Authors: Joseph A. Turkot
Sera stepped back.
Fight her again, and never make it
home—maybe they’d mail my corpse back through the T-jump? Killed by a lover, or
an angry cellbot?
“I have a ship. We’ll follow after the
thieves, retrieve your droids,” said FOD, eyeing Sera, “then I’ll drop you off
at Utopia. You’ll stay with me,” FOD said, looking to Mick.
“You?” Mick said. “Hell, what’s the
difference—one nut or the other.”
“You’ll run an errand on my behalf, and
then I’ll personally see you sent to whatever spacetime coordinate you desire.
That’s what you want, right?” FOD said.
“That’s what I want, now can we break
planetside before we’re swarmed by law?”
“Follow me.”
Mick walked behind Sera in the direction
of a nearby hangar.
“What about XJ and GR, we’re leaving
them here after all? And Axa, god knows what they’re doing to her,” Mick said.
“The old droids are on my ship already,”
FOD said, then looked at Sera coldly. “You didn’t mention another.”
“She’s a whore thief—she should be dead.
He’s a sentimental fool and kept her alive.”
“We’ll deal with her once we reclaim
your ship.”
FOD led them to his ship. They entered
the hangar and boarded a gunmetal light-class vessel with an L-shaped hull.
“What did you do to them?” Sera said,
seeing XJ and GR lifeless, strewn on the floor of the bay.
“They’re fine. Keep moving.”
Why does she trust this guy? Nearly
breaks my skull when I suggest leaving them, but this guy decommissions them
and she yawns? There’s a past here, and she’s playing it close to the chest.
They entered the cockpit and sat down.
The ship rotated and blasted off the planet. Mick gazed through a port window,
watching the spires of Glisreel fade, their glory diminishing beneath
blackening clouds.
“How are you going to track the
Fogstar?”
“Glisreel is not a city of wealth—it is
a city of death—distinct with many a tower and wall, impregnable of beaming
ice. Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin is there, that from the boundaries of
the sky rolls its perpetual stream,” said FOD, his eyes fixed to the beaming
stars shining through the cockpit viewscreen. “Their ship escapes not without a
trace of that virulent stream—we will follow it.”
A wackjob. Serves me right, ignoring my
gut. I shouldn’t have left Melbot’s station. What a mistake. I shouldn’t have
gone on the damn smuggling run. A waste. Shouldn’t have entered FRINGE. A desk
job—that’s what he’d offered.
What else Mick, you’re on a roll?
Shouldn’t have let it boil into murder.
Shouldn’t haves—no—should haves: should
have thought of the kids. Karen. Selby. What’s the priority now?
Self-preservation. God, get me back home.
“There,” said FOD, reclining in his
cockpit chair.
A blip flickered on the cabin radar.
“How the hell did you find it that
fast?” Mick asked.
FOD turned to Mick, his face revealed in
the green light of the cabin. His taut skin was worn with lines, his eyes luminous
glass.
This guy—another god damned robot.
“I am a robot,” FOD said.
Jesus Christ. Did he just read my damn—
“Yes. And the science behind it isn’t
very hard to grasp. You see, I inhabit a new expancapicator model. And one of
its built-in functions is the scanning of nearby brain waves.”
“Brainwaves translate my thoughts?” Mick
asked, astounded.
“Of course they do. A lot of wealthier,
or,” FOD eyed Sera, “outlaw types like her, use circ mods to overcome the tech.
You, Mr. Compton, do not seem to have any such defense. And so I believe Sera’s
premise the more—that you really are from the distant past.”
“And you?” Mick said, watching Sera
smile.
“No—I can’t read a damn thought in
anyone’s head. If I could, I might have avoided bruising your face so many
times.”
“Sit tight. I’m going to pull the ship
in.”
“You’ve got a tractor beam? What kind of
light-class ship is this?”
“A very expensive one.”
FOD gripped his pilot stick, directing
his focus back on the viewscreen. The ship jerked and Mick flattened into his
chair. The tiny glow of twin engines appeared: The rear of the Fogstar. A flash
of blue light emitted from the front of FOD’s ship. The blip on the radar
slowed.
“Got ‘em,” he said.
Watch your thoughts. You don’t want him
knowing too much.
Logic intervened:
If he can read your thoughts, he might have already
downloaded your entire memory.
“I’m not interested in your memories,”
FOD said quietly. Sera looked to Mick for explanation, but he ignored her.
What the hell is he interested in? A
favor, just like everyone else in M82 wants. No one can seem to deliver on
their promises here—no one can get me home.
“I will.”
FOD’s light-class drew in the paralyzed
Fogstar. The crackle of a transmission sounded, and FOD activated the intership
com.
“This is Graice Pulton, UCA Bounty
Division. You are advised to release your tractor now.”
“That won’t be necessary,” FOD replied.
“Repeat—this is UCA Bounty Division. We
are en route to UCA Starbase Tyne 4. Your interference is punishable by UCA
regulations up to—” FOD interrupted:
“Threats will not be necessary. I am
taking what is mine. Allow it, or pay with your life.”
That voice—Longjaw.
“You have one minute to release, or I will
fire.”
“Fire as I pull you in backwards?” FOD
laughed.
“You’ve had your warning,” Longjaw
replied, then cut off his transmission.
“Can he fire?” Mick asked.
“There’s hindcannons on it,” Sera
warned.
“He can’t fire them. His weapons systems
are immobilized.”
A very, very expensive light-class.
Maybe this guy can get me home.
The Fogstar moved within boarding
distance.
FOD attempted to reopen communication:
“You can keep the ship. I’m taking the cargo—the expancapacitor droids, the
girl, and the plastic.”
“What the hell have you done to my
ship?” cried Longjaw.
“Your ship?” Sera said. “I’ll kill him
myself.”
“I’ve signaled an alarm. Military ships
will swarm you before you reach the next system,” warned Longjaw.
“You mean this transmission?” FOD asked.
He played an audio recording of Longjaw pleading to UCA Starbase Tyne 4 for
assistance.
He intercepted the god damn
transmission.
FOD turned to his crew and smiled.
Son-of-a-bitch gets high on this.
“You’ve got a taint on board. Intercept
my transmissions all you want, it won’t matter. That plant-wasted whore is all
the transmission I need.”
“Your cooperation is appreciated,” FOD
replied. An airlock at the rear of the ship whooshed. He stood from his pilot
chair and walked past Mick and Sera. “Stay here,” he ordered.
“Sera Carner—wanted by the UCA for
desertion, and for the murder of an officer. Do you have any idea how fucked
you are? You better stand down. You’ll be lucky I don’t do you like I did this
whore you left behind.”
So he is her uncle then—old man Carner.
And this FOD—what a set of balls—he better have the bite to match, or we’re all
screwed.
FOD stepped into the airlock at the back
of the loading bay.
“What the hell’s he doing? No suit?”
“Expancapacitors can’t enter space
unprotected. He lied—it’s a military model.”
The black of space between the two
light-class vessels saw a drifting form float between them. The outer hatch of
the Fogstar’s bay opened.
“Do not board—I am directly ordering you
to return to your ship,” Longjaw threatened over the com.
“Help! They’re rape—,” Axa screamed.
“That piece of shit,” Sera said,
standing up from her chair. “Can you hear me Axa?”
“Yes—someone’s entering the ship.
They’re going to kill—” she replied.
“And I’ll rape your corpse too,” came a
strange voice.
A metallic bash rang out, a terrified
scream, and a body collapsing.
“That monster!” Sera said. She ran to
the bay hatch.
“Where the hell are you going?” Mick
called.
“Getting a suit on—I’m going to kill him
myself,” she said, opening a storage locker by the inner airlock door.
“
Stay put
,” FOD said through the
com. “I’m taking care of it.”
The inner airlock door of the Fogstar
opened and FOD walked into the bay. Several bodies were scattered on the floor:
dead expancapacitors. Axa and Longjaw were nowhere in sight.
“What the hell’s happening?” Mick said.
“FOD? Sera?”
The transmission between ships
terminated. Mick ran to the rear airlock to see Sera pulling up her spacesuit, following
FOD despite his orders.
“He cut us off—fried the computer to
fuck our coordination. He’s buying time for the UCA swarm,” she said.
“Why? FOD said
no
!” Mick said.
“I
know
FOD—he won’t kill him.
I
will.”
She cares about her—leaves her for dead,
and now she cares. Alzemangled cellbot emotions.
She pulled the long zipper up the center
of her muscular body. The skintight suit gave Mick pause.
She’s gorgeous—alzemangled or not, she’s
a person. She does care.
I could love her.
Something naïve invaded his thoughts as
he watched her press a combination of buttons on the airlock:
You still can.
You can love her. Right now. It is meant to be. You’re here for a reason—don’t
miss this one too…Your past is your teacher—learn from it, don’t relive it.
Stay here. Stay with her. She’s yours…
“Don’t follow me,” she said, and then
the hatch opened and she exited into space.
Silently, the cosmos watched a second
figure float in the blue light of the tractor beam, drifting toward the
Fogstar.
“Come out Pulton. Else not a flower, not
a flower sweet, on your black coffin shall be strown, nor will a friend, not a
friend greet your poor corpse, where your bones shall be thrown,” said FOD,
treading warily through the quiet bay of the Fogstar. He raised his pistol from
within his cloak, pointing whichever way he walked. He checked behind cargo
boxes and listened, waiting for a sound. He continued toward the cabin, past
the lying bodies, climbing a stairwell to the main corridor. At the top of the
stairs sat two cargo chests.
“Are you back there, Graice? Don’t let
your .HUM file go to waste this way,” FOD whispered, pointing his gun at the
boxes as he mounted the steps.
A faint banging sounded on the exterior
hull from behind. FOD turned around.
“Sera,” he whispered to himself. He ran
back down the stairs. “Stupid girl.” His footsteps clanked loudly on metal as
he passed the droid bodies. He reached the door panel and opened the outer
hatch. She floated into the airlock.
“I told you to wait on my ship,” he said
sternly, keeping an eye on the quiet hangar behind.