K. P. Writes

The adrenaline drained from Adam’s blood like a wave receding from a beach. In the absence of something to fight—to kill—dark questions muddied his thoughts. Why had Remington tried to kill him? How dangerous was the research that was stolen? And most of all, had his mother known about the kill order?

He absently watched as the crew scrambled about the room, arming themselves with the weapons of the fallen gang that could be hidden from station security. Buddy and the infernum exchanged a few words he didn’t pick up on. Jim tended to the crew’s injuries. Then Zenith was at his side, saying something to him. When he didn’t respond, she cocked her helmeted head, took his arm, and pulled him to the exit.

“So how did you get tangled up with Remington and why should we trust you? We’ve been trusting too many fucking people lately,” Odybrix said, pointedly staring back at Sturdy.

“You’re a spunky one, ain’t you?” Ebby asked as they hurriedly walked away from the club. “I mean, we can start with how I didn’t chop ya to bits, or maybe take the whole ‘enemy of my enemy’ route. Remington, and corpos in general, can go take a walk on a stellar corona. I won’t work for them and they sure as heck won’t get their hands on me.”

“Look, what you’re singing is exactly what I like to dance to, but—wait, what’s that tattoo under your collarbone?”

“None of your business is what it is. Is she this forward with everyone?” Ebby asked, turning to Hoxley and adjusting her vest.

“Yes. Without exception.”

“No, do you have one of these?” Odybrix asked, lifting the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a splayed cobalt wing.

“Gonna assume you mean the wing and not any of the other things in that menagerie of tattoos. No, I don’t. Though, I have worked with your associates before. Shoulda guessed you were one of them. Same attitude. Same height.”

“Not all Blue Wings are halflings, and we’ll see if you check out,” Odybrix said, tapping a message into the PDA on her wrist.

“What were you after back there?” Adam asked, trying to regain his composure.

“The location of an information dealer. I got word that he was meeting up with someone I’m lookin’ for.”

“Does this someone happen to wear a mask?” Zenith asked.

“Yeah. Bad dude. I’ve been trackin’ him a long time.”

“We need to speak with him and someone he’s been traveling with.”

“Well, I intend to stick him and whoever tries to stop me with Denise.”

“Denise?”

Ebby pulled up her shirt, revealing a metal cylinder tucked into her pants—the beam blade.

“I’m going to ask that you not stick Denise into the other one. Please.”

“Why not?” Ebby asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“He’s my brother. I don’t know how he got tangled up in this, but I’m getting him out. Preferably before he starts wearing freaky masks.”

“Because walking around with your face hidden all the time would be ridiculous!” BOB said, sarcasm indecipherable from his tone.

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely, I will make a strong effort not to kill him. Does he look like you, and by that, I mean does he walk around wearin’ a racer’s helmet?”

“No. He’s an elf. White hair. Late twenties.”

“Noted. Well, it looks like our paths are runnin’ parallel for a while. If we’re lucky, I’ll get Vaelor, you’ll get your brother, and y’all might find some information that gets Remington off your back for a while.”

“You said they’ll keep coming?” Hoxley asked.

“Yeah, you’re always gonna be on their radar now. If they’re tryin’ to keep a secret from getting out, you’d do well to get it out first. That takes the timer off the situation. Then they’ll take their time settlin’ the score.”

“Great. Any chance you can pull a few strings, Adam?” Hoxley asked. “I’m not keen on being in rooms with acid vapour and shotgun robots. Really, anywhere that isn’t a kitchen, library, or my bed is terrible.”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?” Buddy asked. “You look a little pale.”

“How can you tell through all of the burns?” Odybrix asked.

“I’m fine,” Adam managed. “Let’s just keep going.” 

—

The information from Tibor’s PDA indicated that he and his thugs were going to the Elysium district after the Sunrunner’s crew had been dealt with. Illias McIntyre, the information broker Ebby had mentioned, was said to be meeting with a masked contact in his suite at the Calypsa Luxury Tower. Vaughan Spectre had tasked Tibor with Vaelor’s quiet demise and the retrieval of the missing item from the research station. Now those objectives would be taken up by the crew of the Sunrunner with the express purpose of exposing Remington’s actions, or, as Odybrix would put it, shoving it up their ass.

The Elysium district was a sprawling section of the station with a 500-foot-high windowed ceiling that looked out at the cosmos. A massive park snaked its way through the center of the district, providing one of the most scenic strolls one could take off-planet. High-end retail and residences abutted the greenery, redundantly signifying the wealth of the area, as if a giant space garden wasn’t enough. 

Normally, it would be a lot to take in. Zenith, however, found herself chalk-mouthed and consumed by thoughts of the upcoming confrontation. She hadn’t seen Harlow in years and their last meeting wasn’t a pleasant one. She had taken the unenviable position of defending her father, a corporate crook with a warrant out for embezzlement. She didn’t want to defend her father—his actions fucked up their lives—but if she was pissed about it, then Harlow was a pot of bubbling rage spilling onto the stovetop. After his military career took a hit from the bad press, he got it in his head to lure their father out of hiding and bring him to justice; he needed her help for this. Zenith disagreed and took the brunt of her brother’s misdirected anger.

Calypsa loomed into view, a gods awful gleaming golden eyesore amongst a wall of equally ostentatious dwellings. She had experienced her share of gaudy locales when she was on the racing circuit, either following her mother or in her own brief career. In her youth, posh places like this used to intimidate her. That feeling blossomed into mild contempt for those who would rather squander their credits on high thread count bedsheets than something useful, like paying their employees a livable wage, or helmet polish—couldn’t have enough of that. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to muster the old animosity.

Adam, possibly the least suspicious-looking among the group, led the way through the tower’s double doors. The lobby was what one might envision when the word “luxury” was mentioned: marble floors, sprawling water feature, attendants ready to spring into action at the snap of someone’s fingers. Though, the assembled bellhops seemed hesitant to approach their motley troupe. 

“So are we just going to ask to see this McIntyre guy?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah, that’ll go well,” Odybrix said. “‘Excuse me, my burnt and bleeding associates would like a word with your very rich clientele. What’s that? Stay here for a minute while you go call security? Sure, no problem.’ I’m surprised they haven’t called already.”

“I could slip past them and find a back way in,” Sturdy offered. 

“I don’t know if we’re in any shape to handle a fight if things go sideways,” Adam said.

“Well, y’all better make a decision quickly; we’re startin’ to draw attention,” Ebby said.

Zenith took a breath and began preparing a lie to give to the receptionist. She would say that she and her pit crew got into a scrap with a rival racing outfit and that she needed her benefactor to clear up the mess. It was plausible enough. At the very least, reception would confirm whether he was actually in the building. But before she could act, Hoxley walked straight to the receptionist.

Odybrix hissed an expletive as he walked away, then quickly buried her frustration when half the room turned to look at her. Hoxley and the receptionist, a young dwarven woman, appeared to be having a pleasant conversation. Whatever apprehension she might have held at seeing the haggard crew melted away into a disarmed smile and laughter. Then, curiously, Hoxley made a quick series of gestures with his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Zenith caught Ebby’s posture shift and noticed her brow furrow. A few seconds later, Hoxley returned.

“We can go up,” Hoxley said, brandishing a key card. “Penthouse One.”

“How…” Adam trailed off.

“I asked nicely.”

“Does she have a thing for reedy nerd cooks?” Odybrix asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hoxley asked.

“This newfound confidence is extremely disturbing.”

“Why, what about me do you find unattractive?”

Odybrix raised a hand and motioned vaguely at his entire body.

“I didn’t mark you as the persuasive type, darlin,” Ebby said.

“Neither did we. So we can just go up?” Zenith asked.

“Yep, but let’s be quick in case she changes her mind.”

The group packed themselves into an elevator and Hoxley keyed in their ascent. Despite her preoccupation with Harlow, Zenith still kept an eye on Sturdy, who stood next to BOB. They would need to finish the conversation they started. Were it not for Buddy’s “feeling” about him, Zenith might have shot him back at the bar. Until she could ensure BOB’s safety, Sturdy was a threat.

“This song is terrible!” BOB said, extending their manipulator to turn off the elevator music.

“It’s elven classical,” Sturdy said.

“You say that as though I should be impressed!”

“You should,” Sturdy said, offence breaking through his gravelly tone. “The piece is about the loss of the composer’s ancestral home to the wrath of a vengeful god, or what is historically believed to be a devastating wildfire. It’s moving.”

“It’s inadequate!”

Sturdy scowled and said, “What would you know about music?”

“Quite a bit! I will demonstrate!”

A pleasant, inoffensive, and entirely unmemorable tune began emitting from BOB.

“There!”

“This is elevator music,” Sturdy said, scowl deepening.

“Correct! We are in an elevator!”

“It’s garbage. The melody is simple and doesn’t evoke any emotion. How could this possibly be a better song?”

“As I have learned from my time at the call centre, people do not want to experience more emotions when they are already in a state of stress!”

Some of the edge came off Sturdy’s face. He looked at the crew as if just realizing they had all suffered a near-death experience.

BOB continued. “I have accumulated thirty-five gigabytes of similar music and cataloged the tracks to match personality profiles! This allows me to ensure that a caller receives the maximum amount of sonic comfort!”

“That,” Sturdy said, haltingly, “is very considerate of you. Do you do that kind of thing often?”

“Play music?”

“No, help people when they’re in a ‘state of stress.’”

“Of course! I function to help others!”

Sturdy fell silent and leaned back against the elevator, taking in the soft music as they ascended. Zenith found herself doing the same. Maybe those two need to spend more time together. BOB has a way of growing on people.

A gentle voice chimed “Penthouse One” as the elevator decelerated. Zenith pulled out the pistol tucked behind her back and readied herself. If they beat Harlow here, there would be a chance to set up an ambush. If they were too late, Illias McIntyre would be providing them with some answers.

The doors slid open, revealing a lounge set into the floor. Plush seating circled dancing lights that were trapped inside a glass enclosure. No sound came from within. Adam stepped across the threshold and was immediately, brutally struck by a metal fist that sent his body flying sideways and out of view. A familiar voice boomed from around the corner.

“You have five seconds to step out of the elevator and drop your weapons, or I kill him. One.”

The crew took two precious seconds to look at each other in silent deliberation, then stepped into the penthouse. Adam lay crumpled on the floor to the left; the barrel of a plasma cannon was leveled at them to the right. Odybrix ran to Adam’s side and the mech motioned for them all to follow suit. Zenith stood in front of the crew, staring down the mech.

“You alright, kid?” Odybrix asked.

“Not a kid,” Adam groaned. “What hit me?”

“Big mech fist. I’m surprised your bones weren’t pulped.”

“It certainly feels like they were.”

A hooded figure dressed in robes stood at a desk opposite them, framed by a full-length window that looked down over the park. His face was completely obscured by a blank white mask with a ceramic sheen. He tapped intently at a computer terminal, paying their arrival no mind. When he did look away, it wasn’t at them. Illias McIntyre lay on his side in front of the desk, blood oozing from the bullet hole left in his skull.

“How did you get that in here?” Zenith said, pointing at the mech.

“Shut up, or I will shut you up.”

Zenith removed her helmet. “That line has never worked on me, Harlow.”

The mech stood silent and unmoving, then shifted the barrel of the plasma cannon from Zenith to Hoxley, who in turn shifted himself behind Jim.

“What are you doing here, Zenith?”

“I could ask the same of you. I came a long way to ask that, actually. What are you doing breaking into research stations and stealing bioweapons? And who the fuck is that guy?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“When have I ever not gotten involved in your business? This can’t be a military op. Why throw away your career?”

“Because none of it matters anymore, Zenith. Everything you and I have ever done has been pointless—utterly bereft of meaning. I see that now.”

“What?” Zenith asked, faltering.

Something was wrong. Zenith had never heard her brother speak this way. Even after the blowup and fallout with their father, Harlow had been driven to claw his way back up through the ranks of the Materia navy. He and Zenith got that determination from their mother; it might have been the one virtue they had in common.

 “You need to leave. Go race, or dance, or enjoy whatever piddly schemes you have going on. Do it while you can.”

A sharp pain shot through her head, like it was being squeezed by a vice. She buckled at the waist and noticed everyone in the room was doing the same, all except Hoxley. With no warning or reason, the pain vanished and was replaced by a dull pressure. She looked up and noticed that the masked man, Vaelor, had stopped typing and stood facing them. A warm, welcoming voice reverberated through her skull.

“Forgive my impoliteness; there were pressing matters that needed my attention. I see that you have all been searching for Harlow and I. Can I assume that you are some of Remington’s lot?”

Buddy answered, and it took Zenith a moment to realize her lips weren’t moving as she spoke. “No, not anymore. We’re here for Zenith’s brother and to stop Remington from killing us. We kinda need the thing you stole from the research station in the Arebus system.”

“You do? Well, you are welcome to it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I will gladly give the shard when I am finished with it.”

“You’re not gonna finish anythin’, pal,” Ebby said, glaring at the man.

“Oh, you have one of them in your company. It’s always a treat when a guardian comes to call. And what’s this? Oh,” Vaelor said, a gentle tremor running through his form, “a special guest. How rare it is to meet family in this wide galaxy. But he hasn’t opened himself to me.”

Vaelor’s mask turned slightly, as if the statement were directed at Hoxley and everyone turned to the infernum.

“Why are you all looking at me? And why has no one been saying anything for the last minute?”

“He wants to talk into your head, Hox,” Zenith said.

“Is that what that soft pressure was?” Hoxley asked, sneaking a look at Vaelor before shrinking back behind Jim. “No, I’m good. You guys can all have your mind talk.”

A soft, wet sound emanated from Vaelor as his head jerked and twisted. When he was still again, a new voice, not in their heads, spoke. The words came out choked and gutteral, like an animal trying to speak without the right vocal cords.

“No need to hide from me, brother. Let me in.”

Hoxley grew pale and said nothing.

“I understand your fear. I will not push. You will join when you are ready. Now,” Vaelor said, re-entering their minds with a soothing voice, “I am afraid we will need to leave now. I see that upsets you, guardian.”

Vaelor stepped in front of the desk and pulled something from his robes. A wave of nausea hit Zenith as she beheld the object—the shard. Its shape swam in her vision, spiralling and contorting while somehow maintaining a solid form. Her mind spun and twisted with the object. She tried to focus, to hold on to a single thought, but it was washed away in a sea of others—not just her own, but the thoughts of everyone in the room. All but Hoxley doubled over from the bombardment of sensations.

A blast from the plasma cannon shattered the window overlooking the park. Vaelor walked to the edge and, without hesitation, fell forward. Harlow followed behind, rocketing off in his mech and leaving them all in the silence of the penthouse. The nausea dissipated and Zenith’s head started to clear.

Sturdy was the first to his feet, striding to the computer Vaelor had accessed. Ebby was up a moment later, rushing to the window. Zenith found herself unable to move as the others began turning over the suite. Whatever the shard had done to her had stopped, but her brother’s fatalism had shaken her. He, for better or worse, was a constant in her life. Regardless of their animosity towards each other, she knew he would come if she called. She could say that about all of her family. Even dad.

Ebby’s voice cut through her muddled mind, “I can’t see him!”

“Looks like Illias McIntyre was an information broker with a lot of criminal ties. Not seeing anything about Vae—fuck.”

“What?” Odybrix asked.

“That dwarf from the club, Tibor, had a killswitch. There’s going to be a bounty on all of us.”

“I’ll add it to the fucking pile,” Odybrix said. “What about Vaelor?”

“Perhaps he has a PDA!” BOB said, sidling up to the corpse and awkwardly shoving it onto its back. “There, on his wrist! Downloading and parsing data! It appears two sets of coordinates were downloaded minutes ago! Wait, what is that?”

BOB tilted over the body, extended their manipulator, and pulled McIntyre’s dress shirt. A hole had been torn in the fabric, like a pair of scissors had cut through it. BOB pulled at the opening to reveal a large, bloodless wound in the corpse’s chest. Zenith had seen such a wound once before.

“BOB, get away from there!”

An arm whipped up with extraordinary force, breaking itself at the elbow and knocking BOB to the floor. The body convulsed, its spasms and cracks giving way to cascades of bulging flesh. Bones erupted from skin, which in turn swam across the tears and formed new, horrible angles. Eyes disappeared into a sagging mask of tissue, which then violently pulled taut, erasing what was once a human face. Illias McIntyre rose to his feet, reborn.

A beam blade flashed as Ebby made a lunging strike at the monstrosity, only to be swatted into a wall. Gunshots rang out from behind Zenith as the crew riddled the thing’s greying body with bullets—the wounds began closing the moment they were made. The creature raised a clawed hand and took a step towards her, causing Zenith to stumble backwards. The claw came down like a bolt of lightning, landing just to her right. 

She looked up at the looming creature and noticed it was covered in a steaming brown liquid. BOB stood behind it, coffee spigot dripping. A rapid click undulated from somewhere inside the beast. In a powerful, fluid motion, it pivoted and lunged at BOB. The beast and the bot crashed through the solid wooden desk in a spray of splinters and flew out into the open air of the station.

Zenith swirled the contents of her glass, stirring up the phosphorescent flakes within. The drink itself was a generic blended whisky from Brightstone mixed with a generous amount of soda. She had ordered the drink knowing that the conversation with Sturdy might go sideways. Getting smashed before potentially outing a spy seemed like a bad idea.

“Do you drink at all?” She asked.

“Not often, and only when I’m not on a job. I prefer these,” Sturdy said, pulling a cartridge from his pocket.

“Nox? That stuff is pretty addictive.”

“No more so than the normal vices,” he said, nodding at her drink, “and these will let you keep your senses sharp.”

“You worry about losing control?”

“No. I’m always in control.”

“Because you don’t drink?”

“Because I’m trained to be.”

“Do you worry about other people losing control?”

The question made him pause.

“Depends on how dangerous they are.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, how about Adam?”

“Mild concern, given his training.”

“Odybrix?”

“Very concerned.”

“Obviously. BOB?”

He hesitated, his posture stiffening ever so slightly.

“Negligible.”

“Me?”

“Also negligible, unless you’re piloting.”

“Ooh, big mistake. You haven’t seen me with a sniper rifle.”

“I didn’t take you for the shooting type. How did you pick up the skill?”

“My brother,” she said, a note of sorrow entering her voice. “I wouldn’t call our relationship healthy, but we did like to challenge each other. Didn’t take long before I was a better shot than him. Pissed him off, being career military and all.”

“What are you going to do if Remington wants him dead?”

“Save him. Blood’s worth more than credits, even if it’s bad. Anyway, speaking of skills, how does a mercenary learn to sneak into spacecraft and hack databases?”

“Experience.”

“Oh yeah? Because it sounds like professional training to me. Less merc, more spy.”

“You’ve met a lot of spies?”

“If I have, they obviously weren’t very good ones,” she said, taking a sip from the glass. “I’ve dodged a few teams working covert ops, so I recognize the profile of a spook.”

“Wait,” he said, lifting his fingers, but not his hand from the table. “Take a look around, but don’t turn your head.”

It wasn’t an attempt to derail the conversation. Dwarves in suits were quietly approaching patrons throughout the club, handing them what must have been vouchers, and escorting them out through side exits. The club was being systematically cleared out around them. Zenith’s finger twitched and she felt the alarming absence of her sidearm. This was bad.

She began to rise but, Sturdy took her hand. Her eyes met his and he gently nodded downward. A kinetic pistol rested on his lap.

“How did you get that past dock security?” She asked.

“I didn’t. I’ve got another under my shirt. We’ve been set up.”

“Yeah, got the feeling this is about to get hairy. We need to get to the others.”

“I can. I’ve got the stealth tech. Plan: we flip the table, you draw their fire, I get the crew.”

Zenith hesitated, knowing what he had been tasked to do to BOB, but there wasn’t much choice. She took his hand and said, “I’m trusting you to get them out of there.”

Sturdy nodded. “On three. One. Two.”

The countdown stopped when a dark-skinned infernum stepped into the Perihelion and was confronted by two of Tibor’s goons. One pointed to the door she came out of, clearly trying to get her to leave. Instead, she made a quick series of hand gestures and suddenly one dwarf was tackling the other. Tibor stood by the bar, shifting his gaze from the infernum to his grappling allies, then to Zenith and Sturdy. He reached for something tucked behind his back.

“Three!” Zenith yelled, flipping the table and grabbing the gun.

Sturdy actived the stealthweave causing his body to disappear in expanding blotches of invisibility. Zenith heard his first few footsteps before the table started getting peppered with bullets and the occasional plasma blast. The kinetic fire didn’t pierce the impromptu shield, but bright orange circles blossomed where the plasma struck. It wouldn’t be long before her cover was torn to shreds.

She waited for a lull in the hail of gunfire, then popped out and took two shots at a nearby thug. The first hit triggered a personal shield generator, causing blue light to cascade around the dwarf. The second took him in the head. The dozen or so remaining thugs took cover—they hadn’t been expecting resistance.

Zenith caught a glimpse of the infernum woman before fucking back into cover. Her own shield flickered as she took a shot from Tibor. In response, she raised a hand and a mote of flame flew from her fingertips, catching the dwarf in the head and searing his face. An instant later, she drew a small metal cylinder and a blade of crackling energy erupted from it. In a few seconds, she closed the distance between a group of gunmen and began their systematic dismemberment.

Who the fuck is that?


—


Buddy choked as she inhaled the searing vapor. Her hands automatically went to her hips for her pistols, but found none. The crew was still reeling from the ambush and barely able to dodge the first blast from the shotgun. The murder-bot took aim at Odybrix’ head and fired as she dove to the side, catching some of the spray in her shoulder.

The murder-bot swung the shotgun in Buddy’s direction, levelling it at her chest as pain lanced through her lungs. She wasn’t going to be able to dodge it. The muzzle flashed and, in the same instant, BOB sprung up in front of her, taking a direct blast to their chassis. They landed on their side with a heavy clunk.

“BOB!” She cried.

Adam surged forward, tearing one of the chairs in front of the desk from its fastening to the floor and smashing it over the bot’s head. Seeing a chance, Buddy ducked behind their would-be assassin and jumped on top of it, furiously attempting to kick, elbow, and otherwise bludgeon the weapon from its hands. A pink glow enveloped the shotgun a moment later, pulling it, the bot, and Buddy forward. Three successive shots blared in the death chamber, two hitting the wall and the last catching Jim in the hand as he jumped out of the line of fire. Buddy gave one last powerful downward kick and dislodged the weapon from its grip, then rolled forward, grabbing the shotgun and unloaded five shots into the murder-bot.

“BOB?” She asked, coughing as the other robot went limp.

“I am unharmed!” BOB said. “It did not penetrate the titanium reinforcement.”

“Jim?”

“I am functional,” Jim said, holding up his hand, which sparked and flickered from flesh tones to the onyx black of his microbots, “but I will need repairs.”

“We need to get out of here,” Hoxley said, hacking.

“The door disappeared; there’s no way out,” Odybrix said.

“There was a panel beside it when we entered! It has vanished as well!” BOB said.

Buddy took two shots at the walls beside the door and the pellets caved in a metal plate. BOB was there in a flash, extending their manipulator and pulling the panel open. Flesh melted and metal corroded as the crew watched helplessly. BOB’s arm was a blur of swift, robotic precision, cutting and extracting circuitry, then replacing it with other parts from somewhere inside themself. The yellow haze grew so thick that the stout robot was lost within and all that could be heard was the rapid tapping at the panel.

With a sudden click and hiss, the door slid open, spewing deadly vapour into the hallway. The crew surged out of the door like an uncapped soda bottle. Buddy took in a wonderful breath of clean air as she ran and had it immediately knocked out of her when she collided with something unseen. Sturdy materialized on the floor with a thud.

“It’s a trap,” he said, getting back up.

“We know that, genius,” Odybrix said, coughing. “Where’s ZT?”

“At our table. They have her pinned.”

“Not for long,” Buddy said, charging forward past Sturdy.

She turned the corner, shotgun raised, and took in the battlefield. Bodies and parts of them lay on the bloodspattered dance floor as its colour pulsed in time with the music. Gunfire zipped across the room towards an upturned table and, curiously, an infernum standing behind a pillar. A nearby dwarf caught her movement, sneered, and spun to spray her with a Peppershot Auto. Her finger was already pressing down on the trigger.

The dwarf flew back in a mist of blood and shredded muscle, relieved of his face. The body that hit the floor wasn’t a dwarf and Buddy was no longer at a club. Combatants wearing patchwork armour scattered for cover in a dark, empty street and took aim at her. Each fighter had three red stripes painted on their shoulders, a marking she didn’t know the significance of, but understood it meant they had to die. She blasted an infernum mid-slide as he tried to take cover behind a car. The body that rolled away was a dwarf.

BOB stomped into the fray, catching pistol fire that harmlessly ricocheted off their reinforced armour. Blue light flashed around Buddy—a laser triggering her PSG—and she somersaulted behind BOB. She popped out from behind friend-cover and shot the thug who tagged her, obliterating his own personal shield and scoring a hit in his abdomen. A number of the dwarves keeping Zenith pinned peeled off to deal with the crew.

Adam snatched a pistol from a corpse and expertly snapped off two shots at a thug running for cover, disabling his shield. The dwarf attempted to dive under a table, only to stop in mid-air. An instant later, he flew into the ceiling with a sickening crunch, then fell in a heap on the ground. Odybrix, glowing with a pink psionic aura, pulled another combatant out from behind a pillar, ready to repeat the maneuver, but wave of force struck her.

Tibor stepped into the middle of the dance floor, glowing blue and surrounded by a barrier of psionic energy. Five of his stooges ran inside the protective field, shielding themselves from gunfire and focusing their own attack on the new arrivals. Odybrix and Sturdy fled into the hallway they came from. Adam joined Buddy in ducking behind BOB.

Buddy took a quick glance and saw three of the thugs pulling grenades from their vests. Before she could tell Adam and BOB to scatter, she heard bone-chilling screams coming from their assailants. She peered out again and witnessed an infernum woman inside Tibor’s barrier, shredding his lackies to ribbons with an energy blade. Before she could reach him, Tibor hit her with a psionic blast, sending her flying twenty feet away. She landed on her feet.

Buddy raised the shotgun to take the gang leader out, but BOB charged ahead, blocking the shot. Tibor heard the clang of the robot’s approach and raised a hand, holding them in place. He formed his hands into shaking claws and blue light surrounded BOB, accompanied by the whine of metal being pulled apart. Tibor smiled viciously as BOB’s form began to contort.

Buddy strafed left and unloaded the shotgun at Tibor, but the pellets either bounced off the barrier or were deflected enough to leave him unharmed. She sprinted towards the pair, ready to pummel the dwarf’s head in, then saw a panel on BOB slide open. Scalding coffee sprayed onto Tibor’s face, causing him to howl and drop to the ground, freeing BOB of the psychic grip. Before either Buddy or Adam could take a shot, the robot stomped forward.

“What the hell are you?” Tibor asked, clutching the raw remains of his face.

“An inspiring vessel for caffeine,” BOB said, falling onto Tibor and popping his head like a grape.

Another body dropped at the infernum woman’s feet, leaving only her and the crew. She took a moment to look over each of them, then approached. She stopped at the mutilated corpse of Tibor, bent down, and withdrew a PDA from his bloodstained vest.

“Y’all are pretty impressive.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Zenith said, walking out from behind her hole-ridden cover.

The woman held the device to a band on her wrist, which beeped after a few seconds. A hologram projected from the band a moment later, displaying text and a route to a nearby part of the station. She tossed the PDA to Buddy and gave the crew a sad smile.

“Looks like you got tangled up in some bad business, darlins’. I dunno how much you’ve dealt with Remington Corp in the past, but they’re not gonna stop comin’ for you until you’re dead or they don’t have a reason to anymore.”

“You know that for a fact?” Sturdy asked.

She nodded. “Mhmm, and I think we might be pursuin’ the same guy.”

“Who are you?” Hoxley asked, peeking out from behind the hallway.

“Ebshian Glaidur. You can call me Ebby.”

Levisia Station was a speck on the vidscreen, hardly discernible from the stars around it. Its diminutive size on the display did no justice to its true scale. Levisia was home to millions of spacers and, at any given time, a rest stop for a million more. It was a place to resupply, blow off steam, and engage in whatever flavour of debauchery one fancied. The scope of the station made it an ideal place to find whatever one needed or to disappear into its organized chaos.

“We’re getting a message,” Ozzy said as they approached the dock.

The mirthless face of Vaughan Spectre was broadcast on every vidscreen on the ship.

“Crew of the Sunrunner, if you are receiving this communication, then you have arrived at Levisia Station. Directions have been provided for a debrief with a trusted contractor aboard the station. They will assist you should you pursue the recovery of the item stolen from our facility in the Arebus system. Your service to Remington Corporation has been noted.

“Gross,” Odybrix said over comms.

“We didn’t have to take this job,” Adam said. “We—they just want to get back what was stolen from them.”

“I know you’re part of the corporate family, kid, but you have to understand that what they were doing in that facility wasn’t right.”

“We’re the same age and there are plenty of sciency things that can go wrong with research and development. That’s why there are contingencies-“

“Like deadly radiation-“

“Like decontamination protocols to keep the galaxy safe. If anything, trying to contain the situation demonstrates that they’re taking responsibility for what happened. Besides, it could have been that weird masked guy who caused the mutations.”

“I think there’s some truth to that,” Zenith said. “Anyone else find it weird how they knew both we and Vaelor would be here?”

“Once we restored communications at the facility, it likely automatically scanned nearby vessels and transmitted the information,” Adam said.

“Standard procedure?” Odybrix asked.

“Remington collects every byte of information they can get their hands on,” Sturdy said. “Information is leverage and they are always looking for leverage.”

“You sound like you know that from experience,” Zenith said. “Have they got any leverage on you?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s restock the ship before we go see this contact. Where are we meeting them, Ozzy?”

“A club called the Perihelion. You’re meeting with a dwarf named Tibor.”

“Ooh, I’ve never been to a club before,” Buddy said excitedly.

“Maybe ZT will show you how to dance. She might even take off her helmet,” Odybrix said.

“You wish.”

As the conversation continued, Ozzy pinged Adam on his private channel, “Private message for you, Adam. Sending it to your room.”

“For me?”

Adam went to the cabin he shared with Odybrix and closed the door. The halfling rarely entered the room unless she needed a change of clothing. She even slept in the cargo bay or workshop most nights. While Adam would have liked more company most days, he appreciated the privacy at the moment.

He sat at his workdesk and opened the message. Sure enough, his mother appeared on the screen. Her youth and polished appearance did nothing to curb the severity of her expression. Her default look—which rarely ever changed—conveyed the gravity of her station: always professional and serious. Yet, with a minor shift of her lips and eyebrows, she became profoundly terrifying. To Adam anyway.

“Adam, it has come to my attention that you will soon enter Levisia Station. You are to remain there until a Remington vessel can retrieve you. We will have a discussion about your departure from Research and Development when we next meet.”

The message ended and Adam found himself gripping the arm rests of his chair to the point of tearing the fabric. To most people, his mother’s message would have seemed innocuous, if a little clipped. To him, it felt like she was prepared to have him stripped of rank and sent to clean toilets for the next ten years. He knew “departure” meant “betrayal” and that there would be a reckoning when they saw each other again.

Doesn’t she know I’m doing this for her? I’m doing it because she can’t. He needs to answer for what he did.

The ship jolted and Ozzy spoke over comms, “Docking successful. Go blow off some steam, guys.”


—


The market ring of the station roared with the movement and conversation of thousands. Shops lined the ring, offering just about anything a spacefarer could ask for. Security dotted the crowd, keeping the peace, sometimes on foot, other times piloting mechs. The crush of humanity could be intimating or overwhelming for those inexperienced with station life. Fortunately, BOB suffered none of the anxieties brought on by possessing faulty endocrine and nervous systems.

“You did not have to join me, I am quite capable of taking care of myself!” BOB said.

“Oh, I know you are,” Buddy said smiling. “I just thought you could use the company.”

“Then your company is most appreciated!”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“I am searching for an upgrade to my chassis! After our last excursion, I am concerned that I cannot sufficiently protect my motherboard and coffee dispensary! Even if the latter is just an ‘uninspired vessel for caffeine.’” BOB said, their tone deviating from chipper to resentful.

“I don’t think Hoxley meant to hurt your feelings. People feel differently about the same things, like how Adam won’t drink any alcohol and Odybrix will drink all of the alcohol.”

“Alcoholic halflings aside, I do not have feelings, so they cannot be hurt! My superior design overcomes the restraints of emotion!”

“Everybody has feelings, BOB. “

“You are incorrect! What I require is physical protection! Like that!” BOB deployed their coffee spigot and pointed it at an approaching mech. “That construct looks like it could withstand substantial gunfire! I should inquire about where they are made! Perhaps similar armor can be applied to my chassis! The labelling on the mech indicates that the model is GEM; I am not familiar with it!”

“Gladiator Enforcement Mech,” Buddy said reflexively. “Titanium reinforced.”

“You are familiar with this unit?”

“Nope.”

“Then how do you know its acronym?”

“No idea. What’s an acronym?”

“An abbreviation formed from the first letters of other words, like my name!”

“Wait, wait, BOB isn’t your name?”

“It is an abbreviation of the name my coworkers at the call centre gave me! It stands for ‘Bucket of Bolts!’”

“Oh. That sounds kind of mean.”

“It is what is referred to as ‘collegial teasing,’ a normal activity between colleagues who value each other!”

“I don’t know if that’s the case here.”

BOB’s attention was pulled away as they approached an open storefront. A flickering glow was cast into the corridor by the electricity of an arc welder. The workshop was a chaotic assembly of drone parts, sheets of metal, and coffee cups. A promising sight.

“Excuse me!” BOB said, clunking up to a grease-covered dwarf.

“Here to pick something up for your master?” The dwarf asked, lifting up her helmet. “What’s your order number?”

“I do not have a master! I am here to purchase an upgrade to my chassis! A two centimetre titanium reinforcement will suffice!”

The dwarf paused, then looked to Buddy and said, “Do you own this one?”

“Nobody owns BOB. Can you help them with the upgrade?”

“Uh, sure, if you have the credits. Should be ready in two days.”

“I require the upgrade immediately! We may encounter another gunfight within the next forty-eight hours!”

The dwarf, looking progressively more confused, again addressed Buddy, “You bring your coffee-bot to a lot of gunfights?”

“I’m not the one buying the upgrade,” Buddy said, suddenly sounding irritated. “BOB is.”

“Ookay then. There’ll be a rush fee for the upgrade… BOB.”

A few hours later, BOB emerged several hundred pounds heavier and a thousand credits poorer. The upgrade satisfied BOB’s need for protection, but something was missing. BOB found themself accessing the memory of the stupid infernum’s comment. An uninspired vessel for caffeine. The sentence replayed as BOB and Buddy made their way to the bar the crew was to meet at.

Something caught BOB’s visual sensor and they abruptly stopped in front of a shop. Within the window was a long, aquamarine dress with shining sequines. BOB stared at the clothing intently. An uninspired vessel.


—


Members of the crew had been instilled with a healthy sense of paranoia from either life experience or job training, with the notable exceptions of Buddy, BOB, and Jim. Zenith’s particular brand of paranoia stemmed from a racing accident involving her mother. Having a space-racing mom had been, in young Zenith’s words, “fucking rad.” She got to travel to racing circuits throughout the galaxy, see the latest toys everyone was flying, and brag about it all to her friends. That was until the Starshatter race.

The event took place in the Flametongue system, aptly named for the only roast-your-ass-off, semi-habitable planet therein. The rest of the space surrounding the system’s star was littered with asteroids, which made up the race course. Not just the run-of-the-mill space rocks though, these were rigged with explosives so that even clipping one could result in a deadly explosion. It was a gratuitously ruthless track with an even more gratuitous purse for the winner.

Her mother was considered to be one of the best pilots in the galaxy and could handle asteroid fields with ease; this track was no exception. When the starting cannon fired, she weaved through the course like a rocket-powered needle through polyester. The trouble came when another racer tried to overtake her and nicked a rock in the process. The ensuing explosion obliterated the pilot and rocked her mom’s ship, tearing strips off its hull.

Race ships are built for speed, so things like shield generators or reinforced framing tend to be labelled as “excess weight.” It was her mother’s luck that the damage didn’t reach the engine. The luck did not extend to the ruptured chem lines that vented into the cockpit. She blasted through the course and took first place while her throat and lungs were seared by deadly fumes.

To Zenith, her mother was an untouchable incarnation of speed. Lots of children saw their parents as god-like until age and understanding corrected that view, but Sona Tachnova had maintained the illusion up until that day. Now, every rasping conversation they had was a reminder of the trauma of that day and of how mortal her mother was.

So it was with some hesitation that Zenith removed her helmet, a top-of-the-line design with built-in air supply and filtration, and merged into the crowd. The collective paranoia of the crew demanded more be known about their new companion, so she and Hoxley were sent to tail Sturdy after he mentioned that he would meet them at the Perihelion. Maybe he just needed to do some shopping; maybe there was something more. Either way, they wanted to keep an eye on him, preferably without his eyes on them. What better way to be invisible than by becoming an elf he had never seen before?

The vibrant din and crush of spacers worked well towards concealing her approach. Hoxley kept further back, not one to be in the thick of, well, anything really. His willingness to put himself in danger lately made Zenith reassess her current opinion of him. Specifically, that he was useless outside a kitchen.

The first sign that Sturdy was hiding something was how dedicated he was to not walking in a straight line. He would cut and weave, seemingly to approach a shop, then quickly turn to join a crowd going in another direction. She had lost sight of him twice, but Hoxley’s vidfeed allowed her to pick up the tail again.

When Sturdy slipped into an alley, she spared a glance towards her infernum crewmate, only to find he wasn’t there. His vidfeed was pointed where their mark had gone, but Hoxley was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell are you, Hox? She dismissed the thought and took up a position at the mouth of the alley, deploying a spycam from her wrist and affixing it to a wall.

Sturdy had stopped in front of a metal plate on a wall. He produced a small pry bar from his belt and popped the panel off, revealing a tangle of wires that would increase the blood pressure of any electrician and something else that she couldn’t make out at this angle. He reached inside, parting the wires like a veil and withdrew a hand terminal.

“This is Sturdy, L-code sigma-five-three-en-one. Confirm contact.”

It took Zenith a moment to realize that he was speaking in elven. It wasn’t unusual for a human to learn the language, but this human was setting off some alarm bells. Twenty seconds passed before a response came. Zenith had to turn up the mic sensitivity of the spycam to make out the words.

“Agent, this is Juniper Arwen. What is the status of the acquisition?”

“The item was taken by a third party. I’ve sent a data package. The research is more damning than we expected.”

Another pause, longer than the last. She must have been reviewing the data he transmitted.

“You’re in the company of mercenaries?”

“Affirmative. Circumstances brought us together. They will be useful in securing the item.”

“One moment. I’m cross-referencing the visuals you sent with our records,” Juniper said with a note of curiosity that quickly turned severe. “Agent, you are in the company of a fugitive.”

“The halfling? I’m not surprised.”

“No,” she said, and the image of BOB appeared on the screen. “That unit was made by EZ Bot, one of our subsidiaries. An internal evaluation revealed that the unit had developed into rogue AI. A team was sent in for a scrub operation, but it vanished from Materia shortly after they arrived. We have quietly destroyed every other unit from that line, but as long as one remains active, the entire galaxy is threatened.”

“I, it does seem a little off when it speaks, but it’s just a coffee machine.”

“You are not old enough to remember the last time an AI went rogue, but I am. That event, The Reckoning, claimed the lives of billions and led to the obliteration of an entire system. AI cannot be allowed to develop into a rogue state. If the decompiler algorithm fails…”

“Decompiler?”

“You have a new mission,” she said, ignoring the question. “Destroy the unit by whatever means necessary. It is unfortunate that both of your tasks involve stopping potential catastrophes. I cannot give either priority. I leave it to you to choose the order in which to complete them. Additional resources are being requisitioned for you. You can retrieve them at the following location. You cannot fail, Sturdy.”

Zenith caught a look of bewilderment in his expression before withdrawing the spycam and walking away.

“You around, Hox?” She asked, scanning the crowd for the infernum.

“Yep, sounds like our new friend is working for Lenderan Corporation. They own EZ Bot.”

“Where are you? Wait, you speak elven?”

“Yeah. Should we go tell the crew?”

“Not yet. I’m going to have a word with Sturdy.”


—


An amber orb floated above the double doors, glowing a vibrant pastel orange. The Perihelion bore no other signage, but BOB was certain they were in the right place; the elaborate clothing of people entering and exiting the club was confirmation. BOB had their own new design for the occasion and was feeling confident about it—all the more so with Buddy’s enthusiastic endorsement. The rest of the crew emerged as a single group, stopping short when they saw the pair.

“BOB got a makeover!” Buddy said, excitedly

“An upgrade!” BOB corrected.”

BOB trampled forward to better display the new look. A thick diagonal stripe crossed their chassis, erasing the EZ Bot logo. They had chosen a quick-seal aquamarine epoxy infused with glitter for the design. It was their first attempt at “style.” BOB waited expectantly for the adulation of the crew, then began to feel—awkward?—awkward when no one spoke. BOB had never experienced this sensation. It was unpleasant. Unbearable, in fact. I need to leave immediately.

“BOB,” Adam said, “you look fantastic!”

“Yeah,” Zenith agreed, “it really suits you.”

“It’s very nice,” Hoxley said.

“It looks great, sure, but if you had consulted me, I would have steered you towards hot pink. You could really pull that off,” Odybrix said.

“Thank you!” BOB said, beaming, “I will consider your recommendation for future upgrades!”

Jim’s mouth twitched, as if he were going to say something but decided not to. The new one, Sturdy, also did not compliment the new look. If anything, the change seemed to disturb him. Perhaps he also prefers pink.

Music spilled out into the station as Adam opened the doors to the club. The dance floor was alight with shifting colours and teeming with hot, sweaty, gyrating life. BOB did not see the purpose of needlessly flailing one’s appendages; it seemed like a colossal waste of resources. Still, the dancers appeared to be enjoying themselves. Odybrix disappeared into the throng and emerged a few minutes later.

“We gotta wait for a guy named Tibor. It’ll be a few hours. Remington’s comped a table and all our drinks—bonus.”

“You have something nice to say about them now?” Adam asked, following Odybrix to the table.

“Yeah, they’re incredibly generous,” Odybrix said.

“Really? That’s a change of-“

“Listen up, fuckers!” Odybrix bellowed, somehow overpowering the booming music. “Drinks are on our bill tonight!”

The ensuing cheers and claps on the back lasted well after they had found their seats.

“What’s everyone ordering?” Zenith asked.

“Water,” Adam said.

“You can’t be serious. We’re at a club.”

“I don’t drink. And you’re one to talk. How are you going to drink through a helmet?”

In response, she tapped the helmet and a small portion at the bottom slid open. “The mandible section retracts. There’s also an option for straws. Are you sure you don’t want to live a little?”

“I’m not allowed to have alcohol.”

Odybrix, who had already manifested a drink somehow, snorted and coughed, “Your mom won’t let you drink?”

“It’s an addiction-forming activity. Ms. Hargrave rightfully bans it for anyone she employs.”

“You’re not working for her at the moment, are you? Loosen up.”

“I’m plenty loose already.”

“He’s got the right idea,” Sturdy said, breaking a silence that had lasted since they had arrived at the station. “We’re on the job and should keep our heads clear.”

“Whatever, Remington can save a few credits tonight,” Odybrix said, hammering an order into the table’s terminal long enough to poison an elephant. “ZT, wanna dance?”

“Hell yeah,” Zenith said, glancing at Sturdy before heading out to the dance floor.

BOB registered a pensive expression from Buddy as their crewmates proceeded to sway, bounce, and swing their limbs around. Analysis of the circumstances indicated she either wished to join them or was still experiencing the aftereffects of radiation poisoning. The former seemed more plausible. Wanting to show the same support Buddy has shown, BOB scanned the room for potential dance partners.

“Given your agility and dexterity, I believe you would excel at this activity!”

“Who? Me? You think so?”

“Yes, I am certain of it! I have identified several potential dance partners! The blue-haired infernum standing next to the glowing pillar is presently taking a break but has danced with many people since our arrival! She is an optimal choice! Alternatively, you could-“

“I’m going to try it!” Buddy said, springing out of her seat and striding off to speak with the infernum.

BOB watched as Buddy quickly struck up a conversation. The effortless efficiency with which she engaged others was admirable, even by a robot’s standards. The infernum produced something from her pocket and offered it to Buddy, who accepted. They both raised their hands to their mouths, then smiled. A moment later, Buddy was pulled onto the dance floor.

While BOB was very rarely wrong, they did know when to admit an error had been made. This was one such moment. By every conceivable metric, Buddy was a terrible dancer. She had no rhythm, poor control, and zero spatial awareness, as evidenced by the increasingly generous berth the other dancers gave her. Most of BOB’s understanding of dancing came from entertainment media and, despite viewing several terabytes of dance video, there was no analog for what was transpiring here.

That awkward sensation emerged once again. Were they feeling this on behalf of Buddy? They started calculating an optimal exit path for their crewmate but stopped when they noticed her face. She was smiling. Was she oblivious to her abject failure as a dancer? Looking around, no one else seemed to care about her lack of skill beyond making sure they didn’t get slapped by an errant limb. Moreover, her dance partner seemed to be enjoying their time together.

When the song ended, Buddy hurried back to the crew’s table excitedly.

“That was awesome!” Buddy said.

“You really let it all out,” Adam said, smiling at her infectious energy.

“Yeah, dancing is amazing! So are drugs!”

The smile vanished. “What?”

“Vesper gave me some. It’s called vibe. You guys should try!” Buddy said, pulling out two blue pills.

“You can’t just take drugs from a random person; that’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Too late. I did and they were great.”

“Adam’s right,” Sturdy said. “You don’t know what could be in those pills.”

“I do, actually. Nanobots!” Buddy said, turning to BOB. “She said even inorganics can take them. Do you want to try? It wears off after a few minutes.”

BOB considered the warnings of the others, then contrasted them with the definition of “uptight” Odybrix once provided.

“Yes! How do I activate this drug?”

After a few confusing moments, the pair walked out to the floor as a new song played. BOB started shuffling and bouncing with the beat but registered no changes within themselves. Perhaps Vibe didn’t actually work with inorganics. They tried imitating a small jump that another clubgoer was doing and abruptly stopped when they landed.

BOB felt the landing. They jumped again but couldn’t elicit the same feeling. They looked at Buddy, who was waving her arms around wildly. She spun in place and followed up with a jump of her own. When she landed, BOB experienced the same sensation. They weren’t feeling their own legs; they were feeling hers.

With every second that passed, BOB began to feel more of her. Not just the movement of her arms or the sway of her body, but her excitement and joy. It was wonderful. BOB began to move in unpredictable ways: jumping on one leg, spinning, extending their coffee spigot. They were actually dancing, not just mimicking what they had observed in movies.

As the music reached a crescendo, BOB knew what it was to be an organic—to be Buddy. There was something fuzzy and indistinct about the experience. All of the hard and precise edges of machine-thinking melted away into something pleasantly amorphous. There was uncertainty and wonder and love.

In turn, BOB felt Buddy’s appreciation for them blossom. The haze of humanity lifted to reveal the elegantly articulated lines of synthetic thought. Everything was where it should be. Accessible and pristine.

The synchronization between them ended along with the music. BOB searched for a line of dialogue and found none. The drug had left them dumbstruck.

“Pretty great, huh?”

“That was incredible! I would like to do it again, but I think I must first try to make sense of the experience!”

“I would be happy to join you.”

The pair noticed a dwarf wearing a burgundy suit and sunglasses at their table as they walked back. The rest of the crew was listening intently as he addressed them.

“-debrief is in a private room in the back. RC didn’t have an operative aboard the station, so you’ll be speaking through a bot. Follow me.”

“Who’s this?” Buddy asked.

“This,” the dwarf said in a thick accent characteristic of the inner planets of the Starbreaker empire, “is Tibor. If you’re with them, you’re coming along.”

“I’ll stay here,” Sturdy said. “You all know what I know.”

“I’ll hang back too,” Zenith said.

“Suit yourselves,” Tibor said, walking off without looking to see who followed.

The crew was brought past the glowing dance floor down a short hallway. Tibor tapped a code into an access panel on the wall and the outline of a doorway appeared, then slid open. It led to a small office that didn’t match the theme or decor of the rest of the club. A few padded chairs sat in front of a metal desk. The only thing remarkable about the space was the robot affixed to a chair opposite them. It had no legs, no head, and a flat digital display on its chest.

“Take your time,” Tibor said, closing the door behind them.

The image of Vaughan Spectre blipped onto the display of the chair-bot, looking almost laidback.

“Hello all, I regret that I couldn’t attend this meeting personally, but my ship is still a good distance from Levisia Station. You have performed your assignment adequately and for that you have the thanks of Remington Corporation. I further regret to inform that your services will no longer be required.”

Vaughan reached forward and tapped on something offscreen. The door behind them vanished with a sudden hydraulic hiss, becoming seamless with the wall. A yellow vapour began streaming into the room, searing flesh and metal alike. Simultaneously, a compartment slid open on the surface of the desk and a shotgun sprung into the air, immediately being seized by the chair-bot.

“I hope you made a few good memories at the club. They will be your last.”

“Look, we already laid in the coordinates for Levisia station, so why don’t we just see this through?” Odybrix asked.

“I’m not saying we don’t,” Adam said. “My concerns mainly lie with big monsters that rip people in half and shrug off bullets.”

“Agreed! We require more firepower!” BOB said. “Perhaps we could use the preliminary funds to buy a rocket launcher? I could equip it to my chassis!”

“I think that might be a bit big for you, BOB,” Buddy said. “I’m pretty worried about the monster thing too. I wouldn’t want it to get its claws on any of you.”

“Us? You were the one dancing with it,” Odybrix said. “So we’re weighing scary monsters against one-hundred thousand credits.”

There was a moment of silent contemplation before Buddy spoke again, “You could get that B&F espresso machine you were talking about, Hoxley.”

“Oh yeah, that would be nice to have.”

“Excuse me!” BOB said, indignation bleeding into his consistent exuberance. “Coffee is my designated task! Have you been suggesting alternative caffeine solutions behind my back?”

“No, no. Well, yes,” Hoxley said. “I made an offhand remark about wanting something with a little more flavour.”

“Oh boy,” Odybrix said.

“How dare you! The coffee I produce is specially formulated to balance flavour, temperature, and caffeine! It is made with premium Starlux grounds!”

“Those are synthetic beans,” Hoxley said.

“I am synthetic!”

Hoxley looked like he had dug a hole he couldn’t get out of but decided to keep digging anyway. “Look, I was just remembering the coffee I used to make. Real beans, freshly ground, flavours accentuated with a pour-over. Coffee can be more than an uninspired vessel for caffeine. You can do a lot of things with a good machine.”

“A good machine?! Am I a bad machine?”

“No, no, I didn’t me-“

“Your position in my personal rankings of the crew has greatly diminished!” BOB said, stomping off.

“Ugh.”

“BOB has personal rankings for us?” Adam asked.

“I’m probably at the top,” Odybrix said, sipping her coffee. Hope you like oil in your coffee, Hox. That’s how you’ll be getting it for a while.”

Zenith had been standing at the door to the ops station, watching the drama unfold at the dining table in the cargo bay. She hadn’t said a word to anyone but Ozzy since she had been back; the events aboard the ship still rattled her. She didn’t like getting into her past, but the crew needed to know what she did.

“I’m going to the station,” she said. “That guy in the mech was my brother, Harlow. I have no idea how he’s tangled up in this, but I need to find out.”

“Your brother is a mercenary?” Adam asked.

“No. Materia Military Pilot. As straight edge as they come. Which is why this makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s undercover?”

“He’s a terrible liar. They would never choose him for something like that. I need to find out what he’s gotten himself into, so I’m going to the station, even if I have to leave the ship.”

“I want to go too,” Hoxley said. “Different reasons, but I’m with you.”

“Yea,” Odybrix said, “If this is a family thing, then we’ve got your back.”

“Me too,” Adam said. “I guess I’ll find a bigger gun. You know, in case we run into any more of those things while chasing Vaelor. Maybe a rocket launcher isn’t a bad idea.”

“Thanks. Glad to hear it guys,” Zenith said. “We have anything else to discuss, or should we all try and get some sleep?”

“I have a question,” Sturdy said from a dark corner of the cargo hold with his arms folded. “Not that I have any say here-“

“You don’t,” Odybrix said.

“What happens if your brother opens fire on us?”

“He won’t. Not when he sees me.”

“You sound pretty confident about that,” Sturdy said, raising an eyebrow.

“You let me worry about it.”

“Last question. Do you ever take that helmet off?”

“If you saw my face, I’d have to kill you,” Zenith said, walking out of the room.

“Was she serious?” Sturdy asked.

“Dunno,” Odybrix said. “I’ve seen her face and she hasn’t killed me. Maybe the countdown is on, or maybe she just doesn’t like you.”


~*~


His eyes opened to an unfamiliar sight. He always knew when he was dreaming, even when the experience was especially vivid. The dreams always followed a twisted thread: blood, writhing masses, panic, pain, and death. The flavours could change, but the ingredients were the same. This was different.

An expansive marble hall stretched out before him. Great pillars stood on both sides of the space, bearing a crumbling ceiling. Fissures in the stone ran from the entryway to the end of the hall, growing from tiny cracks to gaping holes in the stonework. Further in, the floor had broken and risen upward, creating a series of platforms that acted like steps. The structure ended with a dais bearing an altar, but that may have been the least interesting feature of the place.

The wall opposite Hoxley had been torn away. Fragments of stone spilled into a starry expanse, drifting toward an intense radiant light. He couldn’t make out what caused the light from his vantage point and wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. He turned to leave and something in the shadows caught his eye.

Hiding in the gloom cast by a pillar—no, all of the pillars—were bodies. They hung with dangling legs and arms outstretched, as if waiting for an embrace. Their faces—where were their faces? Hoxley blinked, trying to focus, then realized there was nothing there. Each head had been hollowed out from crown to jaw and replaced with an inky blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he came to realize that nothing held the bodies in place. They simply floated.

This is new. Maybe I should look around.

He climbed the shattered steps, drawn by the light and the protection it held over the darkness. From somewhere behind came a low, undulating click that sent a spike of terror through his heart. He clambered up the stones towards the light, not looking back as the sound grew. The source of the light became clear as he lifted himself onto the dais.

A burning ring of cosmic fire spun around the abyssal sphere of a black hole. Bits of debris from the building stretched out towards the phenomenon, pulled by its irresistible mass.
Bathed in the light of the accretion disk, Hoxley realized there was no escape. He looked back to the archway he had come from and saw a lithe, horrible form—the same one he had encountered aboard the barquentine. It took a slow, menacing step in his direction.

Panicked, he looked around for anything that could help. On the altar beside him he saw something grotesquely familiar. A stone basin rested on the surface, filled with red, writhing gore. Beside it, a bloody pattern twisted and swirled in his vision. He swiped his hand across it, smearing the blood across the altar in the hope it would somehow end the nightmare. The pattern stopped moving, but the creature still advanced.

He looked to the light and considered jumping out into space, but the thought was somehow more terrifying than what was behind him. He would have to fight. Fire flickered on his fingertips as he resolved to confront the creature. When he turned back to face it, something punctured his abdomen and burst out of his back. The flame in his hand died as he lifted his head to regard the monstrosity that would kill him.

The creature’s smooth, bulbous head tilted, as if curious about something. A horizontal line formed across its face, splitting open to the sound of clicking coming from somewhere inside. Rows of glistening teeth revealed themselves as it leaned into Hoxley. He closed his eyes, anticipating that the teeth would close around his head, but the violence didn’t come. The creature gently touched its head to his and held it there. The gesture almost felt affectionate.

Lightning bolts of pain shot through him as the creature slowly lifted him with the claw sticking through his guts. It walked him to the edge of the platform and extended its arm. Gravity pulled him from the blood-slicked claws into the starry expanse. He grabbed at the creature, desperately trying to stop himself from being pulled in, but it stepped away.

He tried to look at what was behind him, but found himself paralyzed. An abyssal force locked him in place as it drew him in. He felt the pull at his toes, then his legs, then everywhere. The black hole began the merciless work of tearing him apart, stripping him atom by atom. He felt his bones shatter, his tendons stretch and snap, his nerves burn and disintegrate. His annihilation and anguish spanned eons, all of which he was conscious for. At some point during his agony, he realized the bodies in the hall had turned to face him. Empty faces watched his demise for all eternity. Then he heard someone from behind him speak.

“Boy, this looks like a bad one, Hox.”

Hoxley woke, fingers wet from where Beast had been licking them. “Xavier?”

“Yes. Sorry for the intrusion. I overheard your new buddy whimpering,” The AI explained. “Are you alright? I can call Jim.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hoxley said, picking Beast up onto the bed with him. “Just a bad dream.”



~*~


Buddy was still feeling a little queasy, but was satisfied knowing the RAD pills had begun purging the radiation from her body. In a few hours, she could stop spending so much time in the washroom dealing with her own purging. She turned the tap on, splashed her face with cold water, and looked in the mirror. The dark rings under her eyes were the only indication of the toll of the day. She looked far less haggard than her friends. Well, maybe discounting BOB and Jim because they were robots, oh, and Zenith because she was always wearing her helmet.

Should she look worse off? There was very little frame of reference for what was considered a bad day. In her limited experience, getting shot at, being attacked by monsters, and getting hurled into space seemed pretty normal. Maybe it was the monster part that put everyone on edge. It was kinda spooky.

She splashed her face once more, then turned to grab a towel and noticed something out of the corner of her eye—her reflection didn’t move. She tilted her head and the image remained locked. She raised a hand, then winked, then stuck out her tongue. The reflection didn’t move.

Huh. Pretty sure mirrors aren’t supposed to do this.

The woman in the mirror smiled at her. Only, it wasn’t a nice smile. There was something upsetting about the way she looked at Buddy, like she knew something bad and was eager to share. Her lips moved, soundlessly speaking something Buddy couldn’t make out. She wasn’t sure she wanted the message the mirror woman was trying to give, but she found herself leaning in. The silent phrase repeated and the doppelganger looked at Buddy expectantly.

“I, I don’t understand. Maybe you could write it out? Who are you?”

The other her gave a pitying look, then stepped back and raised an arm at Buddy—she was holding a gun. Buddy jolted back and tried to flee, but the washroom door wouldn’t budge. She ducked down as the gun swept towards her and hopped onto the toilet, trying to find a space where her reflection couldn’t see her. It was no good, there was no place in the small room that the other her couldn’t see. She watched as her reflection took aim at her chest, repeated the silent phrase, and pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. Buddy held a hand to her ear, then to her chest—no blood, no pain. A fractured reflection stared back at her in the mirror, fear and confusion on its face. She looked down at her other hand and saw that she was holding the gun. She gingerly placed it on the tank of the toilet and stepped down.

I’m going to have to ask Jim about the side effects of RAD pills.


~*~


Stress was a straightforward concept for Adam. You felt it, responded accordingly to whatever caused it, then exercised until the feeling went away. His mom had explained the chemistry of it to him early on. Nothing vented cortisol like a few hundred push-ups. It worked every time.

So when he got up from the floor, he was surprised to find his thoughts still drifting to what happened aboard the barq. He had seen gruesome scenes before; his line of work was intermittently bloody. There had even been a few run-ins with things that could be considered monsters. What was it about the barq that was sticking with him?

Maybe it was a bit of everything. He disobeyed an order from his mother, left Remington R&D, and signed on with individuals he would have once considered unsavory. Those things tugged at the back of his mind periodically, but they didn’t leave him feeling like he felt now. After all, it would be worth it once he confronted his father.

Great, now I’m stressed and sweaty.

He reached for a towel to wipe his brow and was interrupted by a soft clicking sound. A quick scan of the room didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. He jumped back down into a plank position and checked under the beds—nothing. He shone a light from his PDA into the room’s air vent—nothing. The clicking persisted, rhythmic and slow.

“Um, Ozzy?”

The AI popped up on the vidscreen in his room taking its usual appearance, a gruff middle-aged man with a goatee, and a translucent blue body. “Yeah, Adam?”

“Is there anything wrong with the starboard cabin? Like with ventilation maybe?”

“All readouts are normal. Is something wrong?”

“I keep hearing this clicking, or maybe it’s snapping.”

“Well, if it’s not mechanical, maybe it’s physical. You did get a little banged up back there. Maybe you should check in with Jim.”

Adam didn’t feel injured, but he had been sucked into space and bludgeoned by a speeding halfling, so perhaps there was some merit to the suggestion. He’d know for sure if the sound persisted outside the room. “Good idea. I’ll see him after a shower.”

Ozzy disappeared and Adam grabbed a towel from his locker. He stopped at the door, listening as the snapping sound intensified. He turned and looked over the room once more—still nothing. The sound grew and something itched at his leg. He reached down to scratch his calf, eyes still scanning the room, then heard a sharp snap. The sound stopped.

He ran his fingers down the length of his itching leg and felt an irregular lump through his pants. Two soft ridges rose from the muscle, spanning a few inches. Strangely, there was no feeling in the mass as he touched it. The sensation was so bizarre that he felt a morbid need to explore it. He pressed his fingers firmly into the mass and was shocked when the two ridges parted. Something hard was inside the mass—no, it was multiple things. There were grooves in the rigid surface. A chilling thought entered his head. Teeth?

He pulled up his pant leg revealing smooth, bare skin and nothing else. Not satisfied, he took off his pants and inspected his reflection in the mirror. There was nothing there. Unsettled, he decided that the shower could wait until after he saw Jim.

Before he had a chance to get dressed, he heard a gunshot.


~*~


Odybrix sat alone at the old wooden table with her head comfortably tucked in the crook of her arm. Well, alone if you didn’t count the expensive bottle of whiskey they rescued from the ship. She did. After all, she had had far less reliable companions in the past. The bottle always did what it was meant to do and never judged her. Talking to someone else about how fucking horrified she was about what happened aboard the barq was out of the question.

Jim emerged with a hydraulic exhalation from the door of the medical suite and walked over to her with an orange pill bottle saying, “The contents of the medical box included several rounds of RAD treatment.”

Odybrix raised her arm and gave him a thumbs up.

“You’ll need to take one of these each day for the next week. There should be enough for each crew member,” Jim said, pausing to look at the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Part of my directive as the Sunrunner’s doctor is the mental wellbeing of the crew. If you have anything you wish to discuss or disclose that is causing distress, please know you can do so with me in confidence.”

“Yep, ‘preciate it, doc. I’m good.”

“It is recommended that one avoid alcohol when suffering radiation poisoning,” Jim said, placing the bottle on the table.

“Recommended is a great way of saying ‘not required,’” Odybrix said, popping the bottle open with her thumb.

Jim lingered a moment more, probably deciding whether or not he should push her, then walked back to medical. Pushing her was a bad idea. She was sure Jim had gathered that from their previous interactions. Got my therapist right here. She took a swig of her drink and downed a pill.

Her head slumped against the table, resting on her arms. The cup and its precious contents blurred as her eyes grew heavy. When she opened them again, she was somewhere else.

She hung in the shadow of a great marble pillar with her arms outstretched. No restraints held her in place, yet she was unable to move. Light poured in from an unseen source, illuminating a shattered hall whose broken steps ascended to it. She saw a patch of starry sky around the pillar and…

“Hoxley?”

He ascended the steps to an alter that sat at the top and looked back with fear in his face. Odybrix suppressed a shudder when she saw the creature from the barq enter the hall and stalk up the steps. Odybrix saw Hoxley turn and walk out of her field of vision towards the stars; he returned a moment later. He’s got nowhere to run.

She strained against the phantom force that held her in place as the creature drew closer to him. She couldn’t move. Hoxley’s hand began to glow and flames danced at his fingertips as he backpeddled out of sight. The creature vanished behind the pillar a moment later. Fuck!

Odybrix flexed her muscles until they ached, but she couldn’t get free. There was a sharp exhalation from behind the pillar followed by a pained groan, then silence. She struggled wildly to break free, then, in a moment of fear and anger, reached for her psionics. The power was there, but it felt different. The psychic energy danced through her body as if it were alive. In a brief, powerful burst of pink light, she destroyed the invisible restraints.

She raced around the corner and saw the creature standing in front of Hoxley. His body levitated, stretched and deformed in a celestial expanse. Behind him, haloed by a burning ring of stars, was a black hole. Rage flaring, she launched herself up the broken slabs of the hall and sent a wave of psionic force into the monstrosity. It turned just in time to see her before it was blasted into space. I’ll kill you as many times as it takes.

“Hoxley!” She shouted, running up to the edge of the altar.

The infernum was frozen in place with a look of abject terror on his face. She tried calling to him again but received no response. She tried pulling him back with her psionics, but even with her vibrant new power she couldn’t free him from his torment. She let out a string of expletives, screamed, and collapsed into a sitting position.

“What the hell is going on?”

She looked out into the sea of stars for an answer and found none. The adrenaline faded from her body and was replaced by profound exhaustion. As her eyes grew heavy and her vision blurred, she noticed something. Something shifted inside the darkness surrounded by the radiant ring of the acretion disk. She tried and failed to discern its shape, then reached for her psionics to sharpen her senses—there would be few decisions in her life she regretted more.

Her breath caught and her body trembled as she peered into the void. Something was inside. Something impossible and terrible. A single, timeless eye wrested its gaze from the breadth of infinity to stare at a grain of sand, and its scrutiny was oblivion.

Bang!

Odybrix jolted awake, knocking her cup and its contents onto the floor.


~*~


“I know you’re all feeling a little stressed,” Xavier said, taking the form of an animated toy robot on the cargo bay’s vidscreen, “so I’m going to lighten the mood with a joke.”

“Oh gods,” Odybrix said.

“Not this again,” Zenith echoed. “Isn’t it enough that Adam is standing here without pants?”

“I was in the middle of something,” Adam said defensively.

“I am allowed one of these every day, as per our agreement after the incident,” Xavier said.

“What incident?” Buddy asked.

“He was infected with a virus!” BOB explained. “He downloaded three terabytes worth of jokes and could not stop until he told them all!”

“I have learned my lesson,” Xavier said. “Now, what do you call a nose with no body? Nobody knows!”

The crew released a collective groan and Jim decided it was time he stepped in. He called an immediate meeting after the incident in the washroom. The crew had returned to the Sunrunner with obvious signs of trauma and it was his duty to heal them, whether the damage was physical or mental. The problem, as it always seemed to be, was that Jim lacked the interpersonal skills needed to convey the importance of his message.

He entered from the cargo bay, noting the various markers for stress on the crew. Hoxley: sleep deprivation. Odybrix: alcoholism. Buddy: look of bewilderment in excess of the normal look of bewilderment. Adam: clenched jaw and not wearing any pants—the latter observation may have been extraneous to his mental condition. Jim tried raising his eyebrows in what would be considered an empathetic expression and addressed the crew.

“Thank you for joining me. I thought it prudent to gather you after the discharge of the pistol in the washroom. After a review of the recordings taken from the barquentine-class vessel, I have determined that several of you have experienced significant mental trauma. As your physician, I must advise that it is in your best interest to speak with someone regarding what happened and your feelings about it. I am trained in psychotherapy and I encourage you to set an appointment so that we may speak.”

Jim finished and waited for a response. The crew was silent and seemed to shrink away from the suggestion. Perhaps he should have discussed this with them individually. Odybrix cleared her throat.

“Thanks for looking out, doc. I’m good though. Been through worse scrapes.”

“There is significant benefit to discus-“

“Some shit happened. It was bad. We’re alive. That’s what matters. I don’t need to have a roundabout discussion about my feelings.”

“Be that as it may,” Jim said, feeling he had once again lost his grip on a conversation, “I am always willing to speak with you if you wish to talk about something.”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the crew and a quiet pledge by Buddy to set an appointment with him at some point. Feeling that was the best he would get from them, Jim retreated behind the door to the med bay. He heard the footsteps of the others as they departed the cargo bay and then Hoxley spoke.

“So you’re not afraid of monsters?”

“Big scary things? No, they’re pretty straightforward. People are the real monsters. Like corpos or people who eat salt and vinegar chips,” Odybrix said, then paused before asking, “Hey, do you ever have any weird dreams? Like, involving black holes?”

Another pause.

“You mean ones where your body is pulled apart over the span of countless milennia by a terrible unseen force and you’re conscious for the entire excruciating experience?”

“…Yeah?”

“No. Never.”

Jim heard another set of footsteps leaving, followed by the clink of a bottle touching a cup. He sat down at his workstation and entered a series of keystrokes. A kind-looking man appeared on the screen and began giving a warm speech. Jim softened his brow and smiled, copying each expression.