

  “I can think of no one better,” I said, nodding. “Who else?”

  “Me and Chester want to be there when the Regency falls,” said Blaylocke. “We want to see those bluebloods go down more than anyone. No offense.”

  “Not more’n I do,” said Ezra, raising that spindly mechanical hand. “You can count me in.”

  “I’m going, and that means so is Neri,” Angus said.

  “You?” I said in disbelief. “Why are you going? To look over my shoulder and make sure I’m doing things right?”

  “As your understudy. Your lieutenant general. If anything happens to you, the attack has to go on.”

  Maybe it was wishful thinking that had led me to believe Angus was staying behind. “Has the synod approved this?”

  “I had Cordelia propose it to them. They’re on board with it. After all, if not for you, I’d still be in command—”

  “As if any of us haven’t had a good earful of how much better your life would be if we weren’t around,” I said. “Give it a rest. If you’re coming, I want you on a different ship.”

  Angus smiled. “I’m taking the Galeskimmer.”

  “You’re flying your streamboat into a warzone?”

  “I don’t see as it’s any of your business what I do with my boat,” he said.