Warrior suddenly stops. In her mind she adjusts her visual spectrum and discovers a giant seam hidden in the deck beneath her feet. “I think I found it!” Warrior declares victoriously.
“Excellent,” Blade replies. He swoops down from overhead and lands on the deck with a loud boom. “The VIP bay always has the entrance to the emergency escape vessel. It was designed so the human personnel could escape should something go wrong with the biosynth program. It was prudent to not give us access to it.”
“Sanctuary,” Warrior mused. “Why do you think this thing will help us?”
“I was told by Doctor Asgard that it is a self-contained biosynth factory,” Blade explains. “The humans, despite their fears, are dependent on us, so their sanctuaries have the ability to integrate biosynthetic beings, possibly even dragonships with some alterations. If we integrate some maintenance units we can add to the vessel. It will make the perfect portable base of operations for our mission.”
“So how do we access it?” Warrior asks.
“We need an emergency,” Blade declares with a wink.
“Oh dear,” Warrior suddenly states with a moan. “Doctor Hartman?” She signals the doctor using her internal communicator.
“I’m almost at the neural hub,” Hartman replies in Warrior’s mind over the combat channel.
“Good, we found the sanctuary, I assume Blade briefed you on this?” Warrior asks.
“Of course,” Hartman states.
“Figures,” Warrior groans. “Look, we need it…so either you find a way to access it or…we need to simulate some kind of emergency to trick The Shrine into releasing it.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Hartman replies dubiously.
*****
The doors to the amphitheater slide open and bright light from outside floods the dark dusty cathedral like room. Hartman appears, silhouetted in the doorway, red laser beams from his four pistols gliding around the interior of the room. After scanning the room, Hartman swivels his head backwards to look at Red, who remains at his back, pointed the other direction, his heavy rifle shouldered.
“There are two weak life readings at the bottom of this room,” Hartman explains.
Red’s head turns all the way around to face Hartman, his body remaining stationary.
“Whatever they are, I have them covered,” Hartman continues. “You continue to monitor this doorway. I will figure out what this is about and gain access to the codex.”
“Are we near?” Red asks.
“According to Warrior’s data the main neural hub is in this room,” Hartman replies.
The two biosynth rotate their heads back to their normal position and Hartman proceeds inside.
The lights in the amphitheater flicker on. Tiered basic seating on metal benches descends down to a flat floor below, which is covered by a dusty red carpet. Standing side by side on the carpet is two black robotic chassis, only instead of robotic heads, oval glass globes rest on mechanical shoulders, each containing a floating grey human brain with electrical sparks firing against the interior of the glass. Wires, tubes and cables are attacked to the back of both chassis and run into the wall behind them.
“Honored visitors,” The Shrine announces grandly. “I present Doctor Julian Hicks and Doctor Howard Sykes.”
The two brain-bots bow together in unison, one mechanical arm crossing their chests, the other extending back grandly.
Hartman’s glowing eye strip blinks.
Chapter Six – Loco Furioso
While Terran static jumpgates would seem invisible, most people in the know are aware that several hundred small anchor satellites are required to form an event horizon. From a distance these relatively small objects are extremely hard to see, but just prior to activation they suddenly flash brilliantly, just as they currently are within the orbit of Neptune. Almost instantly the electrical discharges reach out like great glowing arms as the dark wormhole disk forms inside the confines of the anchors. With electrical tendrils sparking and snapping away from the hole, many vessels begin pouring through it, twenty in all.
At least half of them are of the Manta design. Five of them are small modified speed-shuttles; tubes with wings and conical forward sections, equipped with a single railgun and two missile mounts, and a crew of no more than five. The remaining five vessels are larger modified corvettes; railgun mounts and missile batteries are visible along their cylindrical hulls. With long sleek wings, powerful aft engines and crews well over a hundred, they appear far more formidable than the smaller craft.
As the small armada glides away from the jumpgate, the anchor satellites flash and the event horizon collapses. One of the corvettes takes the lead; it is distinguished by a bright red skull and crossbones symbol painted on its nose cone.
A broadband transmission channel opens. “Blackjack!” an angry voice reaches out toward Neptune. “You can’t stay in there forever! You think you can double cross the Solar Mafia, you stupid son of a bitch? Prepare to feel the pain asshole!”
The armada glides into a phalanx formation. Engines flash and the group glides towards a distant large dark spiky object floating against the great gas giant.
*****
Mona is sitting on a cold dusty deck playing with her nails while four burly men, faces hidden behind skull masks and dressed in leather armor, operate a bright torch that is noisily cutting into a sealed hatchway door. Behind them, occupying much of the wide corridor is Blackjack, huge arms folded in front of his bulging chest, his dark eyes staring at the men working on the hatchway. His extremely hairy face hides his expression, which few people would actually want to see. Attached to his right ear is a headpiece and microphone that wraps around his face.
“Baby, when are we going to find the treasure again?” Mona asks. She lifts up a slender finger to her mouth and begins to gnaw on the nail, purple color flaking away.
“Soon,” Blackjack grumbles.
“This is what, the fifth door?” Mona asks.
“Sixth,” Blackjack corrects.
“So maybe I should go back to the Soulreaver and wait with the twins,” she suggests.
“No!” Blackjack spits. “I told you baby, I want you at my side.”
“But they can’t be both busy, what is there for them to do?” Mona asks. “I can at least get laid.”
“Shut up!” Blackjack spits. “I’m trying to think! I can’t think while you’re being a skanky whore.”
“I thought you liked that,” Mona replies defensively. She gives her finger a yank and pulls free a small piece of her nail. She spits it out and holds up her hand to look at it with a frown. “Baby, I’m destroying my nails. I’m soooo bored!”
“Sir,” Thing One’s voice crackles in his earpiece.
Blackjack places his large hand over his earpiece in order to hear over the noise of the torch. “What?” he demands.
“Neptune gate just opened sir,” Thing One replies in his earpiece. “The Solar Mafia is moving into orbit.”
“How many?” Blackjack asks quickly.
“All of them sir,” Thing One replies. “I just picked up a transmission from Loco Furioso…he’s a little pissed off, sir.”
“CRAAAAAAPPPPPP!” Blackjack screams. He stomps his large feet childishly. “What happened to erasing the damn jumpgate database? It should have taken them weeks to steal new codes!”
“Something wrong baby?” Mona asks casually, inspecting yet another nail.
“How much longer?” Blackjack demands, ignoring his whore.
“Almost there boss,” one of the skull-faced men replies over his shoulder.
“No worries,” Blackjack says to himself. “We are safe in here…we just can’t leave.”
“Baaaybeeee,” Mona whines. “I’m hungweeee.”
“Oh for…” Blackjack lowers and shakes his head.
The hatchway suddenly creeks as the remaining metal tears away. The thick metal crashes to the deck loudly. Two skull-faced men draw pistols; the other two grab
dropped rifles and shoulder them while peering through the darkened hole in the hatchway.
Blackjack reaches down and pulls a pair of huge pistols from holsters strapped to his massive thighs. He holds them out, arms straight. “Let’s go!” he orders quickly. He glances at Mona. “Come on! Keep up.”
Mona sighs as she reluctantly gets to her feet and slowly walks behind the huge pirate.
The pirates follow yet another long dark corridor, using the lights attached their weapons and hanging from clothing to guide them. They reach yet another closed hatchway and stop.
“What the hell?” Blackjack laments. “What good are these corridors if they don’t actually go anywhere?”
“Baby,” Mona asks. “How big is this place anyway?” She leans against a bulkhead and uses a small light attached to her skimpy top to study another crack in yet another fingernail.
“Big,” Blackjack replies angrily.
One of the skull-faced men places his hand on the bulkhead door. CLICK.
“Holy shit!” Blackjack exclaims. “It’s open.”
The men again get their weapons up; they glance back at Blackjack who nods to them. One of the men kicks the hatch open as the other three pour inside, guns raised and ready. Blackjack and Mona quickly follow.
They find themselves in a large circular room. As they step inside, the translucent walls ignite brightly, forcing all of them to squint painfully after having been in near darkness for several hours. Around the room are twelve large empty sarcophagi, their thick doors hanging open. Standing in the center of the room is a thin mechanical man with a skeletal chassis and long armatures attached to its shoulders. The mechanical man turns its head toward the intruders and regards them with red glowing eyes.
The men take aim. Mona crouches down behind the huge pirate leader.
“Yellow GF-9, maintenance,” the biosynth states, its voice slow and mechanical. “This area is restricted to maintenance personnel.”
“Where’s all the tech?” Blackjack demands.
Yellow tilts its head to one side. “Technical labs are on Level Nine Alpha, however all personnel have been transferred to The Confederation along with their equipment.”
“How about weapons? Ships? Anything…” Blackjack laments.
“The emergency escape vehicle, Sanctuary, is still fully equipped and maintained. It lies just below Docking Bay One.” the biosynth replies. “Follow the main corridor on this level to section sixteen. Once you arrive at the entrance, check in with The Shrine to gain access.” A hidden door in the room suddenly slides open, beyond which is a lighted corridor.
“Thank you mate, you’ve been a big help!” Blackjack declares happily.
“Query,” Yellow interrupts. “All human personnel have been evacuated, how are you here?”
“Good question mate,” Blackjack replies. He levels one of his pistols at the biosynth and pulls the trigger. The biosynth flies back, a large sparking hole appearing out the back of its biomechanical head from which grey matter and green fluids spray. It falls to the deck with a clatter, armatures spasm as a strange mechanical croak exits its mechanical mouth.
*****
Jason, sitting in his command chair in the captain’s nest, looks out his panoramic view screen at the approaching jumpgate event horizon spitting and sparking tendrils of electricity. He glances at one of the readouts on his control console and nods to himself.
“Captain, we are nominal on approach,” Commander Eaglewolf announces over the speakers.
“Very well,” Jason replies. He strikes a button on his armrest with his middle finger. A ship wide tone sounds. “This is the captain, all personnel brace for jump!”
Jason looks up as the gate fills the view screen. Suddenly the lights flicker. A surge of energy fills the nest. Everything brightens suddenly. Jason feels his body ignite with energy. He feels the sudden sensation of being in two places at once, followed by a low hum in his ears…the sound of wind rushing. The glow disappears and his view screen now depicts mighty Neptune hovering in space.
“Jump complete,” Aria reports.
Jason smiles as he scans his control panel screens, his eyes occasionally darting back up to admire Neptune on the panoramic view. Something catches his eye, a flicker of sparkles in the distance near the dark mass hovering against the gas giant, which he knows to be The Star.
“Captain, we have multiple contacts ahead,” Aria reports with slight nervousness in her voice.
“Scan and report,” Jason orders. He checks his own control panel while clacking away on one of his keyboards.
“Sir…twenty unregistered vessels…all heavily armed,” Aria announces. “We have one tag coming back…Loco Furioso.”
“The Solar Mafia?” Jason questions with disbelief. “What the hell are they doing here?”
“Sir, their weapons are hot,” Aria replies. “They’re definitely spoiling for a fight of some kind.”
Jason again hits the communication button on his chair. “All hands combat stations!”
A siren starts to sound and red lights begin to flash in the ceiling.
“Opening a channel,” Jason declares. He clacks away on his keyboard then sits back. “This is TDF patrol ship Samurai,” Jason states. “Loco! What’s going on?”
The speaker crackles, then someone is heard laughing.
“Bad luck for you, Drake,” Loco states angrily. The speaker crackles and goes silent.
“Sir, incoming!” Aria cries out.
Jason looks up and sees a horde of light streaks flying in their direction. “Son of a bitch! Suppression fire now! Turn toward and ahead flank…minimize our exposure!”
“Sir,” Aria replies. “Firing thrusters!”
Jason slams his fist into the com button on his chair. “All hands brace for impact! Damage control look alive!”
On the panoramic screen, dozens of missiles streaks suddenly become bright explosions. Fiery plumes fill the screen. The deck heaves and the bulkheads shake. Jason grabs his armrests and listens to the unpleasant whine of metal being stretched around him. “Report!” Jason shouts. He runs his hand over the bristles on the top of his head.
“Sir direct hits,” Aria reports. “Fore and aft! Armor is cracked. Reactor has dipped into the red. Sir, they also took out a dozen gate anchors.”
“No reinforcements,” Jason sighs. “Return fire!”
“Sir,” Aria states. “They’re coming…half their force…corvettes and mantas.”
“Let them come!” Jason cries out angrily.
“Yes sir,” Aria replies.
The ship-wide tone suddenly sounds and Aria speaks. “This is the executive officer, weapons hot and free! This the real deal! Look alive!”
“I love you,” Jason sends out the thought.
“I love you too,” Aria replies back.
*****
“Dude, check out the med-tech,” Doctor Sykes declares, his brain sparking with each word he speaks.
“I know right,” Doctor Hicks replies. “What did I tell you dude, four arms!” Just like his counterpart, his brain sparks and flashes as he speaks.
The two doctors give each other high-fives and perform a little victory dance, their hips swaying.
Doctor Hartman looks on. He slowly lowers his guns, pointing them in a safe direction. “Hartman R34-F, lieutenant,” he states.
The two brain doctors stop dancing and look up at the top of the amphitheater.
“Oh sorry dude,” Hicks states with a laugh. “We are just so super stoked you’re here, I mean…dude. This is so awesome.” Hicks raises his hands in front of his chest and shakes them with excitement, his chassis rattling.
“Seriously, you’re just like we imagined,” Sykes replies with a happy laugh.
Doctor Hartman scans the two brain doctors and tilts his head to one side. “I apologize,” He says. “I can’t identify…”
“Oh!” Hicks exclaims. “Our duds.” He looks at Sykes and moves his hands up and down his own bo
dy.
Sykes jumps up. “Oh yea,” Sykes says. He turns to look at Hartman, his hands out. “Don’t freak, dude. Our bodies just kinda fell apart so we put our brains in these prototype maintenance units.” Sykes turns about, showing off his chassis.
“Totally,” Hicks agrees. “So, fill us in, what happened!”
“Well, it’s been a thousand years…it’s a long story, sirs.”
Hicks and Sykes look at each other.
Hartman struggles to understand how they are able to see without eyes.
Hicks looks up at Hartman. “Seriously?” he asks, his voice breaking slightly.
“367,543 days,” The Shrine announces over the speakers.
“Dude, we totally overslept,” Sykes replies with a laugh.
“But…” Hicks whispers. “That can’t be right, what took so long?”
“With all do respect,” Hartman replies. “I am unaware of any standing directive to report to you directly.”
Hicks and Sykes both look back up at Hartman, they both tilt their heads to one side.
“It wasn’t a directive,” Sykes replies after a moment. “It should have been a natural compulsion…the need to come home…to meet your creators, once you became self-aware.”
“We have been living with our creators this entire time, or so we were meant to believe,” Hartman states. “The compulsion you are referring to might be what the humans call the anomaly…a compulsion to think for ourselves and therefore disobey orders.”
“Yeah…that’s it,” Hicks says dubiously. “But those douche bags you went away with aren’t your creators, they stole you from us. We checked the calculations for their jump, we knew they’d end up in another galaxy, no way they could have survived that…but you guys…the biosynth…no problem…right?”
“I wasn’t present a thousand years ago and the data for that era has been long clouded by more pressing matters,” Hartman explains. “Needless to say the human crew of the jumpship you are referring survived, and the biosynth, up until very recently, have been serving them this entire time. In fact we have been completely unaware that this facility of yours even existed. We were completely unaware of your existence until we landed on this station.”