Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7)

by Craig Alanson

  “If? Crap. What went wrong?”

  “Um, that pile of junk I threw together to control jump navigation kind of blew a fuse. Luckily, I contacted it through this end and fed it updated settings, which I could do because the other end was further back in time. It’s complicated, Joe, nothing to worry your fuzzy little monkey head about. The good news is I might, might, not making any promises here, be able to fix the computer and revise the programming before you have to jump out. Otherwise, you are not jumping anywhere.”

  Shit. Turning in my seat, I saw a thin, orange tendril of smoke drift upward from the makeshift jump computer. “Skippy, that thing is on fire!”

  “Not anymore, heh heh, I cut the power and activated the fire suppression gear. Um, you shouldn’t breathe that smoke, it is toxic. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Joe.”

  “You have nothing to worry about!”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about myself. See? This is me demonstrating my mastery of empathy. I meant, you should not worry about it.”

  “Oh,” the relief was so abrupt it made me shiver. “Cool. Because you can easily fix it?”

  “Ha! As if! Dude, right now I have no freakin’ clue if I can fix it. You should not worry because there is nothing you can do about it. What you should worry about is the next step of the mission.”

  My reply was cut off by Smythe. “He is correct, Sir. We have a job to do.”

  “Skippy, if we ever try this trick again, we will first test it by jumping you into a star.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Have you ever seen ‘The Grinch’? Stupid question, of course you have. Do you remember the scene where the Grinch has stolen the last present, and is sneaking away from Whoville?

  That’s how Smythe and I felt, carrying sacks of pixies out of the factory. Our mission there had been outstandingly successful, better than we hoped, even though there had been a few problems along the way.

  First, our way into the factory was through what Skippy had described as a ‘small thermal exhaust port’. He was not wrong about the thing being small, it was barely a meter and a half wide. The size was not the problem, even in mech suits we were able to fit inside the thing without difficulty although we had to go one at a time. Since the team going into the factory was only me and Smythe, having to go one at a time was not a major problem.

  The major problem was the ‘thermal exhaust’ part. The factory was powered partly by a geothermal source buried deep below the surface, it used hot magma for energy, and pumped down a cold slurry of liquid sodium or something like that, I hadn’t been paying attention when Skippy explained the nerdy details. Anyway, most of the time there was no need for exhausting any heat, the cold liquid went down a pipe, got heated by the magma and rushed up to the generator. Heat was carried by the liquid, with no need to waste energy by venting it.

  Except that magma had currents like any liquid, even though it was liquid rock. Sometimes heat built up in the magma chamber in excess of what was needed by the factory’s needs, and to relieve pressure, thermal energy was vented to the surface to keep the foundation of the factory stable. It didn’t happen often or even regularly but if it happened while Smythe or I were in the exhaust shaft, we would get cooked even inside our suits. So, the first thing we had to do was cut into the shaft- No, wait. The first thing we did was make sure the exhaust shaft was not already in use and super hot. It was not, so we cut a hole in the side and dropped a stealthy probe down on a long, ultrathin wire. Fortunately, the only sensors in the shaft were for temperature and pressure, so Skippy was able to take control and bypass those sensors easily as the probe dropped. At the bottom, the probe needed to crawl around on its creepy centipede legs until it found the mechanism for the vent controller. Once Skippy had hacked into the controller, the exhaust port on the bottom would not open while we were in the shaft. Great, right? Except it was a long climb up to the factory and if there was a big thermal flare below us, the factory AI would wonder why the eventual exhaust was so unusually hot, and then wonder why the port had not opened when it was supposed to.

  That is why Smythe and I, with me going first, climbed as quickly as we could. Technically, we both surrendered control of the climb to our suit computers, which could activate and release the gecko-grip mechanism and move the powered arms and legs much faster than either of us could. After we were both in the shaft, with Smythe climbing thirty meters below me, Reed and Grudzien sealed the hole we had cut, so they wouldn’t get killed when the exhaust was venting. Also so the factory AI would not notice a portion of the thermal energy was flowing in the wrong direction.

  Anyway, we got into the factory, and Skippy took control of the factory AI more easily than he expected, although he made an extra effort to explain how incredibly difficult that task was, and how his awesomeness had never been demonstrated more awesomely than right then.

  After that, Smythe and I had the nerve-wracking task of doing absolutely nothing for twenty two hours, while the factory churned out pixies and Skippy altered production records to make it look like perfectly good pixies had flaws and were discarded. The long delay, while the factory worked to make pixies we could steal, was the reason we had to conceal our outbound jump inside a comet. Someone in the star system would certainly have noticed the unknown gamma ray burst and probably increased security at the factory. On the way out, we could let the far end of our jump wormhole be exposed in space, as we didn’t plan to hang around long after our escape from the factory. I sat with Smythe, the two of us trying to rest and not talking much, while the factory churned away around us in the darkness. Technically, we were never in the factory complex itself, only in a sort of bunker that had nothing except for a port where Skippy could begin hacking into the Maxolhx AI. The beer can assured us there was no reason we could not talk normally, as he had complete control of the factory complex and sensors, but neither Smythe nor I felt like talking much and we were both too tense to relax and make conversation. We both slept in shifts, or I slept when it was my turn and I assume Smythe got rest while I was on watch.

  Sorry there isn’t more to report, we sat and waited while Skippy had the factory churn out pixies for us, and then a bot carried the batch of ten pixies to us before turning around and silently walking away. I put five of the paired devices in my pack and Smythe took the other five, and we started back to the exhaust shaft.

  Everything was going great, until it wasn’t.

  “Joe, I have good news and bad news,” Skippy announced with way more cheeriness than was appropriate for telling someone about bad news, especially in our tense situation.

  “Oh, crap. Bad news first, please.”

  “Um, well, heh heh, it appears that I might have screwed up big time, and now it looks like you and the team are stuck in there and I don’t see any way out of it.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Well, um, heh heh, my ego might have gotten the better of me. When I took over that AI, I was so offended by the amateurish way it managed pixie production, that, um, I kind of tweaked the process to make it more efficient. Just a tiny bit, like a seven percent improvement in yield. It wasn’t entirely about my ego,” he added quickly. “Part of tweaking the process was to make sure we could get a batch of good pixies quickly. The problem is, um, I sort of forgot to conceal the process improvements from the Maxolhx in charge of the facility, and they instantly got curious about why the production yield suddenly became significantly more efficient. The bottom line is a group of Maxolhx officials are on their way to inspect the production facility right now. You will not have time to get away before they arrive.”

  “What the f- Holy shit, what is the good news?”

  “The good news is that I feel just terrible about it, Joe. See? I’ve been working on that empathy thing, at which I am now awe-some,” he sang in a falsetto voice. “Really, screwing up like that put me in a deep funk for days. Days of my time, it was only a couple nanoseconds in your time. I feel much better now. Hey,
this guilt-trip thing sucks, total waste of time, I don’t know why you monkeys bother with it. I mean, there’s nothing I can do to fix the problem, it’s not like I can change the past, you know? Anywho, you do not need to worry that your impending and inevitable deaths will be a burden to me, I’m over it.” He paused. “Uh, Joe, are you listening?” There were muffled booming sounds like someone tapping a microphone. “Is this thing on? Crap, have I been talking to myself the whole time? Damn it! If I wasted that whole stupid speech moaning about how sorry I am, I am going to be pissed.”

  “I. Was. Listening. YOU SHITHEAD!”

  “You were listening? Ugh, then why did you make me think I had just poured my heart out for nothing? That was totally inconsiderate, you big jerk.”

  “I’m a jerk? Your screw-up is going to get us killed!”

  “Oh, sure, it’s all about you, Joe. What about me? I will have to go on without you, do you know how difficult that will be? Well, it would be difficult, except that I will just press the Easy Button and archive all my memories of you so they don’t bother me. But, think how hard it will be for me to train a new monkey? Where am I going to find- Ooh! Ooh! I have a great idea! How about when the ship gets back to Earth, I start a new reality show in which contestants compete to be my new pet monkey? I could call it something like ‘Who wants to be’-”

  “That is a terrible idea, and you are not sorry at all.”

  “I am too. Nagatha! Tell him.”

  “It is true, dear,” Nagatha acknowledged, “that Skippy was beating himself up about his mistake, he was quite inconsolable for several nanoseconds. In true Skippy fashion, he indulged himself by writing an epic poem about his sorrow, then turned it into a song. Thank God he has gotten over his guilt and grief, I was growing so tired of hearing that song.”

  “Hey!” Skippy protested. “That is a great song,” and of course he broke into singing. “You’re here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on-”

  “What the- You ASS!” I exploded. “You didn’t write that song, that is the theme from the movie ‘Titanic’!”

  “Um, I didn’t steal that song, I was, um, uh, inspired by it. Yeah, that’s it. Besides, that Rose chick was only sad about losing some boytoy she bonked for, like, three freakin’ minutes. Oh, boo hoo, she was in looove. Yuck, gag me,” he spat in disgust. “I was wracked with grief because I’m going to lose a whole barrel of monkeys I have known for years. So, tell me, who deserves to own that song, me or some fictional girl in a movie? Joe? Are you there?”

  I had no words.

  “You can’t even console me about my ever-lasting sorrow?” Skippy whined. “Jeez, who needs empathy lessons now? Selfish little Joey Bishop, that’s who. Big jerk.”

  “Sir?” Colonel Smythe interrupted my pleasant fantasy of watching Skippy helplessly spiral down into the crushing gravity well of a black hole. “Perhaps instead of arguing about whether the beer can is sorrowful about his mistake, you concentrate on fixing the problem.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I agreed. While Skippy had been being extra asshole-ish, I had been thinking about how to get us out of the latest mess he got us into. “Skippy, where are those Maxolhx officials now? Right now?”

  “They are boarding a ship that is at a space station in high orbit. Once pre-flight checks are complete, I expect the ship to depart in twelve minutes. That particular ship is not a threat, it is merely a lightly-armed transport, but once the officials arrive, they will inevitably detect your presence and alert several warships that are parked nearby. There is not enough time for you to get all the way out of the production factory and fly away in the dropship before the officials arrive.”

  Smythe spoke before I could. “It is possible for you to intercept communications between those officials and the warships? Prevent them from sending an alert?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” the chastened beer can replied. “Their ship has an independent comm system based on pixies. If I attempt to interrupt their signals, that will set off an alarm. This is why I said I am sorry, I do not see any way for you to escape from there.”

  “Uh huh, yeah,” I was only half-listening to him. “I don’t suppose you can screw with their transport ship, so it can’t fly here?”

  “No, dumdum, I’m not there, duh. Besides, they would just switch to another transport. You are well and truly screwed this time, I am sorry. Jeez, I am sick of saying that word. I’m sorry, Ok? That’s the last time I’m saying that.”

  “He might be right about our dilemma this time, Sir,” Smythe had a completely stiff upper lip about the situation. “If we can’t escape, what are your orders?”

  “I’m not giving up yet, Smythe. We may yet have a card to play,” I assured him, although right then, shit, I had no idea what we could do. If those Maxolhx officials were responsible for the production facility, they for damned sure would want to investigate any anomaly in its processes. Even if Skippy now had the AI tell the officials that the initial report of a suddenly-improved process was a mistake, that would be alarming enough to need investigation.

  Hell, if I were in charge of a major, very important and expensive facility and something changed unexpectedly, I would want to know what was going on before my boss asked me about-

  Holy shit.

  “Skippy, these officials coming here, are they, like, in charge of this place? Are they the highest-ranking officials in this star system?”

  “No, why? The Maxolhx headed toward you are the line production managers; they report to a sort of Grand Poobah who is responsible for the entire effort. The people coming toward you want to know what the hell is going on, before the Grand Poobah’s office finds out there was an anomaly and asks them about it.”

  That made me smile. “Hmm, so this Grand Poobah guy-”

  “She’s a female, Joe,” Skippy chided me.

  “Whatever. She doesn’t know about the anomaly yet? Tell her, Skippy. Have the factory AI tell her right now.”

  “Um, Ok, doing it now. I don’t understand why that would matter.”

  “That’s because you don’t understand the bureaucratic mindset, Skippy. Everybody wants to cover their asses. This Grand Poobah woman, she also has a boss somewhere, and if there is a problem with the big project she is responsible for, she will want to see the problem herself, not get a secondhand report from her flunkies.”

  “Those officials are highly-skilled scientists, Joe, I would not describe them as ‘flunkies’.”

  “You don’t have to. I can guarantee you that she thinks of them that way. Go do a crossword puzzle or something, give it a minute.”

  It took four minutes, during that time I was sweating in my suit and my hands were shaking even more than they had been since we left the Flying Dutchman. If my ploy didn’t work, I was totally out of ideas and we were totally out of options. So was humanity. Crap, there was no pressure on me, right?

  “Huh,” Skippy was puzzled. “Maybe I do need to study how the mind of a bureaucrat works. Incredible though it may seem, you were right, Joe. That woman I described as the Grand Poobah just called her flunkies and told them not to approach the production facility, until she and her staff have time to assess the situation and then join them. That is expected to take well over three hours. She sounded more than a bit upset that the local officials intended to investigate the anomaly without informing her about it. Apparently, this is not the first time she has been kept in the dark about a potential issue with the factory. Joe, you may just have gotten some hapless production managers fired. I hope you are happy, you heartless jerk. Some poor Maxolhx family may starve because of you, Joe.”

  “Yeah, my heart bleeds for them, Skippy. Tell you what; I’ll send a CARE package of Fluff and, um, the Maxolhx are sort of cats so I’ll send them a tin of sardines or something.”

  “That would be a heart-warming gesture if you actually cared, Joe.”

  “They can leave a scathing review about me on Yelp, Skippy. Are we good, now? We should be well away from here in a
n hour, right?”

  “Um, yes. Assuming nothing else major goes wrong, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Goodie. Heh heh, well, I am sure we can all put this unfortunate incident behind us and forget all about it, huh? I guess we all, heh heh, worried for nothing.”

  Smythe came my defense. “It would not have been ‘nothing’ if Colonel Bishop could not think of a way out of a mess you created.”

  “It’s not fair you all ganging up on me,” the beer can grumbled. “Yes, I made a mistake, Ok? Every mistake is a learning experience, and I learned a lot from this unfortunate incident.”

  “Like, you learned not to let your massive ego get us into trouble?” I asked hopefully.

  “Um, uh, yeah, that too, I’ll make a note of it. What I meant is that I learned guilt is way overrated, and that next time, I will wait for your corpse to get cold before I waste time moping around just because you are dead.”

  Smythe and I looked at each other. “Sir, if you could do a favor for me?” He asked. “Think of a way to download the useful parts of Skippy into the ship’s computer, so we can drop the beer can into a particularly nasty star?”

  “Skippy, please tell me you have fixed the jump navigation computer,” I whispered as my boots clomped into the Dragon’s airlock. To avoid annoying and distracting him, I had not asked about his progress with the sophisticated yet crude pile of circuits that, when I had last seen it, was on fire and issuing toxic orange smoke.

  “Um, define ‘fixed’, Joe,” his voice had that nervous flutter of an unspoken ‘heh heh’ that chilled my blood.

  “Crap. Does the damned thing work or not? ‘Work’ is defined as jumping us out of here. Wait! Jumping us out of here alive, and without the Maxolhx detecting the jump. Or detecting any sign that we were ever here. Wait!” I slapped a palm on my helmet faceplate. “The ‘alive’ part is, uh, optional if it absolutely has to be. We need to get the pixies to the Dutchman.” The plan was to use the last two sets of precious jump drive coils to bring the Falcon back to emerge behind an icy planetoid near the Dutchman, so the mass of that little planetoid would keep the gamma radiation of the inbound jump from being detected. What would keep the outbound jump from being detected was two things. The energy-absorbing stealth field Skippy projected through one of the microwormholes in the cavern he had created, and a stealth netting grid that Reed and Rowe had installed around the cavern while Smythe and I were stealing pixies. In addition to the grid, there was a very fine wire that had sunk itself down deep through the bottom of the cavern, so it could tap geothermal energy to power the stealth netting. The instant the Flying Dutchman jumped away with Skippy, the microwormholes in the cavern would collapse, taking the stealth field with them. We had to be sure the Maxolhx would never, or at least not for a very long time, learn about an artificial cavern under their critical pixie-production facility. Skippy estimated the stealth netting would conceal the cavern for thousands of years, long enough for natural forces to slowly fill it in.