Drop Team Zero

by Jake Bible

  Some might argue that Z would be double crossing Councilman Keer, but she saw it differently. She was paid to deliver the boy alive. He would be when handed over and the job would be done. Then the second job kicked in and the boy died. No double cross, no issues of professional ethics. If Councilman Keer wanted his kid safe then maybe he shouldn’t have gotten in bed with the foing Collari in the first damn place.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Coms are up,” Hole said as she approached the med chamber where Motherboard lay. “Does Wanders have the go ahead to call his Edger contact?”

  “Yes,” Motherboard said. “How secure is the signal?”

  “I’ll be honest and say I do not know,” Hole replied. “I scrambled it as much as I could, but we are not talking about a standard com array here, LT. This is a spit and duct tape job.”

  “Not like we have much choice,” Motherboard said. “Tell Wanders to make the call.”

  “I will,” Hole said. She tapped at the console on the side of the chamber. “Your flesh is healing perfectly.”

  “But my cybernetic tech isn’t,” Motherboard said. “I know. I’ve been reading the med reports myself. I’ve always said I need a specialized med chamber. The Fleet has them, but they cost more than ten Eight-Three-Eights combined.”

  “You’d think with the Drop Team division’s budget, they would provide one,” Hole said.

  “Yes, you’d think, but the Fleet works in mysterious ways,” Motherboard said. “Maybe after this op is over, I’ll be able to convince Leguin to give it another go with the requisitions department.”

  “You can always try,” Hole said.

  “What else is there, Hole?” Motherboard asked. “You could have just called me over the internal coms from the bridge. Those still work and they work well in this med chamber. Why’d you come here in person?”

  “You keep saying person when you know I am not one,” Hole stated.

  “Your behavior right now proves otherwise,” Motherboard said. “You’re acting like a person one hundred percent. Why? What’s going on?”

  “This op is a mess beyond anything I have experienced,” Hole said. “There are too many unknowns, including unknown players. There are too many variables on the board and we have barely managed to escape each variable with our skins intact. My skin may be synthetic, but I do like it in place. Might we consider scrapping this op and returning to Fleet Headquarters?”

  “Do what now?” Motherboard exclaimed, visibly shocked at the suggestion. “Call it quits and return with our tails between our legs?”

  “Tails still intact, to use your metaphor,” Hole said. “Still intact because we are still alive.”

  “What is going on?” Motherboard asked. “Where is this all coming from?”

  Hole shifted uncomfortably. It was a strange movement for an android and it made Motherboard sit up on her elbows in the med chamber, which was as far as she could sit up without hitting her head on the plastiglass.

  “Mug,” Motherboard said.

  “Mug,” Hole said. “She was the best of us and—”

  “Is the best of us,” Motherboard interrupted. “Which is why we aren’t running from this. We’re going ahead with the op. As far as I’m concerned, the Keer boy and Sha Morgoal are secondary and tertiary concerns. Mug is our op now. We complete the op and get her home.”

  “I do not believe that is possible,” Hole said. “Mug must be dead by now. They’d have no reason to keep her alive. We are going to go in there and find a corpse, or record of her being atomized in their incinerator, and be left with what? Some councilman’s kid and a crime boss? Neither are worth our lives.”

  “Well, this is interesting,” Motherboard said. “The cold-hearted android wants to keep her teammates alive.”

  “Don’t be cruel,” Hole said.

  “I’m not,” Motherboard replied. “It is interesting. Have you voiced any of this with the rest of the Team?”

  “No, of course not,” Hole said.

  “Of course not,” Motherboard said. “Because you know they’d disagree with you. Not one of them would entertain the thought that Mug is dead. They will believe she is alive, and rescuable, until they see proof otherwise. Which, I doubt would include records of incineration. Knowing those three on the bridge, they’d insist that if there is no corpse then there is no death.”

  “They’d be fools,” Hole said.

  “No, they wouldn’t,” Motherboard said. “They’d be who they are. That is what is really going on here, Hole. You are discovering who you are. You may be synthetic, but your feelings aren’t. I know the techs and scientists say that androids can’t fully experience emotions like us living beings, but who the fo are they to say that? It’s up to each individual to decide what they feel. You’ve had the luxury of hiding behind your synthetic self, but that luxury seems to be fading.”

  “Maybe,” Hole said and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all very confusing.”

  “No crud, it’s confusing,” Motherboard laughed and lay back down. “It never stops being confusing. You just have to trust your gut, listen to your heart, and hope your head falls in line. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Hole said. “But it’s easy for you to say. You were born with a heart and guts.”

  “So were you,” Motherboard said. “Just from an artificial womb instead of a flesh and blood one. But born is born, synthetic or not.”

  Hole stood quiet for several seconds then nodded. She straightened up and tapped on the plastiglass.

  “Don’t try to leave this on your own, LT,” Hole said. “Atmosphere is back off in the ship except for the bridge. There’s no air outside your med chamber.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Motherboard said. Her eyes fluttered and she struggled to keep them open. “Damn, I’m tired. My body is struggling to provide energy to my cybernetic parts. Feels like I haven’t slept in years.”

  “Then close your eyes and sleep,” Hole said. “We can handle the op from here. It’s not as if we are going anywhere soon. The coms are up, but I can’t get the probes’ thrusters to integrate with flight controls. We’re stuck where we have been for hours. Unless the Fleet sends another Drop Team, or Wanders gets us a ride, then we float where we are.”

  “Get back to the bridge and make the latter part happen,” Motherboard said. “As much as I distrust Edgers, I’d rather Zero complete the op and not one of the other Teams. We’ll never hear the end of it if that happens.”

  “Roger that,” Hole said. “I’ll have Wanders make the call ASAP.”

  “Then report back to me,” Motherboard said and yawned. “Once I wake up…from a…short nap…”

  She was out like a light and Hole stood there for just a little while longer to watch the lieutenant’s breathing even out. Once satisfied the lieutenant was settled, she turned and left the med bay, making her way quickly through the airless corridors and lifts back up to the bridge.

  The hiss of atmosphere returning to the bridge made her synthetic ears pop, but she shook it off and gestured for her three teammates to take off their helmets.

  “We’re a go, Wanders,” Hole said, sitting in the pilot’s seat. She swiveled the chair around and pointed at the coms system. “But be careful. Say what you need to say as fast as possible. I don’t know how long this patch will hold.”

  “I won’t take long,” Wanders said. “My brother is a Gwreq of few words.”

  “Uh, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Cookie said.

  “I’m going to second all those whoas,” Geist interrupted.

  “Did you say brother?” Cookie asked. “You have a brother in the Edger separatist movement and the Fleet still allows you to be on a Drop Team?”

  “I was already on Zero when he joined the separatists,” Wanders said. “Before that, he was just a normal Edger pirate, working the outer systems, picking off freighters and tankers as they shipped supplies to the fringe planets.”

  “Oh, just a pirate, well that makes it b
etter,” Cookie scoffed.

  “What does it matter?” Hole asked. “Pirate, separatist, same thing. Not Fleet. Wanders? Make the damn call.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wanders said and moved to the coms console, elbowing Geist out of the way. “Before I do make the call, I just want to say that this is going to be as much of a risk for my brother as it is for us. The Edgers aren’t exactly keen on their people having ties to the Fleet, either.”

  “Just make the foing call,” Cookie said. “Right now, I’ll take a ride from an Edger even if the fool happens to be your brother.”

  “If he wasn’t my brother?” Wanders asked as he dialed in the channel code.

  “Then there wouldn’t be any question,” Cookie said. “It’s the being your brother part that makes him sketchy.”

  “Good one,” Geist said.

  “Fo you guys,” Wanders said.

  They waited for the transmission to go through. It took nearly forever, but a weak holo projection finally came up, shaky and filled with bursts of static, as a huge-looking Gwreq answered.

  “What? Who the hell is this?” the Gwreq demanded. “How’d you get this channel code?”

  “Hey Grue, it’s Woo,” Wanders said. “Your brother.”

  “Yeah, I know who Woo is, you numbnuts stone butt,” Grue said, a huge smile spreading across his stone face. “What the hell ya calling me for? Is Mom okay? It’s Mom, isn’t it. She fall again and chip her hip?”

  “No, no, Mom is fine,” Wanders said. “I think. I actually haven’t talked to her in a couple weeks. I’ve been out on an op for a while now.”

  “An op?” Grue asked. The smile went away instantly. “You calling me from a Fleet ship? You stupid rocks for brains idiot.”

  “Wait!” Wanders shouted as he saw one of his brother’s hands moving to sever the communication. “We need your help, Grue!”

  That stopped the other Gwreq.

  “My help?” Grue asked.

  “And the help of some of your friends,” Wanders said. He looked over his shoulder at Hole. “How much do I tell him?”

  “Tell him everything,” Hole said. “Screw it. We don’t have a choice.”

  “You sure?” Wanders asked.

  “No,” Hole replied honestly. “But, like I said, we have no choice.”

  So Wanders told his brother everything. From the op on Monia’Ja, right up to how they were using a forced-together coms array made from gun probes. Grue’s stone jaw dropped open wider and wider until it almost touched his chin.

  “That’s a story,” was all Grue said when Wanders was done. “Quite a story.”

  “Can you help us?” Wanders asked.

  “And you can’t get your Fleet buddies to help, why?” Grue asked, a sly smile on his face. “You ain’t exactly supposed to be where you’re at, are you little brother?”

  “Not exactly, no,” Wanders replied. “But we’re in too deep now to give up. And like I said, they have one of ours. Mug is family to us as much as you are family to me.”

  “She ain’t blood,” Grue said.

  “But we’ve spilled blood with each other, which makes her family,” Wanders said. “You’re Gwreq, you get that.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Grue said. He rubbed his rocky chin. “Give me five and I’ll get back to you.”

  “He can’t call us back,” Hole said. “We’ll call him.”

  “You hear that?” Wanders asked.

  “I heard,” Grue said. “Five.”

  Then the communication was over and the holo blinked out.

  “We wait,” Wanders said. “We call in five.”

  “What are the odds the Edgers will take this opportunity to let us hang?” Cookie asked.

  “It’s Wanders’ brother, man,” Geist said. “He wouldn’t let his brother hang.”

  “But the other Edgers might,” Cookie said.

  “We’ll know in five minutes,” Hole said. “Until then we sit tight and wait. Quietly.”

  She gave Cookie a look and he shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

  Thirty

  Drop Team Three came out of the off-grid wormhole portal with full stealth engaged in their Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship. Theirs they called the SIS, not Eight-Three-Eight, but it was almost the exact same ship as the one Zero used. With a couple of differences.

  The main difference was that the SIS was stock all the way. No modifications, no adjustments to its systems, no changes to its wing structure or hull. In a way that made it a better ship since the stealth tech that was designed to keep it hidden was designed specifically for how it came off the line at the Fleet shipyard.

  That was how it avoided being blasted to all hell by the gun probes that waited just outside the wormhole portal.

  “Keep us steady,” Lieutenant Tom-Tom Queshor ordered. “No sudden shifts or they might pick up the change in our surroundings.”

  “Surprised they didn’t pick up our entry into the system,” Master Sergeant Hogan Brogan said.

  “Too much chaos around an off-grid portal like this,” Queshor replied.

  Queshor was a Groshnel, a race of eight-armed, boneless creatures that constantly gulped air to stay fully formed and solid. Except Queshor only had five arms, three having been lost at various times over his distinguished career with the Drop Teams. Or two were lost with the Drop Teams. Queshor refused to say how the first limb was severed. It was not a subject he spoke on and it was wise not to broach it in his presence.

  Brogan, on the other hand, or tentacle, was a Tcherian. Part of that chameleon race that not only could disguise itself, but could also see independently with both eyes. Except one of his eyes no longer existed, having been taken when his face was splattered by B’clo’no blood, a stray drop burrowing right through the orb and almost into his brain.

  Brogan wore an eye patch that had the image of a middle finger prominently displayed. He didn’t mind it at all if people asked how he lost his eye.

  Queshor’s eyes were locked on to the gun probes as the SIS eased past them. It was sloppy placement, how spread out the gun probes were. Too easy for a ship to get by. But then Three was dealing with a criminal syndicate, not a military force. Queshor hoped that the Collari Syndicate was slip-shod in other respects. Three would need all the luck they could get now that intel was coming in that the moon base, or Hoonnaann base, as it was being called by the Syndicate, was not just manned by androids, but by enough Syndicate thugs to give a Marine platoon a run for its chits.

  “And we are clear,” Sergeant Lugs Hoops stated from the pilot’s seat.

  Unlike Motherboard and Zero, Queshor always preferred to have another teammate be the pilot on his ship. He knew his skills were not the best at the flight controls. Sergeant Hoops’ skills were.

  Hoops was a human, but her skin was a deep, indigo blue. The whites of her eyes stood out in stark contrast as she turned her head to regard the lieutenant.

  “I have set a course for the Hoonnaann base, sir,” Hoops said. “I am maintaining a steady speed so as not to trip any sensors with our thruster wash. We should arrive within ninety minutes if we do not encounter any obstacles.”

  “This is Klatu, for fo’s sake,” Sergeant Was’ta Begossian, a fully-limbed Groshnel, said from the weapons console. “There are gonna be obstacles.”

  “More than likely,” Queshor replied. “Sergeant Jelly?”

  The lieutenant looked over at the android that was plugged directly into the scanners console. Communications, as well as all ship diagnostics, were routed to his cybernetic brain, utilizing his AI mind the best way possible. Jelly’s skin was obviously synthetic and looked slightly melted, hence his name. Most AI androids would have opted for replacement skin, but Jelly liked it when folks crossed the street or moved to the other side of the corridor to avoid him. Even androids get their kicks however they can.

  “Yeah, we totally have some obstacles headed our way, sir,” Jelly responded. “I count four, uh, things, on an intercept
course. They don’t seem to give a good Eight Million Gods damn about the gun probes, but they are hot to trot for our asses.”

  “Bring them up on the view screen,” Queshor ordered. “Let’s see these things.”

  Jelly didn’t even twitch, didn’t move a muscle, but the view screen instantly changed from the fore view to the view of the four things approaching from their port side. They were massive and all of the same exact species, or whatever classified those giant nightmares. Winged and tentacled with fanged mouths filled to overflowing. They looked like their bodies were barely capable of supporting so many massive, razor sharp teeth, but they did and those bodies rushed towards the SIS.

  “Begossian, I want everything we have at the ready,” Queshor said.

  Most Teams used nicknames, callsigns for each other, but Queshor didn’t approve. He wanted his people to respond to their given names. It was old fashioned, but that was how he liked it.

  “Everything is ready, sir,” Begossian replied. “I have plasma cannons set to rip apart these freaks on your orders. Torpedoes and fusion mines will be deployed as well, but considering how some of the gas nebulas in this system are composed, I advise we stick to plasma unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I totally and 100% agree with the Begossian, Lieutenant,” Jelly said. “He ain’t kidding when he says things could go boom if we use fusion mines. That nebula directly behind the things is a ticking gas bomb, if I’ve ever seen one. And, believe you me, I have seen my share of ticking gas bombs.”

  “Thank you for your input, Sergeant Jelly,” Queshor sighed. He had to get the one android that insisted on using slang and a free-flowing style of speech instead of the more formal and clipped syntax of his brethren. “Hoops? Can we outrun them?”

  “We might be able to,” Hoops responded. “But I’m not sure. I can’t get a solid reading on their propulsion method. It can’t be those wings. Wings need atmosphere.”

  “Looks like those don’t,” Brogan said from the co-pilot’s seat with Queshor standing directly behind him. He turned his head and swiveled his good eye to regard the lieutenant. “We run and we risk detection from the base, sir.”