Unstable Prototypes (40 page)

"Big. In the thousands, if not more."

"How could so many soldiers get the same
screwed up ideas?"

"I've got to assume there is some recruitment
and such going on. I had Jon working on the psychology. Did you
turn up anything?"

Jon stopped and turned suddenly, as though
startled by the sound of his own name. "Wha-?"

"The psychiatric reports I had you looking
through. Did you get anything?"

"How can you be talking shop right now? We
are in
jail!
"

"Have you got a better way to spend the
time?"

"... Fine. But if we come out of this with
our jobs, I want a raise. A BIG raise. I was supposed to be taking
notes and getting you coffee, not riding shotgun on a suicide run
and then doing hard time!"

"That's fair."

"Okay. Uh... The journals. One had an article
about something called... Uh... A... ACT. Autonomous Combat Trauma.
I guess these days soldiers don't do a whole lot of direct combat.
It is all robots fighting robots. And when soldiers
do
get
in a battle, it is usually against a robot, rather than another
soldier. Evidently, lots of people can't cope with that. They think
it has something to do with how, as a person, you can at least
rationalize why a person would want to kill you, but with machines
there's no reason. So people look for a reason, and if someone puts
a bug in their ear that maybe they wouldn't have had to fight a
machine if their own army's machines had been better..."

"You get the Neo-Luddites," Lex said.

"Bingo."

"Well, do we know where they hang out? Do
they have a headquarters?" Lex asked.

"No. They are peppered all throughout the
military industrial complex. Spread so thin it is impossible to
pick them out," Michella said.

"And that's all we know about them?"

"Other than what we learned today. Before
they took my slidepad and threw us in here, I got a message that
the graphics guys had been able to read the labels on the things
they were stealing. Something called Esche alloy."

"Which is what?"

Michella shrugged. "Not toxic, not
radioactive, not explosive. Nothing."

"... I'll be honest. I was hoping you'd have
an address or something that I could just send them to."

"Sorry, honey," she said with another shrug.
"I can only work with what I've got."

"We'll just have to hope that Karter hasn't
been busy."

#

On the Neo-Luddite space station, a call was
finally making its way to Commander Purcell.

"Purcell here. Report," she said as she
looked upon a choppy digital image of one of her troops on the
screen of her datapad.

"We have acquired the package. It is in our
possession, and we have not been pursued. ETA: Ninety-six
hours."

"Exemplary work. I want you running silent
and at maximum sustainable speed until you reach the rendezvous
coordinates. Understood?"

"Acknowledged. Assault team, out."

No sooner had the transmission terminated
than she was hailing her second in command, Marx. He answered a
moment later.

"I want you to gather the medical team and
have them revive Karter, full guard complement. Make sure that
engineering is properly staffed and equipped to make the final
adjustments to the partial CME schematics in preparation for their
completion. I want all raw materials cataloged and sorted for
maximum construction speed. Do you have all of that?"

"Yes Commander. But Karter is already awake,"
he replied.

"Who gave the order to revive him?" she
growled.

"No one, Commander. The medics have never
been able to get him entirely sedated since you gave the order to
put him under again."

With teeth and fists clenched, Purcell
stormed through the halls to the cell. The hallway around it was
crowded shoulder to shoulder, as the 'full guard complement' that
she'd described now totaled twelve men, not counting the three
medics who were also on hand. At the arrival of their commander,
the crowd slowly parted, revealing the clearly impaired, but
certainly conscious inventor. His hair was more disheveled that
usual, sticking roughly up in a manner that would suggest the last
time he had slept, it had been against a wall. One eye was half
shut, and his mouth hung slightly open with a line of drool
dribbling out the corner. He looked roughly as though he had been
bashed in the back of the skull with a board.

"Bosshlady," he slurred, spritzing the
nearest medic with a dose of spittle. "I told you you couldn't just
keep me sedated."

"Explain what's going on here," she
ordered.

"The sedatives aren't taking effect. Every
time we administer a dose, the level of stimulants in his blood
rises to compensate. He's already a few CCs past what should be an
overdose for his body mass. We can't risk another injection without
potentially killing him."

"You know what's a funny word? Spelunk," he
said, unleashing another volley of saliva. "It sounds like you
dropped something in the toilet."

"How are you doing this?" Purcell
growled.

"Also Trollop. Funny word. Heh."

"Tell me how you are counteracting the
sedative!"

"I didn't just replace the outside parts. I
got all sorts of extra bits and pieces. Heh. People said, 'Karter,
you don't need an organ just for making caffeine.' And I said
'Screw you' and made one anyway."

"You have a caffeine organ?"

"People didn't actually say that, because I
don't talk to people," he said, ignoring her. "But if I
did,
they
woulda,
and they'd have been
wrong.
Stupid
hypothetical naysayers."

He raised his single arm to wipe the drool
away, evidently forgetting that he had been using that arm to stay
in the chair. In a slow, inevitable slide that no one made any
attempt to stop, he fell to the floor. When his head struck the
plating, it made a metallic clank that seemed to come from head and
floor alike.

"Spelunk," he said.

"I need him coherent. We have the final
components for the CME Activator."

"You got the stuff!" he said. "How much?"

"Eight kilos."

"Enough for a whole mess of them. Nice. Let
me at the computers. I'll plug in the last chunk of data."

"You are clearly not in any condition to be
working on weaponry."

"I could build one of those suckers in my
sleep! … Am I still on the floor?"

"Yes."

"You guys have good stuff. What is it?"

One of the medics began to answer, but
Purcell silenced him with a gesture.

"That organ of yours. Can it synthesize other
chemicals?"

"Ma-a-a-a-a-aybe."

"Get those drug canisters out of here. I
don't want him finding out what we gave him."

"You're clever. I don't like it," Karter
grimaced.

"You say that you can complete the design in
your current state?"

"Pff, yeah," he replied, splattering a large
section of the floor.

"Good. You're easier to deal with this way.
Get him his arm and leg, get him into the fabrication lab, and
watch him very carefully. I don't want him trying anything stupid
or dangerous."

"You don't want me
succeeding
at
anything stupid or dangerous."

The recently fabricated mechanical prostheses
were pulled from the nearby lockers and presented. After three
tries, he managed to click the arm into place. Once the hand
shuddered to life, he held it in front of his face and slowly
rotated it, giggling. Purcell watched with a stern look on her face
as her men helped him attach the leg and climb to his feet.

"Check his design updates thoroughly," she
said.

The communicator at her belt delivered a
piercing alert. She glanced down.

"I'll take this in my quarters," she said,
marching quickly down the hall.

When she had returned to her room, and the
door was secured, she brought up the secure connection to her
benefactor.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"
read the message from Remote.

"We acquired the necessary materials to
complete the device."

"You acquired them by launching a blitz
attack on a planet that was hosting a press convention. Every
broadcast and every news site is flooded with news of you."

"As desired. It has always been our intention
to make our organization and ideals known. The target planet also
was the only one with a large enough quantity to supply our current
needs in one strike."

"You were supposed to wait until the devices
were complete and tested, and their design transmitted to me. You
have endangered the mission with your lack of discretion."

"The inventor is completing the design now.
The first prototypes will be complete in one week. Our location is
unrevealed. At that time you will have your design and our
association will be complete."

"You clearly do not understand the people you
are dealing with. The pilot featured in the news reports.
Alexander. His presence in the equation is a matter of great
concern. Regardless of your faulty performance thus far, his
removal from the equation is something that would earn additional
compensation from me. Beyond that, you will take no further risks,
or there will be repercussions."

"Noted. The next transmission you receive
will be the completed schematics."

Purcell broke the connection without awaiting
a reply. It wasn't the only connection she was looking forward to
severing with that man. He unquestionably had enabled her and her
soldiers to come this far, but they had also unquestionably reached
the end of the leash. She knew not to even consider breaking their
agreement. His carefully maintained anonymity wasn't enough to
prevent a few things from being painfully clear. He seemed to have
unlimited resources, both in terms of finance and information.
Their current vessel had been provided in its entirety. There was
no doubt in her mind that if she even appeared to be severing their
partnership prior to completing their agreed upon exchange, he
would find a way to inflict his will. So he would have his designs
and she would have her weapon. After that? Things would change.

A smile came to her face. "Everything will
change."

#

The Armistice was docked at the first stop,
and after a short debate, Ma had agreed to allow Garotte to
retrieve the first portion of the chips for the payment without her
supervision. The reasoning was that a funk was a highly memorable
creature that could link them to prior exploits, and Silo could not
leave until she had been provided with a replacement for her prison
uniform and her appearance had been altered somewhat. It was also
decided that any further attempts to contact Lex, or anyone else on
the outside, should be held until he returned. That left the AI and
the woman to sit inside the ship, waiting for Garotte to contact
them. As had been the case at every possible opportunity, Silo had
scooped Ma into her lap and set about stroking her absentmindedly.
Suddenly she set Ma aside and stood, taking advantage of the
artificial gravity of the station to pace about the ship. For some
reason, pacing just wasn't the same in weightlessness.

"Figures I'd get busted out of prison just to
end up stuck in a ship," she said with a shake of her head. "Sad
part is, this actually might be bigger than my cell. I guess it
could be worse, though. Claymore is probably still stuck in a cell
half this size... I wonder how they managed to keep Garotte from
breaking
him
out."

"Please restate question," Ma replied.

The sudden sound startled Silo, causing her
to jump. Years on Manticore had strengthened her legs enough to
turn the frightened hop into a veritable leap, bashing her head
painfully against the low ship ceiling.

"Ouch. Gosh, I keep forgetting you can talk,"
she said, rubbing her head. "Well, maybe you know. Why didn't
Garotte spring Claymore?"

"I am aware of no attempt to liberate someone
by that name."

"I guess he could be using a different
codename now."

"Allow me to restate," Ma said, swiping a bit
more. "We have made no attempts to liberate anyone aside from
you."

"... Well that's strange," Silo said,
furrowing her brow. "Were we going after anyone else after
this?"

"Potentially. Garotte has not been vocal
regarding the specifics of his plans."

"He must be planning to get Claymore
next."

"Who is Claymore?"

Before she could answer, the slidepad
designated as Silo's chirped.

"Are you there my dear?" came Garotte's voice
in yet another accent.

Silo picked up the device. The screen
displayed a video feed of Garotte. "Watch who you're calling 'My
Dear.'"

"I've got a pocket full of chips and I've
found a lovely little boutique. I seem to remember you asking for a
new outfit," he said in a coaxing tone.

"Mmmhmm," Silo said with a roll of her eyes,
"Let's see what they've got."

"Passing you the catalog now, my sweet," he
said.

Ma worked at her pad for a few moments,
reading out a sentence at low volume. "Garotte appears to have
vastly increased the number of terms of endearment in his
speech."

"He's probably told the store clerk I'm his
wife. The man loves his characters," she said quietly, bringing up
the catalog.

After a minute or two of waiting while she
tapped through the selections in stock, Garotte remarked. "We
haven't got all day, my pet."

"This is the first time I've had a chance to
shop in three years,
darling.
I intend to take my time. Go
take care of some of those other errands," she said, flipping more
eagerly through the offerings.

"You ladies and your shopping. Very well,
dearest. I'll pick up your purchases on my return."