Rebel World (The Eternal Frontier Book 4)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Mechanics didn’t roll their eyes, but Tag almost expected L’ndrant to do so at that moment. Several of the representatives stood, their voices rising.

  “Humans shouldn’t be trusted under these circumstances!”

  “Any business of the Grand Elector is business of ours!”

  “This is a matter in the interest of all Mechanics!”

  Other such objections filled the air until L’ndrant raised a fist to silence them. “Your objections have already been heard and answered, so there is no need to act like a petulant swarm of Dreg in here.”

  One of the representatives remained standing, and L’ndrant motioned for her to speak. She had streaks of fur missing, revealing scars left by grazing pulsefire. “Given the post-human and SRE’s shared origins, along with the knowledge that an unknown number of human collaborators are working with the post-humans, I move to eject all humans and human ships from Meck’ara effective immediately.”

  Other Mechanics stood, seconding the motion.

  The scarred Mechanic continued. “I am thankful for what this human has done for us, but for all we know, after coming in contact with the post-humans, he may be compromised as well.”

  “I assure you I am not!” Tag said.

  “I wouldn’t expect any other response,” the Mechanic said. “We saw what the nanites did to our people and how long it took us to find the cause of the Drone-Mechs. There’s no telling how the post-humans might have adapted the technology. Even if you’re acting of your own volition now, you might be a remote bomb, waiting to go off. You might not even know you have been compromised.”

  “Agreed,” another Mechanic said as he stood. “As thankful as we are for his help, we cannot risk allowing a Drone-Human to exist on our planet. It is with my deepest regret that I recommend Tag Brewer and his crew be banished from Meck’ara space immediately.”

  An elderly gray-furred Mechanic proved less kind, speaking out of turn and waving a finger at Tag. “Humans were the root cause of the Drone-Mechs. Humans are the enemy.”

  L’ndrant’s golden eyes seemed to turn a shade of crimson. Now Tag could see why he had been brought to the council. For all intents and purposes, he was on trial. A ball of fire began burning in his chest, and he felt its heat spread to his cheeks. After everything he had done for the Mechanics, these vocal few wanted to banish him.

  Another Mechanic stood. Tag recognized him as one of the soldiers from Bracken’s ship, the Stalwart. He had seen everything, from the Dawn to Ezekiel’s colonization engines, firsthand. “I have helped Captain Brewer fight the Drone-Mechs, Dreg, and post-humans alike. On my honor, I would stand beside him until the machines’ end.”

  “Then so it shall be,” the wizened old Mechanic said. “Go, and leave this planet with him. Die when he betrays you.”

  Tag stood. He was barely taller than the seated Mechanics. His fingers curled into fists, and his right arm trembled slightly. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to sound calmer than he felt. “Whatever you want me to do to prove I am not—and never was—compromised by the Collectors, I’ll do it. I’ve brought you the Dawn. I helped you get this planet back from the Drone-Mechs. All I want is to stop the Collectors and their conquest over your people and mine.”

  The elderly Mechanic huffed. Murmurs and whispers flitted through the council chamber.

  “Look,” Tag said. “The Collectors will continue colonizing the galaxy. Meck’ara will not be spared when they return.”

  More murmurs as L’ndrant held up a fist to maintain a semblance of control.

  “I don’t care how good you think your technology is or how much new intel you might get from the Collectors,” Tag continued. “They’re a step ahead of us. A step ahead of you. Soon they’ll unleash everything they have on the SRE. I ask you, who is going to stop them? Do any of your trade partners have the military might to deal with a race who can build ships like the Dawn? Do any of the races who have fled Mechanic space have the technological acumen to combat the nanites alone?”

  Tag let his words ride on the air for several moments, looking meaningfully at the Mechanics.

  “My guess is the answer is no, or the Collectors wouldn’t still be out there,” Tag said. “The only chance we have is if we share information, if we work together and combine our research and military efforts to stop them. There can be no compromise in that regard, or there will be no victory. We might as well resign ourselves to the fact that we’ll all end up Drone-Mechs and Drone-Humans if we don’t start cooperating.”

  A few Mechanics nodded along with Tag’s speech. Most appeared unaffected by it. Tag had to remind himself that was the way of Mechanics, and he shouldn’t expect them to show any outward signs of being swayed.

  “I would side with the human,” L’ndrant said as Tag took his seat. “I think it would be prudent to do all we can to help the SRE root out any collaborators within their ranks. I am pained to admit that we desperately need assistance to bring back the former Drone-Mechs to full consciousness. Our brothers and sisters are lying dormant. Dead, as far as we know. It’s time for us to put arrogance aside and accept help from the SRE. We need theirs as much as they need ours.”

  There was more rustling about and a fair share of discontented whispers among the Mechanics. To Tag’s surprise, no one else stood to speak. Maybe they had already argued themselves breathless before his arrival.

  The elderly Mechanic stood. “I motion that we remove Captain Tag Brewer, his crew and ship, from Meck’ara space immediately. They are no longer to be provided protection on our planet or our space.” Others stood silent and tall at that, some glaring at Tag.

  “The motion to end Captain Tag Brewer and his crew’s tenure on Meck’ara has been proposed and received standing support. A vote in the affirmative means we banish Captain Brewer and his vessels from our territory. A vote in the negative means we allow Captain Brewer to remain within our planet to continue diplomatic talks. Please, vote now.” The Mechanics buried their faces in their wrist terminals as each cast their vote. Most seemed to avoid Tag’s eyes as he searched the room, hoping for some clue to predict the outcome of the vote. Even if they did allow him to stay, after witnessing their animosity toward him, he wondered if he could actually get the Mechanics to agree to a full-fledged alliance with the SRE.

  All the Mechanics turned from their wrist terminals to face L’ndrant as she walked to the front of the chamber.

  L’ndrant looked directly at him as she announced, “With a vote of 26-24, the motion fails. Captain Tag Brewer and the SRES Argo are allowed safe haven in Meck’ara space.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The sound of mechanical grinding and screeching metal filled the cantina. A voice emitted a sound that gave Tag the distinct impression that someone was being tortured. Between the percussive beat of metal scraping against concrete, the faintest hint of a rhythm might have been discernible, if it weren’t for the pain thumping in Tag’s eardrums.

  “You call this music?” Tag shouted, gesturing at the group of Mechanics on the stage.

  “It’s a new wave movement,” Coren said, looking not the least bit unsettled by the unholy auditory assault. “It’s not exactly my preferred flavor, but this particular song is what you might call catchy.”

  Alpha’s silver head bobbed along with the thumping and wailing. “I admit to finding this acoustic stimulation peculiar, but it does evoke a certain pleasantness. Coren, do you think the performers would mind if I record a sample of their music to play back later?”

  “They might not mind,” Sofia said. “But I will. I’ll throw you off the damn ship if you start playing this shit on the Argo.”

  “That makes two of us,” Sergeant Ryan “Bull” Buhlman said.

  “If you think this is music, Alpha,” Tag said, “then all my synth-bio intelligence research was for nothing. Clearly I have failed.”

  “I don’t know. I could get used to it,” Rebecca “Lonestar” Hudson said in her affected old-fashioned Tex
as accent. Beside her sat Marvin “Gorenado” Goreham and Fatima “Sumo” Kajimi. The marines had proposed going out for a drink in a local Mechanic establishment to simultaneously celebrate the fact that they and the rest of the Argo’s crew were still allowed on the planet—and to lament the equally true fact that they all felt more alone than ever after the contentious vote.

  The odor of old-fashioned engine oil wafted all around Tag from cups that Coren insisted were filled with a Mechanic drink akin to beer. Tag was half-contemplating disciplining the marines simply for suggesting they try a place like this, but to his amazement, Lonestar knocked back her drink and then motioned the bartender bot for a refill.

  “I’m quite impressed,” Coren said to her. “Based on all the—what do you call it?—bitching from the others, you seem to be taken with the C’reen Dahl. This is a locally synthesized brew, too, so you know it’s fresh.”

  “Ah, yeah, you can just taste the freshness between the coughing and the urge to vomit,” Sofia said.

  Lonestar chugged another glass with a wicked grin. “Please, my grandpop’s moonshine was stronger than this. He used to give me a taste of that when I was a baby. Got me to go to sleep like that.” She snapped a finger. “If I could grow up on that rocket fuel, I can handle a swig or two of this stuff. It’s as sweet as sweet tea.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the captain somehow removed your taste buds during your stay in the regen chamber,” Sumo said. “Is she one of your experiments, Cap?”

  “I take no responsibility,” Tag said, raising both hands in defense.

  “I can vouch for the Captain,” Alpha said matter-of-factly. “He did not conduct any experiments when ensuring Lonestar’s healthy recovery in the regen chamber.” She sipped the C’reen Dahl drink. “Besides, I do find the flavor of this drink, though unusual, intriguing. It tickles the taste sensors.”

  Gorenado’s brow folded into a gorge of wrinkles. “I thought you said Alpha was half human neuro cells and half computer. You sure you didn’t add any Mechanic cells by mistake?”

  “I wish he had,” Coren said. “We could use some more intellectual talent around here.”

  The crew traded jibes and jokes for a while. It was a distraction from the tasks ahead, between reconnecting with the SRES Montenegro strike group and attempting some kind of diplomatic resolution with the Mechanics, all while trying to figure out when the Collectors planned to launch an attack on Earth and how they managed to vacuum up so many human test subjects. When the Mechanic music finally stopped, Sofia lifted her hands in the air, thanking the gods. The banter of other bar patrons filled the void left by the purported musicians, and with no other alcoholic beverages available, the crew’s tentative sips of the C’reen Dahl turned into enthusiastic swigs.

  Each drop on Tag’s tongue seemed to numb his senses to the point where he almost found the drink something slightly less than revolting. His mind simultaneously swam and sparked. He wasn’t drunk; that much he was sure of. But he also wasn’t sober. Instead the world seemed brighter. The obsidian walls of the Mechanics’ bar were lit up in an array of colors, as if every shade of black and gray had suddenly adopted its own unique and boisterous personality. A litany of voices arose, almost as if at once, in Tag’s mind. Most spoke of neuro-computational interfaces and the unexplored paradigms of stem cell differentiation under the direction of a pre-existing artificial intelligence-managed environment.

  Sofia suddenly turned to him, her eyes dancing. “I feel like if I went back to Eta-Five, I could speak the Forinth language fluently. I’ve just thought of the perfect algorithm to determine the proper Forinth and native species population within the Forest of Light to maximize resource utilization while minimizing overall depletion.”

  “Hey,” Lonestar said. “Y’all ever considered that there might be a more optimal way of charging the pulse rifles to increase their batteries’ lifespan?”

  Now Tag could see why the Mechanics loved this drink. Whether their minds were really working in intellectual overdrive or not, it certainly felt that way. Leave it to the Mechanics to devise a drug that made you feel smarter.

  Coren snorted with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Tag asked.

  “Whatever ideas you come up with, whatever formulas you invent,” he replied, “you should look at them tomorrow when you’re sober. I guarantee they aren’t half as ingenious as you think they are now. You’re all feeling the first-time C’reen Dahl high. Nothing more.”

  Tag felt a hint of disappointment somewhere beyond the bright colors and brilliant ideas flowing through him. “Damn. Thought I really had a breakthrough. I can see why your people like this stuff so much.”

  But as Tag surveyed the crew, he saw one member who didn’t seem so enlightened by the experience. Bull’s face was wrought in a grim scowl. The marine always seemed to be straddling some fine line between anger and no-bullshit seriousness, but now that look was coupled with one that looked to Tag something like existential angst.

  Three hells, that was probably just the C’reen Dahl talking. Still...

  Tag leaned in next to Bull. “Something on your mind?”

  Bull shrugged noncommittally.

  “Seriously, I’m all ears.”

  Bull’s jaw worked for a second, like he was chewing on the words before he spoke. “I can’t help wondering if the goddamned xenos are right.”

  Tag waited a moment for Bull to continue. When he didn’t, Tag said, “You’re going to have to explain.”

  Lowering his voice, Bull continued. “Look, what if we were supposed to die? What if Admiral Doran knew about the collaborators? What if she helped dupe Lonestar and get that transponder planted on the Argo?”

  “I can’t believe that,” Tag said. “The admiral seemed as shocked as everybody else by the Drone-Mech attack. If the whole fleet was working with the Collectors, why would they send those Drone-Mech ships to obliterate the Montenegro?”

  “I don’t know,” Bull said. “Then again, I can’t explain half the things that have happened to us. Shit’s fucked, Captain. Shit’s fucked.” The marine looked up at Tag. Dark bags hung under his bloodshot eyes. “I can’t shake the feeling that me and the marines were thrown out like trash to die. We’re cannon fodder. Dispensable. Talentless.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tag asked. “I’ve seen what you and your squad have done—fighting the Collectors’ regenerating bots and dealing with hordes of Drone-Mechs. Dispensable and talentless are not the words I’d use to describe any of you.”

  Bull shook his head. “I sometimes forget you spent your career on a science vessel before all of this.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” Tag said hesitantly. “But I don’t follow.”

  “The marines you worked with were all on glorified guard duty. They had what we call the daisy patrol. Their jobs weren’t any more difficult or dangerous than walking through a park and picking flowers.” Bull held a hand to his chest. “Those of us in the defense and attack strike groups were trained and primed for combat. We’re supposed to be the most battle-hardened of the marines.”

  “Supposed to be?”

  “I’d never admit it to these guys, but we weren’t exactly the cream of the crop.”

  “How do you figure?” Tag asked.

  Bull hesitated, staring down into his mostly empty cup before signaling for another. “My next assignment was at the Fortico Marine Training Base on Luna.”

  “From what I remember, only the best teach there. Sounds like an honor.”

  “Yeah,” Bull said. “That might be true. But I wasn’t going to teach. I was going to be a goddamned admin somewhere. A wrist terminal button puncher. That’s where they shove those of us who can’t make it out here any longer. They can’t force us to retire, but they can bore us out of our minds until we quit.”

  Tag was silent for a beat. “So you think the admiral believed you’d fail to protect us and was purposefully sabotaging our mission.”

 
“That about sums it up.”

  “I can’t believe Admiral Doran would just set you or us up like that,” Tag said. “It’s crazy.”

  “Think about it. Even after the Drone-Mech attack, she sent the Argo out alone.”

  “Because every other ship in the strike group was barely operable. And besides, the Argo was sent out on its own originally. Captain Weber was supposed to complete his attack by himself. It was a covert op. That’s how these things work.”

  Bull gave Tag a rueful look. Tag could see the argument behind the marine’s gaze. Neither had been involved in intel gathering or covert ops missions—at least not knowingly—before this. They were both in way over their heads. Tag wondered whether he was trying to convince Bull or himself as he pressed on.

  “For the record, I don’t think Admiral Doran was lying or sending you all out as a sacrificial offering,” Tag said. “All the same, I don’t know who else we can trust in the SRE. We’re running low on allies, but we can’t just let humanity twist in the wind. We need to get out information to the right people.”

  At first, Tag expected Bull to disagree. Instead, he said, “You’re right. I doubted you in the beginning, but you’re okay, Cap. Even when you don’t know what you’re doing, you damn well try to do the right thing. For all we know, the SRE is full of collaborators. But we do owe humanity the favor of knowing there’s a bunch of freaks out there looking to enslave ‘em all with nanites.”

  Tag imagined his father in an Earth nursing home, completely unaware of everything that had transpired while his son had been traveling among the stars. How many other people would be unaware of the threat the Collectors posed until the day the post-humans decided Earth was finally ripe for the taking?

  “Whatever the SRE decides to do, we owe it to humanity to do whatever we can to stop the Collectors,” Tag said.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Bull raised his glass, and Tag tapped it with his own. He gagged down another mouthful of the bitter concoction before setting the glass down. The screech of instruments warming up told him the Mechanic band was about to perform again. Soon their conversation would be lost in the mating calls of air cars and the pained screams of battlecruisers that passed for Mechanic music.