Chapter 17 - Diversions
Chapter 17
Diversions
//
SPATIAL
CHECK //
>
DATE:
16.03.7088
>
TIME:
14:25:12
UST
(UNIVERSAL
STANDARD TIME)
// LOCATION TRIANGULATION //
> SYSTEM: INTERSTELLAR SPACE
>>
BODY: nil
>>> SETTLEMENT:
WAYSTATION #0085
>>>>
LOCAL: CRSS
RECKLESS - [ID: SC
- Vario XT
Surveyor]
Chief Repairman Vasil Olegovich hated working on
ancient ships. Nothing was standard or current. The threads were
stripped, the power couplings were obsolete, and the owners were
usually paranoid lunatics. This one was worse, every component had
been jerry-rigged to the guts of the ship using spit and hope. The
job made worse by the severe lack of labour as twelve other ships
currently docked had the same exact problem.
But at least the pay this time was extra good.
He twisted the final seal on the water reclamation
unit, the only one on station that was even remotely compatible with
the ship systems, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Hey, Billy,"
he called out over his shoulder. "Check the pressure on the
outflow."
No answer.
Vasil groaned, pushing himself up from under the
sink. Billy was new, a recent arrival from the Reunov sector, and the
kid was jumpy as a cat in a dog kennel. He was probably hiding in the
bathroom again.
Vasil walked into the dining area and froze, the
wide arch opening to the crew lounge framing the sight.
Billy was cornered near the crew quarters. And
standing over him, leaning down with the terrifying intimacy of an
executioner, was the security sentinel.
Vasil had worked around bots for thirty years. He
knew the cheap plastic security models that chirped warnings, and he
knew the heavy industrial loaders that were too dumb to stop crushing
you if you got in the way.
This thing was neither. It was old, the armour
plating was scarred and pitted, but it moved with a liquid grace that
made the hair on Vasil’s arms stand up. It wasn't just standing
there; it was looming.
“Final Warning,” the war-bot buzzed. It
sounded like gravel in a blender. “Security Breach.”
Billy looked like he was about to wet his hazmat
suit.
Vasil sighed, grabbing an oily rag from his belt.
He didn't get paid enough to deal with combat protocols. He stepped
forward, putting on his 'Site Foreman' voice.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He chucked the
rag at Billy’s head. The sentinel eased off, watching the rag
bounce off the workman’s suit.
Billy flinched, ducking away from the bot, shoving
something back in his work pouch. “I was just-uh-checking the—”
“Did you
finish changing the traps?” Vasil
barked, Billy rushed
towards him and tried
to duck back into the
kitchen.
He followed
the kid, palming a wrench for intimidation. “Did you at least pull
out the filters and check their compatibility?!”
The kid
held his hands up in surrender, blubbering. “I’m sorry boss! I’ll
check them right away! Please don’t rip my heart out!”
Vasil
frowned at the choice of phrase, thumping the wrench on the back of a
chair. “Get back to it before I dock your pay for slacking.”
He turned
on his heel and stopped dead cold when he saw the sentinel watching
them silently from the partition. He hadn’t heard it approach.
Up close, the droid was even bigger. It radiated
danger, the smell of antiseptic and old coolant hanging off it. Vasil
looked at the visor. He couldn't see any sensors behind the black
glass, but he could feel the weight of its attention. It felt heavy.
“Hey, robot,” Vasil said, keeping his voice
even. Treat them like tools, and they act like tools. Usually.“Final
report on the work for your owner. We’ve finished installation of
the replacement
water recycler, the
repairs to the pipes and done
thorough checks of the
rest of the water
points. The rest of the
plumbing seem to be up to snuff and compatible with the antique,
which…works out well, considering.
The invoice and work order will be sent to the ship’s systems,
marked Station Repairs
and Senti Foundation.
We do NOT,” he
emphasised the last word with a glare to Billy
now ducking under the sink, busying himself with what he
should have already completed.
“Send anything via personal communications.”
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The droid stared at the kid briefly before turning
its attention back to the chief. The shift in posture had been
subtle, the threat had vanished, replaced by a stiff, mindless
attention.“Understood.”
Vasil relaxed slightly. Just a machine after all.
Probably running a heavy aggression algorithm to compensate for the
hospitalised owner. “Look, sorry for Billy. He’s from Reunov, you
see. They have a bit of a different mentality over there. World was
overtaken by a cult during Severance.”
They both glanced in Billy’s direction, the
younger man cursing up a storm as he half disappeared under the sink.
The foreman, sighed then couldn’t help but spare the sentinel with
its dark, empty visor with an appraising eye. “You’re a pretty
decent build,” he commented, tapping his wrench against his thigh.
“Is your manufacturer still around? Or are you Pre-Sev Tech?”
The bot stilled. For a second, Vasil thought the
processor had frozen. The air around them seemed to get colder, the
hum of the robot’s internal fans spiking for a heartbeat.
Then, the answer came, flat and boring.
“Negative. Manufacturer ZapTrap Systems. Unit
constructed 6880. Refurbished 7085.”
“ZapTrap, huh?” Vasil frowned. He’d never
seen a refurb with that level of restoration, but he wasn’t a
roboticist. “Well, work’s complete. We’re heading out.”
He exited the galley, keeping a firm hand on
Billy’s neck piece of the hazmat suit. They walked down the stairs to the airlock, with
Vasil hitting the release. To his surprise, the sentinel followed. It
moved silently, its heavy feet making no sound on the deck plates. It
was unnerving.
“Acknowledged,” the robot said, stepping into
the lock with them. “Owner will be advised of completed works.
Please exit the vessel.”
Vasil watched the sentinel show them out, the arm
held out as if they were Core ladies being waited on by a gentleman.
He shook his head.
“Creepy bastard,” he muttered to Billy. “Come
on. Let’s get paid.”
//
SPATIAL
CHECK //
>
DATE:
16.03.7088
>
TIME:
14:27:12
UST
(UNIVERSAL
STANDARD TIME)
// LOCATION TRIANGULATION //
>
SYSTEM:
INTERSTELLAR
SPACE
>>
BODY: nil
>>>
SETTLEMENT:
WAYSTATION #0085
>>>>
LOCAL:
PORT-SIDE PUB
Cybernetic
arm crossed over biological as pink-haired
woman
stretched experimentally, testing out her sensitive sides, letting
out a wide yawn.
The incision lines
invisible against her pale skin, the
sensitive
site revealed
when her cropped
shirt and
jacket’s hems
rose with the movement. The
sutures
done with clear thread and machine precision. She
gazed sadly at the clear liquid in her cup in front of her.
“Another
week. A whole, entire, seven-day rotation without a single drop of
booze.” Carla placed
a hand over her bionic eye, forcing a re-focus as she turned to Jake
who was leaning precariously backwards over the pub
railing. “It’s a
human rights violation, Jake. Check the Sol-Charter,
I’m being oppressed.”
“It’s
not oppression, it’s medical advice,” Jake chuckled,
chewing on a toothpick,
his mohawk black. He
pushed aside the three empty beer pints for the server bot to collect
on its next rotation. “The
doc said the new kidneys need to settle. Unless you want to pay
out of your own pocket for the next pair,
you’re sticking to water and nutrient paste.”
“Still
can’t believe I had to pay for the private room,”
she muttered, her mechanical eye whirring as it scanned the crowd
beyond the balcony,
looking for a distraction. “At
least Management
still paid
the rest.”
The various
walkways were chaos. A shift change had just dumped thousands of
dockworkers, spacers, and droids into the various thoroughfares. The
air smelled of liquid ship fuel, sweat, iron, and frying street
foods.
Another
medical transport flew past, the sirens whirring ominously.
Jake nodded
towards it, “More ‘Liberated’ cases.
They added two more systems to the list this morning.”
Carla
frowned, shifting uncomfortably as a twinge in her back fought
against the painkillers. “And
there’s more ships coming in,
even some
from Virteeft. Look
at the walking rust buckets.”
A phalanx
of labour droids, with
the Virteeft Heap Industry symbols splattered across their chassis,
was marching across the
lower pass, parting the crowds
of organics and synths like a metal wedge. They were cheap and
mass-produced; the flagship units from the only
foundry still operational from the
pre-Severance Era.
Scuffed plating, jury-rigged servos, and sensors that flickered with
low battery warnings.
“Must
have had major issues, VHI don’t usually stop at stations.” Jake
pulled out his toothpick, looking over his shoulder at the sight.
“Party scene’s dead out on the Heap in
Virteeft, wonder how
they got hit.”
“Who the
fuck knows,” Carla mumbled, letting her bionic eye watch the
procession while her organic
looked to the side. She
focused in closer to the individual robots.
“Some
of them bots
look like they’ve been patched with exo-combat armour from Pre-Sev.
There’s even some ZapTrap cheap
bullcrap- Wait, is that AZ?!”
She
squinted, the mechanism
in her ocular cavity whining as she pushed the magnification to max,
leaning forward as far
as her injury would let her.
“Void take me! It is
Az!”
She
narrowed in on the singular figure walking behind the group of
droids. His brown hair flopping as he moved, his hands deep in the
pockets of his leather jacket, a jaw set so tight it could crush
diamond,
and the scowl
of a man holding onto his patience by a
thread.
“Oof, he
looks mad,” Jake fully turned around to look, cupping his hands
around both his eyes to watch their squad
mate. “But looks
healthy enough, his ride
might have gotten Liberated though.”
“Either
that or his ‘family visit’ didn’t go to plan,” Carla mused,
slumping back into her chair, groaning in pain at the sudden shift in
weight. “Major disruptions all across this wedge of the Iron Wall.
We might not make it to Loupgaro,
they’re talking about shutting down borders.”
Jake hummed
absentmindedly, still tracking the Nightshade. Az slowed down at a
junction, his head on swivel. Jake took the opportunity to whistle
loudly, raising a hand in a sharp, distinct signal.
Az snapped
around
to look at him, slowing his steps and gave a head tilt in
acknowledgement. He
raised one hand and signalled a series of hand gestures they’d
learned
to communicate silently and from a distance.
Jake raised
a thumbs up in acknowledgement, and Az turned around with his hand
held high in farewell.
“He’ll
meet us
tonight at The
Lotus Root, he’s got
a thing.” Jake turned
back around, checking his drinks and making sure he got every drop.
“He’s
always got a thing. Anything specific?”
Carla downed the last of her water, grimacing at the lack of taste.
“Something
about visiting
a friend.”