"What have you gone and done, you fool," said Merthon. "You didn't try and throw hydroxy tabs into the mix again did you? That nearly got us both executed. Very hasty on your part, I might add."
"Yes, that was a bold move, and stupid. But this time it's not what is added, it's what I've begun to leave out."
"You can't leave anything out, you old fool. Even the BG are smart enough to monitor the water content."
"Of course. I'm not a fool. The thing that is left out must be left out gradually and with great care. Their water analyzers tend to read a little high on one particular nutrient that I have been slowly reducing."
"Well, are you gonna tell me?"
“Yes, but you’ll also need to know how to—” and then his words were cut off as a metal arm had reached into the water snatching them both up.
The Vellosians stared at each other, held in the metal clutches of a BG warrior, the only sound was the drip, drip of water onto the surface of the pool.
“The Emperor has commanded that you two shall no longer be in contact,” the warrior said.
There was no time to argue. Jamis reached out to Merthon with his mind, the water still covering both of them. “Tell me!” he thought.
But it was too late, his thoughts were cut off once more.
Merthon and Jamis never spoke to each other again, each of them toiling away in separate sections of the synthetic life form production facility on the moon formerly known as Montag.
Alacyte
Duval
Bakahne Grana Alacyte Production Facility #1
Jolo stared at the big screen on the bridge into the darkness. It felt good to be on the ship again. There were too many things in his head: Jaylen, the BG and Federation wanting to kill him, and the fact that he didn't quite know who, or exactly what, he was. It all swirled in his mind and clouded his thinking. A few hours earlier he found out where Jaylen was. And that still pulled hard in his heart, but for the moment there was something more pressing to attend to: the burning anger inside of him.
He plotted a course for the other side of the planet. Koba had fixed the voice command issue so finally he had full charge of the Jessica. That was all he needed. If the bastards wanted him dead for being a synth, which he clearly wasn't, then he was going to give them all a much better reason to kill him. It was one thing to kill a man for being a synth when he wasn’t. Quite another to kill a pirate who rained down destruction and fire upon you.
Standing on the deck of the Jessica, her fuel cells full, shields and armament ready at his command, the mountain chain to the east drifting away as the light of day from the star they called La Taiyo sending a pink glow on the horizon, Jolo was at peace. He was not much for backstabbing politicians and manipulation. All he needed was direction, a target, something to destroy.
At his core he knew that he was a fighter, and that’s what he did best. He felt it in his bones--the 52% at least that were his, the other 48 along for the ride. And the closest target he had was the jewel of the black worms. He was going to destroy the alacyte production facility, or die trying.
An hour into his journey to the other side of the planet the light of morning grew stronger and the orange sand stretched out forever. The nav console said 3.8 hours to destination. That would give him plenty of time to pull up the alacyte facility layout on his computer and sketch out a plan of attack. He turned to sit down in the captain’s chair, and there, leaning against the logic array that Koba had worked on earlier was the synth, George. His arms were folded and he had a half smile on his face. He stood so still that Jolo might have missed him were it not for his blue eyes and his blonde hair. He had a very slight plastic quality about him which made him blend well standing next to the logic array. Though when he moved he was very much human-like.
"They're going to kill you," he said, smiling.
"Yeah, probably."
"Anger. That's a good sign. Especially for a human. It means you're moving past that difficult piece of news earlier. Or maybe I should say moving through it. But being dead won't help you, or anyone else."
"I'm not dead yet."
"Yes, but if you attack the alacyte production facility half-cocked like you're about to do, then indeed, you will die before you even get to fire a single blast from one of your beloved ion cannons. And so the Federation wins and the man claiming to be Jolo was nothing more than a synth after all, and now he is dead and the BG will continue doing their evil, nefarious deeds, etc. etc., ad nauseum."
"I've got a plan. Take out the guard force first, then blow the whole thing up."
"Not gonna work," said George, tilting his head, then going statue again.
"Well maybe the real Jolo Vargas may have had a great plan, but the new, alien version is just plain winging it."
"Does the alien version really want to die?" But this time it was Katy's voice. Jolo turned to face her and she was joined by Hurley, Koba, and the Greeley brothers.
"Answer my question," said Katy.
"Of course I don't want to die," said Jolo.
“I don’t believe you,” said Katy. “Look me in the eye.” And she put her hands on either side of his face and stared at him for a moment.
“I don’t want to die,” said Jolo again.
"Well then let us help you," said the older Greeley. "You saved all of us. And I don't care who you were before, or what you are now, all I know is, you were the guy who pulled us out of hell, so we're not leaving you."
"Not to mention the fact that you're trying to leave us right when there's gonna be a little gun play. Now that’s enough to piss me off. I'm ready to suit up and go worm hunting," said the younger Greeley, smiling.
"How did you know?" said Jolo.
"Your father predicted it," said Katy. "This is how you react to difficult news. He said you tend to fly off and do something stupid. When your mother died you stole a Fed transport ship and your father was convinced you were going to be a pirate."
Jolo looked down at his boots. They were old Jolo's boots, but they fit perfect. They knew his toes better than he did.
"I guess I did fly off a little half-cocked. But I don't want to put any of you in danger."
"We are here because we want to be here," said Katy. "Even Koba." Koba smiled and waved his bandaged hand.
"Yes, I'm happy to be here. But I really would like a better plan of attack."
"I agree," said Jolo.
……
"Do you think it's gonna work?" said Katy, handing Jolo the binoculars. They were both lying behind a sand dune watching George speed off on the hover bike. As he got further away all they could see was a tiny trail of dust heading straight for the BG communication tower.
George had insisted he be the one to take the tower out. If he failed, then the ground force would put the call in to the battleship in orbit above Duval and they'd all be dead. The typical BG Destroyer held four cruisers, a full platoon of warriors, and hundreds of recon bots that could locate a rat in a 100 square kilometer area in minutes.
George was right, thought Jolo. He was quite happy to report that he was stronger than any human by a factor of 3.4 and at least twice as fast on foot, but nonetheless Jolo felt like he should be the one on the hover bike.
Jolo handed the binoculars back to Katy. "Yeah, he's fine. And besides, if the plan doesn't work, there won't be a lot of time to fret over it." He smiled at her and they jogged back to the Jessica.
……
The closer George got to the communication tower, the larger it became. He wondered if he had enough charges. The bike couldn't carry any more explosives anyway, so he’d find out soon enough. He smiled to himself. He was carrying charges to destroy a building and didn’t even know the weight of the charge or the size of the building. Calculations had not been made, nor had he done any testing at all. And 10 minutes ago he didn't even know how to set a charge.
Mr. Marco would be proud. He was no longer fastidious George. He was rash, cavalier. Damn near human. Which will probably be the d
eath of me, he thought, angry at himself for even thinking of it.
Per the plan, George rode the hover bike straight up to the communications tower. He waited near the bike ten meters from the large entrance, the tower reaching high into the blue sky above. He stood there holding his extra-heavy helmet with a smile on his face, trying to seem as human as possible: sloppy grin, slouchy posture, and remembering to fidget constantly.
George had never seen a BG warrior up close. The metal door slid open and out came the mech: larger, taller, and more agile than he had imagined. If he was capable of fear, which he wasn't, he reminded himself, he should’ve been feeling it right about then. He wondered if that particular sensation would come. He waited for a sign: a buckling of the knees, a shortness of breath, palpitations, something.
He was standing perfectly still again and so he initiated a bit of random knee movements, then scratched his elbow and widened his eyes, titled his head, half smile. Careless. Oblivious. Human.
"This area is restricted," said the giant black mechanical being in front of him. His voice an electric hiss.
George had to look up at the giant, right into the sunlight to reply. His eyes adjusted immediately, but he put his hand over his eyes like a visor, blinking the whole time, just like humans do. "Quite right. Quite right. I seem to be a bit lost. Here, catch this," George said, tossing his helmet to the warrior.
Instinctively the warrior grabbed the helmet with both of his alacyte claws and at the same time George dove backwards face down into the dirt. The explosion rocked the ground under him. And if he was supposed to feel burned, he should have, right at that moment. 17.84% of back and neck area have suffered minor burn damage, his internal sensors read. 27% hearing loss. 97.4% efficiency. He was good to go but made a mental note to tell the Greeleys next time they make a helmet bomb to consider less explosive. Now all he had to do was set the charges. The difficult part was done. How foolish the BG were to have only one warrior guarding the tower.
He stood up and dusted himself off, lifted the canvas cover off the charges and then heard the door open again.
He turned, still holding the canvas like a child’s blanket, as another warrior stepped out of the tower, right on top of the smoking, charred remains of the previous one. The head had rolled to a stop twenty meters off to the side, the arms and legs had become detached and the still smoking alacyte chest plate lay in the dirt, a large crack running along the side. Maybe the explosive amount was correct.
He looked up at the thing in front of him. Like a smaller, blacker tower, he thought. The mech’s tiny gears and actuators whirred.
7.8% chance of survival. He couldn’t help it, the data just came to him. And now he was supposed to sigh, because his chances were slim and he only had the one helmet bomb and now was armed with a piece of cloth. So he let out a long breath of air and slumped his shoulders. It was the anatomically correct thing to do at that particular moment. This was the end. He hoped Mr. Marco would miss him.
The black creature’s long stick was lit up on both ends, glowing bright red even in the full light of day. The mechanical thing raised up the weapon. “Ignorant human!”
He said, Human, thought George. A wonderful complement it would have been in any other circumstance. But here, on the sand, in the full sun, mechanical being vs. synthetic life form created on Vellos: it was an insult.
George felt a tang of the one emotion he could almost feel: anger. It was a tightening of his being, when the calculations did not come as quickly but his reaction time improved greatly.
The end of the energy weapon made an arc in the sky and swept back down to cut the little person in half, but George was no human. He jumped straight up as the electric blade swooshed under him, the creature’s large, metal head still aimed down. George jumped, kicked off the middle of the pole and covered its large metal head with the canvas.
He landed on his feet behind the black, mechanical worm.
Chance of survival 9.4%. Hmmm, an improvement, thought George. The BG warrior struggled to remove the canvas that was blocking his vision. George’s first instinct was to sprint straight away from the tower but then realized that would be folly, there was no cover, and he had no weapon. At that point, even one of the crappy Federation energy weapons would have been useful. So instead of heading straight off into the sand to his death, he darted to the left and hid behind one of the giant tower pillars.
The black monster whirled around, reacquired its tiny target, and came down again with the energy weapon. George darted away and the BG’s weapon took a large chunk out of the steel pillar, which gave George an idea.
There were energy cells powering the tower, a row of three, four meters high, on the far side. George made one final sprint and positioned himself directly in front of the cells. This was a plan worthy of Captain Vargas. Or merely the last thoughts of a dead synth?
In one quick leap the warrior was in front of him. The speed with which he covered the distance caught George off guard. 2.43% chance of survival.
And to make matters worse the warrior had broken his weapon in half and held each end in one of his alacyte tri-grip hands. The warrior feinted with the right and then came up with the left, severing George's arm above the elbow. Instantly, his survival protocol went into action sealing off all open arterial connections. He glanced down at the arm for a split second, lying in the dirt under the tower, and thought that he must feel some sense of sadness for his loss, but then the large BG warrior coiled for the final blow. He pulled back to make a stab.
It was perfect. The warrior made a thrust with the point of his weapon and George jumped again.
The warrior's alacyte lance pierced the energy cell and enough juice to power the Jessica for several days coursed through the metallic creature's frame. No amount of careful insulation could protect the worm inside. The smoking black warrior fell back into the dirt.
George picked himself up off the ground, quickly repaired the leaks to what remained of his arm and went about setting the charges. 91.9% chance of survival.
……
The Bakanhe Grana Alacyte Production Facility #1 produced 68.4% of all BG alacyte used for weapons and ship construction. The facility had been in 24/7 operation for the last four months, ostensibly to supply the raw materials to build ships to support and protect the merchant class traders traveling through Federation space. No one in the Fed questioned the massive output. Cargo ships from all over the galaxy, mainly independent long-range haulers looking to score easy money queued up night and day in a long procession, filling their ships to overcapacity then flying off to ship and weapons production facilities in BG space.
That morning there was one extra ship in the queue. Formally of the Federation, the gunboat Jessica squeezed in between two large freighters.
"They'll see us," said Katy.
"No," said Koba. "I’ve made a few transponder modifications. They should see a Class-D Runabout on their scanners. It's not uncommon for the larger freighters to have smaller support ships in the air. They won’t get a visual until its too late."
"I hope it works," said Katy.
"We'll find out soon enough," said Jolo.
The plan was simple. The freighters went into the heart of the facility. All they had to do was get the Jessica inside and let the ion cannons do the rest. The whole operation was lightly defended: two cruisers and the ground force. The trick was getting in and out before the Destroyer up top got wind of their little operation. Jolo figured they had about ten minutes from the time smoke started coming up from the comm tower two kilometers away, and that was two minutes ago. At some point, the big ship would send another cruiser down to check on the broken communications, and the plan was to be half way to anywhere by then.
There were two BG cruisers at the entrance to the facility and they would make a visual ID on the gunboat. But that's where the Greeley brothers came in. Each were manning a fixed position ion cannon, which by themselves couldn't take a cruiser down, but
they could draw both of them away from the entrance. Jolo was betting they wouldn't stop production if the cruisers went off. They’d continue loading.
“We’re getting close,” said Katy. The entrance to the facility was large enough for a freighter to enter. Heat waves and smoke issued forth and distorted the view around the mouth of the giant building. As they got nearer, Jolo moved the Jessica closer behind the big freighter, but soon they were close enough to be spotted. Hurley was positioned at the bottom of the ship with his head sticking out of the lower escape hatch. “Yeah, Captain. There’s two of ‘em. One on either side. And they close.”
Jolo got on the comm to the Greeleys. “Light ‘em up, boys. Just hit ‘em a few times then run straight for the dense woods to the south, then down into the gulley.”
Soon there were the distinct sounds of two ion cannons firing and both cruisers left their posts near the entrance, each heading toward the big guns. They just made an attempt to link with the Destroyer up top, too, thought Jolo. And they know the comm is down.
Jolo didn’t waste any time getting inside. He nudged the big freighter ahead of him, then unloaded the Jessica’s rail guns at the giant smelter on the far side of the facility. Robots were flying all over the place, some working the raw plugs at the near end, others loading smooth alacyte bars in various lengths into ships waiting in the cue.
Jolo’s first shot toppled the hot smelter and a wave of molten alacyte crashed onto the floor. Several BG warriors got caught in the smoking red flow: their legs melting. The little worms inside desperately tried to keep their chestplates out of the lava, but if there were no handholds then the worms inside were burned alive.
One legless warrior held onto a flying droid and nearly made it clear, but the weight was too much and the droid lost lift and they both went down into the river of alacyte. Worker bots and droids splattered with liquid metal crashed into the sides of the waiting ships and fell to the floor below, starting fires as the warning message for all ships to evacuate the building started to repeat.
The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Box Set Page 12