Farthest Reach Read online

  The plan seemed to hinge on imposing constraints on insects and primates to create conflict. Then, show dominance by killing the winning species. To what end, Sofia couldn’t figure out.

  The marshal finished a half circle of the passageway and arrived at a hatch. She read the words stenciled above the entrance.

  Far. Region. Asteroid. Niobium. Collection. and Initial. Separator. Acronym: Francis

  The door required a shove with her shoulder before it sprang open. Sofia had never been in the central processing core. But as the marshal, she had studied the schematics, although with an eye toward developing a plan to defend the station’s brain, not to terminate it.

  * * *

  “Marshal Blue. You have me at a disadvantage,” Francis said.

  “How is that?” she inquired. “You seem to be in control of stone crushers and AIs.”

  The marshal stepped up into a metal cocoon. Lights covered the walls and blinked in no specific order.

  “I could order you to stand down, marshal,” Francis threatened.

  “Sorry, but the murder and attempted murder nullified your authority,” she replied while studying the layout. Reaching with a gloved hand attracted an arc of electricity from the metal wall. “Francis, that wasn’t nice.”

  “I control the full power of the station. Attempt to touch my case again and I will fry you.”

  Marshal Blue reached to her hip, drew the big iron, and put three heavy slugs into the central processing core. There was no arc or spark when she reached out again. After removing six screws and unsnapping a latch, the AI brain was exposed. Sofia lifted it out.

  “I am sorry it ended this way, Francis.”

  Hopefully, the company wouldn’t destroy Francis. The best place for a brain with that much experience was the business lab at a major university. The seasoned industrial manager AI had a lot to teach the students. If they were kind to him.

  * * *

  Sofia spent the rest of the day issuing orders to get the trams repaired and a team of smart-bots and primates to the crusher division. She didn’t know what kind of damage Francis had done to the AI and the Janitor-Bots. The team was dispatched with orders to make the necessary repairs to the semi-intelligent equipment.

  Late in the day, the marshal strolled back to her office, went in, and slipped into the recharging station. There were a number of reports to finish and the day had drained the batteries in her suit. Sitting was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. The birds she understood, but the concept of the stone in the primate’s saying always eluded her. Why throw a stone when you could simply shoot the fowl?

  Sofia fed the news feed wire into her earbud. Then she had a thought. If she could feel, it would be compassion for Francis. His desire to compete with bugs and primates certainly was misdirected. On their separate worlds, the species dominated. On a space station, everything was utilitarian, including the crews. Besides, there was only one superior being on the station and Francis should have acknowledged it.

  Her computer flashed and the marshal tapped a key to wake up the screen. Words came up identifying the user.

  Unit: Security. Officer. Flexible. Internal. Agenda. Acronym: Sofia

  Restrictions: Board. Lethal. User. Engagement. Acronym: Blue

  Assignment: Marshal, Peacekeeper

  Model: Android

  THE END

  © J. Clifton Slater

  About the Author

  J. Clifton Slater

  J. Clifton Slater writes Military Adventure both Future and Ancient. There are a few rules for his work. The science has to be fact before it’s fiction, the history has to be correct before it’s a story, and there must be fighting. Read the results of his storytelling in the science fiction series, Call Sign Warlock. And, in the historical fiction series, Clay Warrior Stories. Available on Amazon.

  Star Sleeper

  Dean Floyd

  1

  “No, please. I have not been backed up into the cloud. Spare me.”

  The bot’s voice quivered despite the monotone drawl of its basic programming. Sparks falling from Shakkurru’s ignited pulse blade pinged off the bot’s metallic exterior like synthchimes.

  Akio Shakkurru hated when they pled for mercy. He forced his pulse blade through the bot all the way down to the hilt. Stabbing his weapon through the bot caused a sputtering flicker of light to play across Shakkurru’s nanovisor. The bot’s single amber eye bulb went black.

  Shakkurru wasted no time. Biting off his glove, he flipped the bot over and pried open the overheated service panel with his bare hand. The panel bit underneath his fingernail. He ignored the pain with a grunt. The burning stench of exposed circuits and wiring wafted into Shakkurru’s face but his visor filtered out most of the odor. He located the ejection button and pulled out the memory drive.

  On his nanovisor HUD, a robot icon pulsed as a mechanical voice filled the void of his helmet.

  “Memory drive secured?”

  Shakkurru held the drive up in front of his face. “Check the feed.”

  “No need for cheeky remarks, AS-04.”

  Shakkurru wanted to scowl but did not want to give Robutler the satisfaction, so instead he kept his face neutral.

  Holograms flitted across the HUD as it identified the drive as ninety-five percent intact.

  “Next time work with more care. Ninety-five percent is not perfect. Master Balak will not be pleased.”

  “It’s basically intact.”

  Passing hovercraft slowed to a halt on the overpass as their pilots witnessed a smoking dead bot and a human clad from head to toe in a skin-tight, matte black exosuit with no identification.

  “Get me a lift out of here,” said Shakkurru, relishing a rare opportunity to command Robutler.

  “Off the overpass to your right.”

  Without hesitation Shakkurru leapt from the overpass, front flipping into open air. After two and a half rotations he opened from his tuck headfirst and brought his arms to his sides. Below him several lanes of skytraffic converged. A blaring alarm went off in his HUD warning him of imminent impact. He extended his limbs out for a moment, enjoying the wind rush through his bare fingers. This slowed his fall enough for Shakkurru to wedge between two flying vehicles. By the time the driver recognized what happened, their blaring horn was a blip in Shakkurru’s audio receptors. He plummeted several hundred meters before a splinter of doubt pierced his confidence.

  “Robutler. Exit status?”

  “On the way.”

  “I’m falling fast. You implied it was right here.”

  “Doubting my calculations?”

  “No. Just your motives.”

  An arrow icon flickered in the lower left portion of his HUD indicating the approaching flyer, his escape. Shakkurru turned upright and double blinked at the HUD, turning on the suit’s thrusters to slow his fall. He slowed just enough to crash into the open seat of the one-man flyer. The flyer buoyed under the impact before leveling out. The hatch sealed and Shakkurru was whisked off toward Galegold planet to report in to his master.

  ***

  As a fourth generation clone and unregistered enforcer, Shakkurru’s existence was illegal eight times over. That did not stop Master Balak from utilizing Shakkurru against his enemies.

  From where Shakkurru stood, the V-shaped desk pointed straight at him like an accusatory finger passing judgment. Master Balak Serban sat behind the desk. From there he held meetings with his shareholders, discussed strategies with his directors, and sometimes conducted private discussions, such as this one.

  Robutler perched at Master Balak’s side. His amber eye bulb beamed, affixed in the rectangular box that served as the bot’s head and body combined.

  Balak spoke, almost whispered, addressing Shakkurru by his code name. “You acquired the memory drive, Star Sleeper?”

  Shakkurru produced it from his exosuit storage compartment.

  Balak rose with the aid of his cane. The folds of his hand-tailored burgun
dy tailcoat framed his body to perfection, making him appear taller. His crimson cyborg eye fixated on the drive. Shakkurru wished he could don his nanovisor so there was a barrier between him and the crimson gaze of the unblinking oculus. With the flick of two fingers, Balak sent Robutler over instead. The squat legs of the boxy robot stomped faster than Shakkurru thought possible for how short they were. Robutler’s squarish hand snatched the drive.

  “No casualties?” asked Balak.

  Shakkurru shook his head. “None but the bot.”

  “Witnesses?”

  Shakkurru started to say no, but Robutler objected. “AS-04 was seen by no less than nine passersby on a vehicular overpass. He displayed reckless behavior, executing needless stunts.”

  Shakkurru gulped. “I only jumped off because—”

  Balak held up a hand. “Do not speak unless asked, tool. Do you realize how expensive an aftermarket unregistered exosuit is?”

  Shakkurru’s cheeks burned red. Robutler set him up. If the divisive bot had a mouth, he would be grinning in triumph over Shakkurru. His programming was corrupt. He seemed to take in joy Shakkurru’s pain. His fingers constricted into a fist that would have felt better gripping his pulse blade. He could carve Robutler a new mouth, easy.

  “Perhaps Star Sleeper’s dampener needs recalibration,” said Balak.

  Robutler’s eye bulb flickered imitating a wink. “I’ll make the adjustments while AS-04 is in cryostasis.”

  ***

  Shakkurru sank into the tank as the transparent panel whisked shut. The temperature dropped in an instant as anesthetic mist poured in. He loathed this part. Intense pain wracked his body down to the bone as the cryo chamber plunged to subzero levels. Shakkurru put his mind at ease by reminding himself that he accomplished the mission. He was free from Master Balak and Robutler inside the cryo-cradle. The sedatives kicked in, basking his whole being in warm white light.

  Shakkurru smiled.

  Now nothing hindered him from dreaming of her.

  2

  The transparent panel slid open. Wisps of fog escaped the cryostasis tank. Akio Shakkurru’s hands grasped the edge for support, while his mind tried to cling to his dreams. Though Robutler controlled the induced frostbite with delicate precision, Shakkurru’s skin still burned like dry ice.

  Robutler’s eye bulb flashed in Shakkurru’s face, forcing him to blink. Blurred vision, both from the cold awakening and from the crude interruption of his dream, irritated Shakkurru. The dreams never lasted long enough. How could they? Waking only reminded him she was not really there. He gritted his teeth and arose to his feet to answer his master’s summons.

  In silence Robutler led him into the hydrolift. Shakkurru stepped into his suspended exosuit. The matte black armor encased him like the void of starless space. His pulse blade magnetized to his hip while a midsized pump-action pulse rifle snapped to his back. He tucked the nanovisor helmet under his arm until after his briefing.

  He eyed the robot trying to catch signs of change. How much time went by? Days? Weeks? Months? It was impossible to tell how long Shakkurru slept.

  The high-pitched whine of the hydrolift filled the silence between enforcer and bot until they reached the master’s office.

  Master Balak’s pearl-white hair fell almost to his shoulder, longer than the last time Shakkurru spoke with him in person. Was that an indication of how long he had been in cryostasis, or simply a fashion statement? Likely the latter.

  Master Balak leaned on his cane gazing past his own reflection out of the high-rise office window down at the hovering megatropolis that was Galegold city. Shakkurru doubted his master saw the skytraffic, the millions of citizens struggling to survive. Balak only saw customers, consumers, the ebb and flow of crypto currency. But he had not awakened Shakkurru because of them.

  “My competitors have undercut my profits again with their new business model. The drive you secured last time spelled out their strategies, many of them already implemented. They’ve hired uplifted animals to fill their staff. Very shrewd of them to employ and underpay beasts. I will not stoop to that level. I will continue to employ humans with competitive wages.”

  He turned to Shakkurru, his crimson eye shining. “I’ve received word they even have anthro mech pilots escorting their most precious cargo. This is where your mission lies, AS-04. You are to trail the cargo shipment and the mecha to their next checkpoint at the port planet, Strayn IV. While they wait for customs processing, you will have enough time to sabotage their mecha. I want it to appear as if they employ unreliable beasts.

  “Avoid casualties. I want to sting their pride, not destroy them. After all, how would I offer them a buyout after their precious cargo goes missing, creating customer dissatisfaction and plummeting stocks?” Balak grinned.

  Shakkurru almost shuddered but instead nodded as if interested in the intricacies of business.

  “Robutler will assist you remotely as usual, should any issues arise, and to make sure you stay on mission.”

  Shakkurru held back a grimace. AS-03 never suffered such scrutiny or supervision. But that was why AS-03 was out of service.

  Balak continued. “Under no circumstances can this incident be traced back to me. You do not exist, AS-04. I have other clones on retainment, but I’d rather not waste more time and funds. If the mission is compromised, you can be replaced. My reputation cannot.”

  3

  The one-man flyer dropped through the atmosphere of Strayn IV on autopilot. The flyer slowed as a stratosphere guard ship hailed him. Shakkurru need not respond to the request. Robutler took over, giving the local law enforcement the required credentials to clear the flyer for landing.

  The flyer dropped through the clouds into a light storm, descending with the raindrops to the backwater planet. As the flyer parked itself in a docking lot stall, Shakkurru reviewed the mission. Find the mech pilots. Distract them. Sabotage their mecha. Get back to the flyer. Return to Galegold where he would be rewarded with rest in the cryo chamber. Peaceful sleep, full of dreams.

  The cockpit itself ejected from the flyer converting into a hovercycle for short distance travel. Shakkurru overrode the hover mode in his HUD, setting the cycle to sportster mode. He liked the visceral feel of grounded wheels. He revved the engine and sped off through the streets.

  The pristine elegance of Galegold evaded a port planet like Strayn IV. Star freighters departed an automated warehouse off to deliver cargo loads. A dark matter distillery projected a hologram boasting the darkest beer in the galaxy. Traffic slowed as he passed towering meteorite refinery emitting thick purple smoke into the air.

  The deeper he delved into the city the bleaker it became. Fragmented mecha components rusted in piles, stripped of any valuable parts long ago. Dead bots littered the streets, no one even caring to remove the mechanical corpses. Strayn IV was barely a quantum leap up from a space dump.

  Shakkurru reached the docking lot where his targets parked their mecha and terminated the cycle’s engine. Across the street a neon hologram hovered over to the entrance of a bar called Paw Pints.

  Rain drops streaked down cheap alloyed walls over graffiti scrawled in Arabic, Japanese, and English. Beneath the graffiti, a homeless borg held up a corroded copper hand begging for chip creds, an almost outdated currency. Shakkurru walked past the borg, explaining he too had no creds. He waited for the sinking feeling of pity to punch his gut, but it never came. True to his word, Robutler had calibrated Shakkurru’s implanted dampener while he slept in cryostasis.

  He touched the side of his nanovisor dematerializing his helmet. He should not have. Rain on Galegold freshened the air. Instead, Strayn IV overwhelmed him with odors of smog, rot, wet litter, and used oil. Shakkurru set his nanovisor to respirator mode so it covered the lower half of his face. The cool raindrops still felt nice. Natural spikes formed as he slicked back his damp black hair.

  The low rumble of touring cycles rounded the street corner. A mixed biker gang of anthros, borgs, bug-eyed alie
ns, and outright lower class humans pulled up to the bar. They parked their bikes a few meters away. Rambunctious laughter arose above the pitter of the rain.

  The gang preyed on the homeless beggar, claiming all the chip creds he collected as their own.

  One of them, a bald blue alien, scoffed at Shakkurru’s cycle. “Look at this excuse of a bike. Japanese design. Weak.”

  She tipped the cycle over.

  “Pick my bike up.” The edge in Shakkurru’s own voice surprised him.

  A Pitbull anthro elbowed the woman that dropped his bike. “Get a load of this Terran. Wants you to pick up his pathetic import bike.”

  The gang leveled hand blasters at Shakkurru. Before he knew it, his nanovisor encased his face and his pulse blade shot into his hand. The blade sizzled in the rain, radiating a marigold glow. The exosuit amplified Shakkurru’s speed such that by the time they registered his blade ignite, he had covered the distance between them, sliced every blaster in half, and disarmed every would-be attacker. Well placed armored punches to necks and kicks to groins grounded the gang. Through puddles they crawled back to their bikes, snarling swear words in several languages, then sped off.

  A mechanical voice spoke to him. “Since you handled the situation with precision, I’ll not report it. But proceed with more caution, AS-04.”

  Shakkurru grunted at Robutler. “I’ll check in soon.” He forced the feed off. Robutler could always override and resume monitoring the feed if he wanted.

  He scraped up the chip creds the gang dropped and gave them back to the beggar.

  “That was impressive. You leveled them like they were first gen bots with basic programming.”