The Saffron Malformation (76 page)

             
“Okay, well let’s try this.  Say we get to my father’s terminal,” Rain offered.  When Arnie looked at her she shrugged and said, “What, we’re talking about it.”  He smiled and she went on.  “If we do, I… or whoever could easily send the entire hard drive,” she waved her hand around wistfully, “wherever.  We could search through it later and see what we find.  Maybe get a lock on whatever he means to use for escape.”

             
“That leave’s getting in the house, getting to the terminal, getting to the ship and getting off world without getting killed,” Reggie counted the ‘getting’s’ on his fingers.

             
“It’s a bad plan,” Rain said calmly, almost pleading for him to understand and agree.

             
“Fuck it,” Quey said after a tick.  “I’ve been up to long and spending that time with mister whiskey hasn’t helped things.  We sleep on it.  Arnie, will you take to the simulator tomorrow, in case.”

             
He nodded, “Sure.  At least it’ll be something to do.”

             
Quey sighed and nodded.  “Maybe a little rest’ll inspire us toward something a bit more feasible.”

             
It was nearing dawn as they shuffled off to bed.  Quey fell asleep instantly.  Some of the others lingered a spell.

             
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Rain told Arnie when he asked if she was going to lie down.  He drifted to sleep before she made it and thought nothing of it when he woke in bed alone.

And so what now then

             
Arnie spent the day in the flight simulator and though he put about as much credence in Quey’s plan to fly away in a space ship as Rain had, it was something to do and he enjoyed it.  When he’d entered the room he’d seen what he expected, a chair with sticks.  In school they had interchangeable control banks that you had to bring out and place depending on the sort of craft you were training to fly.  Ryla’s simulator was completely holo based.  He sat in the chair, selected the sort of ship he wished to pilot and an interactive holographic image of the controls appeared around him, as did the appropriate cockpit.  Presently he was in the bridge of a long range Frigate.  Around him were the controls and digital dials detailing his flight information—speed and engine temperature and the like, while ahead of him was a massive pane of glass, beyond which was space.

             
He’d spent the better part of the morning in transport ships, trying to get a feel for how they handled in atmo first before taking them out into space.  The transition hadn’t been as dramatic as he’d expected.  Ships these days were designed to help the pilot as much as possible.  The biggest thing he had to get used to was that no matter what he wanted the ship to do he had to burn the engines, even if he wanted to stop.

             
After he had a handle on the transports he played around in an M-9 screamer—a short-range fighter used both on planet and off.  He maneuvered around the world for a bit, surprised by how accurately the stress simulators replicated the feel of flying.  He pushed the M-9 till he thought he was going to black out, and when an alarm went off warning him that he was dangerously close to doing just that he eased off the throttle and started for space.

             
When he had a feel for the ship he initiated some dogfight simulations.  On planet he actually did all right, after a few hours he could win against three at a time consistently—anything tougher than that didn’t end so well for him.  When he set the dogfights in space things took a turn.  Maneuvering was easy when you had gravity lending you a hand but the drift that occurs in space made everything more difficult.  By the time he was done playing his win-loss was at fifty percent.

             
He sat back in the chair and looked at the holoscreen in front of him.  It was asking him what simulation he’d like to run next.  That was when he decided if they somehow did manage to find a ship they really wouldn’t be able to choose what sort it was, and so he should have experience in as many as possible.  He started at the top of the list and began working his way down, giving each ship at least ten minutes but no more than thirty.  That was harder than it sounded, especially if he liked the way a model handled.

             
When it came to the frigate fifteen minutes in he was done.  He sat back in the chair and felt his stomach move.  When he checked the time he saw it was almost four in the afternoon.  He’d been at it for nearly nine hours and hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  Part of him wanted to try one or two more ships before breaking but his stomach was demanding food and his mind was thinking about it and once that was the case he found trying to do anything else impossible.

             
Arnie turned off the simulator and rose from the chair.  His back was tight so he raised his hands above his head, stretching them toward the ceiling.  Sitting for nine hours, even in a comfortable chair, was taxing and now that he had a mind for it he was glad he was taking a break.

             
He meant to find Rain and see if she’d join him for dinner, maybe a bit of sex too, now that he thought about it.  All that flying, the exhilaration of it, had left him with quite the itch.

             
The flight simulator was in the second basement, at the end of the hall right of where Jacob was stored.  When he’d come down that morning he’d heard muttering.  Then the robot had asked, “Who’s there?  Anybody?”

             
Now as he passed Jacob shouted, “I was beginning to think you’d be in there all night.”  Arnie stopped briefly and looked at the door.  He was afraid of the robot but still he had an urge to go in and look at it.  He thought that must be what makes people want to work with lions or swim with sharks (on worlds where you can do such a thing).  The idea of being close to something that dangerous, of knowing it can’t or won’t harm you but somewhere too you know something could go wrong.

             
“You can’t trust her,” Jacob called.  There was something about his voice, as if he knew something you didn’t.  As if he was just biding his time.  “Can’t trust a robot that doesn’t want to be one.  That, my friend, that is lunacy,” the bot concluded.

             
Arnie turned toward the elevator and left Jacob alone with his madness.

             
“How was it?” Quey asked when Arnie finally came up from the basement.  He and Reggie were sitting at the kitchen table cleaning guns and taking inventory of what they had.

             
“It was pretty cool,” Arnie said, looking at the disassembled weapons, bits of metal lying in neat order on the table.  Reggie glanced up at him as he used some sort of brush to clean inside a long cylinder.  After a tick Arnie asked, “Hey, you guys catch sight of Rain?”

             
Quey shook his head, looked to Reggie and when the big man did the same he replied, “Nope.  She’s been under the radar today.  Probably working on that map of the house,” he shrugged.  “I’m sure Leone knows where she is,” he finished as he returned to cleaning the gun.

             
“No no,” Reggie said, frustrated.  “You’re going to scratch it up you keep on like that.”

             
“I thought I was supposed-”

             
“See, that’s good.  You thought,” the big man said.  “Now we’ve isolated the problem.”  He laughed and Quey followed a moment later.

             
After that Arnie was out of earshot and the two men’s conversation became low utterances in the background.

             
Minutes later Quey and Reggie were still at the table cleaning the guns when Arnie ran past them toward the far hallway.  He stopped at Ryla’s door and knocked vigorously.

             
“What’s bitting him in the ass?” the big man wondered and Quey shrugged.

             
The door opened and Ryla stood before him, dressed in one of her black skirts with a tight black long sleeve shirt.

             
“Have you seen Rain?” he blurted.

             
“The last time I saw her was last night in the living room.”

             
“Well do you have some sort of tracker in this place?  I mean, can you locate someone?”

             
“No.”

             
Suddenly Quey was interested.  “What’s up?” he called.

             
Arnie looked at him with frantic eyes.  “I can’t find Rain and no ones seen her, not even Leone.”

             
Quey hung his head slightly and nodded.  “Fuck,” he muttered.

             
“She can’t be that stupid,” Reggie said to him.

             
He looked at the big man and said, “If it was a matter of stupid I’d say you’re right.  Hard headed, however, is the trait where this particular happenstance has its roots and in that she can be.”  He saw Leone step slowly into the room with Amber slightly behind, listening carefully, his face hung with worry.  “Ryla,” Quey called.  “Would you be so kind as to check with gypsy, ask about our vehicle situation.  I’ve got a suspicion we’re down one at present.”

             
Ryla was halfway to the terminal in her room when the red lights along the ceiling began to flash and the alarm came with them.  Quey and Reggie looked up at the ceiling.

             
“Now what?” the big man asked.

             
“Nothing good, I suspect,” Quey said solemn.

Rachel was on the roof with her rifle as the daylight began dwindling toward the horizon.  She leaned across the ledge at the edge and took aim at the Once Men down by the river.  She watched one of them sleep peacefully through her scope for a long moment, then she gently squeezed the trigger and after a slight jerk he remained peaceful as his blood slowly pooled around him.

              Killing Once Men had become no different to her than a hunter killing a deer.  They were, after all, not men anymore.  Though, to be truthful about it, she wasn’t sure if it would have mattered.  Her mind and heart were in different places than they had been a year ago.  As she took aim again she found herself imagining the next once man she sniped was wearing an Angels of the Brood patch.  She was about to pull the trigger when she heard the roar of engines and spotted the dust cloud out of the corner of her eye.  She shifted her rifle left and through the scope she saw them, rolling in from the road.  The rig with the Broods logo painted on the side amidst a dozen bikes and at least four cars roaring through the wastes toward the compound.

 
              As she watched them through the scope she knew this wasn’t a scouting mission.  She could see the rig had two guns mounted on the roof of its trailer and each of the cars had one as well.  They had come for a fight.

Rachel hunkered in and waited, her rifle held relaxed against her shoulder and watched them through her scope.  They’d be in her range shortly.  She had plenty of bullets.

              Natalie stepped from the hallway where her bedroom was, nervous and uncertain.  “What’s going on?” she asked as Ryla hurried into the main room of the third floor and announced, “There are people approaching.  They are marked as threat level three.”

             
“What’s that mean?” Reggie asked, looking about to see if he was the only one that didn’t understand.

             
“It means they have weapons and seem likely to attack,” she replied.

             
Reggie and Quey exchanged a glance.  “Brood?” the big man asked.

“Brood,” Quey confirmed.

Ryla started toward the elevators and a moment later the others followed.  Ryla stood still, deep in thought, and Quey thought she must be nervous.  Without thinking he touched her shoulder.  She looked back at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and might have given him a smile if the doors hadn’t opened.

After that she rushed from the elevator on light feet that carried her swiftly into the main room and to her computer bank.  When the others entered she was already seated, her fingers frantically running over the keyboard.  Quey and Reggie crossed behind her and stood, watching the holoscreen from over her shoulder.

“Fuck me,” Reggie said, “Looks like these assholes mean to stir up a whole batch of trouble.”

             
“Looks like they’re going to get some first,” Quey said, pointing to the screen where the Once Men were displayed.  They were stirring.  As the first of them got to their feet the convoy came to a stop and men hurried out of the back of the rig and ran around to the front.  Once Men grunted and then shouted in their language.  “Ju ta ga!  Ju ta ga!”

             
The Broodlings took a moment to touch fire to the cloth wicks of their Molotov cocktails and then lobbed them, a dozen meteors that arched across the dull grey of the morning sky and collided with the ground and spewed fire across the Once Men’s camp.  Flames drenched their dry grey skin and sent them into a screaming frenzy.  Some ran toward the Brood while others made haste to the river, still others writhed on the ground or simply ran stumbling in no particular direction.

             
Broodlings had climbed onto the roofs of the cars and two took to the top of the rig to man the machine guns.  The Once Men who chose to approach them were gunned down.  The handful that put themselves out in the river made their way back to land and scooped up revolvers or shotguns.  They charged the convoy and met a hail of bullets that tore threw them and sent them tumbling to the ground.

             
“What is it with this asshole and savages?” Render wondered from the front seat of the rig.  This one was reinforced; even the glass was bullet proof.  He took out his vial and let a set of drops land on his tongue.  A moment later he felt the ease.  “Announce us,” he said and Glik grabbed a small black device that fit in the palm of his hand.  Then he climbed from the cab and onto the roof of the rig.

He brought the device to his lips and cracked the mike.  “Dear Ryla,” he began, his voice booming across the waste.  There was a chuckle from the Brood.  “We have no mind to burn your little compound to the ground, but we will if you make us.  All we’re really here for are the group of assholes we know to be inside.  Now, no point in talk about how you don’t know who or what we could possibly mean because if that starts, true or not, it ends in fire.  So how about you just go ahead and open your little door there and-”