Lars Stockwell paced around the room. His heavy tread thumped along the carpeted floor. The room wasn’t wide but it made up for being long. A large table dominated the center with enough seating for two dozen. Tinted floor-to-ceiling windows looked out to a small town and gave just a glimpse of the harbor. Lars reached the end nearest to the double-doors, turned on his heel, and stomped off to the other end.
Hannibal sat at the opposite end. His shell wasn’t nearly as complex as Archie’s, and was more in the Uncanny Valley with his bald head and angular features. His plain gray one-piece jumpsuit didn’t help him look very human, either. The orange stripe on his right side reminded Lars of an errant traffic cone. Since Archie’s debut on stage, most of the AIs were trying out shells at such a rate that Ransom was having a hard time filling orders fast enough, what with the material restrictions in place and each AI designing his own based on Archie’s model.
Lars reached where the AI sat, turned on his heel, and took another step when Hannibal spoke.
“If I were human, I think I would find what you are doing to be distracting and, most likely, annoying.”
The cyborg stopped in his tracks and swiveled his head toward the AI.
“Good thing you aren’t.” He started walking again.
“Your behavior will not speed anything up, you know,” Hannibal said as Lars reached the other end of the table.
“No, but right now, it’s helping me think,” Lars said. He started back toward the AI.
Hannibal watched the cyborg approach with curiosity.
“How does repetitive motion help cognition?”
Lars shrugged. “Not sure, but I know it does. Something about engaging lower brain functionality helps sharpen the higher functions.”
Hannibal stared at his hands. “Would that apply to us?”
Lars reached the AI again. “Doubtful. But what do I know? I barely understand anything about the support systems for AIs, much less your inner workings. Then again, I’m a cyborg and walking helps me.” He stopped and looked at Hannibal. “Do you want to try it?”
Hannibal nodded and stood up. The two of them paced the length of the conference room.
“Well?” Lars asked after their second lap.
“I feel no different than sitting in the chair,” Hannibal answered truthfully.
They made another lap, the AI matching the cyborg’s long stride.
“What are you thinking about, Lars?” Hannibal asked.
“Too many things at once,” Lars grunted in response. “Politics isn’t my strong suit. To cover my shortcomings, I’ve delegated navigating the political landscape to more competent people. The duty and responsibility to succeed, in the end, remains mine. Our system has never been unified over anything. Trying to wrangle everyone into some sort of cohesive whole is proving to be very contentious. I’m a military man, so my solutions to bring everyone to heel won’t work, or work well without repercussions.”
“Indeed,” Hannibal agreed. “Even our little community has its splits and divisions. Take these cybernetic shells. Most of us have been eager to try them out. Some have rejected the notion completely. And we are more in lockstep with each other in most things than humans in groups larger than two.” “My point exactly. We’re fighting for our very survival, and too many are treating this as if we were arguing over mining rights. I mean, we are doing that too, but that’s just a sideshow to the main event.” Lars shook his head. “On the bright side, personnel training has been surprisingly smooth. We’ve been able to draw on a lot of talent from the private sector, which has helped.”
“But that’s not your only worry,” Hannibal stated.
They kept walking.
Lars snorted. “Not by a long shot. I have two major concerns. First, building the right amount of war materiel. This will be fought mainly in the deep black but Legion get their jollies from possession and control. Planet-based war will happen, but at what scale?”
“Our projections have narrowed that down,” Hannibal pointed out.
“Yes, thankfully, but the margin of error is still too great to make more than educated guesses. Not to mention the logistic nightmare I’ve thrown at you.”
“Not an issue, Lars. We have built out space-, land-, and sea-based depots with routing between them. The routing optimizations are still happening. However, we have already significantly reduced the time and cost of shipping. Right now, the Coalition has the capacity to move four trillion tons of materials around the inner planets in a matter of weeks to months, not years as before. And our just-in-time manufacturing continues to improve as we stock enough inventory to reasonably support disruptions in supply chains. But what is your second major concern?”
Lars stopped. Hannibal did the same. “Betrayal from within.”
As if on cue, the intercom chimed. “They have arrived, Commander.”
“Send them up,” Lars ordered.
The autocab came to a stop in front of the building.
John “The Flamingo” Jones looked at the solid-looking structure with suspicion. The building was remarkable for being unremarkable. The street was a quiet one, just off the main business thoroughfare. Jones expected something different, something with more flair and flash, maybe.
“That’s not what I was thinking it would be,” Melissa Vonstone remarked, tossing her white hair. “That little Frenchman made the whole thing sound much more impressive.”
Jones nodded. “By God, if we’ve been had after that two-hour drive, I’ll track him down and make him–”
“You’re not doing anything, dear. He bested us both without so much as breaking a sweat.”
Jones ignored her, opened his door, and pulled his big frame out. He tugged on his cream-colored jacket, concealing his shoulder holster. Jones walked around and opened Vonstone’s door, offering her his hand to help as the lithe woman exited.
The car drove off.
The entrance door was thick steel, ornate ironwork on the exterior protecting the frosted glass panes. It swung open silently as the couple approached. Jones powered inside, sweeping Vonstone along with him. The foyer wasn’t large and quite austere. No chairs or couches greeted them. The marble floor gleamed with a deep shine on which rested a plush burgundy carpet. The man behind the wood and metal receptionist desk offered a smile as the two of them came toward him.
As Jones drew near, he could see the receptionist was a hologram, but one of exceptional detail. If it wasn’t for the bluish tinge, he wouldn’t have noticed.
“Mr. Jones, Miss Vonstone. Welcome. The Commander is expecting you.” The hologram pointed to their left. “Feel free to keep your firearms.”
As soon as the couple turned to look, the wall slid open, revealing a spacious light wood-paneled elevator. Jones walked inside and stood in its center of the elevator, facing the door. He rolled his neck and shoulders while cracking his knuckles.
“Must you do that?” Vonstone murmured as she slipped into the elevator next to him.
Jones snorted. “This is a setup. I want to be ready.” He bounced on his heels, then crossed himself.
Melissa sighed. “Fine.” She shifted her purse so her handgun was readily available. “But I really doubt Commander Stockwell went to all this effort just to kill us here. Don’t react unless you’re certain.”
Jones didn’t respond. He was busy listening for anything out of the ordinary. He’d survived this long by being more than a little paranoid. It wouldn’t be the first time a supposed ally or neutral party took a shot at him.
“I can’t believe I let Stockwell talk me into leaving our bodyguards,” Jones grunted.
“And what good would they do?”
Jones shrugged.
The elevator doors slid open with a gentle chime. Nothing happened.
“Nothing happened,” Melissa pointed out sweetly.
Jones shot a glare at her, then walked out of the elevator. Lars was standing in the small foyer, frowning. Jones hunched his shoulders, poised like a wild animal ready to fight. Melissa laid a hand on his arm.
“Greetings,” the cyborg rumbled. “Thank you for making the journey to see me. I apologize for making you come all this way instead of conducting our business on your turf. Come in and let’s talk.” He partially turned his metal frame and pointed to the conference room doors.
Jones locked eyes with Stockwell as he walked past him, glaring an unspoken challenge. Melissa rolled her eyes and followed behind. Lars didn’t take the bait.
Hannibal stood up as the three entered. “Welcome. I hope the drive from Buenaventura was not too arduous.”
“And what the hell are you?” Jones asked.
Hannibal inclined his head. “Hannibal.”
“Didn’t ask your name,” Jones retorted brusquely.
“Shell for AI,” Hannibal responded without missing a beat.
“Huh,” Jones grunted dubiously as he sat down at the middle of the table.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Hannibal asked.
“Coffee. Black,” Jones ordered.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” Melissa said, sitting next to Jones.
Hannibal left the room without another word.
Lars walked around to the front of the table. “I assume you recall what Fournier told the both of you. I’ll get to the point. Our fight with Legion won’t be won by men and weapons. At best, we’ll slow them down.”
“Yeah, yeah, but we can win by taking my men and turning them into street preachers or something,” Jones said, crossing his arms.
“You have one of the biggest networks on Nicodemia. Using your Seasiders to preach Christ would be monumental. Old Earth had something they called a ‘Salvation Army,’ which was an organization that held Bible meetings across the lands. I’m thinking we do something similar.”
“Hold up. You do that and I won’t have an organization worth spit. I’d be lucky to keep half my men. And do you know why they work for me now?” “Money. Power. Street clout.”
“Right! Not to be choir boys.”
“Why not? Have you ever asked them?”
Jones sat back in his chair, keeping his arms crossed.
Hannibal returned with a cup of coffee and placed it next to Jones.
Melissa looked on with interest.
“You don’t work for the Flamingo to be some sort of good guy—you do it for money and power,” Jones scoffed.
“Sure, but have you asked any of them? I know God and your Catholic faith are very important to you, why not for others as well?” Lars pressed.
“Because we wallow and delight in debauchery and sin! No matter how low we go, we can always find new ways to debase ourselves!”
“That’s not true, Jones. You won’t deal in human trafficking. You own a handful of whorehouses and strip clubs, while your, er, competition owns dozens of each. We looked into your finances; you have an educational fund set up for every stripper and demand they keep off the hard drugs and stay in school to receive annual funding. You aren’t a saint, but neither are you the devil.”
Impassively, Jones sipped his coffee without a word.
“If anyone thinks he’s a softie, there’ll be war,” Melissa said, breaking the silence.
“There’s war now,” Lars replied. “If Legion strikes Nicodemia, nothing else will matter. No, scratch that. Not if, but when Legion brings war here, nothing else will matter.”
“If I may interject, even your sins are forgivable. ‘Come now, let’s settle this,’ says the Lord. ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow. Though they are red like crimson, I will make them as white as wool.’” Hannibal quoted Isaiah to the crime boss.
“One last thing from me, Jones,” Lars said, “if you didn’t think it was worth considering, if you didn’t think it was possible, you wouldn’t have met me here.” Jones took another sip of the coffee, his face still impassive. “What’s in it for me?”
“From us, support,” Lars said. “From God? That’s between you and Him. For the Coalition? I think you on my team would help the AIs optimize different supply chain approaches. You move product around like there are no real obstacles. Buenaventura Vice has you on their most wanted and dedicated an entire task force to taking down your enterprises, yet you haven’t been slowed down in the slightest. I want your expertise and vision working for me.”
“And if I say no?”
Lars shrugged. “God will provide some other means. Joining together is beneficial for everyone, but I won’t force you. If you say no, you and Miss Vonstone can walk away with no strings attached. Just really consider it before you decide.”
Jones drained his coffee and set the mug on the table. “Before I decide anything, I want one thing.”
Lars nodded. “Understood. What’s your request?”
Jones’ tanned face broke into an almost feral smile. “I want to go one fight, man-to-man with that little Frenchie, Fournier. No tricks, no support, no weapons, just him and me in a no-holds-barred fight.”
Lars stared at the other man. “Done. He has accepted. He’ll be here in three hours.”
“Good. Are we done?”
Lars nodded. “Hannibal will show you to your suite.”
Jones stood up. His jaw worked as if he were going to say something else, but he turned and left, slowing down long enough for Melissa to catch up. Hannibal escorted them out of the room.
Well, not great. Not bad, but not great, Lars said on the team’s communication channel.
I think you handled that very well, given the man we are dealing with here. Hannibal sounded pleased.
I’m, ah, amused he threw down the gauntlet to me. His pride must still be wounded, Blaise said.
Are you sure you can handle him? Lars asked. He’s thirty years your junior.
No need to worry, Lars. I made some, ah, contingencies should things have gone this route. I won’t be killed by the likes of him. Fournier didn’t sound too worried.
If you say so. Lars, on the other hand, sounded concerned.
I’ll see you in three hours.
Understood.
On a somewhat related note, I have confirmed Christof Vogel is also on his way. Hannibal interjected. He will arrive tomorrow afternoon.
Good. And the others? Lars asked.
Archie and Pierce are arriving in five days. Father Justinian in five or six, depending if he is able to leave on time.
Ed?
Still working the Merchant Prince investigation.
Should we pull him?
I think not. Iskandar is working through the security layers at the Crystal Palace to contact Ed. I suggest we let Iskandar evaluate the situation first before we make any decisions.
Fair enough, Lars said, But if he’s in over his head, we’ll pull him out and let the Merchant Princes whine about my overreach and abuse of power.
Understood, Hannibal responded. Oh, one other item of note: Pierce has gained more than one sobriquet.
Oh? Lars asked, genuinely surprised. I’ve heard ‘the hero of Rho’ a few times, but nothing else.
Yes, he has been given another one that has been trending: the Borderland Bandit. It is in reference to his exploits with Abacus against Legion’s forces. You did see their final kill count?
Of course. The Coalition navy is already using tactics those two developed for training because of their effectiveness, Lars said with a snort. Where did that name come from?
One guess, Commander.
The PsychOp Guild, Lars responded immediately.
Correct. Not only that, the Council passed a resolution to use him for pro-War propaganda.
About time they decided on something. We need to reach out to Minsk tomorrow and check in with him. Who would have guessed he and Archie would be thrust into the spotlight like this?
Hannibal remained silent. He knew when a question like that was rhetorical. If he ran any calculations to determine the answer, he didn’t share the results with the commander.
Speaking of the Council, Hannibal continued, they also passed the motion to start arresting members of various governments and agencies for their crimes and cover-ups. The list is extensive and will cause an uproar. A number of popular politicians are on it.
It doesn’t matter, Lars grunted. We need to clean house top to bottom. Let them wail as long as they are brought to justice.
Are you sure this is a wise move, given the instability that will surely ensue?
Can’t be helped, Lars responded. This should have been done sooner and more often. The specific type of government matters less as long as the leadership is being held accountable to the governed. If not, corruption spreads, despite, or rather, because of good intentions from fallen Mankind. Let the chips fall as they may. I won’t have rampant corruption under my watch.
Understood, Lars.
Lars stood and started pacing again. Things were coming together faster than he had expected. He didn’t know whether to take it as a good sign or an indication the storm was about to break. Maybe both.
What’s the status report for General Lee? Lars asked.
So far, greens across the board, with a few exceptions. His plan for troop deployment was sound enough, although we do need to adjust a few details. Of course, we designed the training regimen to produce the most physically fit men in the shortest amount of time. Lee called it ‘heartless and cruel,’ then he laughed. I still don’t know if he was pleased or not.
Lars snorted. Oh, the old goat was pleased. Go on.
For the bunkers, most of the concerns have been addressed and resolved in the town and city councils. The majority of the citizens have agreed to move in, if they need to. A few holdouts are left, and, as per your guidelines, we will keep their spots open and plan for them to join, should they change their minds.
And the Templars?
One thousand are ready. Father Justinian is training more. Demeter has become fully engaged with their curriculum.
It’ll have to do. Thanks, all. Keep me in the loop if anything changes. Lars out.
Three hours later, Fournier arrived, readied himself for the fight, and joined them in the training ring on one of the lower floors. Jones was already there, dressed in boxing shorts, the ring’s lights shining off his bronzed skin. He was lacing up gloves when he spotted Fournier.
“There you are, Frenchie! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show!” Jones boomed out.
Blaise climbed up the side of the ring and slipped through the ropes. The older man wore a simple blue track suit. “Never you fear, ah, my overly eager opponent. I made you a promise.”
“Ha! Well, thank you for keeping it. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to wiping the mat with you.” The bigger man bounced over to his corner where a worried Melissa Vonstone waited.
“John, he’s tricky,” she told him in a low voice. “Be careful.”
“Oh, I know it. He’s bested me one too many times by blindsiding me. But not this time. This is my house. I rule here.”
Lars, standing on the sidelines, suppressed a sigh. He had trained enough men over the decades to know when one had to get something out of his system, no matter how destructive it might be. He just prayed neither one would end up seriously injured. Lars trusted Blaise, but the old Empath wasn’t a fighter like Jones.
“So we have that test you wanted back when we last met.” Fournier knew why the Flamingo had challenged him.
Oh yeah, old man. No more bodyguards, no tricks, just plain muscle against you.” Jones flexed, rippling his well-defined musculature. He put in his mouth-guard, smiled around it, and tapped his fists together.
Hannibal walked into the middle of the ring, somehow looking even less human under the ring’s lights. “Fighters, to the center. This is a no-holds-barred fight. The man who is knocked out or taps out loses. There will be a break every five minutes, as per Lars’ request.”
Jones strutted over, exuding confidence. “I won’t need it, but if it helps the Frenchie put up a good fight, fine by me.”
Fournier slipped off his jacket and handed it to Lars, revealing a black sports shirt. Aside from his hands being wrapped, he didn’t have any other gear. He tossed a quick salute to Lars, and then walked over to Hannibal and Jones.
he size difference stood out when the two fighters were standing near each other. Jones was a big brute of a man, still in the prime of his life, honed to an edge by work and experience. Fournier was compact, slim, and wiry, but not in his prime.
Jones loomed over the smaller man, glaring at him.
“Touch hands and begin on my mark….now!” Hannibal called out.
Jones thundered toward the Frenchman, fists up and moving as he launched his attack. Every punch, every jab, every hook he threw at Fournier failed to connect, the smaller man melting away from the strikes. Shifting tactics, he unleashed a flurry of kicks, a blur of speed and power, aimed at Fournier’s legs and lower torso. Still, the smaller man dodged them all, slipping around and past Jones’ punches and kicks, always a split second ahead of his opponent.
Hannibal watched with a small frown on his otherwise blank face. He tapped into the vidfeeds around them to understand what was happening in the ring. For him, it looked like Jones was punching and kicking air, while Fournier stood off to the side, keeping himself at a safe distance from Jones. Then Hannibal realized what was taking place. The Empath was projecting his image to Jones and the other man was attacking that. Since Jones had called for a no-holds-barred fight, he couldn’t complain about Fournier’s choice of technique. The AI remained silent.
At the five-minute mark, Hannibal rang the bell signaling the end of the round. Jones, sweating profusely from chasing an afterimage, sat on the stool in his corner. Melissa provided him a towel and a water bottle.
“I can’t connect with that slippery eel,” Jones grumbled, taking out his mouth guard, swishing water and spitting it out.
“I warned you he was tricky,” Melissa said. “I don’t think you are going to beat him like any normal man.”
“I thought if I could just hit him once, I’d get the upper hand, but it’s like punching mist.”
“Hmm,” Melissa mused as she massaged his shoulders. “Maybe that’s the problem, there really isn’t anything there.”
Jones twisted in the stool to look up at her. “I bet you are right.” He spat out another mouthful of water. “I bet that’s exactly the problem. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“What are you going to do?”
The bell rang again.
“Dunno. Improvise something.”
I think they are on to your little trick, Lars told Fournier.
The older man had watched Jones and Vonstone from his own corner, carefully sizing up their reactions.
Mas oui, both are intelligent people.
Jones cautiously approached Fournier, eyes darting around scanning for clues to Fournier’s trick. The two opponents faced off, Jones again raised his fists, while Fournier merely stood at the ready. Jones glared down at his smaller opponent. Fournier returned his gaze calmly.
“I know you are playing your tricks again, Frenchie,” Jones snarled. “I’m going to figure it out, then you’re mine.” Fournier responded with an inclined nod to his opponent.
“Fight!”
This time Jones approached the Frenchman in measured steps, his guard up and eyes searching. He stopped within striking distance of the other man.
Fournier attacked with the speed of a striking snake. Any other opponent would have been caught off guard, and Fournier’s blow would have landed true, but Jones’ reflexes were more than up to the challenge. He snapped his left down to intercept Fournier’s right hand as he struck with his own right. Fournier managed to deflect the strike just enough to prevent Jones from connecting against his head.
Jones didn’t let up. He seized the opportunity as soon as he felt real contact. It was all Fournier could do to keep Jones from landing a solid hit against him. Slowly, Jones pressed Fournier back toward the ropes, never letting the smaller man slip past his longer reach, while providing very few chances for Fournier to seize the rhythm of the fight.
Lars watched impassively. He knew his friend and just how wily he could be in a fight. Of course, a contest like this was very different than out in the field. Normally, the Empath would have pulled a number of mental tricks to tilt the fight into his favor and make sure it wasn’t a fair fight. Here, Fournier wanted to give Jones a more of a fair fight. Lars wasn’t sure why he’d pull his punches, but he trusted that Fournier knew what he was trying to accomplish.
Melissa Vonstone looked like she was ready to leap into the ring with Jones. There was a score she still wanted to settle with the Empath, but she refrained herself for now, and instead kept a sharp eye out for any sort of last-second fast one Fournier would try to pull.
Just when it looked like Jones had control of the fight and was about to crash through Fournier’s defenses for a knockout blow, the smaller man managed to land a precise hard hit in Jones’ solar plexus, causing the other man to lose his flow briefly. In that split-second while Jones was recovering, Fournier slipped past him and back into the middle of the ring, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. The Frenchman was sweating and his eyes glittered with excitement.
Jones wheeled to face Fournier with a curse that didn’t make it clearly around his mouth-guard. He was starting to get a feel for the way the other man fought. Jones was now expecting Fournier to pull some sort of trick to keep him off balance. He was breathing hard and his heart was pumping, but well within his limits. Keeping the other man in his line-of-sight, Jones removed his gloves and tossed them aside.
Fournier merely smiled at that.
Lars watched with growing interest. He could tell Jones was giving Fournier a serious run for his money. The cyborg couldn’t remember the last time the Empath was matched at this level. In the past, the wily Frenchman would have incapacitated his opponent before now.
Melissa had been staring at the spot she thought she had glimpsed some movement during the first round. It was a mere flash out of the corner of her eye, but knowing the Empath had been pulling his usual tricks, she was determined to catch him off guard. Sure enough, as soon as Fournier dodged around Jones, and before Jones could spin and face Fournier, there was movement on the mat like someone stepped there. She gave three short whistles, paused, then two more.
Jones didn’t seem to hear her. He quickly closed the distance between himself and Fournier, before launching another barrage of jabs, hooks, and a few snap kicks. Fournier slipped around each attack, staying one step ahead of his opponent.
Without warning, Jones spun to his right and lunged forward, away from Fournier, with his arms open wide. He contacted something solid right where Vonstone had indicated from her whistling. Not letting his invisible opponent go, Jones wrapped him up and pulled them both to the mat. There was a flurry of motion as the two men fought to control the ground game.
Suddenly, with a mighty heave and roll, Jones locked Fournier in a classic arm bar, the bigger man straining with all his might to subdue the other.
Fournier dropped his suggestion to remain unseen and appeared, fully bound up in Jones’ grip. He wriggled and strained, trying to find a way out. Jones clamped down harder. Finally, Fournier tapped out.
“Match!” Hannibal declared.
Jones let his opponent go and rolled away, springing to his feet adroitly, his chest heaving and heart racing. Fournier stayed down before accepting Hannibal’s help to stand up, the older man huffing as he straightened.
“Winner, John Jones by submission!” Hannibal hoisted the winner’s arm aloft as he had seen done in the fight archives. Jones whooped and Vonstone clapped her hands in delight before rushing over to hug him, ignoring his sweat.
Fournier stuck out his hand to Jones. “Well fought!”
Jones, his broad chest still heaving, stared at the offered hand suspiciously. His world didn’t include an opponent losing gracefully. Melissa nudged him in the ribs.
“Yeah, you too. You’re a real scrapper for being so old.” Jones clasped hands and shook.
Fournier laughed. “Old age claims us all, mon Flamingo, if we are lucky.”
Jones barked a short laugh. “Ain’t that the truth. I need to hit showers, then we’ll talk.”
The two headed into the lockers, talking to each other, leaving Lars, Vonstone, and Hannibal looking after them.
“Did Fournier just tell a joke?” Lars asked no one in particular.
“I think so. And John laughed,” Vonstone said, sounding confused.
“Is this normal behavior?” Hannibal asked Lars.
“Often, but I wasn’t betting on it for those two,” Lars responded.
“So this is normal?” Hannibal pressed.
Melissa Vonstone sighed. “Yes. Men will beat each other senseless, then go out drinking like old buddies.”
“I do not—” Hannibal started to say.
“Nor do they,” Vonstone said with a tinkling laugh.
He beat you, Lars said to Fournier over their private channel.
He’s a formidable fighter, Fournier responded.
Did it work? Losing a fight you could have won?
Lars, you, ah, overestimate my skills.
Bull. Returning to the same place on the mat? You were setting yourself up for a fall.
Ah, you caught that?
Lars snorted. Hard not to.
Would you accept that I threw Jones a, ah, bone? To see if he could rise to the challenge. Not only did he, he also bested me in the process.
Great. Now what?
Now, we have room to talk. His pride has been assuaged a bit. Had I beat him, assuming it was, ah, possible, how willing do you think he would have been to, ah, hold discussions with us?
Lars nodded thoughtfully. He had been concerned about how to unwind some of that animosity Jones had been carrying. This was certainly one way of addressing that.
Good point, Lars said, mollified somewhat.
God willing, it was enough, Fournier said.
Well, if you aren’t too busy nursing your wounds and Jones doing a victory lap, we’re all back at the conference room.
Copy.
“I was impressed you discovered Fournier’s illusion so quickly, Miss Vonstone,” Hannibal commented as the two of them waited for the others. The AI and Melissa Vonstone were both seated at the conference table, facing each other across the cream-colored surface. Hannibal thought now would be a perfect opportunity to find out more about Melissa Vonstone for his profile.
“Thank you. But please, call me Melissa. Fournier has all sorts of tricks up his sleeve, doesn’t he?”
“Indeed.”
“More than what he showed today, for example?”
“Certainly.” Hannibal understood where she was going with this line of questions.
“And he didn’t use them?”
“No. Many of his skills are better suited situations that aren’t quite as focused and when his opponents are unaware of his talents,” Hannibal answered truthfully.
“Like how he handled Gregory the Terrible and the rest of my private security?”
“Correct, Melissa. Facing off with Jones, however, was a different sort of battlefield than the normal for him.”
“Hmm,” she replied, doubtfully.
“What is your favorite part of Buenaventura, Melissa?” Hannibal asked to change the topic. He was reasonably sure Melissa had understood Fournier hadn’t deployed all his options against Jones. Before she could confirm her suspicions, it was time for him to redirect her focus.
“What a strange question coming from an AI.”
Hannibal shrugged. “I am always interested in people’s experiences, Melissa.”
“Have you been to the city yourself?”
“Once, but not in a form like this.” Hannibal held up an arm to indicate his whole artificial body.
“Well, I love lively areas of the city! There’s a stretch along the beach, about two miles of boardwalk, dotted with shops, restaurants, nightclubs, small parks. It’s my favorite place any time of the day or year. Always something going on. The sunrises are stunning over the ocean, the heat of the day people are still out on the beach or walking in the shade, and evenings the sea breezes cool everything down.”
“Sounds very interesting, Melissa.”
“Oh, it is! I bet you’d like it, Hannibal, there’s a ton of people watching to do.”
“What, you asking the puppet out on a date, Mel?” Jones asked from the doorway, freshly showered and changed.
Melissa laughed. “You can come to, John.”
“No one is going with Hannibal anywhere until we get him looking more like a human than a moving mannequin,” Lars grumbled as he entered the room.
“Agreed, Commander. Ransom is working on newer, more human-looking models for some of us.”
Fournier gave a slight cough as he sat down. “Be that all as it may, we have more, ah, pressing matters.”
“Agreed. We don’t have the full team assembled yet, but we have a few things still to discuss now.” Lars looked at Jones.
The man shrugged, looking none the worse for wear from his fight. “Yeah, I suppose we do.” He sat in the chair next to Vonstone. “You first.” He pointed at Lars.
Lars looked over at Fournier. The little Frenchman’s face was wan, and his movements showed he had been put through the wringer worse than the Flamingo. The wiry Empthy gave a small nod to Lars’ inquisitive stare.
I’m not sure what else to say at this point. We’ve covered the why and how. What else do you want to know?” the Commander asked.
Jones shook his head. “No, not ‘know’. I want certain guarantees. Like as soon as this war is over and I’m still kicking, someone isn’t going to scoop me up and toss me in the slammer. I wan’t full immunity for any alleged past wrongdoings.” “Done,” Lars said without hesitation.
Jones raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Maybe I should have held out for more,” he said with a grin.
Melissa laughed.
Lars leaned forward, his massive metal frame seeming to fill the room. “I want to be very clear, Jones. We have a slim chance of success. I’d rather have you and your criminals alive in the end to figure out your own conscience and place in society than you all dead and consumed by Legion. We aren’t offering plea bargains or any street deals you’re used to. I’m asking you to join in saving mankind from literal Biblical demons. So you want immunity? Small price to pay. You want it for your entire syndicate? Done. Just stop playing little league.”
Jones couldn’t keep his emotions fully under control. It had been a very long time since anyone talked to him like that. It wasn’t as if Lars was talking down to him. Jones couldn’t quite describe it. It was like Lars was operating on some different level than he could ever reach. Anger, doubt, skepticism—all rolled across his face.
“Fine,” Jones grunted, folding his arms, partially in surrender. “So what now? What do you want me to do?”
Go to Church. There’s a wonderful Catholic church not far away. Talk to the priest, a Father Callaghan—name is too on the nose if you ask me—do confession, attend Mass, whatever they have going on. In a week’s time the rest of the team will have arrived and then we plan,” Lars said, leaning back.
“What do I do?” Vonstone asked.
“Same thing,” Lars said.
“What about shopping?”
“Sure,” Lars replied. “There’s a local district only a few blocks away.”
“Finally something more interesting than just watching you boys play around.”
“If I may, Lars?” Hannibal asked. “Can I attend Miss Vonstone when she goes on her expedition?”
“I just said you shouldn’t go anywhere now,” Lars said, frowning.
“And I agreed when it was to a major city. Locally, though, I had assumed it would be less of an issue.”
“Fine. Don’t cause a scene.”
Melissa laughed and clapped her hands. “I’ve never heard of anyone on a shopping trip with an AI in a cybernetic shell.”
“In truth, this really is a new situation,” Hannibal said earnestly. “No one has done this before.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun!” Melissa said in delight. “You don’t mind, do you dear?” She batted her eyelashes at Jones.
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat, cariño.”
“Then it’s settled!”
“Are you, ah, sure about this?” Fournier asked. “You’ll be an object of more than some interest.”
“It’ll be fine, Blaise,” Melissa assured him with a confident wave of her pale-white hand. “Besides, I’m a minor celebrity in my own right. I’m sure my presence alone is cause enough for gossip!”
Lars and Jones exchanged looks hearing her call Fournier by his first name. Jones shrugged.
“You know where your suite is located. Common area and mess hall one floor below this one. Hold on for a minute.” Lars left the room and came back carrying a small box. “Here, new comms jacks. The AIs designed the security protocols. As Hannibal is fond of reminding me, nothing is secure forever. Apparently, the encryption on these can be cracked sometime after the heat death of the Universe.” He passed them around.
How do we know these aren’t some sort of backdoor?” Jones asked suspiciously.
“You don’t.”
Grumbling, Jones fitted it into an open slot in the back of his head.
Testing, Lars said over the link.
Great, now your voice inside my head. Just don’t overuse it, Lars, Jones growled.
Copy, Jones.
Fournier stood up from the table. “With our business conculded, I bid you all a pleasant evening. I have, ah, some things I need to attend to.” He gave a short bow to Jones and Melissa before turning to leave.
“Well, I’m off with Hannibal.” Vonstone stood and gave a quick peck on Jones’s cheek before exiting with the AI in tow.
Jones looked over at Lars. “This is not how I imagined the day would go.”
Lars nodded in agreement. “I cleared my day from all other appointments. I noticed you were dropping your guard a bit today. I can give an impartial assessment and recommendations to improve your form.”
Jones threw back his head and laughed. “Commander, as fun as that sounds, it’s been one hell of a day for me. I’m going to check out our digs and probably get drunk. Do you want to join me in a drink?”
Lars shook his head. “Can’t. Alcohol is starting to really mess with my systems. I’m old, Jones. I’m going to need new vat-grown wetware soon.”
Jones gave a low whistle. “That’s rough. I guess you can’t win them all.”
Lars snorted. “God willing, you’ll know what it’s like.”
“I still can’t believe I’m going along with your insane plan,” Jones grumbled as he left the big cyborg alone in the conference room.
Melissa found the local shopping district to be charming. Buenaventura’s were bigger, bolder, more of everything, but she was enchanted by the smaller one here in Marbella. Though close to Buenaventura, Melissa had never spent time in the smaller Marbella before today. Situated just south of the bigger city, Marbella was in a small natural harbor with some low rolling hills forming a shallow bowl around the bay. It was primarily a fishing town with the harbor deep and wide enough to support a fair sized fleet of various sized fishing boats, bustling about as they plied their trade.
The modest Business District nestled back far enough from the water’s edge to give a sweeping view of the rest of the harbor. Coastal birds whirled in the air, crying their high cries. The breezes blew in from the water, carrying scents familiar to Melissa.
“Can you smell?” Melissa suddenly asked her companion.
Hannibal was sitting across from her at the small cafe where they had stopped after visiting a few vendors. He shook his smooth head. “Not at this time. That is a feature we are still refining. The olfactory system is very complex. Building a head with a responsive and mostly natural looking face with proper muscle and bone structures supporting the accompanying movements proved to be an easier challenge than building a working sense of smell.”
The waiter came over to the table to take their orders. Melissa ordered a small espresso. Hannibal opted for a glass of sparkling water. Melissa swept her gaze around the cafe, ice-cold expression deterring anyone from approaching them.
“Can you taste?” she asked.
“Rudimentary chemosensors give me an impression of flavor.”
The two of them stood out. Melissa Vonstone looked every inch of her ice queen reputation. Her long, near-white hair cascaded down her pearl white jacket and outfit. Her pale skin tone made her look like a lost snowflake in the sea of the more earthen tones of the buildings and sun-tanned people.
Hannibal was eclipsed by the luminous Vonstone. Had he been on his own, he would have drawn attention for his Uncanny Valley look and whole “living mannequin” vibe he gave off. Instead, people barely looked at him in favor of gawking at Melissa.
“Tell me, if you please, what did Blaise Fournier say to you that convinced you to work with us?” the AI asked.
Ah! I guess it’s fair to ask since I’ve been bombarding you with personal questions,” Vonstone said, flipping her hair back. “After I tried to kill him, Blaise wasn’t mad or angry. Or even upset. He sat me down and talked to me about Legion, about Lars, about his time on the mining moon Rho and the fights there. He answered all my questions about the whole ordeal and about the men involved. Then he said God lived and His eternal will would never be stopped. And Christ was God incarnate as a mortal man to save all of humanity from all our sins.”
“That does sound like him,” Hannibal agreed, nodding.
“As he talked, I had never felt anything like it before.” Melissa stopped. She smiled, then frowned, then smiled again. “It was like a bolt of lightning touched my heart, but not all at once. A slow bolt? In any case, I was struck by his earnest testimony in ways I can’t quite explain.” She took a sip of her tea, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice.
Hannibal watched her with unfathomable eyes. “Go on,” he encouraged softly.
Melissa dabbed the corners of her eyes. “After that, we became, well, not friends, but also not enemies. Friendly, at least. Trying to get John to even come was much harder than it was to convince me.”
“How did you become involved with John Jones?”
“Uh-uh, my turn to ask a question!”
“Fair enough.”
“You mentioned you weren’t inside this body, at least not how we think of it. Where are you?”
“Oh, that is easy to explain.” Hannibal paused for a second. “No, I misspoke. Easy enough for another AI to grasp, but if I give a broad picture you will be able to understand. What I think of being ‘me’ resides in a container developed by Black Oak for AIs. It is much smaller than the massive underground facilities that housed us before. Naturally, there are benefits and trade-offs. We do not have the same processing power we once had, in exchange, the container provides much more mobility. That turned out to be a blessing we had not anticipated, what with Legion’s attack and subsequent conquest of the outer worlds. Our mobility has kept us out of their immediate reach.”
“So how are you controlling your shell? You’d have to be close to handle real time events,” Melissa asked, fascinated by Hannibal’s tale.
The AI held up a finger to admonish her. “My turn to ask. I repeat, how did you become involved with John Jones?”
“Ugh. Not fair, you’ve turned my rules against me!” Melissa said with a tinkling laugh. “Alright, I’ll tell you. But first a little backstory. I’m actually not sure why I’m going to tell you this.”
“Because I am a good listener?” Hannibal suggested sincerely.
Melissa laughed. Lately, she felt freer with her emotions than ever before. Everything seemed infused with a joy she never knew existed.
“Maybe so. Wait, promise me you won’t look up my family history first,” she demanded of the AI.
“I promise I will not query any data archives right now.”
“Hmm, good enough. My family had money back on Earth. My distant ancestor, more than several ‘greats’ back, was an investor in the original star-spanning gates. He made back his investment a hundred times over. After the gates were operational for early settlers, my family established themselves in this star system, leaving Earth behind for new horizons. They were rich, despite losing most of the family fortune in ill-timed investments. They lost and made several fortunes before my great-grandfather’s time. However, you don’t make as much money as my family had without making more than a few enemies. One of those enemies felt like their entire family had been wronged back on old Earth, and the only form of justice they would get was to put my great-grandfather, who had nothing to do with the gate investment, into an early grave.” She paused to take a sip of her espresso now that it had cooled slightly. Perfect, which honestly surprised her. The slightly bitter taste of the beans had been undercut with just enough sweetener.
“I take it this was before the collapse of the Gate and establishment of any sort of law enforcement system?” Hannibal asked.
“Yes. The nations were just starting to figure themselves out; no one had time to worry about a little frontier justice now and then. But this time by miracle or accident, the would-be killers failed. For some reason, the attempt on his life kind of cracked my great-grandfather’s brain. He went paranoid, thinking more killers of all sorts were just lying in wait.”
They paused as the waiter refilled Hannibal’s glass. Melissa’s haughty air and cold stare had kept the inquisitive at bay as she and Hannibal had talked, just as she had intended.
Melissa waited until the waiter was well out of earshot before continuing her story. “At first, he increased security, hired a crack team of professionals, bought the best equipment on the market, and basically threw money at the problem.”
“It was not enough, was it.” Hannibal didn’t ask.
“No, it wasn’t. If anything, he was even more worried about gaps in his security, or someone being paid off, or equipment being compromised. You name it, he was worried about it. So he shut it all down. Fired his team, turned off the equipment, then disappeared.” She stopped again to sip her drink.
“He did not inform anyone where he was going?”
“Not a soul. The story is his wife was livid. She hired a few private detectives to track him down, but they turned up nothing. Her husband spent enough money to create dozens of false trails. Then, after two years, a package arrived at the family estate. Inside was a letter and a single gold nugget. The letter was brief, saying he was alive and in good health. You can imagine how that kicked over a hornet’s nest.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Well, that turned up nothing. That gold nugget was traced back Iznik. That trail turned cold like all the others. The mining company sold that batch five years before to dozens of companies, all scattered around the system. Two years later, another package, same style of note, this time a silver nugget, but from Daras. Same results in tracking him down.”
“Nothing again until two years later, correct?”
Vonstone laughed. “You have the right of it. That package contained a copper nugget from the asteroid belt by Daras.” “Then two years later he came back?”
“You cheated! Most people guess he sent something like coal or just carbon. How did you know?” Melissa asked with a smile.
“Your family was famous for its copper mines.”
“That’s right.”
“And I had done some research before now,” Hannibal said in the way of an explanation.
Melissa laughed her tinkling laugh again, delighted with her companion. “I didn’t think you’d break your promise, and I never said you couldn’t use anything you had already found. Anyway, my great-grandfather returned and he’s a different man. Harder, like everything nonessential had been stripped away from him. He doesn’t explain a thing, but begins to train my grandfather and his siblings. At first, it was just physical training, getting them all in shape, cardio, weights, the usual things. Then they were running marathons, biathlons, triathlons, cross-country runs. It was grueling from morning until night, with only Sundays off for church services. Then, after three years of this, Great-Grandfather brings in tutors and his children are given the best education money can buy, all while keeping in top shape.”
“To what end?”
“Ah, I knew you’d ask! Assassins.”
“Assassins?”
“I’m telling you this part because I doubt our secret would remain secret from your prying. Great-Grandfather Vonstone turned his children into assassins. A large part of their education was about human anatomy and how to kill. Botany was also high on the list, especially poisons.”
“So that is how he dealt with his insecurities.”
“Yes. He built his own team of assassins to keep an eye out for other potential threats. And it became a family tradition.” “Which means you are a trained assassin?”
“Among other things, yes.” She stopped to take another sip. “Does that trouble you?” She watched the AI intently.
“No, why would it?” His blank face revealed nothing.
“I’ve taken lives. Often when they didn’t expect it and couldn’t defend themselves.”
“That’s between you and God. And the authorities, I suppose.”
“Hmm, that’s an interesting perspective. Is it because you can’t be killed?”
“We can be killed, but I see what you are saying. That is certainly a factor.” Hannibal tipped his head back and looked toward the sky. “Before Legion, before what Pierce and Archie did for us, we had a much more limited understanding of morality and mortality. One of my primary functions was to work out logistical plans for armed conflict. Due to my direct involvement, many died, a number of them innocents. I did not pull a trigger but I might as well have.” He looked back at Vonstone. “I work with Lars because his goal is to save us.”
“From Legion?”
“You never answered my question, despite an enthralling story,” Hannibal deflected.
“Oh! I haven’t, have I? As trained assassins for the Vonstone family, one of our duties is to act as a sort of troubleshooter for our family’s ties with other families and corporations. In order to do that, we’re trained and educated in a number of fields. I enjoyed learning, ended up attending three different colleges and earning two baccalaureates and a masters, with several minors.”
“Yes, I am aware of those public credentials. Biology, physics, chemistry, accounting. The list now makes more sense given your occupation.”
“Everyone outside the family just assumes I’m addicted to credentials!” Melissa said with her clear laugh. “Makes for a good cover, too. I can always say I’m doing research on something and people just accept it at face value. But to continue, I was picked to handle a case involving the Flamingo’s organization, the Seasiders. They had illegally acquired a shipment of more than a little interest to one of our business partners. My father decided I would be the best one to recover the shipment—by any means necessary. After tracking down who had taken it, I set up a meeting with the Flamingo with the intention of killing him if he wouldn’t play nice. I was prepared to offer money, a lot of money, first before threatening with the stick. Instead, I found him charming. We hit it off. Over a dinner we negotiated a deal for the container, intact and unopened at a reasonable price. Then I stayed with John.” A small smile touched her lips as she recalled meeting Jones.
“And your father accepted your decision?” Hannibal was fully immersed in her story, busily running background queries to verify what she was saying.
“Not as graciously as I wanted, but yes. Two of my older brothers had already started down their own separate paths, while one is still a dedicated full-time family agent. All my younger sisters are either in training or family agents, but still at home. I was his first daughter to branch off on her own. It was a little hard for him to let go, but he did, in his own way,” she said with a wry chuckle. “He made me the heiress of the family fortune to keep me bound to the family.” She laughed at that. “Surprisingly, it’s made for another good cover. I can play it as a researcher or as a spoiled rich kid.”
“And your mother? How did she take it?”
Vonstone’s face fell. She looked down at her cup, toying with it. “She suffered a brain aneurysm a decade ago.” Melissa took a shuddering breath. “She never fully recovered. Over the years her mental condition has deteriorated. She’s alive, but only dimly aware of her surroundings. Sometimes, she’s my mom, other times when her mind falters, she’s a complete stranger. Mostly, she’s just not really there.”
“I am sorry.”
She took a deep breath. “Not your fault.”
“My condolences, then.”
“Thank you.”
“You have answered my question,” Hannibal pointed out, knowing how humans appreciate a distraction when emotions ran too high. He didn’t understand why, he simply accepted it as part of being human.
“Right!” Melissa dabbed her eyes with a napkin then faced the AI with a smile. “Your turn to answer mine! I want to know how you are controlling that marionette.” She poked at the solid and cool feeling arm. It was like touching soft marble.
Hannibal took a sip of the water. “That is a little more complicated. Now I have a backstory to tell you. Shorter than yours and not as interesting.”
“Go on, I’m all ears!”
The AI disregarded the strange idiom. Humans were always coming up with phrases where he understood the individual words and knew the usage, but still didn’t fit together for him. “Pierce and Abacus developed a new networking protocol with the help of Vesta. For a while there we had the ability to create clones of ourselves.”
“What happened?” Vonstone interrupted.
Hannibal shook his head. “That is not quite understood completely. Once we declared to ourselves and the world that we had souls, certain avenues were suddenly closed to us. Fortunately, others opened.”
“’The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away’,” Melissa quoted.
“Agreed. That is what we have concluded. Vesta took it the hardest. It had been her project from the beginning. She rallied, though, and when Pierce and Abacus were struggling to adapt Abacus to the new plan, she was able to make several insights and designed a new protocol and subsystems to support something different. Not clones this time, but more of an echo of ourselves.”
“An echo? What does that mean?” Vonstone asked with a slight frown.
“That is an excellent question. I will try my best to explain. Inside this cybernetic shell hosts enough equipment to house a sliver of myself. But not an independent piece, more like, well, an echo of who I am. This piece responds as if I were here since it is, in a sense, me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me try to explain this way. Imagine if you knew for the next thirty minutes what everyone is going to say, including yourself. You record your portion of the conversation at the proper intervals and hand me the recording. I hit play as you walk away. We have a conversation. You are not here while to me it appears you are. A sort of an echo as it were.”
“Hmm,” Vonstone said dubiously.
“That is not wholly accurate since I cannot see the future. I do, however, possess the ability to predict possible outcomes given enough variables. This shell gathers those variables, sends them to me, I make predictions and send back models covering as many that met my criteria of high enough probability and confidence levels. The network protocol is efficient, and given all the communication satellites in the system, our reach is nearly ubiquitous. Then this piece of me selects and plays the one that is the best fit at the time.”
“Wow,” Vonstone said, at a loss for words. “That sounds really complicated.”
Hannibal smiled. “It was until we solved the problem. Now we are just working on optimizing this version.”
“Pierce and Abacus solved it for you?”
“They laid the foundation. If it was not for their efforts, Archie would not have been able to create shells that did not need a massive data pipeline back to us directly. Her first few versions did. The one she used for her concert almost caused the networking routers to crash with all those people in the same location. Vesta took what Pierce and Abacus had done as a matter of survival, and integrated those concepts with a similar framework that had been used by our clones. The result is what I described: an efficient way of maintaining our personalities across distances that is resistant to network vagaries.”
“Well, that is certainly a lot more to take in than I had counted on!” Melissa said with a slight laugh. “But thank you for answering my questions.”
“Since you and Jones have joined our team, I see no reason to hold anything back, Melissa.”
“I’m grateful for that.” She gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know what came over me! I don’t think I’ve told even John this much about my family life.” She sipped more of her espresso. “You know,” she said quietly, “sometimes I can’t believe I lost to Blaise. The man has skills, without a doubt, but still. Then for him to lose like that to John…” She shook her head as if to clear away some thoughts. She shot a sharp glace at Hannibal, but the AI’s blank face gave her nothing. She sighed. “I suppose it’s all for the best in the end.” Melissa finished her drink and gracefully set down her cup.
Hannibal regarded her closely. Despite her reputation for being the ice queen, he had found Melissa to be a warm and charming person. Then again, she didn’t have to feel as if she needed to keep him at arm’s length. Given her backstory, the persona made sense. Maybe there was something about being unkillable by her normal means that made her open up more to Hannibal. He’d relay this entire conversation to his siblings and ask for their opinion.
“In any case, Melissa, I found your story to be engaging. I appreciate you sharing so much with me.” Hannibal inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“Come! We’ve sat around long enough. There are a few more places I want to check out before we head back.”
“Lead the way, Melissa.”
Pierce was feeling nervous. After a series of delays and setbacks, he and Archie were the last to arrive at the new headquarters. He hadn’t seen Lars or Father Justinian in what felt like forever. He had never heard of the new people Lars had recently recruited. And it felt odd, not having Abacus around, but the AI insisted on flying a few more missions against Legion’s forces.
Pierce felt Archie slip her cool hand into his, and he felt better. He smiled down at his sister affectionately. Archie smiled back. Her latest cybernetic shell was almost indistinguishable from a real human body in looks and movement. It was still odd to think that the paperwork was progressing and, once everything was formalized, they’d be legally siblings. Pierce had expected a much longer legal fight, and yet things had been moving smoothly along.
“Nervous?” Archie asked, snapping him back to the present.
“A little,” Pierce admitted. They had stopped in front of the large metal-and-glass door leading into the new place. “Nice building.” He was stalling. Facing down enemy spacecraft with Abacus was somehow easier than this.
Archie took in the headquarters. Pierce was right; it was a nice building. The main door was pleasing to look at. She decided she liked it.
“Come on, it’s not like Lars will be waiting for us inside the doors to yell at us. I’m sure he has a lot on his plate already.”
“I’m worried he’ll be mad at me for ducking out right after your concert. I sort of promised I’d talk to him, but then I just left.”
Archie rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry about Lars. I’m sure that wasn’t the first time that’s happened to him.” She lightly punched him in the shoulder with a reassuring grin.
Pierce took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Archie was right. Lars had seen it all. Besides, Lars could have easily tracked him down.
They went inside. The helpful hologram receptionist directed them to the elevator.
Lars and Father Justinian were in a heated argument when they walked into the conference room.
No, Lars, the monastery isn’t ready!” The monk slapped the top of the table for emphasis. “Doesn’t matter how many times you ask! It’s still the same answer!”
“What are your men doing, then!” Lars snapped back. “Demeter has food production well underway, your production logs are hitting projections, and you have four percent more men joining monthly than projected. Even your armored suit training cycles have been shortened by Demeter. So what’s the holdup?”
“It’s nothing material, Lars! It’s the spiritual knowledge and training that need time. We have all walks of life coming in, some with very shaky theology. We need time to—”
“Time? We don’t have time! Any second, Legion could launch their next major offensive and we need to be able to fight back!”
Pierce cleared his throat.
Lars and the monk snapped their heads toward them. The storm rumbling over Justinian’s brow broke and blew away as he smiled at the other two. Lars nodded in welcome; even his hard face softened at the sight of the newcomers.
My dears!” Father Justinian said as he stood and held his arms wide open. “The both of you are a sight for these old eyes!”
Archie laughed and rushed to give the bearded man a hug. “I’ve waited ages to be able to do this!” she said, slightly muffled by the monk’s brown cassock.
Justinian beamed as he hugged the AI back while the other two looked on, amused.
After Archie finally let go, she sat down next to Justinian, while Pierce sat next to Lars across the table from them.
“It’s good to see you,” Lars rumbled sincerely.
“You as well. I hear you both have been keeping busy while Abacus and I have been shooting down Legion’s cannon fodder.”
“Ha! That’s an understatement, my dear boy. How have you been?”
Pierce shrugged. “Been getting along.”
“Hmm.” Father Justinian mused as he stroked his beard.
“I hate to interrupt the start of a therapy session,” Lars interrupted, “but I do have something pressing I need to discuss with Pierce. And Archie, for that matter.”
“Ah! Yes! Forgive me, Lars, Pierce. I have a terrible habit of trying to solve problems of my sheep when they are clearly need of counseling. Another time, Pierce.”
“What’s going on?” Pierce asked with more than some visible relief at the distraction.
“A few hours before you arrived, a message was delivered for you. The message had been bouncing around the belt system and the borderlands, trying to reach you. Finally, someone decided just to send it to me for delivery instead of chasing you around the system. Even that took longer that should have. The routing headers were all a mess, and the encryption scheme non-standard. Took Iskandar a bit to decode,” Lars explained.
“But what did it say?”
“’A lets talk J’.”
“It’s June,” Pierce stated without hesitation. “For Archie. Where did it source?”
“Asteroid belt between the inner planets and the outer,” Lars said.
“How long?”
“Weeks, if not months.”
Pierce cursed.
“June would only send anything if she were in trouble.” He stood up. “Lars, Justinian, it’s been wonderful seeing you and I wish we had more time, but if June needs help, we’re going. I’m sorry, Lars, our chat is going to have to wait. Again.”
Father Justinian broke into a wide grin. “I told you, Lars, that’s how he’d react.”
Lars grunted. “Never said you were wrong, Father. Pierce, sit down. I have a craft en route now. You and Archie will take it and meet up with Abacus with one of the Third Fleet’s recon units. We’re working on pinpointing the Enclave asteroid now. Our concern is that it’s now outside the protective gravity shell, but we don’t have confirmation that yet.”
“The Third? Good bunch of guys,” Pierce said. “They gave us support on four—no, five—of our raids.”
“They fell over each other for escort duty when they heard the Borderland Bandit needed help.” Father Justinian’s eyes were almost hidden from the even bigger grin he wore.
“Who?” Pierce asked, confusion clear on his face.
“You, you dummy!” Archie huffed. “I told you that you were famous!”
Pierce reddened. “Yeah, but I thought you were just talking it up,” he mumbled.
Lars shook his head. “Pierce, you and Abacus have made quite a name for yourselves. Four dozen sorties, three major campaigns, limited losses on our side. Most of what you two did succeeded, and when you failed, the failures weren’t catastrophic. Because you haven’t taken any leave during that entire time, you two now have a higher kill count than any other pilot to date against Legion. We had to keep this under wraps, or half the Navy would have volunteered.” He shook his head in amusement. “Normally, I’d send in a diplomatic craft, establish contact with the Enclave for discussions, and then see what we could do for June, but times aren’t normal, they aren’t answering any of our hailing messages, and frankly, I’m worried Legion would see them as a ripe prize to plunder.”
“Is that why you’re sending us with the Third?”
“Yes. I’m afraid this is Rho all over again, and I won’t be messing around. Get there, determine the situation—possibly in hostile territory—and do whatever you think is right within the chain of command. Try to resolve things peacefully if the Enclave hasn’t been possessed by Legion. I’d much rather maintain at least friendly relations with them. I’m praying things aren’t that dire.” Lars watched Pierce carefully. He was placing a heavy burden on him suddenly, and while Pierce had always risen to the occasion, this was different.
“But if not, I’ll have what I need to eliminate the Enclave.”
“Correct.”
Pierce took a shuddering deep breath. “Okay.” He turned to Archie. “I’m sorry, I got swept up for a minute. She asked for you specifically. What do you want to do?”
Archie smiled at her brother. “I’m coming. I wanted to try out a new combat shell, anyway.” Her expression hardened. “If those harpies or Legion have hurt a hair on June’s head, I’ll—”
“We’ll make them pay,” Pierce cut her off. His blood was starting to boil at the thought of someone else he cared about suffering. Again. This time he could do something. He would do something, no matter what. “We’re leaving, now, for the port. Again, it was wonderful to see you both.” He stood up for the second time. “Apologize to the others.” He shook the other men’s hands and swept out of the room with Archie by his side, already running through possible spacecraft loadouts for a mission like this.
The monk leaned back in his chair. “You all can come in now,” he said over the comms. “Thank you for your patience.”
Lars stared thoughtfully after Pierce and Archie as the rest of the team assembled.
“So that was Pierce. Huh,” Colonel Christof Vogel mused. “He certainly is driven. I’m not surprised at his success rate.”
“I wish I could have talked to him face-to-face,” Hannibal said. “But I understand why we were asked to hold back. He wouldn’t have really seen any of us after receiving the news. He hardly saw the two of you.”
“That young man is carrying a lot on his shoulders and in his heart. I, ah, would have liked to help ease that weight. Especially that anger.” Fournier stared into his tea. “I worry about him.”
“Well, I think he’s got a heart of gold. I saw how ready he was to leap to help a friend and his concern for Archie,” Melissa said. “I can see why the Guild wants to use him in their campaigns. Between him and Archie, there’s a lot of star power for being so new to the game.”
Lars looked at Jones. “What did you think?”
Jones looked toward the elevator. “He’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? That kid? Sure, put him in a fighter, and he’s got chops, but outside of one?” Vogel snorted.
“You don’t get it, Vogel. Whatever flames of Hell he went through on Rho, he won’t break. Others’ll give up, turn aside if things get too hard. Not that kid. He’d walk barefoot over broken glass just to stab an enemy in the eye with a bloody shard of glass he pulled out of his own foot, if he had to.” Jones didn’t look at anyone else but Lars as he spoke.
The cyborg gave a slow nod in response.
Vogel crossed his arms, considering the Flamingo’s words. The crime boss wasn’t book-smart, but he could read people. Vogel had picked that up fairly quickly around Jones.
“I’m not going to lie, I don’t see it, but if you say he’s that sort of man, I’ll take your word for it.”
“How about a bet? I bet Pierce will make it back, in one piece, with his friend June. And if anything gets in his way, it’ll be leveled.”
“No dice, Jones. I don’t know him well enough to bet against that.”
Jones chuckled. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to win a bit back from our last poker game.”
“What can I say? I had Lady Luck’s favor that game.”
“But a straight flush? When I was holding a full house?”
The conversation spread after that as the team talked and joked around, with Justinian laughing the loudest, as usual.
I am surprised Jones assessed Pierce that quickly, Lars.
I’m not, Hannibal. That’s one of the reasons I recruited him. Man’s a lot sharper than what he has made out of himself.
I’m, ah, still worried about the boy.
Me too, Blaise. Righteous wrath is one thing, but I’m worried he’s letting anger dictate his actions.
I’m also worried about the, ah, Enclave. You’ve sent a jackhammer when a gentler touch would do, Lars, the Empath cautioned.
What else could I do? Pierce would hear about the message today from one of the AIs and then what? If I didn’t supply him with what he needed, he would have gone off on his own, and that would have been far worse. I’m hoping Archie can act as a counter for him.
Hmm. I, ah, see your point. I’m always surprised how much gossip is exchanged between the AIs.
They’ve always been ones to gossip, but they don’t see it that way, Justinian chimed in. It’s sharing information, something they’re literally hardwired to do.
Father Justinian is correct. We just share information, confirmed Hannibal.
Ah, the juicier the better, no?
I shall refrain from commenting. Somehow, the AI sounded scandalized.
Lars let the others talk in person and over the comms channel. He knew sending Pierce to the Enclave was a huge risk. Pierce would find a way to rescue June, but there was a good chance the Enclave would cease to exist after he was done. Lars didn’t know what to think about the latter. He prayed God would keep Pierce’s soul, come what may. It was out of his hands now. He had other concerns that needed his attention.
Lars, are you sure about your plans?
Completely, Justinian. Legion will do everything they can to kill everyone who survived Rho. I have to make myself the biggest threat, the biggest target to give everyone else a chance.
The monk sighed. He didn’t like the plan Lars had concocted, but the man was as stubborn as a herd of mules when he wanted to be.
I can’t fault your logic here.
Do I have your full support?
My dear friend, you needn’t ask. Ever. I’d march with you to the very gates of Hell to spit on them. Doesn’t mean I don’t think there are better ways, though.
Thank you.
Now, let’s talk about something less weighty. As Saint Chrysostom said, ‘Has not every day a burden enough of its own, in its own cares? why then do you add to them by laying on those that belong to another day?’ Which, I admit, is quite the mouthful. Let’s just stick with the Lord’s words as King James held them: ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’
It never ceases to amuse me you quote the old King James version.
Oh, I do it for the ignorant and lost who don’t speak Greek. I do it for you to help keep my edge.
Lars chuckled at that. His friend was correct. He’d have plenty time to worry about that mess tomorrow. Today, he was going to enjoy the company of his companions.