Unstable Prototypes (9 page)

"Listen, could you give me a little more of a
heads up on these turns?"

"Left, left, right, right, up, down, up-" she
fired off mechanically.

"Okay, not THAT fast."

"There, ahead. The guards and their
prisoner."

Sure enough, working their way laboriously
along a narrow shaft with no handy drag chain was the pair of
guards. The orange-clad prisoner was being towed along like so much
luggage, eyes watching down the shaft. When he spotted Lex and the
black and white creature under his arm, the prisoner grinned. In a
smooth motion he swung his restrained feet frontward, hooking them
onto the grid and bringing the entire procession's forward progress
to a sudden end.

"Damn it, what did I tell you about that?"
barked a guard.

"So terribly sorry, gents. Just can't seem to
get the hang of this low gravity nonsense. Perhaps if my hands were
free I could lend a hand in my own transportation," he politely
suggested.

As one of the guards attempted to untangle
the prisoner's feet, Lex tried to keep out of sight at the edge of
the shaft.

"Okay, so what now?" he whispered.

"Attempting to access... I am afraid that the
Near Field Communication-based locking module utilized by the
restraints will not operate at this distance. I need to get
closer."

"How much closer?"

"Within eighteen inches."

"There is no way I can do that without
obviously being involved."

"That is likely an accurate assessment. It
was not my intention to involve you personally in this aspect of
the escape. Please remove the leash, then proceed swiftly to
docking bay-I and prepare the SOB for travel. We will be arriving
shortly."

"I sure hope you know what you're
doing..."

#

Further ahead in the shaft, the prisoner
continued to be of no help at all to his escorts.

"If you don't unhook your feet, I swear to
God, I will use the stun rod."

"Again, I am frightfully sorry. Must be some
manner of muscle spasm. Poor circulation, you see. Long trips like
these always seem to cause it to act up."

"I'll show you what a muscle spasm looks
like," growled the second guard, unsheathing the baton-sized 'stun
rod,' effectively an over-engineered cattle prod with enough
circuitry to tone itself down just enough to prevent the death of
the target.

"What the hell is that!?" exclaimed his
partner, just in time for a fuzzy black and white creature to
cannon into the three of them.

For a few seconds, chaos ensued. Zero gravity
is no place for a creature without thumbs, which left Ma scrabbling
somewhat haphazardly in her attempts to reach the restraints. The
guards, still unsure of what precisely they were dealing with, had
degenerated to screaming orders at one another and fumbling for
their weapons. The prisoner simply seemed delighted at the level of
confusion. His delight only increased when Ma finally maneuvered
herself to his feet. She hooked her paws around a nearby handrail,
her red light flickered for a moment, and the leg restraints
clicked open. There are those who would have gladly paid admission
for what came next.

Over the course of human development, we
frequently find ourselves entering new environments. Without fail,
the first order of business is to determine how best to inflict
bodily harm on other humans while immersed in that environment. It
became clear in a matter of moments that, yes, there was indeed a
form of martial arts that was performed in zero-gravity while one's
hands were bound, and yes, this man was well versed. A quick tap of
his toes pivoted his body around, allowing his hands to grip the
rail behind him. Thus anchored, he delivered a swift kick to one
guard causing him to spin uncontrollably. A thrusting heel sent him
ricocheting down the shaft. His partner managed to raise a stun
rod, but a heartbeat later the prisoner's feet were locked about
his wrist. A quick crouching motion yanked the guard forward, and a
subsequent twist and mule kick launched the unlucky escort directly
at his partner. The two collided, forcefully dislodging the plasma
pistol that the latter had drawn. The entire display was over in
two seconds, but it had given Ma time to release his hand
restraints as well. The skilled prisoner plucked the liberated
pistol from the air, stowed Ma under one arm, and propelled himself
away from his former captors. A chime from the slidepad on Ma's
harness drew his attention. Displayed on it screen was a map of the
station with a highlighted route.

#

"That was a somewhat graceless solution, but
the results are inarguable," Ma stated in Lex's ear, amid much
static and distortion.

"What's that, Ma? I can't hear you. I think
the hands-free is out of range."

"Have you reached the ship yet?" she asked,
voice slightly clearer.

"I'm barely halfway down the next shaft. Why,
are you done already?"

As a response, alarms began to sound, leading
to utter panic in a space station that was already having
difficulty dealing with the sudden arrival of an unexpected
ship.

"I guess so," he remarked.

"I suggest you move very quickly."

"You don't need to tell me twice!" he
affirmed, launching himself along the corridor.

Navigation was immensely simpler with both
hands free, though the atmosphere of chaos slowed him down
somewhat. He darted about the shaft, avoiding dislodged carry-on
bags and commuters clumsily trying to figure out which way to flee.
After a second turn brought the entrance to docking bay-I into
view, a louder bit of commotion behind him prompted him to turn.
The prisoner was, to put it bluntly, showing off. With Ma tucked
under his arm like a football, he was practically sprinting along
the walls, springing back and forth with flawless pivots to give
himself enough momentum for another few steps.

"I am engaging an auto-start sequence on the
SOB's systems," Ma stated as she passed. "Minimum operational
readiness will be achieved in approximately forty-five
seconds."

The escaped convict dove through the door to
the docking bay, Lex snagging the edge and hauling himself through
shortly after. The pair converged on dock 85.

"Ah, yes. I rather thought you would be here.
Fellow from first class, yes? I believe this is yours," the convict
said, handing over Ma. "Terribly sorry, won't be a moment."

He drifted slightly back into the main area
of the bay, which had the general appearance of a wider than
average shaft with regularly spaced garage-sized alcoves leading to
the airlocks associated with each bay.

"Ahem! Attention, denizens of..." he
proclaimed, turning aside to Lex to quietly add. "What docking bay
is this, my boy?"

"I."

"Denizens of Bay-I! Anyone still lingering
within my general vicinity in the next thirty seconds will be
considered hostages, and thus will be joining me when I leave in my
ship. Whether or not you fit
inside
said ship is not my
concern, you'll be coming along regardless! For those doubtful of
my ability to enforce such a policy, may I direct your attention to
my right hand!"

He raised the pistol in the indicated hand.
The response was immediate, with a flood of people moving in a
crazed mob toward the exit, forcing back the security officers and
guards that were trying to enter. Lex took advantage of the madness
to enter the pressurized dock and slip into the cockpit. Once the
bay door was clear, the fugitive heaved it shut. It was a heavy
duty, hinged metal device built to keep any docking mishaps from
depressurizing the whole station, and after a blast or two from his
pistol fused the opening mechanism, it wasn't going to be letting
anyone in or out without some serious mechanical assistance. After
that, he joined Lex in the SOB, strapping into the recently
installed passenger seat, situated directly behind the pilot's
seat. The two seats more or less filled the cockpit to capacity,
with a tiny bit of space on the floor on either side of the seats.
The duffel was crammed into one side and held in place with elastic
straps. Ma drifted into the other, hooking her paws around the
straps she found there.

"Nice ship," he remarked.

"Yeah, thanks. You mind telling me who you
are?"

"You are aiding in my escape, but you don't
know who I am? Well, aren't you an interesting little riddle. We'll
do introductions once we are in the clear, if you don't mind. Right
now you and I are going to have to figure out how to get the dock's
door to open, which they will certainly have locked, and how to get
past the security ships, which they will certainly have
dispatched."

"Interfacing with the SOB on-board systems,"
Ma stated in his earpiece, drifting onto his lap and holding
herself in place with one of the harness straps. When she
continued, it was via the speaker system of the ship. "Attempting
to open doors ... Door access refused, attempting override
security. Processing... Processing..."

"I say. That's a familiar vocal tick,"
remarked the passenger.

The creature on Lex's lap had its eyes shut
tight, head jerking and shaking every few moments while the red
light remained almost constantly lit. Finally she relented,
wavering slightly as through enormously fatigued.

"Encryption complexity sufficient to render
an override impossible within a useful time window with current
resources. Activating tractor beam in order to facilitate physical
override."

"I rather think a tractor beam won't be
sufficient. Haven't you got any weaponry?" asked the
ex-prisoner.

"Trust me, my tractor beam will be plenty,"
Lex assured him.

It had never been Lex's intention to make the
SOB a combat vessel, but considering the ship's creator, the idea
of missing an opportunity to add destructive capability to a
vehicle was practically sacrilegious. Thus – along with a slick
black paint job to blend with deep space, heat syncs to cool
engines and fool heat sensors, and an engine that could be made to
belch all sorts of disruptive radio waves – Karter had installed an
overpowered tractor beam with a setting that had roughly the same
effect on its target that a jackhammer would have on a
watermelon.

"Calculating resonance frequency and
determining structural weaknesses. Deploying," Ma said.

The beam kicked on, and instantly it was
clear the sort of damage something that amounted to little more
than a high tech replacement for a tow rope could do in the right
hands. The whole ship rattled as it did its work, forcing the
unrestrained Ma to hold a bit more tightly to Lex's harness. Rivets
popped and welds opened like a zipper on the surface of the door.
In seconds the seal was compromised and the bay decompressed,
wrenching the damaged door free. As it cartwheeled into space, four
security ships strafed into view, with easily a dozen more lurking
a bit further out.

"Finally!" Lex proclaimed, slipping a stick
of gum from his pocket and tossing it in his mouth.

"Might I suggest-" his guest began.

"No talking," Lex snapped, revving the
engines and blasting out of the bay.

The ships he was facing were slow, clumsy,
short distance patrol vessels. They were barely larger than their
own cockpits and, thanks to the obvious danger of using high
powered weapons near a civilian space station, they were primarily
armed with devices designed for incapacitation. That in no way made
them harmless, however. For one thing, as previously stated, an
incapacitated spacecraft is essentially a projectile, and
projectiles don't mix well with fragile ships and structures the
likes of which the patrols were supposed to guard. To deal with
this, the security ships tended to be equipped with their own
(fortunately less destructive) tractor beams and good old fashioned
grappling cables to try to bring disabled ships to a halt. They
also had a tricky bit of technology that freelancers had come to
call "the clothesline." Security ships would pair off and link a
pair of emitters that had been installed on each of them. A ribbon
of bright blue energy would then zap to life between them. If said
ribbon so much as grazed your ship, the hull temperature would
start to spike. A few seconds of exposure would blow the coolant
system, forcing you to either kill the engines or kill everyone in
the vicinity of the engines when they eventually ruptured. Two such
clotheslines flickered on like neon threads ahead of him, and his
visual scanners showed that there was a handful more trying to box
him in.

A quick waggle of the control stick sent the
pair of ships ahead of him into a sideways slide to the left to
compensate. He then shifted to the right and darted upward. The
ships above him tried to close off the path, but unfortunately for
them, the two pilots didn't quite have matching reflexes. One
drifted wide, nearly smashing into one of his fellow security
ships, and leaving a gaping hole in their defenses for Lex slip
through. A solo ship, either in an attempt to intimidate him or
simply due to plain old obliviousness, swept close enough to brush
shields, forcing Lex back down toward another pair of ribbons. They
slid together and tried to tighten up the net, but he eased his
ship into a careful orientation and managed to thread the needle
between the lines. One of the security ships, in its panicked
attempt to pursue, managed to cross the path of one the other
ship's lines, instantly triggering a fail-safe and drifting dead in
the water. By the time the other ships managed to sort themselves
out and get back on track, Lex had open space ahead of him and
could put his monster of an engine to work.

When Lex had been describing to Karter what
sort of things he wanted in a ship, top on the list was speed, and
the lunatic inventor had delivered. Despite the fact that his
previous ship, Betsy, had been equipped with triple the engines it
was intended to have and an oversized power plant to run them, the
SOB was several times more powerful with what looked like (but was
absolutely not) stock equipment. With a little distance to get up a
head of steam, and without an atmosphere to contend with, Lex had
yet to find anything that could even keep pace with the SOB, let
alone catch up. He hammered the throttle until the security ships
were nowhere in sight. Once the sensors were clear, he picked out a
suitably random destination and activated the Carpinelli Field. The
view out the cockpit headed toward the blue side of the spectrum
until it rocketed past ultraviolet.