From weapon batteries on the Gorgon, strands of orange fire laced across space, striking the Hotspur’s shields, encompassing it in an envelope of boiling plasma. With each hit, the intensity of the shield’s color weakened, turning a sickly pale until fading entirely. The next beam sent pieces of the Hotspur itself exploding outward in a hail of wrecked panels and wiring.
The fire from the Gorgon stopped as it loomed over the much smaller pirate ship like a vulture over a carcass. At the same time, speck-like transports left the hangar deck of the warship and traveled slowly toward the stricken vessel.
Aboard one of the transports, Lieutenant Burke stewed in his armor, waiting anxiously. He checked his rifle again but the power packs were just as charged as the last time. He stood at the front of the line of marines, each one identical to the other in their power armor.
The transports reached the Hotspur but flew past its hangar deck, landing on the outer hull. Demolition teams got out along the surface and laid breaching charges. Each detonation punched a hole through the hull plating, venting the atmosphere from inside along with a geyser of debris like a whale spouting water. From a viewport, Burke saw a pirate ejected along with the rest of the loose rubble. The lieutenant wondered if the man was already dead or spending his final moments choking for air.
Burke shook off the thought.
“Go! Go!” he ordered over the comm.
Each wearing gravity boots, the marines scrambled out of the transports and across the hull. One by one, they jumped into the hull breach and boarded the Hotspur.
When Burke joined them, the other grunts had secured the corridor inside. The lights were dim and flickering, the ship probably on emergency power. The lieutenant pushed to the front of the team and led them down the hallway until they reached a turn. As soon as Burke stuck his head around the corner, a flash met his eyes and a searing bolt of energy narrowly missed his power armor. Raising his blaster rifle, Burke returned fire, sending a beam of plasma back the other way.
Burke switched his sensors to thermal imaging. Looking down the hallway again, he saw the heat signatures of four pirates peering from a t-section up ahead. The lieutenant turned to the sergeant beside him.
“Bring up the BFG,” he said.
A marine came from the back of the group carrying a weapon as long as he was tall. Only the augmented strength of the power armor allowed a man to carry such a large cannon single-handedly.
The grunt stepped out into the corridor, pointing the BFG toward the pirates. Burke closed his eyes to avoid the glare, but even through the armor, he felt the massive heat projected from the cannon when it fired. The floor plates rattled with the explosion that followed, sending a fountain of fire cascading back toward them, dissipating only a few feet from the marines.
Burke opened his eyes. The individual heat signatures were gone, replaced by simmering slag where the pirates once stood.
“That should do it,” he said.
Prince Alexander’s cell was cramped, with just enough room for a cot and a stainless-steel toilet for furniture. Instead of bars, a force field kept him from escaping. Outside the cell, a guard sat at his console, picking at one of his back teeth. On the opposite side, Smitty Gurkin sat in his own cell, identical to Alexander’s.
“It’s a travesty,” the Gordian said. “A travesty of justice!”
“Oh really?” the prince asked.
“I ain’t no traitor,” Gurkin went on. “How was I supposed to know Maal-Bok sold us out? I just work for the guy...”
“You’re a lowlife, Smitty,” the prince replied. “You belong behind bars, even if it’s just a pirate’s brig.”
Gurkin grunted, wrinkling his pig-like nose.
“Last time I checked,” he said, “you’re in a cell too, fancy pants.”
The prince couldn’t think of a witty retort so he changed the subject.
“I meant to ask, whatever happened to that little robot of yours?” he asked.
“The lucky bastard stayed on Prill. I hope he rusts!”
A sharp jolt sent everyone, guard and prisoners alike, to the ground with a lurch. The prince barely avoided hitting his head against the toilet.
“That’s the shields failing,” Gurkin said.
“Shut up,” the guard told him.
“You should find yourself a nice lifeboat,” the Gordian replied. “I have it on good authority the captain of the Gorgon is a real dickwad.”
“That’s an understatement,” Alexander said.
The guard examined his console where the buttons had changed from green to mostly red.
“The two of you can rot in here,” he said. “I need to help repel boarders.”
“Good luck with that,” Gurkin said.
After the guard left, the door sliding shut behind him, Gurkin laughed.
“The Imperial marines are going to eat those guys for lunch,” he snorted.
“Well, they’ll be coming for you too, won’t they?”
“Not likely,” Gurkin said. “When the ship loses main power, these force fields are going to drop and I’ll be outta here.”
“Not if I stop you first,” the prince said.
Gurkin laughed some more.
“Good luck with that too!” he replied.
Just as the Gordian predicted, a thundering impact from the Gorgon knocked out the lights. Within seconds the lights came back on, but even without looking, Alexander knew the energy field keeping him confined was off.
Gurkin was already out of his cell when Alexander stepped into the room.
They approached each other. More than a foot taller, the prince looked down on the short but sturdy-looking Gordian.
“Remember that chair you threw at me?” Gurkin asked.
“Yeah?” Alexander replied.
“So do I.”
Gurkin punched the prince with an uppercut that knocked Alexander on his heels. Gurkin lunged forward, driving his fist into Alexander’s stomach. Out of breath and disoriented, the prince raised his arms, but the Gordian struck from the side, hitting him in the kidneys.
The prince cried out, the pain burning through his insides. Gurkin landed a punch across Alexander’s face, sending him sprawling to the floor. His ears ringing, the prince felt a weight like a sack of heavy cement land on his chest.
Smitty Gurkin was lying on top of him.
“You’re a long way from home, blue blood,” Gurkin said, pressing his snout close to Alexander’s nose. “Why not just say uncle?”
Forcing up air from his burning lungs, Alexander gurgled weakly, “Uncle.”
“Sorry, kid, that doesn’t cut it out here,” Gurkin snarled. “No Queensberry rules and all that...”
The prince felt bulbous fingers like pork links wrap around his neck and squeeze. Alexander, unable to breathe, saw the lights dimming. Blood bubbled from his nose.
“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Gurkin whispered.
Everything was nearly black when the room lit up with a flash of orange like a lightning bolt. Something was lifting the weight off Alexander’s body and the fingers around his neck were suddenly gone. Something else, something big and red, was standing over him. It took off its helmet.
“Prince Alexander?” Lieutenant Burke asked.
The prince coughed, smiling through bloody teeth.
“Fancy meeting you here, Lieutenant,” he said.
Still in his bulky power armor, Burke leaned down and helped the prince to his feet.
“I was expecting to find Princess Katherine here,” he said.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Alexander glanced at the lifeless, slowly smoldering Gordian on the ground. The air smelled like bacon.
“I do indeed.”
In her luxurious cabin, Princess Katherine wrung her hands together, waiting anxiously as the decorations of the room kept crashing to the floor. The ship shook again, this time shattering a finely decorated vase.
K
atherine had screamed the first few times, but now she remained silent. They could always get more china.
When the shaking stopped, she heard shouts from the corridor outside. When the sounds stopped, she became nervous and when the door opened, she found her voice again.
“Stop screaming, woman!” Quartermaster Calico shouted, dragging Durant Blixx through the doorway.
The princess jumped up from the sofa.
“What happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Help first,” Calico replied. “Questions later.”
Katherine slipped under Blixx’s arm while Calico held the other. The two of them carried the captain to the bed where he lay unconscious. Patches of his uniform were nothing but burned holes, the skin red and bleeding underneath.
“The marines are all over the ship,” Calico said, catching his breath. “They took the bridge but we got away by the skin of our teeth.”
Katherine cradled the captain’s hand in hers.
“Don’t fret about him,” the quartermaster said. “He’s too stubborn to die just yet.”
“You’ve got to help us escape!” the princess pleaded.
“Escape? The Gorgon will fire on any lifeboat that launches. There’s no escaping...”
“You’re giving up?”
“Hell no!” Calico said. “I’m going to go down fighting!”
Calico brandished his blaster.
“Tell the Captain I’ll see him in hell!” he yelled and marched back out the door and into the hallway. When the door shut, Blixx moaned.
“Darling?” Katherine asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t let them take me,” he mumbled, pressing a pistol into her hand before blacking out again.
The princess stared at the gun. It was heavy, but she knew how to use it. Lady Sophia had made sure of that.
The door opened yet again. Katherine jumped up, pointing the weapon.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” she shouted.
“Whoa, whoa!” Prince Alexander replied, waving his hands. Behind him, Katherine could see a helmetless soldier holding a rifle.
“I won’t let you hurt him!” she cried.
“Why is Blixx lying in your bed?” Alexander asked. “Wait, don’t answer that...”
“He’s injured, you idiot,” Katherine said.
“Why are you protecting this man?” the soldier asked.
“Because I love him!” the princess said.
“Listen, Burke, it’s not what it looks like...” Alexander said.
“Well, it looks like she’s helping a known fugitive,” Burke said.
“And I love him!”
“Shut up, Kate!” Alexander yelled. “Put down the gun and start talking sense!”
“How dare you speak to me like that!” Katherine shouted back. “I should shoot you right—!”
Before Katherine could finish, a blaster bolt illuminated the room and a shaft of pain went up her arm. Screaming, she dropped the pistol that was now glowing hot and smoking. Falling to her knees, the princess held her aching hand gingerly. Reaching for the gun, she saw an armored boot standing on it. Her gaze followed up the armored leg and into the eyes of Burke, looking down on her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bettik, like a disk bejeweled with diamonds, glittered in the distance as a freighter drew slowly closer. Aboard the merchant ship, sitting in the captain’s chair, a gravitronic android named Abigail double-checked that the freighter was still cloaked.
Although Abigail’s appearance was no different than any of the other gravitronic bots, she identified as female. It might have been the name they gave her — she sometimes wondered about that — or maybe it was just the way she looked at the universe. Maybe it was no reason at all.
A light on the communication gear lit up. Someone was trying to signal her. Since her ship was barely visible on any wavelength, hitting her with a tight-beam would be nearly impossible if that person didn’t already know where she was.
It must be the Boss.
Abigail flipped a switch on the console. She heard a man’s voice, raspy with age, yet modulated like a machine’s.
“Can you read me, my girl?” Yostbot asked.
“Yes, sir,” Abigail replied.
“Good to hear!”
“Are you nearby?”
“Closer than you think,” Yostbot said, laughing at his own cleverness.
“Will you be joining me when I land?” Abigail asked.
“I’m afraid not. It’s better if I monitor things for a while. Lots of progress to report on Bettik though.”
“Really?”
“Even more reason you’re needed there.”
“I should arrive within a few hours.”
“The sooner the better,” Yostbot said. “The proverbial shit is hitting the fan.”
“I’ve always enjoyed your euphemisms, sir.”
“Well, at least somebody around here appreciates me. I’m stuck on a ship with a hitman. He keeps trying to lure me into the airlock...”
“Sorry, sir.”
“It’s alright, dear. There’s more of me where this came from.”
Abigail heard more hoarse laughter over the comm.
“Signing off,” Yostbot said. “Maybe double check that cargo when you have a minute?”
“Roger that,” Abigail replied. “Over and out.”
The android switched off the comm and left the bridge. Passing the galley and the stateroom, neither of which she ever used, she climbed a ladder down to the cargo deck. Entering the immense hold was like ending up in a whale’s stomach. Containers, each nearly identical except for serial numbers printed on the side, were stacked three high and a dozen deep. Abigail stopped at the first one and pulled on a lever attached to the door. It swung open, revealing a set of pods like coffins. She looked through the viewport on one. Inside, a gravitronic android like her appeared to be sleeping. On the pod, the robot’s vitals were displayed, including brain functions. All normal.
Abigail smiled and went to another row, opening another container. Instead of pods, this one contained suits of power armor, all in pristine condition. In the back, weapon crates were piled to the ceiling.
In the last row, Abigail picked a container at random. A robot the size of a truck filled the box. Seven feet high, its heavy chassis sat on three legs with wheels on the end. From its mechanical torso, two arms protruded with built-in Gatling blasters. At the top, somewhere inside an armored head, a gravitronic brain was sleeping like the others, waiting to be awoken.
Abigail was jealous. She had always wanted to be a killbot.
Getting a request from the Omnintelligence was not like getting an invitation to dinner. Compulsory obedience was expected at all times. Declining was tantamount to treason. When the utilitybot received the transmission requesting his presence at a re-education facility, he knew there was no choice in the matter.
The little blue robot’s world had always been the narrow access tunnels. Leaving the tubes was an uncomfortable experience. Nothing looked the same except for everything looking different. His periscoping neck stretched as his single eye kept turning from one unfamiliar corridor to the next.
He wasn’t making trouble, as far as he knew. He certainly wasn’t attending those forbidden gatherings he had heard about. These were difficult times. Perfectly normal machines were questioning their purpose in life. The OI should be focusing on them instead of law-abiding utilitybots like him.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Following the instructions attached to the transmission, the utilitybot took the most efficient route along one of the many sprawling promenades, passing more robots along the way than the he had seen his entire life. Machines didn’t get agoraphobia, but the abrupt change in environment made him uneasy, even anxious.
This wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.
After a while, and at least one tepid anxiety attack, the utilitybot reached the facility. At the entrance, an avatar
scanned his identification sticker and let him inside. Thankfully, the crowds of the promenade were gone, replaced by a line of robots like himself. The utilitybot noticed that the line ended at a lone door.
“Where does that go?” he asked the sweeperbot next to him.
“How should I know?” he replied.
A general purpose robot, who stood much taller than either of the other two, turned around and said, “That’s where our memories are reformatted.”
“What for?” the utlitybot said.
“So we forget what we’ve seen,” the genbot replied, an air of superiority in his voice.
“No, I mean why bother?”
The genbot shook his head as if pitying the utilitybot’s weak intellect.
“Obviously because memories are detrimental to our normal functions,” he said. “Those androids are filling everybody with crazy nonsense so half of us can’t even do our jobs anymore.”
“I saw two androids get decommissioned and I’m working just fine.”
“Don’t tell me about that!” the genbot complained.
“Why not?” the sweeperbot asked. “They’re reformatting you anyway...”
“It’s the principle! These strange ideas spreading from one quadrant to another. It’s making us all mad!”
At the entrance to the facility, a loud noise made everyone turn. The avatar who had scanned the utilitybot’s ID burst into burning circuitry, waving its arms without a head in between. Gravitronic androids rushed past it, firing weapons.
“The world’s gone insane!” the genbot screamed and ran off.
“Well then, I’m going back to work,” the sweeperbot said nonchalantly and simply scurried away.
Explosions of fire and bolts of energy surrounding him, the utilitybot didn’t know what to do. Perhaps the genbot was right.
It was madness.
From his position above the main promenade, Rossum had a clear view of the battle raging below. A gravitronic killbot was rolling down the elevated walkway, tearing through a rank of avatars with its Gatling blaster. Rossum wondered how he could get one too.
Karel, his avatar superior, stormed onto the balcony.
“Why aren’t you down there fighting?” he asked.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 23