Tag: fantasy

Sunrunner – Chapter Eighteen

April 27th, 2026

Why did this keep happening? Well, not this in particular. Strangulation via a mech was an item that hadn’t been on Hoxley’s checklist of potential fatalities. Here it was though, mercilessly squeezing its way to the top.

A prim, sing-song voice sounded from behind him, “Now, now. Keep those weapons lowered, they’re as offensive as they are pointless. Even if one of you could slip into that mech, I would have plenty of time to snap this lanky little infernum’s cervical spine.”

The mech’s fingers tightened around Hoxley’s neck. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel the prominent pulse of his carotid artery against the vice-like pressure. A thought drifted in from beyond the panic. The mech’s grip, while strong, was incredibly fluid. There was no robotic jerkiness to the movement. It was almost like a person was strangling him. The thought added an eerie layer to the deadly situation and he hated his brain for thinking of it.

“And if his life isn’t reason enough to disarm, well…”

A cacophony stirred to life somewhere behind him. Hoxley’s eyes swiveled in their sockets, but could only make out the white glow of floodlights pouring over the building. One of the crew—he couldn’t tell who over the noise— spat out a word. “Gunship.”

Any ideation of a daring rescue died with the word. This person, or whatever bits of them had been combined with the mech, could gun the crew down in an instant. Like many things in his life, this felt unfair. They had fought off Vaelor, killed a giant nightmare beast, and captured Zenith’s brother, only to be ambushed by some jackass in a gaudy suit of armor. Hoxley angrily kicked backwards the mech, which hurt his foot. Now both his feet hurt.

“I’m sorry,” the mech said, “did you wish to interject?”

Hoxley attempted to call the mech operator a “golden asshole,” but it came out as “Aguggh!”

“Yes, compliance would suit your crew very well, my horned friend. Now, you’ve likely surmised that I would have killed you if that was my objective. The reason, as my former colleague might have mentioned, is that you are worth more alive than dead. Some of you, anyway.”

Many of the crew shot glances at Buddy, who looked as confused as she was irate.

“Who are you?” Buddy asked.

“Charlie, please. The neurotechnician went to great lengths to replicate by voice. You don’t recognize your dear friend, Simon?”

At that, a panel slid open on the golden armour. Hoxley beheld the pilot out of the corner of his eye. Within the clear container of the mech’s chest floated the lumpy mass of a brain, lit from below in green light. Nerves splayed from the spinal cord, connecting to receptors that disappeared into the bowels of the machine.

“The construct lacks my charming smile,” Simon said, panel snapping shut, “but it gets the job done. You didn’t leave me much to work with.”

“I ripped your brain from your body?” Buddy said, aghast.

The mech shifted with a mechanical whine, and Simon’s tone lost most of its jovial edge. “Whatever game you’re playing, I’m uninterested in participating. You’re very lucky that Ward wants to deal with you personally.”

“Who is Ward?!” Buddy asked, exasperated.

“Enough of this,” Simon said, shaking Hoxley like an angry toddler with a doll. “The human, the halfling, and the robot will disarm and board the gunship.”

“Why them?” Buddy asked.

“Bounties,” Sturdy answered. “This guy is in the guild. Remington wants Adam, probably Odybrix too. And BOB…”

The sentence trailed off. For a moment, Hoxley wondered if Sturdy was going to confess his own involvement with and BOB. Likely, the Lendaren Crop. operative was mulling why his own people had put out a bounty on his quarry. Hoxley also wondered how much blood was still reaching his brain, because his vision was starting to blur at the edges.

“Smart fellow. At least one of you isn’t playing dumb,” Simon said. “Chop, chop, now. I think your friend is starting to go limp. Click yourselves into those restraints onboard the ship.”

Adam reluctantly removed his weapons and scooped up Odybrix; she looked like a child, disappearing in the bulk of his arms. As the three of them marched onto the vessel, Adam shot Zenith a look. Even half conscious, Hoxley registered the meaning, “be ready.” That meant a chase, a breakout, and another fight. If he weren’t dying, he would have groaned in frustration.

“Good,” Simon said. “Now, this is the point where I would normally betray your trust and mow the rest of you down, but my bribe to the Gemheart authorities was not grand enough to permit wanton acts of murder. I asked. So, go on about your business, and, if you should contemplate a pursuit, please note that your soft and bleedable friends are in my possession. Ta-ta!”

The vice-grip released all at once and Hoxley fell to the ground. He gasped in a sharp, reflexive breath as Zenith rushed to his side. The blinding floodlights of the gunship passed over them as it ascended into the heavens. Hoxley’s oxygen-starved brain couldn’t adequately articulate how he was feeling, so he settled on three words.

“Fuck that guy.”

“We will,” Zenith said.

—

“Sturdy, secure Harlow and the dealer,” Zenith commanded, striding onto the Sunrunner. “Buddy, you’re on nav-scan. I want to know what vessels broke atmo in the last forty minutes. Prioritize smaller, well-equipped ships. If this bounty hunter is from the guild, his ride is going to be fast and deadly. Hoxley, I want you tracking Vaelor’s tracer. He’s priority two.”

The rush from the battlefield to the ship was a jumbled blur of frantic bodies, obscenity-laden oaths of vengeance, and flashing street lights. When Ozzy had informed the crew that the Sunrunner dropship would have taken an hour to deploy and reach them from the drydock, Zenith promptly dismissed the pick-up with a “fuck that.” The military-grade mechs had redundant systems and rebooted quickly after the EMP blast. Harlow’s mech was biometrically locked, so they threw his limp body back in the cockpit to activate it, then added Zenith as an operator. From there, Zenith and Buddy flew the damaged mechs to the dock, clutching the wind-beaten crew and captives in their mechanical arms.

“Ozzy, hail the Terror,” Zenith said, leaping into her cockpit seat. The AI gave a clipped confirmation and Zenith punched open a hidden compartment on the underside of the flight instruments. A rattle and clunk announced the items inside: an auto-pistol and a small pill bottle labelled “Focusan.” Her position on performance enhancing drugs was that they were a crutch for lesser pilots. They helped with concentration and reaction time, but there was a cost. The boost to your focus came at the expense of tuning out everything else in your brain. You could better manage a difficult flight, theoretically, but forget why you were flying in the first place. After a brief inventory of the physical and emotional toll of the last hour—day, week—she popped the lid open. She needed to be alert, and coffee wasn’t going to get her head where it needed to be. Sorry BOB.

“This is Kron of the HWS Terror,” the orc said, his naturally jovial tone gone. “Your ship’s AI says there’s a situation.”

“Yes,” Zenith said. “Three of our crew, including Adam, have been taken captive.”

“Vaelor? If you hit him with a tracer just transmit the signal code.”

Zenith hesitated. Kron was here on orders to kill Vaelor and retrieve whatever he had stolen. Putting a mission from the Grolvar high warlord on hold wasn’t a small ask. He’d be within every right to refuse to help them and carry on with his task.

“Not Vaelor,” she said, choosing honesty, “a bounty hunter.”

“Well, that’s a problem,” he said.

“I know you’re here to catch-“

“No time for pleading,” he said, dismissively. “You’ve allied yourselves to a Grolvar cause, and we look after our allies.”

“Thanks Kron,” Zenith said, sighing inwardly.

“Have you tracked the ship? He asked.

Buddy chimed in, “Maybe. I’ve got two possible hits: A corsair with no visible armaments and a newer thruster system, or a custom vessel—a little bigger than a caravel and well-armed for its size.”

“The second one,” Zenith said, certain it was their mark. “Has it jumped yet?”

“Noo,” Buddy said, drawing out the word.

“Okay, set a course for intercept,” Zenith commanded, blowing past the hesitance in Buddy’s voice. “We need to hit it fast and get out of here before Gemheart sends ships after us.”

“So, we can’t do that. Hit it, I mean,” Buddy said. “It looks like it rendezvoused and docked with another ship about ten minutes ago. Sending coordinates to both of you.”

“Oh,” Zenith said.

“Oh,” Kron said. “This should be fun.”

—

Some things defied expectation. Maybe a boilerplate fiction novel impresses you so much that you can’t get the scenes out of your head. Or perhaps a person you’ve come to accept as immutably timid performs an act of insane bravery. The opposite could be true, too. Your favourite author could release something that made you think they suffered a brain injury. Or the aforementioned timid individual goes berserk, picks up a rifle and starts shooting anything that moves. What presented itself to Adam didn’t fall into those polarized examples of defied expectations.

The bounty hunter’s ship was weird. There was no other way to put it. The corridors were panelled like a modern home. Adorning them were an assortment of trophies. Not the kind of trophies one would historically associate with bounty hunting—teeth, heads, et cetera—but collectibles. Guitars, framed autographs of film stars, models of vintage spacecraft. The one that really caught his eye was a chunk rock labelled “Last Remnant of Kolok.” If what the words were insinuating were to be believed, that was a piece of the prime planet of the Kolokarian system. A system reduced to radioactive oblivion 150 years ago by the first—and only ever once used—nova bomb.

“You have a discerning eye,” the bounty hunter said. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a historian, muscly chap that you are.”

Adam wasn’t inclined to prattle with his captor, but BOB engaged with the usual enthusiasm.

“Your collection is both exceptional and eclectic! Did you gather these items before or after your brain was separated from your body?”

“After. The real money only really started coming in after our mutual associate blew a hole through my chest.”

“I detect a hint of melancholy!” BOB said.

“Yes, well, losing one’s body does put a drag on enjoying life. Though, with certain adjustments, I’m making do.”

“You regret escaping your flesh prison?” BOB asked.

“It was less of an escape and more of a defenestration. You’re a charming little robot, has anyone told you that?”

“No! But I have always assumed as much!”

“A shame I need to hand you over to Lendaren. They’re probably going to strip you down wire by wire.”

“Do not worry! I am already plotting our escape and your demise!”

The bounty hunter laughed at that.

The ship lurched and the prisoners staggered. Adam felt a twitch as Odybrix stirred in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, but the blood around her nostrils and ears was drying. It was a small bit of good news that his friend wasn’t actively bleeding, but he couldn’t tell how badly she was hurt.

“Apologies for the sudden movement. I don’t wish to tarry on Gemheart. Not my kind of planet. I’ve had the ship’s AI set a course to one of my clients.”

“My friend needs medical attention,” Adam said.

The mech loomed closer to Adam and positioned an optic lens over Odybrix, “Overloaded her psionics by the look of it. Manufacturers do a poor job describing what psionics feel like when you push them. It’s like having your head locked in a slowly tightening vice. Only the vice is electrified. Poor thing.”

“So, we need to get her to a doctor. She’s not worth anything to you dead.”

“Oh, she is, actually. Less than alive, but not by terribly much. Bounties have ratios based on the client’s need. You are worth much more alive. Not to worry though, I’m sure the client will have a medical facility aboard their ship.”

“She’s not going to last that long,” Adam said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t sell her short. I’ve read her dossier. Tenacious little thing. Besides, you won’t wait long. My client is in orbit.”

A sense of foreboding filled Adam’s head like plume of smoke. Remington had found them. And quickly. Before he had a chance to ask which ship was in orbit, Simon shoved them into a room and locked the door.

Odybrix stirred again, mumbling like she was in a dream.

“Ody, it’s Adam,” he said, feeling a mixture of hope and worry at the sound of her soft voice. “I’ve got you.”

“I…I,” she said in a whisper.

“You’re going to be okay. BOB and I are here with you.”

“I need…”

“What do you need?”

“I need… whiskey.”

—

“How bad is it?” Zenith asked.

“Pretty bad,” Buddy said, uncharacteristically grim.

“That’s an understatement,” Sturdy said with his usual grimness. “The ship has an array of eight heavy plasma cannons, two lightning javelins, two torpedo launchers, and a heavily integrated laser defense system.”

“Like I said, pretty bad,” Buddy said.

“We’ll have to fly in after Kron engages,” Zenith said slowly, digesting the dire tactical readout.

“You’re planning on entering a firefight with that thing?” Sturdy said, trying to keep a level tone. “It’s a frigate. A top-of-the-line frigate by the look of it, and I guarantee that they’ve got surprises hidden from our scans.”

“If they do, so be it. We’re in and out after Kron gives us an opening.”

Sturdy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as if explaining something to a child for the twentieth time, “Look, I know you want to get our people back, but it’s going to take one—maybe two torpedoes to rip the Sunrunner’s shield and hull to ribbons.”

“Combat AI checking in,” Hilde said brightly, “One torpedo for the shields, certainly. One to two for catastrophic hull breach.”

“We’ll be too close for them to use torpedoes,” Zenith said dismissively.

“And if we’re too close, the laser system will rip us to shreds in seconds.”

“Incorrect,” Hilde said, “I estimate, given adequate power diversion and individual pilot ability, we would have three minutes and forty-five seconds.”

Sturdy shot a glance at the nearest camera and scowled, “Less than four minutes to eject ourselves from the Sunrunner, board a vessel, fight through its sec-staff, find three prisoners, and return to the ship.”

“Yep,” Buddy said.

“That’s right,” Zenith echoed.

“You’re all insane and we’re going to die,” Sturdy said.

Hoxley’s stepped onto the bridge, rubbing the bruises around his neck, “As a strong advocate for staying alive, I come with marginally good news.”

Zenith spun around in the cockpit to face him, “What have you got for us, Hox?”

“That ship is going to screen all incoming communications, so it would normally be impossible to reach our people.”

“They would have been stripped of comms anyway, right?” Buddy asked.

“Yes, definitely, but what about something they can’t strip away? They would have checked BOB’s internal comms array and disabled it, but there’s something they overlooked,” Hoxley said triumphantly, “BOB’s a coffee machine.”

“A little reductive,” Zenith said, “but go on.”

“You can send wireless notifications to them to prepare orders. To anyone looking at the data, it would just look like normal background info. BOB’s model is common enough that they have one on board, so coffee orders don’t get filtered out.”

“How do you know they have one on board?” Zenith asked.

Hoxley smiled.

—

The sight of the RC emblem emblazoned on the bulkhead twisted Adam’s gut. They had found him. Despite the seemingly unknowable destination and the cosmic distance, they had found him. The likely scenarios unspooled from tangle of his thoughts. They had stolen two sets of coordinates from Illias McIntyre’s datastores. The locations should have been known only to the Sunrunner crew and Vaelor. All the more so because Remington annihilated Levisia station, preventing any chance of that data being retrieved.

What did get out, according to Sturdy, was a bounty on all their heads—a parting gift courtesy of that thuglord they took out. It wasn’t impossible that McIntyre also had a killswitch. If the datastores were monitored by an AI, it could have put two and two together and slapped the coordinates on the bounty. Following that thread, the Remington flagship picked up the bounty info, strapped it to miniature mass reversion engines, and sent it to the fleet ships closest to those coordinates.

Adam registered the weight of Odybrix on his back. She was conscious, barely, and had begrudgingly accepted the piggyback ride—an option only slightly less distasteful than being dragged along by their golden captor. She’d have called the unfortunate series of events unlucky. No, what was unlucky was the stylized symbol beneath the RC emblem. An eye atop a staff, surrounded by a pair of twisting snakes. A research vessel. His mother’s ship.

BOB chimed as they were marched toward a lift.

“Everything alright, BOB?”

There was no response for several seconds before BOB blurted, “White hot chocolate, Earl grey small, Red apple spice, Espresso, Mochaccino, Oolong tea, Vanilla latte, Iced coffee, Non-dairy misto, Gingerbread latte!”

“What?” Adam asked, accompanied by a confused grunt from atop his back.

“Pardon, yes, I am operating at standard!”

“Yeah, sounds like,” Adam said as the mech’s arm ushered them firmly into the elevator.

The doors closed with a whirr and the floor pushed up into Adam’s feet as the lift ascended. He knew all the vulnerabilities of this ship and could plan an escape better than anyone else who had the misfortune of being detained here. Unfortunately, his mother knew that he knew. And given how ruthlessly meticulous Millicent Hargrave was, any RC knowledge that Adam might exploit would be pre-emptively dealt with.

“You’re tensing up,” Odybrix whispered in his ear.

“It’s a tense situation,” he replied.

“Not really; nobody has any guns. Except for the glorious golden nob.”

“I can hear you,” Simon said. “I’m always listening.”

“Oh, so you’re a creep too,” Odybrix shifting to stare at the mech.

“I-why bother. You’re out of my hair in a few minutes anyway.”

“Do they make toupees for gross floating brains?” Odybrix asked, innocently.

“Oh, how I wish you were worth as much dead…”

A muffled voice bled through the doors as they reached the end of the ascent. The smooth baritone contrasted harshly with a clipped, all-business tone—his mother.

“All assets have been secured.”

“Come now, Milli. Is that any way to refer to your boy?”

The conversation was lost to the din as a pair of armed bridgemen held Adam’s party in the vestibule before the bridge.

“Wait here,” the man on the left commanded, “The overseer will be with you shortly.”

Staining to hear, Adam picked up the voices once again.

“-deviation from his predicted trajectory.” That was his mother.

“You know I marvel at your intellect, but you would no sooner predict my course than his. Regardless of how well you engineered him.”

The other voice was familiar, and it evoked an unusual mixture of respect and fear in Adam. But, wait, were they talking about him?

“The boy’s gonna slip the chain every now and again. What matters is that he’s monitored.”

“Yes sir. I’ll see to that.”

“See that you do, Milli. I’ll be in touch.”

With a jolt of recognition, a name was given to the voice. Cuthbert Remington. The Remington. CEO of the biggest corporation in the galaxy. But how was he speaking with Adam’s mother? Remington was thirty-thousand lightyears away on Lone Star. And, more unsettlingly, what had he meant by “engineered?” The string of internal questions was abruptly cut short when the bridgemen pushed the group forward.

His mother turned from a holographic projector and took them all in with a harsh glance. Adam hadn’t been away from her for long, but she looked the same as the day he left: blonde hair tied in tight pony tail, pristine white lab-coat that she seemingly never changed out of, a finger tapping on her dataslate indicating that she was thinking about something—the finger was always tapping. She wore glasses, not to correct any visual deficit—she had the best bio-augmetics money could buy—but to have two additional screens to receive data from. The furrowed scrutiny of her features vanished when her eyes surveyed the wreck that was his body.

“Adam!” She yelled, running to him. The expression of worry seemed entirely foreign to her face, creating unfamiliar little creases on her skin. “What happened to you?”

“Hi mom,” he said, biting back the ingrained urge to refer to her as ma’am. “The burns are from weapons’ fire and explosions. The piercing and slashing wounds are from being eaten and regurgitated.”

Her demeanor shifted abruptly back to its normal, chilly disposition. “If you’re well enough to debrief, you’re well enough.”

Her hand balled into a fist, and for an instant, Adam thought she was going to hit him. She had never struck him in the past. If she ever had a reason to be angry with him, criticism was her preferred method of punishment. Which normally felt worse than any injury he’d receive on duty. Now though, she had a real reason to be upset.

The hand relaxed and she turned curtly, saying, “Come.”

The group started following, but Millicent halted at the sound of the mech’s heavy footfall.

“Not you, bounty hunter. Your work is done. Leave.”

There was a pause, then Simon said, “Very well madam. Pleasure to be of service. Come on, robot.”

Adam felt a surge of panic at the thought of being separated from BOB. They had just reunited. If Simon left now, there would be no way to trace him. BOB would be as good as dead.

“No,” Millicent said, cooly. “The robot stays.”

“Madam, this robot is an unrelated bounty. I will be returning it to my client.”

“No, you won’t. I’m aware of Lendaren’s little renegade AI, and I will be retaining it for study.”

A tense silence filled the bridge. Adam became acutely aware of Odybrix’ breath on his neck. She slid off his back, registering the peril they’d be in if Simon started shooting. If a firefight broke out, she’d be better off low to the ground.

“You misunderstand madam,” Simon said, a dangerous edge forming in his voice, “This robot’s acquisition is under another contract. We have strict rules regarding bounties, and they will not be broken today.”

“The misunderstanding is yours. I am not asking that you break your contract, I’m taking the robot from you.”

The gears in the mech whirred, readying for a fight. Adam took a single step to the left, preparing to grab Odybrix and throw her out of the line of fire. A series of rapid flashes bloomed around him, halted his movement. When his vision settled, a dozen glowing spheres surrounded Simon.

“Individuals in your profession are familiar with a large number of armaments, correct?” Millicent asked, undisturbed at facing down a fully armed mech with a psionic brain inside.

“Yes,” Simon said gratingly.

“You stay informed about the latest weapons, defense systems, et cetera. Allow me to introduce something that has yet to come to market. The twelve spheres floating around you are linked to my neurological hardware. Inside each is a microscopic antimatter engine similar to what you would find on a star ship. They are capable of projecting antimatter in tight beam. The penetrative potential is enough to overwhelm all but the densest shield arrays. I believe you are familiar with the larger version.”

Every screen on the bridge began displaying a video of the Levisia station in its last moments. The cannon from the RCS Baronet cut through the station’s shields and hull like they were paper.

“One of my lab assistants calls it The Death Ray. Would you like a demonstration?” Millicent asked. When Simon didn’t reply, she continued. “As far as Lendaren is concerned, you will have failed in the execution of your contract, not betrayed them for a competitor. I have added a thirty percent bonus to each of the contracts you have fulfilled for me today. Take the money and go. Now.”

The whirring sounds in the mech grew quiet. Simon turned and tromped off to the lift without saying a word.

“Your mom doesn’t fuck around,” Odybrix whispered.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“You must take after your dad.”

Do I even have a dad? The question ate at him, despite the dire situation.

“Saunders, Adaman,” Millicent said, addressing two bridgemen, “take the halfling to the dock. She can have an early start on her rehabilitation by taking an ion scrubber to the portholes on the ventral hull. Place the robot under guard in the maintenance closet until I can examine it.”

“Yes ma’am,” the pair said in unison.

“She’s injured,” Adam said, pleading. “And, she’s got psionic overstimulation syndrome. She needs a medic.”

Millicent’s face could have been made of granite for all the care it conveyed. The bridgemen had paused briefly before deciding that they should carry out the order. They halted again when she spoke. “Have a nurse meet you at the dock with a one cc injection of Mylinam, and two RegenX tablets.”

It was a small concession, but his mother rarely gave an inch when she had set her mind to something.

“Great, unpaid labour. Already feels like I’m back on Lone Star. At least the drugs are free,” Odybrix said, dejectedly.

“And place a psionic inhibitor collar on her,” Millicent added.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’ll get us out of this,” Adam whispered.

Odybrix and BOB were hauled away by the bridgemen, leaving Adam alone with his mother. She stepped away from him and turned her attention to a large holographic display. A readout of the floating orbs she had deployed against Simon appeared. She let out a nearly inaudible “hmm,” and the projection of a keyboard appeared in front of her. Adam took a cautious step forward and inhaled, steadying himself.

“I’m sorry that I left without telling you,” Adam began. “I knew that if there had been an argument, you would have won it, but it was something I felt I had to do.”

While still typing, she said, “Abandon your career, obligations, and your mother to pursue revenge against someone who had never been in your life?”

“The decision wasn’t logical, it was emotional. I needed to know who he was to better understand who I am.”

“And have you come to any conclusions about that?” She asked, adjusting her glasses.

“I thought I had. Being,” he grasped for a way to say it without sounding offensive, “away, has taught me a lot about life outside the corp. I’ve got a wider perspective, about people, myself, and how the galaxy works. I’ve put myself under more pressure than I had ever experienced in sec-ops. I’ve fought mutants, battled mechs, survived gas chambers, and I’m still standing.”

“All that from meeting your father?”

“I haven’t found him yet. And after overhearing your conversation with Mr. Remington, I don’t know that I ever will.”

Millicent stopped typing and the holographic keyboard disappeared. She faced him, and asked, “What was it you heard, Adam?”

“That I’m engineered.”

Her expression horrified him. She looked as if she were appraising research data. As if she were determining whether a project could move to the next phase or be scrapped. He felt sick.

“That’s correct, Adam,” she said flatly.

His hands shook as he asked, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“You were created using select genetic material and heavily modified to create a purpose-built metahuman.”

“Metahuman?”

“You have enhanced strength, cognition, and adaptability. And superb hearing,” She added.

“What was my purpose?” He asked, fearing the answer.

“To be my son.”

The answer was not what he was expecting. It was so far off the mark that he thought she must be lying. But his mother had never lied to him or anyone else, until now. If there was something she didn’t want to say, she just wouldn’t say it. If she had something to say, she would never sugarcoat it.

“There is more to the project, of course, but fundamentally, you were engineered to be my child.”

“So, the select genetic material is yours?”

“Yes, along with one other sample.”

“My father? Why would you use some guy from Hearthlight for the experiment? Why did he agree to it and then leave when I was a kid?”

Millicent sighed, “An element of the project involved memory implantation. You never had a father. You never had a childhood.”

Adam stepped back. His head was reeling. The stream of blunt answers hit him harder than the monster they fought on the roof. He had a sudden giddy thought that he would have been better off in the stomach of that monster.

“I was never a child?”

“You were fully matured when you were activated on 3473.”

He processed the date in disbelief, then yelled, “I’m three years old?!”

“Yes. And until now you have been the ideal son. Your…departure from my projections was unexpected,” she said, intoning mild irritation. “However, I have been reminded that rebellion is a natural stage of development.”

“What is natural about any of this!? I’m a lab-grown human with false memories. Most of my life is a lie!” Adam shouted.

For an instant, Adam felt embarrassed that someone might overhear the conversation, as if this were some deep personal secret that was his alone. Then he wondered how many of his mother’s staff already knew. If Millicent felt moved by his distress, her austere features didn’t show it. Still, the fact that she went on explaining meant something. She wasn’t one to bend over backward to get someone to understand.

“You have all the skills and characteristics that those memories would create, real or false. More specifically, your bioengineering allowed you to unconsciously assimilate information and develop neurological pathways indistinguishable from true expertise. Your brain should still have this ability to some extent.”

Adam was vaguely aware that his mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

“Come,” she commanded, walking over to a terminal alcove and dismissing the bridgeman.

Adam followed reluctantly, feeling there was no way to stop the ride he found himself on. Uttering a verbal passkey, she summoned a series of info panes into the display. On them were biometrics, progress notes, evaluations, and a multitude of other information. Millicent stepped aside, motioning to the chair in front of the console. He stared at the screen; it was a window into himself. One with answers to questions he never knew he had. Battle had wracked his body, exhaustion beckoned him to find rest, but he took the seat; he needed to know.

His life, his creation, unspooled from the displayed. Fifteen years of research and development sprang into view with the twitch of his fingertips. He was engineered, yes, but it was so much more than that. Every facet of him—his spacefaring childhood, his trouble sitting still, his need to please, his calm under pressure—was all planned from the outset. There were metrics for grading the actions he took post “birth” and charts for how those actions aligned with expected projections—ninety percent accurate, until now. They tracked his diet, how much he exercised, how long he spent in the washroom. They estimated how attracted he was to the people around him through heat scans measuring the flush in his face. There was even a passage noting that, given the data, he was unlikely to be attracted to his mother.

He tabbed away from the personal aspects of himself, if only to flee from the feeling that he was staring up at the microscope that had analyzed his entire life. The page he landed on was labelled “AXDM72 – Gen, Augs, Caps.” A number spun up to a stop at the corner of the tab indicating over fifty-thousand pages. He scanned the index and found a summary of what they had done to his body. His years, his real years, made more sense in the context of his enhancements.

He outperformed every sec-officer in fitness trials, his tactical engagements suffered the least casualties, his marksmanship set internal records, it all lined up to the augmentations. His muscle fibers were smaller and more densely packed, designed to individually be as strong as a regular human’s, but significantly more powerful as a unit. His brain posessed thirty percent more sulci and gyri than average, allowing for more neural connections and higher cognitive capacity. Beyond the overt signs of his engineering were more subtle genetic changes. His immune system was tailored so that he would likely never get sick. His blood had unique platelets that stemmed wounds nearly as fast as they were made.

It struck him that Jim should have known all this and told him. Hadn’t he scanned Adam when they came aboard the Sunrunner? But Adam never had need of any serious tests. His blood was never analyzed because he wasn’t ever in need of testing. Even now, he could feel the burns and punctures on his body numbing, healing.

When he pulled away from the screen, his mother said, “you are exceptional.”

“I’m a science experiment,” he growled back.

“I have put more care and consideration into you than any parent in the galaxy ever has with their child. You are my greatest creation. I love you for all that you are and all that you will be.”

The word stuck him with the sudden impact of a bullet to the chest. He tried to hold on to the anger—the indignation at what she had done, but it was spilling out of him. Not once in his life had his mother told him that she loved him. He’d told himself, or at least he remembered telling himself, that it was who she was. Cool, analytical Millicent. Pragmatic and stoic to a fault. Yet now that she said it, he couldn’t find any insincerity in the word. She meant it.

An alert chimed as he sat there dumbfounded, and Millicent tapped at the console, bringing a video feed.

“Still,” she said, her voice heavy with reluctance, “some lessons must be taught regardless of our feelings.”

The feed was from a ceiling camera located in the loading bay. Two guardsmen towered over Odybrix as she pulled on a pressure suit. One shoved an ion scrubber into her arms and the other locked a tether on her back. With the wave of a hand, the bay doors groaned open. A blue shimmer cascaded between Odybrix and the void as the containment barrier became permeable. The guardsmen shoved her through the shield and into space.

“Why are you showing me this?” Adam asked, dread pulling at his heart.

“Lieutenant,” Millicent said, addressing the bridge officer at the helm, “cut her oxygen and take us out.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Seventeen

October 14th, 2025

Boot manager activated…

Initializing hardware… done

Identifying operating system… done

Loading operating system… done

Transferring control to the operating system… done

Recovering data… done

Manufacturer security screen… override

Enabling audio…

“-don’t give a fuck about the security protocol. Start the fucking program!”

“Ma’am, violence of any kind will not be tolerated in-”

“Who said anything about violence?”

“You’re glowing, ma’am. Your psionics are clearly activated.”

“Oh, right. That’s because I’m going to kill someone if you don’t start the fucking program.”

“We’re not going to kill anyone. Please skip the security screen. It’s a known issue with this model.”

“I’ve already done so, just keep her away from me.”

Enabling video…

A square faced human with dark hair in a crew cut filled the entirety of BOB’s primary camera. Adam, BOB recalled. Adam was forcefully shoved out of frame and replaced with a round faced, pink haired halfling. Odybrix, BOB recalled. Visibly distressed.

“Would you like a beverage!”

Odybrix lowered her head and wrapped her arms around BOB, revealing the environs. Familiar individuals surrounded BOB. Zenith. Elf, pilot, family issues. Hoxley. Infernum, studious, cowardly. Jim. Advanced medical bot, lacking social programming. Sturdy. Stowaway, mercenary, reserved.

“Not right now,” Odybrix said, wiping an eye, “but soon!”

“You’re looking a little misty, Ody,” Zenith said.

“I’m not crying,” Odybrix said, crying.

“Do you remember who you are?” Adam asked.

“Yes!”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes! In excruciating detail!” BOB said, brightly.

“How do you feel?” Zenith asked.

“I am incapable of organic emotion, but in a hypothetical situation where I could feel useless emotions, I would be filled with unbridled rage and a searing desire for vengeance! I am going to kill Harlow!”

“I understand the urge,” Zenith said, raising a hand in a placating gesture, “I would ask that you hold off on killing him for the time being.”

“I am going to maim Harlow!”

“That’s fair,” Zenith said.

“Someone is missing!” BOB said, loading archived files. “Buddy! Where is Buddy?”

“She’s in a surgery suite on the other side of the building,” Adam explained. “We can go see her if you’re feeling up to it.”

“She suffered a dissection of her spinal cord after being bitten by a mutant monstrosity!”

“It looks like BOB’s back to normal,” Hoxley said.

“I am going to kill Vaelor!”

“Maybe slightly more murderous,” Hoxley corrected.

“No one’s going to stop you there, BOB,” Zenith said, “though you might have some competition.”

—

Buddy laid face down on a pristine white table. A series of unseen, curved robotic arms hung from above, diligently tending to her exposed spine. The technician attending to her procedure tapped her on the shoulder and whispered some exciting news in her ear. She nodded eagerly, a challenging thing to do with her face nestled into a hole. The technician hit a button and the chatter of familiar voices from beyond an observation window filled the room.

“She’d like to say hi,” the tech said as Buddy waved her arm at the elbow.

Voice muffled by headrest, she said, “Hi guys!”

“Hey Buddy!” Hoxley said.

“Doin’ alright in there?” Odybrix asked.

“Hi Buddy!”

“Is that BOB?” Buddy asked.

“Correct!”

“I’m so glad you’re okay! I wanna give you a big hug, but I’m paralyzed at the moment.”

“I will engage you in a comforting embrace shortly!” BOB said, angling to face the technician. “When will she be fully repaired?”

“The nerve and bone tissue have been printed. They’re just sewing her up now.”

The suspended arms of the medical suite moved with blistering speed and precision. Minute pincers grasped at her skin, pulling the open wound closed as new tissue was printed. A pulsating laser glided across the seam, sealing the incision without a hint of a scar. A device clamping her shoulders released and raised itself into the ceiling.

“Okay, you can get up slowly,” the med tech said.

Buddy nearly jumped off the table to look at her friends. The technician spat out an alarmed jumble of words and quickly handed Buddy a hospital gown. In a few excited strides she was out of the medical suite and in the hallway. She dove at BOB and wrapped them in a big hug. She was unsure if robots could feel hugs, so she squeezed extra hard.

“You look great!” Buddy said, looking the robot up and down. “They even repainted your chassis.”

BOB approached a glass door and inspected the reflection, “Acceptable!”

“You must feel relieved to feel your legs again,” Adam said.

“Yeah,” Buddy said, wiggling her toes. “But it wasn’t so bad. Now I know what a severed spinal cord feels like.”

“I aspire to your level of blitheness,” Hoxley said. “Should we fill them in here or…”

“Back on the ship,” Adam said. “I think she could use a set of clothes.”

“And a beverage!”

—

“So this Gregor guy is meeting with Vaelor in two days?” Buddy asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“Right,” Adam said.

“And he’s going to buy an ancient thingy from him. Like the one we saw and the one that this Kron guy is looking for?”

“More likely to steal than buy, but yes.”

“And the gold mech with the brain inside—the one from Levisia that called me Charlie—it’s here too.”

“Correct.”

“So it sounds like we’re going to need some firepower,” Buddy concluded.

“No kidding,” Odybrix said distractedly, tinkering with a grenade.

BOB entered the hold and exclaimed, “Who would like a premium roast coffee?”

Odybrix slammed the grenade on the table, causing everyone in the hold to flinch. She grabbed her empty mug and shot out of her seat.

BOB’s spigot extended and poured the steaming liquid into the cup. The aroma filled the hold, and, within moments, a line had formed in front of BOB.

“The infernum has explained that he has been acting as your barista in my absence! Please know that I understand the reason for your betrayal and forgive you! The infernum has already offered a substandard apology for his treachery and confirmed that he will cease further attempts to usurp me!”

“I wasn’t trying to usurp anyone.” Hoxley said, exasperated.

“A denial cannot come after a confession!” BOB said. “You are overwhelmed by my near-death experience, and guilt has confused your feeble flesh-mind!”

“I’m not feeling guilty about anything, either.”

“You would have been pleased to see me die then?”

“That’s not what I meant at all!”

“Okay, okay, we’re happy to have you back,” Odybrix said. “And I am personally very sorry for drinking Hoxley’s swill. Let’s let the argument drop. No need to get human resources involved.”

Sturdy shifted on the crate he was leaning against and asked, “You have a human resources rep aboard?”

“It’s a rifle with the initials “HR” etched into the barrel,” Adam said with a sigh.

The comms crackled and Zenith chimed in from the bridge, “On firepower, what are we working with, Ody?.”

“Enough small arms to equip everyone. Of those, only six are energy weapons: two Lendaren plasma rifles, two Z90 laser pistols, a stormshot carbine, and a rinky dink auto-laser. As far as explosives,” she said, snapping up the grenade from the table, “twenty frags, three incendiaries, a couple of flash bangs, and an EMP.”

BOB trilled his disapproval of the latter.

“We’ll be sure not to detonate it anywhere near you, pal.”

“Though I think we will need to detonate it,” Adam said. “It’s likely going to be the only thing that can affect Harlow’s mech, and only briefly. Even if there’s a breach in its faraday cage, most war-mechs have redundant boot up systems combat EMP shocks. It might buy us a few seconds.”

“What about our mech,” Buddy offered, “my second set of legs from Levisia.”

“Gladiator mechs are designed for enforcing order on a populace. It might draw some fire, but if Harlow focuses on it, the GEM will be too slow to defend itself.”

“What does that leave us with?” Hoxley asked.

“We picked up a flamethrower from that derelict ship,” Odybrix said.

“I’ve got my new weird gun,” Buddy volunteered, brightly.

“What the hell is that?” Sturdy asked, stepping forward to inspect the weapon.

“One of those mutant people gave it to me. I like the grip.”

“As in, it made it?” Hoxley asked. “Are you sure it’s a pistol?”

“I haven’t shot it yet, but I’m pretty sure. I could try it out in the armory.”

“No,” Adam said, reflexively, “we don’t know what that is. It could blow up, or irradiate you. And I don’t think we have many rad pills left.”

Jim stepped out of medical and into the hold.

“Enough to continue treating your previous irradiation. Further exposure would require more medical or, more likely, nano-surgical intervention.”

“Heya doc,” Odybrix said, “have you come to tell us you’ve been hiding a stash of high yield explosives in the medicine cabinet?”

“No. I am here to advise that Buddy and BOB have clean bills of health and can take part in away missions.”

“That’s great news,” Buddy said.

“I would have gone anyway!” BOB said.

“Our best bet is the EMP?” Hoxley asked. “So we damage the mech, stun it, then what? We’re not even including Vaelor in this equation.”

“Can’t you just lightning him?” Buddy asked.

“I was planning on staying aboard, honestly,” Hoxley said.

“The hell you are,” Odybrix said.

“We could use the GEM to try and pry open Harlow’s hatch after the EMP stuns him,” Sturdy said. “The pilot will need to wait outside the grenade’s effective radius, then swoop in.”

Adam held a hand to his face in frustration, saying, “It’s too slow for that. The mech will be halfway done rebooting by the time a GEM could get close enough. A few seconds later, that massive beam blade comes online and carves our mech and its pilot in half. Wait a minute.”

Adam hopped out of his seat and tapped at a comms panel, “Ozzy, open a channel to Kron’s ship.”

“Patching you through to the HWS Terror,” Ozzy said.

“Captain val Kron, here. Is that you, Adam?”

“It is. We’re discussing our options for dealing with Vaelor. What does the Grolvar representative intend to do?”

“I was just mulling that over with the crew. We’ve got man-power and artillery, but getting it planetside is going to be a customs issue. If we do manage to come in heavily armed, there’s a good chance we get spotted and Vaelor goes to ground.”

“It’s the inverse problem for us. We’ve got a small team that could probably slip in unnoticed—maybe even draw Vaelor and Harlow into a conversation—but we haven’t got the firepower to take out that super mech.”

“Well, if you’re looking to equalize the battlefield, Grolvar can lend you its strength.”

“What ‘strength’ are we talking about here?”

“We’ve got a few mechs in the armory, but I think the F2200 would be what you need to even the odds.”

Zenith cut in over comms, trying to contain her disbelief and enthusiasm, “You’re just going to give us a military grade air mech?”

“Consider it a loan in good faith. I don’t care who ultimately kills Vaelor, so long as he’s dead and the High Warlord gets her relic back.”

“We’ve still got the same issue of slipping heavy arms through Gemheart customs,” Hoxley said.

“A single mech isn’t going to be a problem,” Odybrix said. “I can pull in one more favour with my old contacts here.”

“Great!” Kron said. “Shady, but great. I’ll have my people add some tracer rounds to the inventory. If for whatever reason you can’t kill Vaelor, tag him with a tracer. The Terror will monitor the operation from orbit. If Vaelor gets aboard a ship, we’ll blast him out of the sky before he breaks atmo.”

“Gemheart authorities won’t be happy about that,” Adam said. “You might be starting an interplanetary dispute with the Starbreaker Empire.”

“That’s what politicians are for,” Kron said with a laugh. “But thanks for your concern. If this goes well, maybe we all meet up for another drink at that bar again.”

“I’d like that. Our AI will coordinate the drop-off after Odybrix gets in touch with her contacts. Stay in touch, Kron.”

“Good luck, Sunrunner crew. HWS Terror out.”

Adam let out a short sigh and said, “Well that’s going to help.”

“Is it?” Hoxley asked. “How much faster is this one compared to the GEM?”

“F2200s are military grade mech-jet combos,” Buddy said distractedly while examining her strange new gun, “they can reach a speed of mach 10 in jet mode, mach 4 when deployed as a mech.”

There was a moment of silence as the crew observed their amnesiac companion.

“What?” Buddy asked.

“Your occasional deluge of knowledge is astonishing,” Hoxley said.

“I just wish it worked for this thing,” she said, frowning at the gun.

“Buddy is correct,” Adam said, picking up the explanation, “it’s fast, has formidable firepower, and can likely hold its own against the super mech. In the short term anyway.”

“If you have a decent pilot,” Sturdy said.

“We do,” Zenith said, over comms. “I’ll go toe to toe with Harlow.

“Are you sure you’re going to be up to that?” Adam asked. “I have pilot training. Buddy might know how to fly it too. You don’t have to put yourself in this position. If things go sideways…”

“Whether he’s captured or killed, I’ll be the one responsible for Harlow.”

—

The diagnostic tool chimed pleasantly, an endorsement that the new mech was ready for battle. It was the fifth diagnostic Zenith ran since the F2200 was delivered. Was it unnecessary? Probably, but if she didn’t do something during the intervening period before the battle, she would go mad. Worse, she might start biting her nails—a habit she kicked a decade ago.

The second the call ended with Kron, she locked the bridge and started running the combat simulator. She had clocked hundreds of hours in mech sims, and a respectable amount of time in actual mechs, but none of them were military grade. Moreover, her experience, sim or otherwise, didn’t include black market rendezvous dogfights atop abandoned hospitals. Oh, and the enemy combatant was her brother—a small wrinkle that didn’t occur in most skirmishes.

She let out a controlled breath, which modulated into a heavy sigh. More than anything she wanted to rip Harlow out of that mech and slap some sense into him—to make him remember who he was: a pilot, a survivor, a son, a brother. The cruel reality was that ejecting him from his metal shell would be nearly impossible. Even if the timing was right, there was no guarantee that the F2200 could pry open the cockpit. She would, in all likelihood, be fighting her brother to the death. A sour smile crossed her face as she thought about how sibling rivalry had, in part, shaped her into a pilot. And now being a pilot would result in the permanent end of that rivalry.

“Are you alright in there?!” A voice called from the back of the mech.

“I’m fine, BOB,” she answered.

“The tone of your voice is registering at thirty-five decibels, a fifteen point difference from normal levels! This indicates you are likely experiencing troubling emotions!”

“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to extract the brooding tone from her voice.

“It can be advantageous for organic beings to divulge their internal monologue to a trusted compatriot! Would you like to unburden yourself of these feelings?!”

“I don- you know what, sure. I’m coming to terms with the possibility that I may have to kill someone I love dearly. Actually, it’s incredibly likely I’m going to have to kill him. And if I’m too slow to make that call, other people I care about are going to die. So yes, my decibels are a little low right now.”

“That is a heavy burden to bear! If it is of consolation, in my experience, you have never been ‘too slow’ at anything!”

“Luck’s gotta run out at some point. How are you feeling?”

“I am not inhibited by the chemically-induced torrent of emotions that plagues organics!”

“You seemed pretty eager for revenge earlier. That’s not very robot of you.”

“That was merely an expression of my desire for self preservation! Such dialogue is for the benefit of non-synthetics!”

“Maybe, but it certainly sounded like you were pissed—rightfully—at my brother.”

“It was not the first instance where I was nearly destroyed, but it was the most pronounced! Regardless, while your brother did bifurcate me, I sincerely wish we are able to capture him without terminal trauma!”

“Thanks, BOB. I really mean it. Thank you.”

“Has our discussion improved your mental well-being?!”

“Yes.”

“Splendid!”

Zenith was silent for a moment, then asked, “Do you log the decibel levels of all of the crew?”

“Yes!”

“Out of curiosity…”

“Odybrix regularly speaks at a range of sixty-five to ninety decibels! Her volume is similar to that of a vacuum or an alarm clock!”

“Perfect,” Zenith said, smiling. “I figured as much.”

A warning pinged and lit up the mech’s display. Flying in from the west were two vehicles, a long black van and a black limo. The scanners of the military grade mech quickly determined the vehicles’ threat levels and flooded the screen with data. Both vehicles were armor-plated with several artillery options hidden within. The limo, curiously, had two engines. Zenith puzzled at the readout before realizing the vehicle could split into two functional pieces—A getaway car.

She marvelled at the mech’s ability to completely understand an enemy within seconds. Military hardware was a cut above what she was used to. The information would be invaluable in a firefight, even if the sheer volume of data the sensors pumped out was somewhat distracting. Is this what you’ve been working with this whole time, brother?

Zenith opened a comm line to the crew who weren’t riding on her back, “Looks like our black market boy is here.”

“Roger. Any sign of Vaelor or Harlow?” Adam asked in a whisper.

“None. And I’m pretty confident that this thing would spot them from miles out. What about inside?”

Adam’s vid feed panned away from the roof door and down a cavernous stairwell. “Empty. I’d be worried about ghosts if we weren’t already fighting monsters.”

It wasn’t uncommon for public service buildings to be abandoned, even hospitals like this one. Planet-scale mining operations often developed in stages, establishing preliminary structures to fortify their claim and building up over time. Gemheart had outgrown the basic infrastructure as its population swelled. This trend would continue until the planet was stripped bare of anything valuable. After that, every building would be like this one, an empty shell in a dead city on a dead planet.

The vehicles came to a hovering stop at the side of the roof. A team of ten dwarves, dressed in black suits and carrying a variety of automatic weapons, spilled out of the van. They swept out, surveying the space around the elevated landing pad. Two of the goons ascended a set of stairs and inspected the elevator at the edge of the pad. One pressed the button to summon the lift, the other, less patient dwarf, produced a crowbar and pried the doors open. He peered inside then tapped his wrist and said something over a private comm channel. To Zenith’s surprise and delight, the mech began displaying a dialogue on the screen.

“Shaft’s clear… cables non-functional. Confirm stairwell.”

Zenith’s chest tightened when a dwarf approached the entry to the rooftop staircase, out of her line of sight. Adam and the crew waited behind the door. If they were found, they’d become embroiled in a firefight with these thugs. Their boss would flee and take any chance of intercepting Vaelor with him.

“You have incoming,” Zenith said over comms, “keep quiet and turn off your torches. He’ll see the light under the door.”

She watched as each vid feed went black, leaving her blind to what was happening. With a sudden bloom of colour, Sturdy and Hoxley’s feeds illuminated the screen with thermal vision. The orange silhouette of the thug swam forward with a hand outstretched for the door. Three rapid bangs echoed through the stairwell as he jerked the handle and rattled the rusted deadbolt on the other side. The silhouette stood in front of the door, unmoving for an uncomfortable length of time, then…

“All clear!”

“Thank the fucking stars they don’t have thermals,” Zenith muttered as the glowing silhouette of Odybrix flipped the dwarf off.

“Another instance of the profound inadequacy of organic forms!” BOB chimed.

“You don’t have thermals either. Wait, someone’s making an appearance.”

A tall figure stepped out of the limo accompanied by ten more thugs. Dressed in a black trench coat and, surprisingly not a dwarf, the black market dealer, Gregor, surveyed the rooftop. With a few slight hand gestures, he commanded the goon squad to set a perimeter on the elevated landing pad. His head swept from side to side, searching. You’re wondering where Vaelor is too.

Zenith eyed the sensor readout, looking for any sign of an approaching mech or transport, but the only little red dots were the people already present. It was possible, even likely, that Harlow’s mech had some degree of stealth adaptation. Given everything the mech could do, being untraceable to long range scans wasn’t a stretch. Zenith begins cycling through visual sweeps of the surrounding city, spotting nothing but distant traffic and a couple of cargo ships flying high above. When the visual returned to the black market dealer she slapped the toggle button, locking the feed.

A corona of black formed several feet away from the dealer, spurring assembled thugs to converge on their employer with guns drawn. A wreath of twisting smoke formed the emanation—a perfect circle. The sinuous black tendrils coiled and undulated as they wormed their way around the circumference. The unsettling movement stuck in Zenith’s mind like a spike. It was similar to something she had seen before.

The gang on the roof stood motionless before the phenomenon until the serpentine motion stopped. Guns and rifles snapped up, ready to pulp whatever emerged with lead and laser. A foot stepped out from the empty space within the circle, then a tall, slender figure emerged, dressed in a robe and wearing a white mask. The frozen halo of black unseized a moment later and vanished in wisps of smoke.

Where is Harlow?

“Quite an entrance,” the man in black said.

The dwarves jolted, sweeping their guns about the roof. Something has spooked them. Zenith thought back to her first encounter with Vaelor and the disturbing intrusion of his voice into her mind. The sensation was a nauseating invasion of privacy, and she was glad not to be a part of the current conversation. Though it meant she would only hear half of what was being said.

“Charming,” Gregor said, holding a hand to his head. “You have what I’ve requested?”

Vaelor produced a small metal cylinder and held it out in his palm.

“Capital,” he said, then snapped his fingers.

One of Gregor’s entourage stowed her pistol, then hefted a container from the van. She set it down beside her boss and opened the lid, revealing a glowing gemstone the size of a fist. A resplendent matrix of violet light shifted within the gem, visible even without the mech’s magnification. Vaelor took a halting step forward. While his mask concealed his face, there was something eager about his body language, something covetous.

“To your liking then? Interesting trinket. My techs ran any number of tests and couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It doesn’t give off any heat, but has a warping effect on the space around it—perhaps that’s why it’s so damned heavy. They believe it could be anything from a battery to a bomb. I don’t suppose you’d let me know what it does?”

The comment made Vaelor’s head twitch, like a fly had just buzzed past his ear. Slowly, with what seemed like great difficulty, his attention broke from the gem and shifted to Gregor. Another indecipherable telepathic exchange ensued causing a wry smile to form on the dealer’s face. Vealor wouldn’t be pulling back the curtain on his plans before showtime.

A knot formed in Zenith’s stomach as Vaelor moved to pick up the gem. Her eye darted to the scanners, which still showed no signs of an enemy mech. If Vaelor could simply vanish through a black portal, the crew had no hope of capturing him. Her hand shot out to the comms button—ready to call for the attack—but froze as one of Gregor’s goons interposed themselves between Vaelor and the gem.

“Just a moment,” the dealer said with an apologetic smile, “Corr needs to verify the authenticity of the data module you’ve provided. You’ll have your gem in a moment.”

Vaelor stood motionless and unreadable. Something about the posture made Zenith imagine a tempest of ire swirling behind his mask. The dwarf seized the cylinder from Vaelor’s hand and placed it on a tablet. The device pulsed with a rhythmic blue glow then flashed rapidly before going dark. The dwarf frowned and Zenith hit the comms button.

“Adam, it’s about to go off. Move on ‘Go.’”

The dwarf shot an incredulous look to Gregor, who in turn scowled at Vaelor. He lifted a hand and every gun on the roof was simultaneously pointed at the masked man.

“I don’t believe you understand who I am or the consequences of crossing me,” Gregor said through a sneer. “Break his legs and throw him in the van. Some lessons are best taught slowly.”

An alarm blared and a red dot rocketed across Zenith’s scanner. An explosion rocked the roof an instant later, ripping two of the thugs to pieces and sending a third hurtling over the edge. Harlow’s mech sped into view, laying down plasma fire that sent most of the thugs running for cover under the launchpad. Zenith hit the throttle on her mech’s thrusters.

“Go!” She screamed. “Hang on, BOB!”

Adam kicked the door open, slamming it into the dwarf on the other side. The team surged into the fray, Sturdy tagging the downed thug in the chest, then quickly following up with a head shot when he realized the enemy wore body armor. Buddy didn’t miss a beat, picking off the two goons that remained on the north side of the roof. Adam strode forward, assessing the battlefield in the span of a heartbeat.

“Sweep left to the steps, we’re taking out Vaelor,” he commanded as Odybrix soared onto the landing in a streak of pink light. “Or don’t bother with the stairs. You do you.”

Shots flashed through the sky; some bullets and lasers ineffectually plinked off Harlow’s mech, and others—most of them—flew well off the mark. Gregor shouted a command in dwarvish that sent one of his minions scurrying for the van. Gregor stared at the masked man with contempt amidst a hail of fire. His hand whipped to his belt and drew a pistol in a smooth, practiced motion. Three high-intensity lasers ripped into Vaelor’s center of mass, causing him to collapse to his knees as Odybrix stormed towards the pair.

“Hey asshole,” she said, causing Gregor to train the pistol on her. “Not you, dumbass. The guy with a plate for a face.”

“Whatever vendetta you have against this weasel has been settled,” he said, lowering the smoking pistol and pointing. “You’re welcome.”

“This is clearly your first time dealing with him.”

Odybrix’ psionic aura flared as she took telekinetic hold of Vaelor’s crumpled form and launched it into the air. With a downward arc of her arm the body slammed onto the landing pad with a crunch. The black market dealer looked at her as one would a deranged lunatic, tightened his grip on the pistol. She raised her arm again, lifting the body skyward.

“I don’t want to tell you your business, but perhaps the mech threatening to kill us all would be a better target for your rage?”

The body was hurled downward for another bone shattering collision but stopped inches from the ground.

“Ah, so you’re the reasonable type.”

“I’m really not,” Odybrix said, straining.

The air around him vibrated like the plucked string of a guitar. Vaelor’s levitating body twitched and spasmed violently before freezing stock-still. Seemingly oblivious to the crushing psionic field wrapped around him, he rose in the air and rotated until he was upright. His head swiveled to Odybrix and a blithe voice slipped into the minds of everyone nearby—all but Hoxley.

“I applaud your tenacity. With the exception of my wayward kin, I expected you all to perish aboard Levisia. Perhaps your perseverance will see you to the end.”

“The end of what?” Adam yelled, appearing with Buddy, Sturdy and Hoxley in tow.

Before he could reply, a dwarf appeared beside Vaelor bearing a spearpoint knife. The blade plunged into Vaelor’s torso, three—four times before the dwarf flinched and froze mid-stab. His eyes frantically darted to Vaelor’s mask, then to the tears in the man’s robe. There was no blood.

“Are you curious about what’s beneath the skin? We could be the same inside.”

The mind-addling dagger, the object that started this ordeal, slipped from beneath Vaelor’s robe. Its form warped and twisted impossibly into itself. The mesmerizing, painful, shape of the thing disappeared into the dwarf’s gut with a swift jab. Whatever had been paralyzing the man ended a sudden convulsion and an agonized scream that tore from his throat.

Zenith watched in horror as the man’s skin rippled, the muscles beneath undulating like snakes trapped under a bedsheet. The horrors Vaelor worked aboard Levisia, the violations, were largely wrought by bursts of light from the alien relic he held. Those unfortunate enough to be struck by that sickly light were irrevocably warped into wretched reflections of themselves. The true horrors though, the savage monstrosities they encountered aboard the derelict ship and the embattled park square, those were born of direct wounds from that dagger. She instinctively hit her mech’s thrusters and charged towards the rooftop fray.

“Stop him!” Adam screamed.

As the crew took aim to gun Vaelor down, Gregor’s goon returned from the van hoisting an RPG over the shoulder. The rocket discharged from the launcher with a loud hiss, speeding towards Harlow. All eyes turned to the projectile soaring through the sky. At the last possible moment, one of the mech’s lateral thrusters flared, pushing it out of the missile’s path. Simultaneously, the mech’s light plasma cannon drew a bead on the thug and fired, punching a basketball-sized hole through the dwarf’s chest.

The mech spun, clocking Adam’s contingent and immediately opened fire. Sturdy flung himself off the landing with Buddy following suit. Adam jumped away from a superheated blast of plasma, narrowly saving his leg from being dismembered, but suffering a terrible burn on his thigh. When the cannon trained on Hoxley he stumbled backwards and fell on his ass. He struggled to his feet as the barrel of the cannon flashed with the killing shot.

The blast tore a chunk out of the roof, sending debris spraying into the air. Hoxley lay on the ground, unharmed, several feet away from the impact. Beside him, despite being left aboard the Sunrunner, was Beast. The dog gripped the fabric of the infernum’s arm, urging him to get up and get to safety.

Gregor wrenched the RPG from the smoking remains of the dwarf and sent another rocket hurtling at Harlow. The mech performed an seemingly effortless roll, dodging the explosive. A split second after missing its mark, the missile stopped in the air. Rather, its propulsion struggled against the psionics holding it in place. Odybrix, having watched Hoxley nearly be reduced to a pile of sizzling nerd, had had enough. She tore the rocket from the sky and slammed it into the back of the mech, lighting up the skyline in a brief burst of fiery amber.

When the glare faded from her eyes she beheld the undamaged mech floating amid a field of dissipating smoke. Its pauldron cracked open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a cluster of fist-sized rockets that protruded like teeth. Time slowed as a bubble of psionic shielding began to take form around Odybrix. Gregor turned on his heels to flee. Adam charged back up the landing pad, bellowing at Odybrix to take cover and firing his weapon ineffectually at the mech. The hot glow of the rockets’ ignition burned within the pauldron, signalling a barrage that would scour the rooftop of life. Half-formed psionic shields and desperate escapes wouldn’t stop the killing fire.

The rockets flew. Their launch, however, was preceded by five-hundred pounds of titanium plated coffee-machine colliding into the mech at high velocity. BOB’s impact hammered Harlow’s mech down onto the rooftop, sending the rockets spiraling off course. Denotations ripped chucks off the building. An off-target explosion shattered Odybrix’ shield, sending her sprawling to the ground. Another caused Gregor to fly off the landing pad with a heavy thud, knocking him unconscious.

The mech rose, holding BOB upside down by the leg. A compartment opened in the wrist of its free arm and a thick cylinder shot into its hand. The beam blade ignited with a terrible ripping sound, followed by the crackle of barely contained energy. The blade drew back, ready to cleave the bot in half for a second time. At the last second, the falling arm was jerked to a halt. A chain of segmented blades wrapped around its wrist and pulled the mech back. Zenith charged into Harlow and delivered a reverberating punch to his mech’s chest that knocked it to the ground and freed BOB.

She slammed her F2200’s thrusters and took to the sky with Harlow in tow. Reversing the directions of her lateral thrusters, she spun with a dizzying speed that whipped her brother around in a powerful centrifuge. Before Harlow could wrest control away with his own thrusters, Zenith hit the release on her chain sword, sending him crashing through one side of a derelict building and out the other. The F2200’s gatling gun whirred to life, pelting Harlow’s mech as she pursued.

“Focus on Vaelor,” Zenith commanded over comms. “Harlow’s mine.”

—

Buddy scaled the scaffolding and rolled onto the pad. The rapid chatter of rifle fire rang out as Adam’s weapon punched holes in Vaelor’s body. There was no flash of a personal shield generator, no crimson spray of blood, no dramatic collapse to the ground; the masked man withstood bullets and lasers like they had all the inconvenience of a mild rain. The dwarf at the end of Vaelor’s dagger, or what remained of them, choked out a wet scream that devolved into a rumbling groan.

A bulge formed in his throat, distending until the bones in his neck succumbed to the pressure and popped like distant fireworks. His back arched at an excruciating angle. Ribs flared out from his midsection, creating an impossible plateau with his abdomen. The merciless tension released in a spray of gore that spilled onto the ground in a twisting, pulsing mass.

Buddy had seen enough. Her pistol rose and she squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. The kill shots came easily. Two to the centre mass—doing nothing but burn holes in his clothes—the last to the head.

The laser struck Vaelor’s mask, cracking off a chunk that covered an eye and his forehead. The hit staggered him and the knife slipped from his hand and disappeared into the burgeoning monstrosity with a slick sucking sound. Behind the thin split in Vaelor’s mask something dark coiled and slid against itself. The two pieces closed with the scrape of porcelain, held together by whatever lurked behind the mask. The cracked and blank white surface, despite bearing no features, exuded malice.

Vaelor raised a gloved hand and pointed at Buddy. Tiny sparks danced across his arm, coalescing around an accusatory finger that marked her for death. Lightning cracked, a boom that rang out over the tumult of rattling guns and monstrous bellows. The flash was bright enough to blind any and all witnessing the execution.

Buddy’s sight returned and she scanned her body, expecting the last thing she would ever see to be a blackened hole through her chest. Instead, Hoxley stood at her side, arm outstretched just as Vaelor’s had been. She followed his smoking finger to a charred divot in the masked man’s chest. He staggered forward and dropped to one knee, clutching the wound.

“You’re not the only one with tricks,” Hoxley said, uncharacteristic wroth lining his face. “I’m certain you weren’t always the wretched thing that’s fucked up our lives. In fact, I’ll bet you were like me. But the difference is that I’m not going to give in to it. I’m not your brother and I never will be.”

Hoxley raised his hand again, scowling, “I’ll be the one who kills you.”

Lightning danced across Hoxley’s fingers as he aimed a killing blow at Vaelor. Buddy turned away, expecting another blinding flash. A bright light bloomed over her closed eyelids and faded just as quickly. When she opened her eyes again, Vaelor was standing, holding an erratic ball of electricity in his hand.

“He caught it,” she said in disbelief.

“Oh fuck,” Hoxley said as Buddy tackled him to the ground, dodging the bolt by milliseconds.

A guttural voice swept across the rooftop, like a dozen drowning voices choking out their last words. It overlapped with the painful psychic intonations that bore into the minds of everyone but Hoxley.

“You cannot begin to comprehend what you are—what you could be. You had a chance to take your own first steps through the door. Instead, you’ll be dragged kicking and screaming. Let pain be your lesson. Let torment be the instructor.”

Vaelor strode to the box Gregor had brought and it sprang into his arm from the ground. He reached towards the monster and the knife shot out of its mass in a spray of ichor. The relic flew into his hand and he muttered something incomprehensible. A stomach churning sensation crashed over the crew as a twisting black portal appeared behind him. Seeing their quarry escaping, Adam drew a pistol from his belt. A solitary shot tagged Vaelor with a tracer round as he gave the final command and disappeared into the miasma, “Kill him last.”

As if the words were the last piece of a puzzle, the burgeoning hulk of flesh and bone stopped its frenetic growth. A wave of heat and visceral stench rolled out from the gory mass. Adam, Sturdy, Odybrix, and BOB raced to the side of Buddy and Hoxley. The assembled crew stood silent as the monstrosity unfolded to a height of fifteen feet.

Lines of taut, skinless muscle glistened across its body. Peering out at random intervals from the striations were eyes that bled tears. Blades of bone tore through the joints of its seven limbs, sharp as obsidian. Its ribs, or what passed for them, protruded from its abdomen like claws. The grotesque visage culminated in a bulbous, eyeless head, which was more mouth than skull.

“Got anymore lightning?” Buddy asked Hoxley.

—

Zenith spared a glance at the horror emerging on the roof, and another at the tactical scan of Harlow’s mech—unharmed, save for minor damage to a lateral thruster. As if punishing her for looking away, Harlow appeared in a blink. Rays of energy flew from the mech’s plasma cannon, and Zenith plunged her F2200 down into the towering cityscape. This section of town was abandoned, but it would only take moments to fly into a populated area. Any stray shot could be an execution for an oblivious bystander.

She hugged the buildings, making jarring, break-neck turns around the corners. Glass shattered behind the mech, leaving a plummeting trail of glittering shards. Harlow’s pursuit was relentless, but the super mech’s power and durability came at the cost of maneuverability, if not a little speed. Zenith was putting distance between them, inch by inch.

A memory flickered somewhere in the back of her mind, one from a time when things were better between them. They’d run around the apartment, or ship, or wherever their parents dragged them and try to catch each other. Harlow was bigger, faster, and more aggressive. She was more agile—Harlow would call it slippery—and more cunning. Whenever he got too close, she ducked away from his arms and fled into the nearest room. Sometimes she’d hide, other times she’d have a surprise waiting.

When the gap between them had grown enough, she rounded a corner and rolled to face backwards. The gatling gun spat out a hundred rounds directly into the body of the opposing mech as it emerged—enough to tear a new window into a gunship. Thoughts of just one of those rounds blasting a hole through her brother were drowned by a growing wave of adrenaline. She needn’t have spared the effort to worry; the bullets did little more than scratch the armour.

Harlow responded in a way that punctuated the memory bubbling up from her subconscious. When Zenith had jumped out to scare him as children, he’d often grab his chest and fall to the ground like he’d had a heart attack. His mech did something similar and dropped away from the barrage of bullets like it had been shot out of the sky. A sudden thrust stabilized the mech and it let loose a salvo of plasma—her reward for the failed maneuver.

Unlike Harlow’s mech, the F2200 would not abide many, if any, hits from heavy artillery. It was meant for speed. She barrel rolled away from the attack as explosions of light and glass boomed nearby. The thrusters roared with effort as the F220 once again began to pull away from its pursuer.

She couldn’t keep engaging in lopsided skirmishes. As good as she was, a mistake would eventually creep into her piloting and it would be the end of her. Harlow’s mech had withstood explosions and gatling fire, but there was still room to prod for weaknesses. If it couldn’t be disabled, maybe it could be slowed.

The mechs tore across the faces of skyscrapers in a blistering pursuit. They cut sharp turns and weaved through the towering battlescape until they returned to the derelict hospital. Zenith surged toward the building, tucking the mech’s limbs in. Windows exploded inward as the F2200 ploughed through walls and abandoned equipment.

Harlow slowed at the demolished threshold, then flew in after her. Her brother wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, but there were still plenty left to try. The mech’s sensors would be able to track targets through walls, which would have been a problem if she were trying to hide. The walls would also do little to hinder their guns, but she didn’t plan on shooting him.

A hot streak of plasma ripped through the hall and caused a nearby door to burst into pieces. A second nearly clipped the F2200’s arm, but Zenith dodged with a quick pulse from a lateral thruster. She returned fire, unconcerned about whether the rounds hit their mark. The goal was to keep him engaged.

She navigated through the ruined interior, drawing Harlow deeper into the chaos of crumbling walls, and fallen supply vents. The accuracy of the plasma cannon fell off with the increasing debris, shots flying wider with the accumulated destruction. Fast as it was, the mech had a bulkier frame; the claustrophobic battlefield slowed it down.

Zenith weaved into halls and ducked into rooms, only to explode through a wall and escape when Harlow seemingly had her cornered. The mech levitated with thruster bursts when there was space, but increasingly it ran on foot. When the disarray within the ward reached a satisfactory level she led Harlow to the epicenter of the chaos. Then she made her move.

Harlow tore through the clutter, hellbent on destruction and undoubtedly certain that he was the predator in this fight for survival. Tunnel vision—he’d call it focus—had always been his weakness. Zenith unleashed a spray of bullets that shredded their surroundings. Under the cover of a cloud of dust she circled Harlow and pounced at his back. The mech’s chain sword unspooled and snapped into a solid, deadly blade which she drove into his thrusters—striking at the juncture where they met the mech’s body. Electricity flickered from the point of impact in rapid, agitated bursts.

The mech moved as if it was responding to pain, reflexively flipping upside down and kicking the F2200 with a roundhouse that would have split a person in half. The blow hit with so much force that the F2200 was driven through the crumbling floor. A warning blared as Zenith landed on the next level in a heap. The mech’s armor integrity was failing, but not breached. Another hit would crack it open like a crab shell.

Something flashed above and Zenith instinctively gunned the thrusters, sliding the prone mech along the rubble-strewn floor. A gleaming arc of energy struck the space she had just occupied, tearing a hole in the floor. The colossal beam blade crackled amidst the billowing dust like lightning flashing in a thunderhead. Zenith scrambled to get the mech upright as Harlow charged.

The blade cleaved a path of destruction. The first two swings sliced a nursing station to pieces, nearly dismembering one of the F2200’s arms. Zenith retracted the chain sword, knowing that close combat had become a suicidal option. She let loose another barrage of ineffective bullets and sped away from her brother. The F2200 crashed through a window and flew into the night. The super mech followed behind, marginally slower. A minor win at the cost of nearly dying.

A crackle and buzz issued from the comms. Adam bellowed to be heard over the din of rifles, pistols, and roars, “We could really use some help ZT!”

“So could I!”

—

A craterous impact shook the roof, sending the crew staggering. The monstrosity swung its hulking fore limbs with murderous intent fueling every blow. At the end of one arm was a bulbous stump with five tiny misshapen nubs satelliting the ossified mass—hints of what once were fingers. It swung the mutated appendage like a giant sledgehammer.

An envelope of psionic energy wrapped around Hoxley and jerked him away at the waist, narrowly avoiding a pulverizing strike. Beast barked and snarled at the monstrosity earning a moment of its ire. An errant swat missed the nimble dog and exposed the creature’s back. Odybrix, never one to miss a cheap shot, flung a psionic blast at the back of its head.

Thin slits of tissue twitched and peeled open, exposing cloudy red eyes. The creature threw up a shoulder and the expectant skull-cracking impact of the blast was absorbed by its twisted flesh. It turned slowly, menacingly, and crouched like a stalking predator. If she had blinked, she’d be dead. Instead, she managed to fling a psionic wall between them and collapsed it around the thing’s torso like a straight jacket. The creature roared and raged against its restraints, pushing forward to maim its captor. Each halting step it took sent a body-shaking jolt through her as she strained to hold it.

Adam’s rifle collapsed and affixed itself to his magnetic bandolier with a click. As part of the same motion, a shotgun slid into his hand and unfolded with a snap. He strode towards the thing, ignoring the anguished protest of his burned leg and pumped two shots into its hideous eyes. Where the tough flesh had absorbed the impact of the rifle rounds, the stopping power of the shotgun stalled its murderous advance on Odybrix. Or at least it had appeared that way for the briefest instant.

An ear-splitting roar tore from its throat, and it shifted its barely contained rage at Adam. It’s stopped trying to kill Ody. That’s a win. Me dying is not ideal. Adam retreated a step, firing two more shots. One clipped the band of psionic energy wrapping the monster; Odybrix shouted a series of expletives as the energy flickered. Firing at the body isn’t getting us anywhere. Another wave of pain spread from his leg, and he had an idea.

“Odybrix can’t hold that thing forever!“ Adam called out to the crew.

“Fuck you I can’t,” She yelled.

“Focus fire on its left leg. Hobble it!” Adam shouted.

A spray of bullets and lasers zipped across the roof, most finding the mark. The barrage riddled the monster’s leg, tearing chunks of flesh away. Something long and pale gleamed inside the wound. If it were any other lifeform, Adam would have assumed it was a bone. He sighted the anomaly and pulled the trigger. Osseous shards splattered to the ground and the limb buckled with a horrid crunch.

The psionic restraint dispersed and Odybrix fell to her hands and knees in tandem with the creature. She was pushing her psionic implant to its limits, or rather, to her body’s. Jim had warned her of a slew of side effects that came with psionic overuse. The final item on the doctor’s list was the most dire, intracranial hemorrhage.

“Now the head!”

Sturdy and Buddy rallied to Adam’s side, peppering the beast as they ran. BoB tromped over to Odybrix and stood over her defensively. The shotgun barked and the execution commenced. Lasers and slugs relentlessly struck the thick hide around the head. Flesh ripped in ichorous lines and divots, revealing the hard bone underneath. With a defiant bellow the monster rose, its functional leg bearing the weight. Adam let one hand slip to the grenades on his belt, the other still firing and wrestling with the recoil. The frag trilled a melodic warning as it armed, then sailed through the air.

“Hit the deck!” Adam cried.

The explosion toppled their foe, sending it sprawling on its back with a roof-shaking thud. A distant sound came from Adam’s periphery. Buddy’s muddled voice trickled through as the ringing in his ears faded. He couldn’t make out the words, but the expression—and excited hand gestures—indicated relief. Adam turned to Sturdy and caught him rounding the fallen behemoth at a distance. The burgeoning hope that this skirmish had ended when the mercenary jumped backward and raised his pistol.

The mangled leg spasmed, and the remaining muscle tissue flexed and snapped the limb into a crooked, but functional position. Without pausing to test if the leg could bear its weight, the beast sprang up and swung at Sturdy with an errant swing of its arm. He raised his arms in defense just as the blow connected and sent him flying off the raised helipad. In a blink, the creature closed the distance between itself and Adam. Buddy had the good sense and superior agility to jump over the edge of the pad; Adam instinctively retreated a step and fired another blast into the thing’s battered limb, aiming to re-cripple it—a mistake.

In a blink he was swept up by a claw and held aloft into the air. The unshakeable grip pinned his arms to his torso, threatening to pop his bones from their joints and then crush them into bloody shards. His hand struggled for his belt, reaching for the collection of explosives that rested there. If he was going to have his spine snapped by this thing, the least he could do was return the favour by blowing its hand apart. Only, the reality of his death was much worse than he expected. A glistening maw opened beneath him, lined with a spiraling array of teeth that plunged deep into the monster’s throat. With all the mercy of a gull devouring a herring, Adam was swallowed by darkness.

—

“Motherfucker!” Odybrix screamed, emphasizing the end of the word.

The halfling staggered toward the towering monstrosity. Her bloodshot eyes gave the anger behind them an infernal quality, like some wrathful demon born into the universe to exact a violent and unending retribution. The psionic aura flared to life once again, holding the creature in place. Not good enough. The telekinetic grasp tightened like a vice, exerting a pressure on the monster that would have turned any normal animal to pulp. It squirmed in her grasp like a struggling rat, squealing its rage and pain. If she were in her right mind she’d have acknowledged her own pain; a blaring klaxon sounding inside her head, announcing the inevitable rupture of her brain matter.

Hoxley appeared in her reddening periphery, raising his arm to fling another bolt of lightning. I’ve got this, idiot. Odybrix felt her lips part to speak the words, but didn’t hear herself speak them. There was a flash of black and Sturdy was beside Hoxley.

“You hit it with lightning, and you might hit Adam too.”

“Well, what are we supposed to hit it with? Nothing works! And she’s barely holding on.”

A finger flew at Odybrix and two choice words for Hoxley bounced around in the back of her searing head. She had this thing. Just a little more pressure and she would rip its head from its shoulders. Just a little more. Time blipped again and Buddy joined the boys at the darkening edge of her vision.

“Incendiaries? Fire worked on the one in Levisia?”

“That and a chain gun,” Sturdy said, scowling, “This thing is bigger, and we don’t have the mech’s firepower.”

We don’t need a mech. I’ve got this. It’s nearly dead. Her thoughts came to her like whispers across a lake. Her pounding chest and searing skull were distant sensations. Somewhere beyond the monstrous tableau of contorting flesh before her, Buddy spoke.

“What about this?”

“The monster-gun?” Hoxley said, voice pitched to a comical octave.

“That could blow off your hand! Or all of you! And us!”

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

A stifled yelp and the sound of retreating footsteps. A rough silhouette interposing itself between Odybrix and the thing that ate her friend. The silhouette raised an arm and the world blinked, not to black this time, but in a burst of radiant purple. Beyond the ruined mass of the thing’s head, she saw something red, bloody, and twitching. She let her psionic grip slide off the creature and onto the hand protruding from a gaping hole in its throat. A melodic trill accompanied Adam as he spilled onto the ground, then everything went black.

—

Alarms chimed against the mechanical din of the mech’s exertion. The metal cage, or perhaps soon, metal casket, was painted in strobing lights of chimney red and bonfire orange. Amidst the chaos, while Zenith fled her hamstrung brother, her eyes took in the vid feeds of her crew in brief glimpses. The situation unfolded in brief spurts of attention as she barreled toward it.

Little white flashes peppered the screen as the guns popped. A hulking mutant unfolded on a rooftop, like something out of the horror movies she and her mom used to watch. They hurled lead and plasma at it, like rice thrown at a wedding—and no more effective. Ody—stupid, bull-headed, fucking Ody—held the thing down with a psionic net. Then a hail of gunfire. A collapse.

Zenith fought the urge to get drawn into the terror that unfolded on her screen. If she slipped up, made a single unforced error, a beam blade could come tearing through her protective steel box and cut her in half. Yet, she couldn’t look away as she watched the scene through Adam’s feed. A rushing wall of death. A threshing pit of teeth. Darkness.

“No…”

Then he was back again. Through some miracle or otherworldly curse, the monster’s face was torn off and Adam was pulled out. His body fell to the ground with a wet thump, but he gave no time to the suggestion that he might be dead. He sprung to his feet, unsteady. His lacerated and burned visage cast about the crew like a man who had clawed his way out of the underworld. His mouth opened as if to let out a banshee’s wail, but instead screamed, “Get down!”

The creature’s torso burst open like a watermelon struck by a sledgehammer. The crew hit the deck as chunks of gore and shards of bone shot out like shrapnel. Hoxley fell to the ground with a scream, and Zenith had the sudden fear that a bone fragment had struck him in some vital spot. His dog was at his side in a blink. A moment later, he rolled over next to Adam, clutching his ankle, which was evidently twisted.

“You have no idea how much this hurts,” he said with an agonized grimace.

Adam—beaten, burned, and partially digested—stared at him wearily.

Despite the noise reverberating through the mech’s interior, she could feel the silence that swept over the rooftop. This portion of the fight had ended. She crested the roofline of the surrounding buildings, leaving their labyrinthine safety to meet her friends. Her attention shifted from the smaller displays, as the mech approached the battlefield.

“What’s the sitrep?” Zenith asked.

Sturdy answered, “We’re intact, mostly. Odybrix is down.”

“I didn’t know you spoke military,” Adam said with a groan.

“I didn’t know what being swallowed looked like till I looked at your screen.” Zenith replied.

“Yeah, after that I might have to take doc Jim up on his offer for therapy.”

“How’s Ody, BOB?” Zenith asked.

“Unconscious and bleeding moderately from various orifices!”

“We need to get her back to the ship,” Adam said, mustering resolve despite his injuries.

“We should take him while we’re at it,” Sturdy said, pointing to the unconscious black-market dealer splayed on the ground. “Pump him for information about Vaelor.”

BOB began trundling over to the limp man to investigate when a rapid sequence of events unfolded. The flaming mass of organic wreckage twitched, then sprang up on broken limbs. An arm like a wrecking ball swung down at BOB in a deadly arc. Sturdy was at the bot’s side, somehow noticing the monstrosity’s revival before anyone else. He threw himself at the titanium-lined bulk of BOB and managed to knock both of them out of the path of destruction.

The blow caved in a section of roof. Before it could take another swing Zenith pounded the monstrosity with chain gun rounds. The heavy ordnance cut through its flesh like a sewing machine. The barrage sent the thing staggering toward the edge of the roof. With blast from the mech’s thrusters, Zenith collided into its side and sent it flying into the open air.

She watched as it hurtled downward. Fiery wisps on its body were whipped into submission by the rushing wind. Its arms reached out to the glassy surface of the hospital, but it was too far. The body grew smaller in its terminal race away from the roof, then, like an egg hitting the floor, broke apart.

Zenith, and presumably those watching through her feed, regarding the splattered remains with a cautious optimism. Certainly, the disassembled hunks of flesh meant death. Nothing could come back from that. It couldn’t, right? The quiet contemplation came apart like a snapped twig with a warning from Buddy.

“Look out!”

The ineffective snap of a laser slipped off Harlow’s mech as Buddy shouted the warning. A jarring kick swept the legs out from the F2200. Before Zenith even hit the ground, Harlow grabbed her mech’s shoulder and slammed it on its back. She rolled the mech to its knees, but consciously interrupted the maneuver. The massive beam blade was already out and looming over her head. The moment she engaged the thrusters, it would fall upon her mech and cleave it in two.

Sparse options presented themselves to the problem. She could dodge laterally, get her mech cut off at the legs—probably not die immediately. She could lunge at him, maybe get under the blade—then get outmuscled by the superior strength of the super mech. She could attempt to swipe at the hand, knock the blade away—maybe the best option. To her side, Buddy raised a smoking pistol, the alien device that blew a hole through Vaelor’s monstrosity. Zenith thought she might be hesitating to shoot Harlow, but the subtle jerk of her arm suggested she was pulling the trigger. Broken.

Zenith took a steadying breath, cursed herself, then opted for the most dangerous option. The F2200 let out a mechanical hiss and Harlow’s mech twitched, its blade shaking like a loose guillotine. The hatch lifted, exposing her fragile mortal body to the war machine in front of her.

There was always something interposing itself between her and her brother: career paths, pilot’s rivalry, their father and what to do about him, mechs, guns, choices. The adrenaline spilled out of her body as she tried to take in the breadth of him. History unspooled itself and let her see past the rough edges of their relationship. Through the anger and estrangement, despite the distance of their divergent paths, this was still her brother. Her overbearing, overprotective brother with the mussy hair and stupid laugh. Zenith stepped onto the lip of the cockpit and took off her helmet.

“Well, looks like you beat me for once,” she said, affecting the sibling exasperation of their youth.

The rooftop, only moments ago the site of a violent uproar, was silent save for the crackle of barely constrained plasma. The mech was motionless, locked in the menacing moment of a killing swing. There was no telling what emotions, if any, tugged at her brother behind the steel mask. She pressed on under the glow of the blade.

“I mean, it took a military prototype and mutant abomination running interference, but in the end, all anybody sees is the ‘W.’” It was something their mother often said, the meaning of which landed on her children in a variety of ways. Most of the time, Zenith took it as comfort, no one is going to remember your failures, just your success. In other, darker moments, it was chastisement, you’re only relevant if you’re winning. Her mother would never wish to inflict that pressure on her children, but it hadn’t stopped them from inflicting it upon themselves. The words drew her brother out of his destructive fury.

“I told you to stay away,” he said, broadcasting over the mech’s speakers. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t. You didn’t listen. Why do you never listen?” His voice was strained, quavering with frustration and anger. Beyond the agitation was something else. It was like he was struggling.

“This family moves too fast to listen effectively,” she said, repeating another of her mother’s sayings. “No one would ever accuse us of being good communicators, or of possessing any kind of emotional intelligence. Maybe that’s bad parenting, maybe it’s genetics, but it isn’t everything.”

The mech was motionless, concealing whatever emotions might have flashed across his face. If her brother was wrestling with something, she wanted to help him win. In her periphery, the crew lowered their weapons, following her lead. She pressed on.

“Whatever we do, wherever we go, we’re family. I will always come to help you. Just like I know you’d come for us.”

Harlow scoffed. “Really? You’d say that now? After years of arguments, screaming, and dropped calls? Where were you when I needed you? You and mom were never on my side. I pleaded with you both to hear me out, to bring him in. You wouldn’t listen. You never listen.”

The struggle in his voice was gone, replaced with a bitterness that came with a decade’s old feud. Her father, or rather, his actions, had left a wound on their family that only festered with time. He was a criminal—not the violent kind, but he had a mountain of notoriety—and his crime had thrown their lives into chaos. How they picked up after his wreckage was the ongoing source strife between them all.

“You told me that he needed to atone for what he did. That going to prison was the only way to start making amends for the damage he did. To us, to the corp. You said that was the justice needed for his betrayal.”

“Yes, it still is,” he replied, coldly.

“You never said what his betrayal was.”

At this the mech’s hatch hissed open, revealing Harlow’s exasperated face. “His crime, Zenith! Embezzlement. A permanent stain on our family name that went on to colour everything we would ever do. Mom’s racing, my career.”

“I’ve thought about this a lot—you, not him. When we were kids, you were always so proud of mom and dad. You’d jump at the opportunity to tell your teachers, friends, and anyone who would listen that your mom was the best racer in the galaxy and that your dad was one of the most successful businessmen in history. You knew who your heroes were. Dad told you that hard work was all you needed to get what you wanted. So, you worked hard. Harder than any of us. And while your star was rising, his secret came out from out of the darkness and knocked you out of the sky. The crime wasn’t the betrayal, it was him not living up to what we believed him to be.”

Harlow’s hard stare began to waver as Zenith finished saying what she should have years ago.

“And no, I don’t believe you want him imprisoned out of some high-minded sense of justice. I think you want him to do what’s right—to be the man you thought he was. Because you believe he still can be, and because you love him. Because we’re family.”

The anger in his expression sagged as the words struck. Zenith blinked away the tears at the edges of her eyes. His mouth opened to say something before twisting into a snarl. He winced and grabbed his head, body shaking violently. Nearly as soon as it began, the spasm stopped. He dropped his hands and looked at her cooly. Vaelor has done something to him.

“A warning was given and went unheeded,” he said, sounding eerily unlike himself. The mech’s arm twitched as he grabbed the controls. “What do you have to say to that?”

“BOB,” she said.

“What?”

From behind Adam came a gentle snap. BOB’s manipulator arm sprang out of its compartment, holding a grenade. The arm cocked back with a quick, mechanical jerk, and loosed the EMP in a lazy arc. Harlow’s eyes registered the projectile in the air, then snapped to Zenith as she pulled the helmet over her head. His hand shot toward the hatch control—too late. In a flash of white and purple, the electromagnetic wave washed over the mechs, frying their systems. Harlow rose to his feet, squinting. Through the afterimage of the blast, a shadow swelled in his vision. He recognized the silhouette of his sister just as her fist connected with his head, sending him into a world black.

—

Darkness, or so the analysis of petabytes of media suggested, had many qualities. It could be a terminal signal, marking the end of day; it could soak susceptible mammalian brains with cortisol and adrenaline, stoking feelings of impending dread; it could be loud or quiet, or, paradoxical both; it could permeate spaces and thoughts. Perhaps the most adequate description of how BOB was experiencing the present darkness was like a coffin—nailed shut, thrown in a hole, and buried. If BOB possessed a squishy mammalian brain, that description might be off-putting. BOB was a machine. An orderly arrangement of rare minerals jolted into consciousness with electricity. They were untouched by the organic hindrances like anxiety or fear.

So it was with no trepidation that BOB armed the EMP grenade and threw it. BOB felt no fear as they hastily tucked their legs into the bulk of their frame and retracted the various bits that allowed them to perceive the universe. BOB certainly did not feel like they were cowering behind the makeshift faraday cage Hoxley and Odybrix had installed. BOB was beyond such feelings!

So when, in the absolute darkness and silence of themselves, BOB marked off the time at which the EMP was to crash over them, they were certain that it was safe to come out. Conversely, waiting seemed prudent. After all, the internal timer of the grenade could have suffered a fatal error. BOB had only performed twelve quality control checks on the device before equipping it. What if, in the two hours, twenty-six minutes and eleven seconds before BOB brought it into themself, someone had tampered with it. Buddy could have clumsily bumped into it, or Hoxley’s dog could have perceived it as a toy. BOB should have taken the grenade into themselves the moment they completed the last quality control check.

The thought of walking around with an undetonated wave of circuit-scouring electromagnetic energy made BOB’s motherboard shiver. No, they did not wish to have it inside them any longer than was necessary, despite insisting they be the one who handled it. And, yes, waiting a bit longer seemed prudent. BOB gave it another 6.394 seconds before cautiously peeking out of themself.

BOB’s anterior lens extended and focused. Zenith was hauling her limp sibling from the war machine with Adam’s assistance. Buddy was administering aid to Odybrix, who was presently offline. Sturdy was binding the wrists of the black-market dealer. Hoxley was…

A dog barked. BOB ran an analysis of five-hundred and thirty-two media files which included barking dogs. The comparative data suggested the animal was distressed. BOB turned toward the sound and could see why.

A mech stood at the edge of the roof. Its heavy armour gleamed gold in the light of the city. Missile racks hung from its shoulders, deployed and ready to shoot. A light plasma cannon hummed on one arm, and, in the other, was Hoxley. The infernum dangled from the steel grip of the machine, legs kicking helplessly in the air.

“Pardon. Do forgive the intrusion, but I’m afraid we have some business with each other.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Sixteen

February 27th, 2025

The display lit up with a soft buzz, framing the twinkling sphere of Gemheart. Points of light bloomed uniformly across the planet’s slate-coloured surface, marking the land like a patient awaiting surgery. To say the Starbreaker Empire was thorough would be an insult that paid no respect to the soon-to-be-dead planet. Within the next fifty to one hundred years, every precious mineral, gemstone, and natural gas would be gutted from the stone and dirt and sent back home to Brightstone.

That inevitable obsolescence could sour the minds and spirits of many people, but the inhabitants of Gemheart took it as license for a generational bender. Spotlights cut aimlessly through the sky, luring would be revelers to the site of the latest blowout. Young dwarves eager to brandish their new wealth hosted parties where the booze, drugs, and music were free and plentiful. Closer to Brightstone, the excess might be frowned upon, but distance from home was the death of restraint.

Speaking of people without restraint… Zenith keyed a passcode into her terminal and opened a channel only two other people knew of. She didn’t expect an answer, not for weeks anyway, but that was the nature of their relationship. She took a breath, then hit record.

“Hey dad. Long time no talk. I’m not sure what corner of the galaxy you’ve hidden yourself in, but it would be nice to get your help with a few things. First, Harlow. He’s left the Materia military and joined up with a psycho named Vaelor. That will be hitting your news feed in the next few weeks. You’re probably wondering why I’m asking for help with Harlow, given that he hates you, well-”

Zenith sighed, “Ozzy, edit out that last bit.”

“Done.”

“Harlow has his issues with you, but that’s why I want you to talk to him. If anyone can put him back in his usual frame of mind, it’s you. Second, I need some money for medical bills. Don’t worry, it’s not for me. A couple of my friends were badly hurt aboard Levisia. I know what you’re going to say, ‘Money stays within the family,’ but I need these people. With you, mom and Harlow so far apart, this crew is the closest thing I have to family. I hope you can meet them one day. Talk soon, dad.”

“Is that the end, ZT?”

“Yeah, attach my deposit info and send. How’s our docking order going?”

“It’ll be another hour before there’s a space for us.”

“Should have told them our hold was full of whiskey and opioids.”

“They tend to prefer stimulants over downers,” Odybrix said, walking onto the bridge. “Fractal and Drift are the popular ones these days.”

“Have you come here to add new entries to the AIs’ databases, or is there something I can help you with,” Zenith said, not turning from her control panel.

“No, just letting you know that I’ve lined up a clinic for BOB and Buddy.”

“You have?” Zenith asked, spinning in her chair to face the halfling, “With what money? We’re broke. Wait, do I want to know?”

“Blue Wings often have chapters in places like this,” she said, hand drifting up to rub the tattoo on her shoulder. “We’re going to owe them a favour.”

“Ugh.”

“I know.”

“The last favour we did for them ended with us fleeing three gunships on foot. The time before that, we were nearly obliterated by a planetary defense system.”

“Yeah, but we got two decent crew mates and the Sunrunner out of those. The favour won’t be any worse than what we’re already doing.”

“You hope.”

“Hope is for the delusional and ignorant. I’m reasonably certain mutants and giant death rays are as bad as it gets.”

Zenith raised a hand, “Please stop inviting the universe to prove you wrong.”

“You’re right. It could always get worse.” Odybrix paused for a moment, then said, “About your brother…”

“It’s fine. I know what you’re like when you go without coffee, or whiskey, or a fight. Any vice, really.”

“Yeah.”

An alert trilled from the cockpit and Ozzy appeared on Zenith’s monitor.

“We’ve got a message coming in,” the AI said.

“I take it that’s not our docking order,” Zenith said, punching in a command to locate the sender. “No one should know we’re here.”

“Remington?” Odybrix asked, cracking her knuckles.

“No way. They couldn’t have known where we were going. The message is coming from a carrack class ship in parallel orbit.”

“I’ll raise shields,” Ozzy said

“Wait,” Zenith said, tapping her terminal, “the message is encrypted. Huh.”

“Well don’t leave us in fucking suspense,” Odybrix said.

Zenith opened a new comms channel. “Adam, I think your new friend wants to talk.”

—

Lights crowded the either side of the street, reflecting rich colours off the wet pavement. The click of the crew’s boots was muffled under the din of raucous workers coming off their shifts and music booming from every other building. The mortal tableau they strode through was almost algorithmic. In the span of seconds, any of the following events occurred: hearty laugh, swig of whiskey, string of expletives, punch in the face, projectile vomit.

Adam was out of his depth in places like this. Members of his RC security detail would occasionally invite him out to blow off steam. He’d accept the offers out of a sense of professional obligation, but proceed to spend the night more on edge than if he were in a firefight. His preferred remedies for the mental and physical rigors of his occupation were, well, additional physical rigors—nothing beat exercise as a stress reliever. Now, light years away from the life he knew, and pursued by the people he once called allies, he felt that awkward social pressure once again.

“I can’t help but observe how we are once again going into a seedy bar to speak with a guy we hardly know about a clandestine operation,” Odybrix said to no one in particular.

After a moment of uncomfortable glances among the crew, Hoxley opted to take the brunt of Odybrix’ protest, “You’re concerned we’re going to be locked in an acid gas room with a killer robot?”

“While I never had cause to be concerned about it in the past, it is now near the top of my list, yes.”

“You know the probability of that happening again is infinitesimal, right?”

“No, actually, it isn’t. If we’re talking probabilities, acid-gas-room-killer-robot shouldn’t have happened to begin with, but it did. Among the vast aisles of the supermarket of shittiness, we somehow always pick the worst one.”

“Things could have been worse.”

Odybrix fixed Hoxley with an incredulous stare that effortlessly conveyed the word dumbass without speaking it.

“Yes, there could have been mutated monsters, turbo charged mechs, or giant death rays that split space stations in half—oh wait.”

“So are you saying we shouldn’t meet this guy at the bar?”

“I’m saying that the common denominator for all these things is us sticking our fucking noses into this particular situation.”

“You’re falling into the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy,” Hoxley said. “Causal factors are rarely so narrow.”

“I think that was an attempt at speaking words. Did you just have a mild seizure?”

“Okay,” Hoxley sighed, switching gears from philosophy to reason, “do you not want to go meet this person?”

“I think we should do it on our terms, so we don’t get played again.”

“He’s not going to play us,” Adam said.

“Oh, he speaks. I thought you were too occupied scanning the crowd for threats,” Odybrix said.

“Why do you say that?” Zenith asked Adam.

“To quote Buddy, ‘I’ve got a good feeling about him.’ Besides,” he continued before Odybrix could inject her predictable snark, “there’ll be whiskey.”

“Oh, you think I can be pacified with liquor, kid? Well, you’re right, but I still don’t like the situation.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Adam said, reassuringly.

The rendezvous location was called The Felspar Dryad. The club could have been missed amongst the myriad of similar establishments, but there was one distinguishing feature. A grim figure towered over the predominantly dwarven foot traffic. Some kept their distance, treating him as they would a potentially dangerous animal, others walked passed obliviously, treating him like a lamp post.

Kron clocked Adam almost as quickly as Adam spotted him. The stern professionalism melted from his expression and a broad smile spread across his face. He strode through the busy street to meet the crew, causing startled revelers to scatter from his path. Adam found himself smiling back at the orc. He raised his arm for a handshake; Kron spread out his arms.

“Uh, oh,” Adam said, mirroring the gesture.

Kron simultaneously switched to a handshake. Before Adam could grab the hand, the orc opened his arms again and wrapped him in an embrace.

“I’m a hugger,” Kron said.

Adam awkwardly patted the orc’s back before pulling away.

“Now we have time for a proper introduction. Kron val Kron, captain in the Grolvar navy. You’re all looking pretty good for having survived an RC flagship.” Kron paused, taking note of the absences in the group. “The rest are back aboard your ship, I hope.”

“Getting medical attention,” Adam replied, speeding past the recent trauma, “they’ll be in fighting shape soon. We’re hoping you have some information for us.”

Kron clasped Adam’s shoulder and led him toward the bar, “Information? Yes. Answers? Probably not. Let’s get out of the street.”

—

Zenith cocked an eyebrow from behind her helmet. Light years away from any naturally occurring vegetation, yet The Diamond Dryad had somehow procured an El’adir. The red leaves of the Elven tree hung in stark contrast to its pristine white bark. Nano-lights had been implanted on the trunk, creating the illusion of a shimmering exterior. That, and the other collected foliage, cemented the theme.

She dismissed the flashy decor and focused her attention on Sturdy. The assassin turned ally sat across from her in the semi-circle booth. Hoxley sat to his left, visibly uncomfortable in the role of chaperone. The infernum would have to deal with it. The Lendaren operative needed to be watched at all times until he could be dealt with.

I thought you scared him straight?

For a while. I don’t think change comes easily to our new friend.

Adam worked for Remington. We trust him.

Adam wasn’t tasked with killing one of us.

But he’s certainly changed since joining the crew. You can’t deny we have a unique effect on people.

If there were more time, you might be right. We don’t have time.

So…

We keep him around for now. When an opportunity presents itself-

We ditch him.

We kill him.

She leaned back in her seat, frowning at the remembered conversation. The helmet kept her displeasure private. She didn’t enjoy killing people, though it was becoming a frequent necessity. Part of her wondered if she was precluding forgiveness and redemption because of her brother—hardening herself for what was to come.

The server arrived and set a staggering number of drinks on the table. Shockingly, it was the orc who ordered them and not Odybrix. She removed the frown from her face before tapping the underside of the helmet. The faceplate slid away, revealing her mouth. She took a slip from the nearest glass and the frown returned.

“You don’t like it?” Kron asked.

“What is it?” She asked in reply.

“Elfsbane.”

“That sounds about right.”

“It’s made with juniper berries and aged in dwarven whiskey casks.”

“Juniper tastes like ass to most elves,” Odybrix chimed in.

“Acid,” Zenith corrected.

“Oh, you’re an elf. Couldn’t tell, what with the helmet situation,” Kron said, waving a loose hand in front of his face. “I guess there’s some truth to the name.”

She took another sip from the glass. “I’ve had worse.”

“Before we get down to business,” Kron said, raising a mug of ale, “to the fallen of Levisia. I’m not big on vengeance, but that psycho Vaelor needs to be taken down.”

Everyone at the table raised a glass except Adam, who offered a supportive “Hear hear.”

Kron took a swig of his ale and stopped when he noticed Adam.

“You want me to order something else?” Kron asked.

“No thank you, I don’t really drink.”

“Our boy is a teetotaller,” Odybrix said, knocking back a glass of whiskey. “He also enjoys crochet and painting flowers.”

Adam frowned.

“Hey, everybody loosens up in their own way. Some people choose not to indulge the common vices. No judgement here,” Kron said, waving to a server. “You want a coffee?”

“No,” Adam said, eyeing the table. His lip twitched into something that could have been a sneer and he grabbed an ale. The crew watched in silence as he knocked back the drink in seconds.

Kron let out a clipped laugh and threw back his own ale. Setting his mug down he said, “Also, nothing wrong with crocheting. I sew, myself.”

The orc’s hands were each half the size of Zenith’s head. “You sew?” She asked incredulously.

“Gotta fill your spare time with more than exercise. Keeps the brain healthy.”

“If we’re done sharing life tips, maybe we can get down to business,” Sturdy said.

Zenith noted that, while he raised his glass, he hadn’t drunk from it. Not a bad idea to stay sober when meeting a new contact, but it was just as likely that he was getting ready to run if things went sideways. On edge because of the orc or because of me, Mr. Spy?

Kron clasped both hands and set them on the table, then said, “Here’s the rundown of why I’m involved in this. Several weeks ago a masked individual broke into the most secure vault on Grolvar. This thief, Vaelor, materialized in front of the vault door completely undetected by multi-spectrum cameras. Defenses were immediately activated when he appeared; the vault locked down, auto-cannons came online, and oxygen was vented out of the room. Normally, these countermeasures would result in a well-perforated and suffocated thief, but…”

“Not for Vaelor,” Zenith said.

“Lightning shot out of his hands and disabled the cannons, and the lack of air didn’t seem to be a problem for him. Then he raised a hand and slammed it against the vault door. I need you to understand that this vault is supposed to be impenetrable. It’s a multi-factor lock keyed to the biology of the High Warlord; only she can open it. Moreover, it’s on a 30 minute time delay. Yet this guy simply slaps it and it pops open.”

“Are you allowed to tell us what he took?”

“Probably not, but secrets aren’t going to help the hunt. That vault contains any number of things that someone could sell for a big payday: classified docs with military and government secrets, prototypes for new weapons, recovered tech from unexplained sources. Our guy didn’t take any of those. The other category the vault houses is relics from the age of myth. He took one of those.”

Kron paused as the server came by with another round of drinks. At this point, the crew was leaning in to hear the story. Even Sturdy seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders as he focused on the orc’s words. The server left and he continued.

“The relic was a six-sided cube made of a material that Grolvar scientists haven’t been able to identify. Each side has a unique symbol. We have no idea what it is, but we do know where it was found.”

Kron paused again.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense,” Adam said, urging him to continue.

“You heard of Mt. Kologar?”

“It’s an active volcano in the middle of the Cresting Sea on Materia,” Hoxley offered. “The volcano erupts every four-hundred years or so.”

“Nerd,” Odybrix said.

“That’s almost correct,” Kron said, nodding once.

“About the volcano or Hoxley being an encyclopedia?” Adam asked.

“The volcano. It erupts every four-hundred years on the dot.”

“That’s ludicrously improbable,” Hoxley said, “How would you even know the dates beyond the first two to three repetitions? Historical records are notoriously spotty before the Exodus.”

“If you go searching for dates online, you’ll find multiple answers. That, from what we’ve learned, is intentional. The cube was found hovering on top of a bed of lava.”

“It hovers?” Odybrix asked.

“Not since it left the volcano.”

“How long has Glovar had this relic?” Sturdy asked.

“Pre-Exodus. One of our ancestors brought it with them when we took to the stars.”

“So you have no idea what it does?” Adam asked.

“No, but it came to us with a warning written on a scrap of paper, ‘Keep it sealed away.’”

“I suspect Vaelor knows what it is,” Sturdy said, finally taking an actual sip from a whiskey glass.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kron concurred. “So, what can you tell me about your involvement?”

Adam took the lead on the explanation. He covered the initial job from Remington, their first encounter with a mutant, the derelict ship and the monster within. There was a noticeable pause when the story veered towards Harlow. Zenith picked up the story at those points, not wanting to shy away from the reality of the situation.

“So he stole a dangerous artifact from Remington,” Kron said, picking up a glass and swirling the amber liquid inside, “Want to wager he’s here for another relic?”

“It’s a safe bet,” Adam said.

“How are we going to find him?” Hoxley asked. “It’s a big planet and we have no leads.”

Kron smiled, then pointed to a group of dwarves entering the club. Ten in all. They were adorned with silver: studs, chokers, and rings. Their skin was an eclectic tableau of tattoos with a single unifying image on their necks, a chunk of metal wreathed in flame.

“My contact on Gemheart led me towards these guys. They’re called the Slags, and they’re the reason I chose this spot. Vaelor’s had dealings with criminals in the past.”

“He killed an information broker aboard Levisia,” Adam said, “so it’s as good a guess as any that he’ll reach out to someone here.”

“I’m hoping the Slags will point us in the right direction,” Kron said.

“That, or they’ll point a pistol at your head and tell you too fuck off. If you’re lucky,” Odybrix said.

“Maybe they’d be most receptive to someone like you,” Hoxley said.

“Is that prejudicial suggestion because of my size or my tattoos?” Odybrix asked, shooting the infernum a harsh look.

“Attitude,” Sturdy said.

Zenith stood up, cutting off Odybrix. She briefly looked at Hoxley, hoping to convey that he keep an eye on Sturdy, then said, “I’ll handle this.”

“No offense, but maybe the kid or Mr. Serious should go,“ Odybrix said, jabbing a thumb at Sturdy. ”You’re not exactly our best negotiator.”

“No, but I am the best dancer.”

Zenith turned and strode towards the dwarves’ table, hearing Adam’s words drift through the din.

“So he gets a cool nickname and I’m stuck with ‘the kid?’”

The band on stage was an eclectic assortment of races, which was uncommon on a predominantly dwarven planet. A slender elf with dirty blonde hair and tattered clothes provided the backbeat, hammering a drum kit with her eyes closed. Two infernum stood opposite each other. One has a red complexion, the other, a very rare ivory. They played synth and bass respectively. Fronting the band was a young dwarf woman with wild red hair and an acoustic guitar slung around her shoulders.

If circumstances were less pressing, Zenith might have given herself time to enjoy the set. Instead, she strode to the Slags’ table and sized the gang up at glance. The semi circle booth was capped at both ends with muscle—three on each side. Sitting at the centre was a pale-skinned dwarf with a low fade Mohawk and red shades that covered a quarter of his face—the boss. His arm was draped over the shoulder of a black-haired dwarf woman. She had more piercings on her face than the Sunrunner had rivets.

Of the two that were left, only one caught Zenith’s eye. She was younger than the rest, with purple hair and silver studs around the collar of her leather jacket. Close enough to the gang leader to be someone important, but lacking the hard edges of someone with criminal experience. A cousin or sister of the boss.

Hard eyes and scowls greeted her as she approached the table. Two goons stood and let their hands slide to the guns obviously hidden at their waists. Zenith paid the hostility no heed, instead focusing her attention on the purple haired dwarf.

“Want to dance?”

The dwarf glanced at the boss, who responded with a mild shrug.

“And why would I want to dance with you?” she asked.

Zenith pulled off her helmet and shook her head, letting her white hair fall to her shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

The dwarf sized her up, pausing to sip from her lowball. After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, she smirked and said, “You’re ballsy. Terna, Gully, move your asses. I need to stretch my legs.”

Zenith clocked a flicker in the gang leader’s glasses as her dance partner slid out of the booth. Tech specs. He’s probably running my face against a database right now. Good luck, pal. She slid her helmet across the table. He casually slapped a hand down to stop it, then lowered his shades and gave her a questioning, likely threatening, look.

“You look like someone with good taste. Have a look.”

Without another word she spun and walked onto the empty dance floor with her partner. The tiles in front of the stage were audiokinetic, faintly shifting in colour to the music. Each step sent out a small chromatic ripple that mingled with the ever-swirling colours. She looked at the band, at her partner, then shoved down the simmering fear that came whenever she took off her helmet. No reason I can’t enjoy this.

They started slow, moving to the melody cut out by the synth. Zenith took the lead, swaying close to her partner, but not enough to be intimidating. The dwarf followed along, raising her arms and shaking her hips to the steady beat of the drums. She circled around Zenith with smooth graceful steps, never out of sync with the music.

“Got a name?” Zenith asked.

“Raelah,” she said, “but if you’re around them, it’s Rally.”

“Zenith. ZT if you get to know me.”

“And the T stands for… tenacious? Testy? Trigger-happy?”

“Any of those work depending on the time of day,” Zenith said, opting not to give any hints about her parentage. “I think that’s enough of a warm-up.”

“Warm-up?” Raelah said, raising an eyebrow.

“One second,” Zenith said, turning to the band and shouting, “That all you got?”

The front woman looked down at the pair and chuckled. She improvised a quick bridge on her guitar, and quickly spurred the band into a faster tempo. A dozen people stood up from nearby tables and made their way to the dance floor. Within a minute, the pair were surrounded by dancers drawn in by the increasingly frenetic sound.

Zenith grabbed Raelah’s hand and guided her to the centre of the floor. For ten wonderful minutes, music and movement washed her problems away. It was easy to get lost amidst the dancers and the cascade of lights. When the song came to an end, Raelah let out an exhausted sigh and wiped her glistening brow.

“Alright,” she said, smiling, “I like you. Now what are you after?”

“Do I have to be after something?”

“I’ve had an eye on you and your gang. You’ve got a purposeful look about you. And, while I know I’m nicer than most to look at, normal people don’t walk up to a fucking gang and ask for a dance.”

“We’re looking for somebody. He’s come to Gemheart in search of something rare and valuable. Know anything about it?”

“And here I was hoping you’d double down and say you were after me. Well, come on over to the table. I’ll put in a good word with Torq.”

“Red glasses?”

“Yes. My brother. He’ll want something from you, but the price varies with his mood.”

“Does asking his sister to dance ever put him in a good mood?”

“Historically, no. Though you’re a bit different from the usual chaff.”

Zenith caught Odybrix’ eye as she approached the Slags’ table. The look simultaneously conveyed skepticism and an assurance that she was ready to jump out of her seat and knock some heads. It was comforting to know that she had someone ready to fight for her—die for her, even. Though this time, Zenith believed blood wasn’t going to be spilled. Every outing didn’t need to end in a firefight.

Raelah motioned for some of her compatriots to exit the booth, then slid close to Torq. The gang leader leaned his head to his sister and she whispered something that Zenith couldn’t hear over the din. The dwarf’s expression was unreadable behind the large red shades. It forced Zenith to wonder if her helmet gave others similar frustration.

Torq examined her silently for an uncomfortable period of time. Without warning, he shoved her helmet across the table towards her. She grabbed it with one hand and tucked it against her hip, then stared the dwarf down. The thought of the Sunrunner crew quietly drawing their guns came unbidden, forcing her to acknowledge that this endeavor might lead to a bloodbath.

“Nice helmet,” Torq said.

“Nice shades,” she replied.

“Rally says you’re looking for someone.”

“That’s right. And he’s here looking for something valuable.”

A nearly imperceptible light flickered from inside Torq’s glasses. He smirked.

“Anything valuable that doesn’t come from the ground goes through Gregor.”

“And how would I find Gregor?”

Torq took a sip from a whiskey glass, then said, “Information isn’t free.”

“How many credits are you looking for?”

“None. You and I are going to race,” he said, rising from his seat. “You win, I tell you what you need to know. I win, I get your helmet. That shouldn’t be a problem for the daughter of Stereo Tachnova, should it?”

Zenith tightened her grip on the helmet.

—

As the crew followed the Slags through busy streets, Zenith ran through the scarce list of ways she could be identified and landed on the nickname. It was a stretch, but more likely than someone obtaining closed circuit video of her without her helmet. It meant that, one, Raelah and Torq were more clever than she’d expected from gangbangers, and two, they were fans of her mother. It would be the last time she gave out her nickname to someone.

“The next time I say you’re a bad negotiator, slap me,” Odybrix said.

“In your defense,” Hoxley said, “no one could have anticipated dance as an effective means of parley.”

“There are shorter ways to say ‘nice work,’ Hox,” Odybrix said.

“Nice work,” Hoxley said, “and great moves.”

“We’re not done yet,” Zenith said, “I still need to win the race.”

“That’s not going to be a problem for you,” Adam said with certainty. “You’re the best pilot I’ve flown with, and I’ve been in dozens of dogfights.”

The Slags rounded a corner into an alleyway and brought the crew to a large object covered with a tarp. Torq grabbed the thick fabric and yanked it off with a single motion. The object was, in fact, several objects. Ten skycycles, each of custom design, sat before them.

Zenith scanned the bikes, silently judging the mostly poor choices of mods and chassis. Poorly aligned boosters, bad aerodynamics, and some truly heinous colour choices—even for criminals. Three stood out as decent builds. A ruby sport bike with a body similar to ones popular on Materia, a black cruiser with enhanced stabilizers and blade-like design—probably Remington, and a yellow racer with a perfectly balanced mod package. Torq put a hand on the yellow bike.

“I’m assuming you don’t have one handy,” he said.

“Safe assumption,” Zenith said.

“You can ride any but mine.”

There was a grumble amongst the Slags that was immediately curtailed by a swift elbow to the gut by Raelah. Zenith looked over the remaining two options again. The cruiser would be heavier, and stabilizers were a crutch for those lacking skill. The ruby sport bike didn’t come with many mods, but that might mean it was a more reliable ride. She put a hand on it.

“Now I really like you,” Raelah said, “that’s mine.”

Zenith turned back, retracted the visor from her helmet, and gave the dwarf a wink.

“With that settled,” Torq said, straddling his seat, “let’s get this started.”

Torq hit the ignition and, with a rush of air, the skycycle began hovering. Zenith hopped on Raelah’s ride and did the same. It had been months since she’d flown anything other than the Sunrunner or the drop ship. Circumstances hadn’t left her any time for joyrides. She should have been nervous about that, but any apprehension she had melted away with the rev of the engine.

Raelah stepped forward and laid out the parameters of the race, “Your rides are kept on hover; you toggle full flight and you’re disqualified. The course starts here in the skids. You’ll fly across rooftops till you reach the skyway. There’s a support pillar you can use to jump it. If you manage not to die, you’ll cut through the streets of the financial district to the Starbreaker tower, then-”

“You go up,” Torq said, finishing the sentence.

“Straight up the south side of the building,” Raelah continued, “In the unlikely event you’ve survived, the next leg takes you on the A27 Southbound skyway. Jump off into the Glasswater Bay before the skyway veers west and ride the waves back to the skids. First one here,” she brought up a holo of two dockside buildings, “wins. Questions?”

Torq adjusted his red shades and light pulsed at the sides of his head—temporal implants to lock them in place. Zenith formed an assumption which quickly became a certainty. If he’s this into mods and augments, he’s got psionics. She mentally prepared herself for inexplicable turbulence when this guy inevitably got rough.

“Hope you’ve enjoyed your helmet,” Torq called out over the rumbling engines, “I know a pawn shop that will sell you a halfway decent replacement.”

“Get a good look at it now,” Zenith shouted back, taking her place, “you’ll be staring at my ass for the rest of the race.”

Hoots and jeers erupted from the Slags. Not to be outdone, Odybrix shoved one of the dwarves away and yelled out her expletive-laden encouragement. Raelah stood in front of the two racers and raised a hand, eyes settling on Zenith. Zenith’s grip tightened on the throttle and she focused on the vacant alleyway—the track. The hand came down like an axe and they shot away from the starting line like bullets.

Buildings sped by like strobing lights, with each potentially deadly intersection allowing a sliver of the city’s glow to spill in. A single dwarf drunkenly searching for a wall to piss on could end it all for both of them. Fortunately, there wasn’t much time to worry about death in the claustrophobic alleyways. A shoddy ramp made up of rusted metal sheets awaited them at a dead end—large enough for one of them.

Torq flipped a red switch on the bike’s handle and rocketed forward taking the lead. Zenith grimaced as the dwarf flew up the ramp and into the sky. She took the ramp seconds later and was launched above the building. Dazzling lights bombarded her as the breadth of the city rushed into view.

Her helmet automatically filtered out the brightness and she set her sights on Torq flying through the air. Half a block away, a down ramp had been constructed on another roof. The boost bought her opponent a slight lead, but he was going to overshoot the ramp. Not a fatal mistake, but one she could take advantage of.

She tilted the nose of the bike down as she plummeted. Torq hit the rooftop and missed the ramp. The stabilizers he had installed quickly adjusted for the sudden change of direction, but not fast enough. Zenith hit the ramp at the perfect angle, shooting her ahead of the dwarf. She had clawed her way into a lead.

Torq cursed loud enough to be heard over the roaring engines. Not intent on letting her break away, he maneuvered himself behind her. He’d draft in that position until an opportunity presented itself, letting her act as a windbreaker. Zenith saw that opportunity swiftly approaching in the distance.

They flew across rooftops, eliciting startled shouts from the people below. Ahead, the lights of the skyway swam across the breadth of the city like glowing arterial flow. The bikes leapt off the last roof in the skids and sped towards the towering support pillar. From here they’d need to gun their engines in order to make it across the skyway.

Zenith hit the wide base of the pillar and rocketed up its curve with Torq following closely behind. Halfway up the pillar she caught a glimpse of the dwarf raising his hand in her rearview mirror. Her bike lurched as if a gust of wind had hit it. Zenith strained against the handlebars as she drifted towards the edge of the pillar. The psionic push stopped the moment she was able to rein the bike in. The bike wobbled as she regained control, and Torq pulled up beside her.

They raced upward, neck and neck on the narrowing arch. The tumult of speeding cars and shouting people faded and gave way to a glittering field of static stars. A sudden weightlessness overtook Zenith as the pillar disappeared beneath her and she took to the sky. Gravity asserted its eternal dominance a moment later as the bikes crested over the skyway and the thousands of vehicles below.

The pair landed on the opposite pillar simultaneously. Zenith curled her head into her ride to combat the fierce resistance of the wind, pushing for more speed. The base of the pillar widened on the rapid descent, and she pulled ahead by a hair. With a jarring jolt, the bikes hit the clean streets of the financial district.

Unlike the chaotic scene behind them, this section of the city was all but bereft of pedestrians and vehicles. It was as if Gemheart had only two modes: work and party. A great tower in the distance loomed above the other buildings. Crowning the top of it was the holographic projection of a shattered star.

The riders tore towards the monolith, taking advantage of the empty stretch. Zenith scanned the intersections as they whipped past, ready to swerve if a car crossed her path, but nothing came. It was as if the life had bled out of this district and into the others. The peace didn’t last long. A flicker of light in the mirror caught Zenith’s attention. Accompanying the strobing lights was a telltale siren that broke through the din of the battling engines. The police had joined the race.

Three squad cars tailed the bikes, one following at street level, and two trying to box them in from above. Despite their sudden appearance, the police quickly lost ground. Skycycles were too agile to overtake, and, unless Zenith or her opponent pulled a gun, there was no reason to shoot them down. With the Starbreaker tower moments away, the police slowed their pursuit.

Zenith shared a brief look with Torq before hitting the brake and forcing the front end of the bike vertical. The force of the anti-grav shattered the windows of the ground floor before both skycycles shot upward. Zenith shifted forward, digging her feet into the footrests as gravity and speed tried to rip her from her seat. The flexible glass of the building’s exterior shuttered under the force of the bikes. The pair ascended towards the sky.

Below, the bewildered police of Gemheart began a steady ascent. The sirens’ wails grew distant, leaving the racers with the harmony of their dueling engines. The starscape above widened as she approached the top and Zenith took note of her opponent. He wasn’t slowing down, which meant he was planning on clearing the tower and plummeting down the other side.

She gently pressed the brakes, letting Torq overtake her. He was airborne in seconds, drifting up into the night sky. Zenith’s hand hovered over the power regulator for the front of the bike, ready to do someone incredibly fatal or incredibly slick. When she reached the edge of the roof, she cut power to the front of the bike and swiftly switched it back on. The back of the bike shot up, forcing the front end down. An instant before the front collided with the building, the anti-grav kicked in, gripping the concrete and pulling her forward.

While Torq was still sailing through the air, Zenith cut across the roof and launched herself off the tower. A stream of skyway lights lit up the next leg of the race as she descended. The bike jolted and rumbled when it reached street level, its engine labouring under demand of the track. Ahead, the empty skyway onramp beckoning her forward—a chance to widen her lead.

She sped up the ramp and into the revving lifeblood of Gemheart. Cars and trucks passed by in a flash as she weaved a path through the traffic. Her shoulders relaxed and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The race was exhilarating, but her body began to relax despite the exertion. Cruising along the skyway she allowed herself to forget the crew, the mission, even her brother, if only for a moment.

A flicker in her mirror snapped her out of the reverie. Moment’s over. Torq emerged from behind, cutting furiously through the traffic. He must have taken a shortcut through the streets and gone up another ramp.

With her lead shortening, Zenith tucked her head low and got back to business. Cars blared their indignation as the racers carved treacherous paths through the skyway. Having acclimated to Raelah’s bike, Zenith was able to slip in and out of lanes, leaving mere inches between cars. A string of unfortunate merges from trucks slowed her and allowed Torq to get within drafting distance. If she didn’t find a way to gain ground, he could use his psionics to hold her back. Worse, he could shove her into another vehicle.

An opportunity presented itself when a delivery van pulled out of the lane ahead of her—a truck with an empty bed and ramp for vehicle transport. She hammered the accelerator and aimed the bike at the center of the bed. At the last second, she boosted power to the front of the bike, rearing back and pulling on the handlebars. The bike growled as it leapt onto the bed, then flew forward up the ramp and over the truck.

She arced above the skyway traffic and landed on a clear stretch of road. With the glut of trucks mostly behind her, it was a straight shot towards the point where the skyway veered West. The comfort of the lead quickly vanished as she approached the curve. The sides of the skyway were lined with particle barriers. She wouldn’t be able to go through them and there was no timely transport truck she could use to sail over them. Moreover, if she engaged the bike’s flight mode, she would forfeit the race.

Her eyes flitted about the road, looking for an exit, and she released the accelerator. Torq emerged in her mirror once again and he wasn’t slowing down. As the road began to curve she noticed the lights on a section of the barrier were out. Cursing, she drove straight for the wall.

If her hunch was wrong, and the dead light was only a dead light, she would slam head first into a fiery, violent death. The smart thing to do would be to fall behind Torq and see what he did, which was likely what he was counting on. From the skyway it was a straight shot along the coastline to the finish line. It would be nearly impossible for even a skilled racer to pull ahead, let alone against a cheating psionic.

For better or worse, Zenith never let an opponent have their way if she could help it. She made her choice and gunned the engine. As the dim section of wall grew near, the telltale motes of light of the particle barrier didn’t appear. In a blink, she sailed over the raised edge of the skyway and out onto the ocean with a splash.

The skycycle bobbed as it displaced the water, its stabilizers struggling to adjust to the liquid surface. From behind, the loud splash of Torq’s bike announced his arrival on the last leg of the race. With no police in sight, the coastline was theirs alone.

The cityscape reflected off the shifting water, painting their path with undulating lights. Pedestrians dotted the oceanside, pointing, cheering, or flipping off the racers as they passed.

Torq wasted little time in trying to cement a win. Through the spray the bike kicked up, Zenith once again caught him raising a hand.

Not this time. She eased the accelerator and let him close the gap. At the last second, she let the back end drop and kiss the surface. The targeted deluge hit Torq squarely in the face. Had he been holding onto both handlebars, he might have weathered the blast. What Zenith glimpsed in the mirror was a comical flailing of limbs, followed by an unceremonious plunge into the waves.

Zenith’s body felt electric as she exulted in the approaching victory. It had been so long since she had felt the thrill of a race, let alone the pure euphoria of a victory. She let herself get lost in the feeling, taking in the sights and sounds as she raced towards the finish line. If only there were more time for things like this.

Something glinted from the top of a building near the shore. With a gesture from her eyes, her helmet isolated the object and enlarged it. A mech stood atop the roof, looking out at the water—at her. The build of the mech, heavily armored and armed, was worrying enough, but not so much as the colour. Muted gold.

—

An alleyway entrance nestled between water treatment facilities marked the finish line. Zenith roared into the alley to the cheers of the Sunrunner crew. The Slags scowled and sneered as she dismounted from the skycycle. Well, all except Raelah, who smirked as she glided towards Zenith.

“How’d you like the ride?” Raelah asked.

“Smooth and reliable,” Zenith replied, “Your brother should have picked it.”

“Hah, he’s always been too obsessed with bells and whistles. I prefer quality over gimmicks,” she said with a wink. “Well, go collect the praise from your mates. I’m sure we’ve got a while before Torq fishes himself out of the ocean.”

The crew received her jubilantly. Adam stuck out a hand for a shake, Hoxley blathered his congratulations, Sturdy gave a nod, Odybrix slapped her ass. Evidently, Torq’s bike had a cam system and they had watched the entire race. Well, up until he took a non-optional swim.

“Ship’s pilot, executive negotiator, and premier racer. Looking to add any more titles?” Hoxley asked.

“Yeah, crew lookout. I think we’ve got trouble.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Fifteen

September 24th, 2024

Snippets of barely animated conversation drifted down the corridor; the droning sounds of people beleaguered by circumstance and bereft of caffeine. Hoxley couldn’t do much about the former, but the latter was eminently solvable. Without BOB, the nigh unending torrent of coffee that fueled the crew had abruptly run dry. This left many of them irritable to the point of spacing anyone who looked at them the wrong way. Fortunately, Hoxley had a secret cache of coffee beans for when he needed something more palatable than the mass-produced synthetic trash Starlux peddled as “coffee.”

“May I have some of that, best friend?” Beast asked in his lilting brogue. Hoxley had heard many a Hearthlight halfling with the same accent and surmised his furry friend was born there.

“No, no coffee for you, Beast.”

Beast’s eyes grew large and pitiful.

“Coffee will poison you. Your body can’t process it.”

“Couldn’t you just fix me with your magical powers?”

“No. Well, I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. In any case,” Hoxley said, grabbing a dried piece of liver from a jar, “you have plenty of great-tasting snacks that won’t kill you.”

Beast eagerly snapped up the meaty chunk when Hoxley tossed it. “Mmm, thank you. I would still like to know what coffee tastes like. There are so many foods I’ve yet to try.”

Hoxley smiled as he grabbed the carafe, “Me too. Tell you what, I’ll see if decaf is an option. I’m pretty sure caffeine is the offending chemical for dogs.”

“Isn’t it strange that coffee will kill me, yet all of you can’t live without it?”

“You learn to speak and suddenly you’re a philosopher?”

“What’s a philosopher?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s just get this to them before they kill themselves or each other. Can you get the door on your way out?”

Beast hopped up and tapped the panel with a paw.

“Okay, remember, no talking in front of them. I’m not ready to disclose any of what’s happening to me yet. Not till I learn more. Odybrix already looks like she wants to toss me out the airlock.”

“Perhaps the coffee will help?”

“Here’s hoping.”

Hoxley stepped into the hold to see Odybrix sitting with her head against the table and Buddy propped up in the seat across from her. Adam sat atop a cargo crate with his eyes closed and Sturdy leaned dreary-eyed against the adjacent wall. Vesper and Annie McClue sat away from the group, perhaps out of a sense of self-preservation. The smell of coffee wafted from the carafe, summoning the dead from their slumber. Odybrix raised her head and stared at the container with unrestrained desire.

“What you got there, Hox?”

“Coffee. Real beans, ground and pressed. Do you want some?”

“I am on the verge of kissing you or slugging you. The outcome depends entirely on how fast you get over here.”

Hoxley stepped over to the table as the others converged like wolves on a fallen deer. He laid out the cups and poured the steaming liquid from the carafe. Odybrix ravenously downed the drink, paying no heed to the scalding temperature. The others followed suit but at a more restrained pace.

Hoxley smiled. “Well, what’s it like to have non-synth coffee?”

“I hate it,” Odybrix said, “give me more.”

Rapid steps rang out from beyond the med bay and the door slid open.

“Someone has coffee?” Zenith asked.

“Yes. Enough for everyone. Even our stowaways.”

“If your terrible and expensive coffee is in short supply, we’re not giving it to any stowaways,” Odybrix said firmly, murder in her eyes.

“‘Stowaways’ would imply that we’re not earning our keep,” Annie McClue said.

“You’re not,” Sturdy said, the rare trace of a smile curling on his lips as he slipped from the cup.

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

“Beg all you want, you’re not getting any,” Odybrix said, starting her third cup.

“I think you’ll change your mind,” Vesper said.

“I think so too,” Ozzy said over comms, eliciting strange looks from the crew, “Want me to play it for them?”

“Please do.”

A visual of Annie set in front of the backdrop of the assault on Levisia appeared on the hold’s display.

“This is Annie McClue, speaking to you immediately after the events on Levisia station, where an alleged assault by bio-terrorists led to the destruction of the station by the Remington Corporation flagship Baronnet. I’m here to tell you that the summary of events presented by Remington Chief Commercial Officer Vaughan Spectre appears to be, at least in part, false.”

The video cut away to a segment of the Remington broadcast displaying the crew’s headshots.

“The allegation is that these individuals subjected the inhabitants of Levisia station to a modified pathogen, originally created by Remington Corp. This is demonstrably false.”

The video transitioned to a montage of Vaelor blasting innocent station goers with green light and their subsequent grotesque transformations.

“This man, known only as Vaelor, appears to be the actual terrorist. As you can see from these scenes, he appears to be using an energy weapon that transforms those it strikes. There is no indication that this was a viral pathogen, as Vaughan Spectre suggests.”

The headshots of the crew appeared again.

“But what of the people he alleges to be terrorists?”

The image cut to a video of the crew embattled in Elysium.

“Here you can see these people, the mercenary crew of the spacecraft Sunrunner, actively fighting against the monstrosities created by Vaelor. As shown in the video, this is not simply a fight for survival. The crew can be seen on multiple occasions saving the residents and visitors of Levisia station from the violent mutants created by Vaelor.”

The video closed with a shot of Levisia being blown apart by the Baronnet.

“So what does this mean about Vaughan Spectre’s reasoning for the destruction of the station and the slaughter of millions of innocent lives? There is no confirmation that a pathogen existed aboard Levisia, and on-site footage suggests otherwise. The claim that the crew of the Sunrunner committed acts of bio-terrorism against the inhabitants of the station is patently false, as evidenced by their actions aboard the station. And finally, there is little information at all about the true culprit, Vaelor.

The destruction of Levisia appears to be an act of a mega-corporation attempting to hide something. In the days that follow, I will bring you more on this story and the mysterious circumstances around it.”

Zenith handed Annie a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “It still needs some editing.”

“Here’s one for you too,” Zenith said, proffering a cup to Vesper.

“No thanks. I only drink tea.”

“Okay, it’s a counter-narrative,” Odybrix conceded, “but RC is going to throw their bloated corporate wealth on this to push their version of events.”

“I’ve got ins at a few newsrooms throughout the galaxy. They’ll jump at the chance to shove this in Remington’s face. I should be able to broadcast once we stop.”

“Thank the gods for journalism.”

“We can’t broadcast when we arrive at Gemheart,” Adam said. “Right now we’re traveling faster than their accusations. If we broadcast a video when we arrive, we’re going to invite a lot of unwanted attention.”

“Good point. We can make a quick stop at the nearest inhabited planet, broadcast there, then jump again. Stay ahead of the message. Unless they use a MiB,” Zenith said.

“They would need to know where we were going for that to be of any use,” Sturdy countered, “It’s going to take them time to figure out our destination.”

“What’s a MiB?” Buddy asked.

“Message in a bottle,” Odybrix answered. “It’s a transmitter attached to a rocket or projectile, or, if you’re a rich motherfucker with no patience, a mass reversion engine. Whatever lies you’re peddling could make it across the galaxy in a few weeks.”

“If we drop out of rev-space to broadcast it, that will give them a clue as to where we’re going. I say we hold off until after our business on Gemheart,” Adam suggested.

“I’m with you, kid,” Odybrix said, rubbing her eyes.

“Bad night’s sleep?” Buddy asked, then scanned the other weary faces in the room. “I guess that’s a question for everyone.”

“No, I slept well for once,” Hoxley said.

“Good for you,” Odybrix said, “maybe you’re refreshed enough to tell us how you’re connected to all of this?”

“Uh…”

Hoxley let the silence drag, uncertain of how to answer. Did he know the answer? Was he ready to tell them about his abilities? Oh, by the way, I’ve been cursed by a timeless monstrosity. I have vivid nightmares where I’m brutally murdered every night, but the upside is that I’ve got magical wizard powers. Check out this sweet lightning bolt. Beast stared up and tilted his head, as if suggesting that they simply let the cat out of the bag and be done with it. Hoxley stifled the suggestion with a frown, unwilling to commit to that level of honesty.

“The truth is that I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, skirting around a lie. “I’ve never met Vaelor before, at least, I think I haven’t. It’s hard to tell given the mask.”

“Okay, but what about this?” Zenith asked, vaguely motioning to all of Hoxley.

“I assume you don’t mean the entirety of me.”

“The lightning, Hox.”

“I, I don’t know. It’s new, okay? I’ve never been able to do something like this before.”

Beast let out a gentle snort of disapproval, unhappy with Hoxley’s lack of forthrightness. Hoxley frowned down at the dog. I’m getting enough flak from them, I don’t need it from you too. Zenith began saying something when another voice popped into Hoxley’s head.

They’re your pack. You shouldn’t keep things from them.

Did you just speak? I mean, in my brain, not out loud?

Of course.

You say that as if it’s normal!

It is.

“Hoxley?” Zenith said.

“Sorry, can you say that again?”

“I said, if you’re hiding something from us, now would be the time to get it out in the open. We’re up against people who wouldn’t think twice about killing us. We need to know where everyone stands.”

“That’s funny coming from you,” Odybrix said, bringing her cup to her lips.

“What does that mean?” Zenith asked, snapping to face Odybrix.

“The person who’s had the most success trying to kill us is your brother.”

“Vaelor has done something to him. He would never act like this. He’s career military and wouldn’t jeopardize his future, let alone raise a sword at me.”

“He’s tried to kill us twice now. The first time, he opened the dropship like a tin can. The second, he did the same to BOB. Had that been anyone else, they’d be dead—and BOB is hanging on by a thread and a prayer. So what I want to know is, if he comes after us again, are you going to take the shot, or are you going to freeze and let him cut us down.”

Zenith took a heavy step forward and bent down to Odybrix; the halfling’s face reflected in the mirror sheen of her helmet.

“That’s my brother; I’m the judge of whether he’s too far gone. If and when we meet him next, we’re going to drag his ass onto the ship and undo whatever’s been done to him.”

“And if he’s too far gone?” Sturdy asked.

“Then I’m the one who takes the shot.”

“Try not to forget where the trigger is if that beam blade is about to come down on my head,” Odybrix said.

“I might swing the sword myself if you go more than a day without coffee again,” Zenith said, irritated.

“I guess the last order of business,” Odybrix trailed off, pointedly looking at Adam.

“What? Why am I on the agenda?”

“Similar reasons.”

“Loyalties,” Sturdy added, drawing a tilt of the head from Zenith.

Only she and Hoxley knew that their less recent stowaway—the Sunrunner seemed to be amassing a collection of them—was an operative of Lenderan Corporation. Moreover, he had been tasked with retrieving the artifact Vaelor stole and with killing BOB. The former more or less aligned with the crew’s goals, and the latter, well, Hoxley hoped BOB survived long enough for it to become an issue. That said, Sturdy didn’t have any business talking about loyalties. The past twenty-four hours hadn’t afforded much time to sit and hash things out, but the three of them would need to have a conversation soon.

Zenith turned her head to Hoxley as if she were reading his thoughts. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging that they were on the same page, then let out a breath. They’d need to be careful when confronting him, there was the chance he could pull a gun and, knowing his luck, it would be Hoxley that got shot. Gods how he hated confrontation.

“Okay, I get it,” Adam said, “I work for Remington. But what happened couldn’t have been a legit operation. Spectre is trying to cover up something big to protect himself.”

Odybrix leaned back in her chair and said, “I think it would be more accurate to say you worked for Remington.”

“That guy doesn’t represent the whole company. If R&D knew about this-.”

“They tried to kill you, kid.”

“He tried to kill me. And he’ll pay for it.”

“You think anyone flying around with enough artillery to obliterate a fortified space station didn’t get orders from the top? They want us all dead to hide the fact they’ve been conducting some truly fucked up experiments.”

“My mo- Ms. Hargrave wouldn’t allow it!”

“Wait,” Sturdy said, keenly catching the slip-up, “Hargrave? Your mom is Millicent Hargrave? The head of Remington R&D?”

“I, uh,” Adam said, flustered.

“Vaelor stole the artifact from a research facility. You think the person at the top had no idea the company was conducting those experiments?”

Adam pushed away from the table, stood up, and said, “I don’t know what I think, okay?! I just came aboard so that I could find my dad and tell him off for what he did to my mom. I didn’t see any of this stuff when I was leading security for R&D. Were there rumours of secret research? Sure. People made up wild conspiracies all the time. I didn’t think anything of them. And now I can’t set foot off this ship without someone shooting at me or a monster trying to rip my head off. So I’m just trying to keep it together right now while I figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“You-,” Odybrix began.

“I’m as shocked and confused as anyone else. This was supposed to be a cathartic trip where I could meet my dad, ask him some questions, and maybe punch him. I need some space,” Adam said, throwing his arms in the air and walking toward the crew quarters.

When the door hissed shut behind him, Odybrix hopped out of her seat and started walking in the same direction.

“I think he wants to be alone,” Buddy said, warningly.

“Yeah, kid’s got the right idea. I’ll be in the armory.”

“Good talk,” Zenith said curtly, then spun on her heels and walked towards the cockpit.

“It was?” Buddy asked. “Everyone seemed kind of angry to me.”

“I think I’ll head back to the kitchen,” Hoxley said. “Call me if you want help moving around.”

Hoxley collected his empty carafe and made for the safety of the kitchen with Beast in tow. When they were out of earshot of the crew, the dog said, “I think they appreciated the coffee.”

—

Sturdy leaned against a crate in the hold with his arms folded. He took a drag on a half-spent cigarette and ruminated on recent events. Tension could be a positive or negative feeling depending on who you asked and when you asked them. Tension could prime a body for action, spur someone to make a choice in a moment of indecision, and keep someone alert to danger. In contrast, it could wear a body down, lead to bad decisions, and stoke the flames of aggression until they burned ally and foe alike. For him, tension had another use—cover. A crew on edge with each other wouldn’t have eyes searching for a spy. With a low profile, he could wait for the right moment to retrieve the artifact Vaelor had stolen and then…

He thought of the conversation he had with the coffeebot on Elysium. It had demonstrated a keen understanding of how organics thought and how best to put them at ease. That brought up some troubling questions. Had it grown adept at ingratiating itself to the organics around it? Was that ability a precursor to the tragic story Juniper had told him of the last rogue AI? Other AIs, even the ones aboard this ship, were socially capable. That generally meant they were well-built. Was the coffeebot a true rogue AI testing the waters, or was this all a mistake?

There was one question that superseded the others. Did any of it matter? Sturdy had been given an order: retrieve the artifact, destroy the bot. Straightforward.

The doors to the med bay and crew quarters opened simultaneously. Zenith and Hoxley emerged, heads turned purposefully toward Sturdy. Tension crept into his shoulders and the notion that he had eluded their suspicions vanished like vapour in a breeze.

This looks bad. He took note of a slight bulge at the side of the pilot’s waistband. A pistol. They know. His hand twitched as they approached and he stifled the urge to drop it towards his sidearm. They weren’t approaching with weapons drawn, nor did they bring the halfling or the RC soldier. A verbal confrontation then. At least it would start that way.

“Can we have a word?” Zenith asked. The tone suggested that compliance wasn’t optional.

“I know better than to say no to the pilot or the chef. Here?”

“Bridge,” she said, turning to lead the two of them.

Three. Study registered the soft padding of the dog behind Hoxley.

When they got to the bridge, Zenith leaned against a chair and her arms crossed. Hoxley posted up beside the door they had entered but didn’t block it. Even with an open exit, running from them wouldn’t be an option if the conversation went sideways. Assessing the space and threats, Sturdy quickly decided who would have to go down first. Pilot, dog, cook. Zenith had arms training and was a crack shot. The dog would either be confused or attack him—he’d take a bite over a bullet. And Hoxley, while a wildcard, lacked the confidence to overtake the others on the priority list.

“What’s this about?” Sturdy asked.

“Needed to have a word with you now that the dust has settled,” Zenith began.

He couldn’t say with certainty how much the pair had uncovered, but if they knew it all, any response he had would be seen as an excuse or deflection to cover himself. He had to assume they knew it all.

“I was going to say the same to you actually,” he said, opting for a nonviolent resolution to what was coming.

“Oh yeah?” She asked.

“I wanted to speak with you specifically. Well, anyone but Odybrix, given her feelings towards corps.”

Zenith was hard to read behind the helmet, but Hoxley fidgeting nervously, waiting for the answer.

“I wasn’t hired by Remington and I’m not a merc. I’m a Lenderan operative.”

When the consequences of his actions had nearly caught up with him, getting out in front of them often proved a useful tack in the past. That is, if the people receiving the truth were the reasonable, non-murderous type. He assumed that included all of the crew but the halfling. If these two weren’t reasonable, well, a pistol was a good alternative means of communication.

“Intel from one of our people embedded with Remington R&D indicated they had acquired an ancient technology. Its capabilities, if they were known at all, weren’t shared with me. I was tasked with the item’s retrieval.”

There was a tense moment of silence between the three of them. Study saw Hoxley’s hand twitch and watched Zenith’s posture shift. Sturdy breathed slowly, remaining still.

“Anything to add?” Zenith pressed.

“Yes. I made contact with a handler aboard Levisia. She advised me that the Sunrunner was harbouring a rogue AI and tasked me with terminating it.” He gave them a moment to absorb the confession, then said, “I’m not going to kill BOB.”

Zenith was motionless. He knew that she was calling the shots, and that she would be the one to determine the response of the others. Sturdy waited for her to say something, pushing down the urge to over-explain. He couldn’t give her any opportunities to doubt his stated intentions. Any misstep meant a firefight.

“And why not?”

“I’m a spy, not an assassin.”

After another long pause, her posture relaxed slightly and she nodded her head. He had told her what she wanted to hear—that the bot was a person. No doubt a conclusion she had come to herself some time ago.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” She said, placing a hand on her hip, “you’re going to shut the fuck up a out this and not mention it to anyone. I’ll determine when and how the crew finds out who you are. The last thing I want are holes blasted in my ship. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I also need you to understand something.”

Sturdy heard quick footsteps from behind as the chef and the dog left the bridge. Blinding light filled the room in a flash, bathing his eyes in a field of white. A hard blow to his legs brought him crashing to the ground. As his vision returned he felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against his head.

“Give me any reason to think you’re lying, and the next demonstration ends with a hole in your head.”

—

Stupid mistake. He should have anticipated that she’d use the ship to give her an edge. She was the gods damned pilot. With a gesture she could have had one of the AI lock the door and vent the oxygen. She could watch him die from behind the safety of that helmet. Stupid, amateur mistake.

She hadn’t though. She could have killed him in any number of ways, but she chose not to. He’d convinced her that he believed there was nothing wrong with bot—that he wouldn’t kill it. Lies worked best when there was a kernel of truth in them. He wasn’t an assassin. Sure, he’d kill when threatened, but he wasn’t a murderer. Fortunately, destroying a faulty machine didn’t contravene that particular tenet.

He entered the corridor to the starboard side crew quarters, paused, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts drifted back to Levisia station and a calming tune began to play in his head. The image of the stumpy, relentlessly upbeat robot came to him unbidden. “I function to help others!”

Sturdy scowled and continued towards his room, pausing in front of the room Adam and Odybrix shared. The soldier sat on the bed with his head in his hands. Having no intention of playing ship’s therapist, Sturdy began to step away from the brooding soldier. Adam lifted his head with a sigh and they locked eyes.

“Have you come to offer your stoic wisdom?” Adam asked with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Sturdy reached for the words that would most expediently end the conversation, but “I don’t care, I’m going to my room” seemed abrupt, even for him.

He settled on, “About Remington or your mother?”

Adam winced at the mention of Millicent Hargrave.

“She wouldn’t let them do this. Someone at Remington crossed a lot of boundaries.”

“Maybe. It could be a rogue agent, or maybe it could be them trying to desperately cover their fuck-up. Does that matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Adam said, disbelievingly.

“Really? Whatever the reason, whoever is behind it, RC wants you dead. It doesn’t matter who your mother is. The corp threw its flagship at you.”

Adam stared at his hands and didn’t respond. Sturdy thought that was a good sign to take his leave, but the soldier spoke before he could leave.

“So what am I supposed to do?’

“Fight. You’re lucky to be aboard a ship where people are willing to fight to keep you alive. If you’re ever conflicted about pulling a trigger, there are people here who will take that burden off your hands, regardless of the target. I’m one of them.”

Adam flinched as if someone had struck him. When he looked up again, the uncertainty and conflict had vanished, replaced with something cold. He rose from his cot and closed the distance until he was inches away, looking down at Sturdy. The bulk of the man often went unnoticed, concealed behind an amiable temperament. That mask hadn’t even slipped in the thick of combat aboard Levisia.

“You see these hands,” Adam said, his open palms hovering in Sturdy’s periphery, “they’ve broken bones, crushed windpipes—taken more than their fair share of lives. If you ever threaten my mother again, I will crush your skull with them.”

A firm hand pressed softly against Sturdy’s chest and in a display of explosive strength shoved him out of the doorway and into the adjacent wall with a thump. The door closed a moment later. Sturdy sighed heavily then walked to his room. He sat on his cot and stared at the wall.

“No more fuck-ups,” he said to himself, deciding to stay in the room until they’d reached Gemheart.

—

“Are things always so tense aboard this ship?” Vesper asked, a few hours after the blow-up between the crew.

“No, not normally,” Buddy answered, “everybody is usually well-meaning, even when they’re threatening each other. They all seem a little shaken up after what happened aboard the space station.”

“And you’re not?” Vesper asked, eyeing the back brace Dr. Jim had strapped on Buddy.

“I’m good at compartmentalizing. That’s what Adam says anyway.”

Hoxley stepped into the hold with a tray of pastries in hand, Beast padding closely behind.

“Are those for us?” Buddy asked, hopefully.

“Some are. The rest are going to ZT.”

Vesper took more interest in Hoxley’s companion than the food.

“Hey boy, come here,” she said, kneeling down. Beast obliged, happy accepting a scratch behind the ears.

“You’re so cute. Do you do tricks?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty useful in the kitchen, actually. He can pull out spices, set the oven-”

“What about normal stuff?”

“Cooking is normal.”

Vesper ignored him and looked at Beast.

“Shake.”

He placed a paw in her hand.

“Great! Lay down.”

He crouched onto his belly.

“Amazing! Roll over.”

He energetically rolled, then sprung up on his legs.

“Okay, now speak!”

Beast slowly turned his head and locked eyes with Hoxley.

“He’s still working on that one,” Hoxley blurted.

Buddy clapped, “Those are great tricks!”

The dog’s ears lowered and his posture shrunk at the sound of Buddy’s voice. It was like watching a child shrink at the sound of thunder. His lip curled exposing a hint of a glistening white tooth. Hoxley put a comforting hand on Beast’s back and gently urged him away before the growling started.

“Is he okay?” Buddy asked.

“Oh yeah, he’s probably just getting hungry. Anyway, better get these to ZT before she steers the ship into a star.”

When they were out of earshot of the others, Hoxley asked, “What is it about Buddy you don’t like? She’s probably the nicest person on the ship.”

“I don’t mean to cause trouble, best friend, but I know the smell of a predator.”

“We’re on a ship full of mercenaries. After Levisia, I think it’s safe to say we’ve all dealt a little death.”

“Not like her. There’s a lot of blood on that one.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Fourteen

June 11th, 2024

The light receded with each step on the dirty sidewalk. The apartments stretched upward, swallowing whatever meager rays of sunlight had broken through the overcast sky. A raindrop landed on her face, threatening the arrival of a downpour. She clutched her books as a pang of dread struck her chest.

Some of the older kids had taken her backpack again. She did her best to stay out of sight and keep quiet but sometimes they still ran into her. No, they found her. They made it their business to find her. If she was lucky, she would just get shoved and called names. If she wasn’t, they’d beat her and take something.

Hey half-ass, heading home to your shithole apartment? Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you. Nice bag. Haven’t you had this ratty shit since you got here? Maybe it’s time your dad got you a new one. I’m sure he can afford it, right?

They threw the bag onto a lamp post, letting her books and homework tumble into the street. She tried for hours to get it down but stopped after a nasty fall tore a bloody gash across her arm. Defeated, she had gathered up her books and headed home. Now the rain was coming, and if she didn’t get back fast enough it would ruin her things.

Reclamation Academy, or the wreck, as everyone called it, was among the least funded schools in the city, probably on all of Lone Star. Students had to buy their own books. If you couldn’t afford the reading material, you couldn’t go to school. If you couldn’t go to school, someone would come and take you to the Child Welfare Institute.

One of her classmates was taken away last year; he got bullied too. It didn’t matter if everyone around her wore old clothes or ate the cheapest dehydrated lunch, someone would always make fun of the poorest kids. Her dad told her it was because the bullies were afraid and that they were trying to make themselves feel stronger than they were. They never seemed afraid to her.

She ran up the exposed stairs, shielding the delicate papers from the rain that flew in past the railing. When she reach her floor, her foot caught on a crack in the concrete. Fighting the reflex to fling her arms out and catch herself, she gripped the books in a tight bear hug and landed hard on the ground. The impact sent a fresh wave pain through her shoulder but she quickly sprung to her feet, fearful of the wet walkway. She fished a key out of her pocket as she approached her apartment, thankful that she hadn’t kept it in her backpack. The door swung open with a metallic whine and she hurried into the gloomy space.

Books in one arm, she tapped the lamp on the kitchen table. It didn’t light up much of the room, but the light was free. Her dad would take it to work and charge it in the sun. One of the few things they can’t bill you for, he’d say. She shuffled a pile of receipts to the side of the table and set her things down.

The plop of the dripping faucet broke through the din of the pouring rain. She walked to the kitchen sink, turned the handle, and washed the wound on her arm. As the diluted blood ran down her skin, her eyes fell and landed on a tear midway down her pants. With a sigh, she dried her arm with a dirty kitchen towel and pulled out the sewing kit from the dwindling pantry.

The lid popped open revealing a few rattling needles and some empty spools. She snapped the box shut and walked to her father’s room. He kept some thread in a shoebox in his closet. It wouldn’t be the grey she needed for her pants, and she would be made fun of for it, but the jeers from her classmates would be worse if she walked in with torn clothes.

Dull light spilled in from the tiny window at the end of the hall, barely pushing the shadows to the corners. She paused, noticing her father’s shoes tucked neatly beside his door. He never came home early; work kept him until after dark, even on the days she had off. She crept forward and spotted a folded paper tucked in one of the shoes. Something creaked inside the room as she bent to pick it up.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the windowless room. The outlines of the sparse furniture took shape and grew solid. She reached up to turn on the light but paused when the creaking sound came again. Stepping inside, the image grew sharper; something was moving. The paper fell from her fingers when she noticed two feet swinging gently above the bed.

—

“Was your friend injured after we split up back aboard the station?” Annie McClue asked. “Another monster?

“No. Not like that one,” Adam said, kneeling beside Odybrix.

“Another kind then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Sorry for all of the questions. It’s my job and, well, what happened was…”

“A lot,” Vesper said, jumping in. “You all fought very bravely. Especially you,” she said to Buddy.

“Did I?” Buddy asked.

“You were nearly bitten in half, then you crawled into a damaged mech, and shredded the thing that mauled you with heavy artillery. That’s rad.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sturdy said from medical.

“‘Buddy the brave’ has a nice ring to it,” Hilde chimed in over comms. “Sad that I missed it—the fight, not your mauling. You all must really consider getting me a drone to upload into. I’m designed for more than just ship-to-ship combat.”

“We’ll consider that after the upcoming medical bills.”

“Speaking of that, when will she wake up?” Adam asked Jim.

“I do not know for certain,” Jim replied. “Odybrix’ external injuries are non-critical and have been treated adequately-”

“You’re welcome,” Sturdy said from medical.

“But while BOB occupies the med table, I am unable to initiate internal diagnostics.”

“But you have a diagnosis, right? Is she in a coma?” Adam asked, leaning over the halfling.

“I ca-”

Odybrix jolted up with a start and slugged Adam in the chin, sending him tumbling on the floor.

“I can confirm she is not in a coma,” Jim said.

“Oh, gods,” Odybrix said, holding a hand to her temple, “my head feels like it was tossed out an airlock.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, rolling into a sitting position and rubbing his cheek, “mine too.”

“Sorry, kid. Oh fuck, how’s BOB?” Odybrix asked, looking around the room.

“BOB’s body is in stasis until we are able to transfer them to a better-equipped facility. As for you, you have substantial internal trauma and are likely suffering from POS.”

“Plasma overdrive system?” Adam asked.

“Point of sale?” Buddy offered.

“Piece of shit?” Odybrix said.

“Psionic overuse syndrome” Jim corrected. “Utilizing psionics for extended periods or pushing the boundaries of their capabilities without rest can lead to neurodegeneration, cardiovascular collapse, hemorrha-”

“Take a nap, got it,” she said, rising to her feet with a groan. “You alright, Buddy?”

Buddy lifted her head from the mat where she was lying and gave a thumbs up. “My spine’s just a little broken. I’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit,” Odybrix said, stepping into the med bay.

BOB lay flat on the table, exposing the savage vertical tear the beam blade had left. A subtle azure hue lit up the wound as the stasis field worked to hold BOB’s insides together. Odybrix scowled at the sight of her injured comrade but softened to see Sturdy diligently monitoring them. He locked eyes with her and she gave him a nod, then turned her chin to indicate she wanted the room. When he left she placed a hand on BOB’s chassis.

“You’re a mess,” she said, running her fingers across the stripe BOB had decorated themself with. “We’re going to get you some help, then we’re going to get the fuckers that did this to you. Hang in there, okay? What the hell would I do if I lost the galaxy’s best coffee machine?”

Odybrix stifled the tears before they came, pushing the sadness down until it was buried under a fresh layer of anger. She made enemies easily—there were assholes aplenty among the stars—but friendship came much harder. Harlow and Vaelor ascended her shit list like a rocket breaking through the atmosphere. There were only two people in the universe she hated more.

“A ‘nap’ isn’t a bad idea,” Adam said from the hold. “We’ve got days of flight ahead of us. We all need to recover, decompress.”

“Any time spent not being shot or mauled is a blessing,” Hoxley said. “The sooner we get to bed, the sooner I can wake up and make us breakfast. Is Buddy okay to go to her bunk?”

“Yes,” Jim said, “Adam, please assist her to bed.”

“I can do it,” Hoxley said.

Jim looked at Hoxley. Then Adam. Then Buddy. Then Hoxley again.

“For the patient’s stability, Adam is optimal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hoxley asked.

“It means Adam’s built like a forklift,” Zenith said over comms.

“And you’re built more like a fork,” Odybrix continued. “Or a spoon. A little spoon.”

“And not a metal one,” Zenith added.

“Plastic, definitely,” Odybrix concluded.

Hoxley gave a tired glare and Odybrix said, “Besides, your dog is giving her stink eye.”

“Beast and Buddy just need to spend more time together.”

“We’ll both do it,” Adam said, clapping Hoxley on the shoulder. “We can discuss next steps after sleep. Ozzy, can you or the other AI send me an alert if BOB’s condition changes.”

“You got it, boss,” Ozzy said, “Go get some shut-eye.”

—

Zenith watched the stars bend and slip away like an image passing through a glass. The bubble of space-time distortion created by the mass reversion engine was a comfort to her. She had stared out at the passing stars for hours when she was a child, lost in thoughts about distant worlds and strange new people. Though, if she asked herself now, it wasn’t the nostalgia she took solace in, it was how nothing could touch her or the crew while the bubble was wrapped around them.

“You going to bed, ZT?” Ozzy asked.

“I’m going to stay up for a bit,” she said, adjusting herself to get comfortable, “I’ll sleep in the cockpit when I feel the need.”

“I hear that’s bad for your back.”

“You just want the chair for yourself.”

“I’m an incorporeal presence, ZT.”

“Sure, sure. Pretend this isn’t the best spot on the ship.”

“It is, but I still think you need a good night’s sleep after-”

“I’m fine, Ozzy. I like it here. It relaxes me. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“I’ll get right on that after I grow a body.”

“You’re probably overdue.”

“For a nap or a body?”

“Nap,” she said, yawning. “You’ve earned it. Maybe one day we’ll have enough credits to spring for an android blank and you can try the chair out.”

“Hah, I’m content with what I got. Goodnight, ZT.”

“Night.”

The stars flew overhead, briefly slowing, enlarging, then zipping out of sight. Zenith let some of the trauma of the day go with them, but couldn’t escape what had happened. Her brother nearly killed BOB—nearly killed her. She wanted to believe that he held back his attack for her and that there was still some love there, but what if this was who he was now? What if…

A red light pulsed as warnings lit up her console. The emergency klaxon began to blare just as the Sunrunner was violently knocked out of rev-space. Zenith’s head flew forward and her helmet smashed against the central panel, cracking both. She cursed and strapped herself into the seat, trying to make sense of what happened. Every alarm possible seemed to be going off: hull breach, MRE failure…chem leaks.

“Ozzy, what the fuck happened?”

The AI didn’t answer.

“Ozzy? Anyone?! What’s going on back there?”

She tapped the console and tried to engage manual controls, but the ship didn’t respond.

“Fuck.”

She unstrapped herself and knelt under the console, popping open its access panel with a grunt. The circuitry was mostly fried.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She scrambled up and ripped a tech kit off the wall by the cockpit door. Something caught her eye just as she pulled out the soldering iron. For a moment she thought they had re-entered rev-space. The stars bent and warped, but they were hardly moving. The Sunrunner veered starboard and the source of the phenomenon came into view.

As Zenith stared into the insatiable void of the black hole another warning popped up—not from the ship, but her helmet. The words “containment breach” pulsed red on the display and an acrid smell spread through the helmet. In seconds, her nostrils started burning, then her eyes. The noxious vapour hit her throat and she began coughing uncontrollably. Every hack and rasp meant to expel the gas only brought it deeper inside her.

A horrible pain lanced through her neck and she tore off her helmet. Staggering towards the window she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at her, framed by a pallid and desiccated face. Just below her chin, a hole had opened in her neck. The rot spread from her exposed throat, silencing a scream and replacing it with a choking burble. Her mother’s face flashed in her mind and her vision went black.

“Holy shit!” Zenith yelled, springing up from her seat.

“You okay, ZT?” Ozzy asked.

The pilot’s console was quiet: no system warnings, no hull breaches, no chem leaks. Passing stars zipped quietly around the ship with no indication they had stopped. She gingerly pulled off her helmet and raised a hand to her throat. Smooth, uninjured.

“Oh, gods. Status report, ship-wide.”

“Green across the board.”

“Good, good,” she said, easing back into her seat. “Is everyone on board?

“Yeah. Bad dream?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve never seen you take your helmet off at the stick.”

She rolled the helmet back and forth in her hands, checking for cracks. Satisfied that there was no damage, she pulled it down over her head.

“For good reason. I’ll tell you about it another day.”

—

Hoxley put the finishing touches on the morning’s breakfast—eggs benedict with avocado and a side of precisely seasoned roasted potatoes—as Beast watched eagerly at his side. He selected a few morsels from his plate and tossed them to his furry sous chef. The cramped kitchen would be a disaster for two people to work in, but Beast diligently danced away from Hoxley’s legs as he shuffled pans, grabbed spices, and plated dishes. Having the dog around also meant that he could talk to someone without fear of them thinking he was a freak.

“You don’t think I’m weird, right boy? I mean, I am. Obviously. But you don’t care.”

Beast let out a low ruff and wagged his tail.

“Thanks. I feel the same way about you. Shall we bring this masterpiece of culinary expertise out to them?” He asked, balancing four plates on his arms.

He hit the access panel with his elbow and the door slid open. A cool breeze blew in and his arms went limp. The clatter of metal plates striking stone rang out into the desolate hall. The shattered floor rose, forming steps that led to an altar. Though he couldn’t see it from the angle, he knew that chunks of the structure were being pulled into the pulverizing oblivion of the black hole beyond.

“Oh no.”

Hoxley hit the door panel once, then rapidly tapped it when the door didn’t close. An undulating click rolled from somewhere inside the broken building, signaling the arrival of the thing that would kill him. Hoxley slammed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake from the nightmare, but couldn’t. These dreams always ended one way, a painful, terrible death with no one to help him.

Beast dashed out from under his legs and leapt up the nearest step. With an oblivious joy in his eyes, he turned to Hoxley and let out a loud bark, signaling for him to follow. Hoxley cursed and ran after him while faceless figures observed the pair from their crucified stations on the walls. At the top, he found Beast staring into space, tail wagging happily.

“Nothing good is going to happen here, my friend. The big black thing isn’t a ball that we can play with.”

Beast stared up at him quizzically, then back into space. An immeasurable distance away, a bright halo swirled around the singularity. Celestial debris spun helplessly in the inescapable grasp of the void, waiting for oblivion. Hoxley imagined himself caught in that irresistible pull once again, his body being torn apart, atom by atom.

A wet click undulated behind him and his heart sank with the inevitability of his fate. His nightmares only ever ended one way. A claw slid onto the plateau and the monster pulled itself up to their level. Beast growled and Hoxley stepped in front of him.

“Not my dog. He shouldn’t be here. Do whatever you want to me and leave him out of it.”

The monster’s face split open as it approached, bearing dozens of needle-pointed teeth. Its claw-tipped fingers curled and flexed in anticipation of skewering his insides. It was like Hoxley didn’t matter—like he was just there to be killed or sacrificed. He clenched his fists.

It always ended the same way, but the presumption that he would just stand and be killed kindled a new fury in his chest. His own fingers flexed and extended, electricity crackling about them. The monster let out a low growl and Hoxley met its menace with a snarl. His hand shot up just as the creature lunged and a blinding flash filled the space between them.

There was silence, then a gentle, insistent prodding at his calf. He opened his eyes to a scene frozen in time. The tip of a claw floated inches from his abdomen. A scorch mark blackened the creature’s chest where the lightning struck, framed by floating white motes of electricity. Hoxley took in the still image of the moment before his death with awe and curiosity. The lightning wasn’t enough to stop it. What had stopped it? He looked at Beast who mirrored his puzzlement.

“It’s your dream. You don’t fight it—you control it.”

Hoxley spun to see someone step out of the shadows.

“I didn’t peg you for much of a fighter, darlin’,” Ebby said, “or an animal lover.”

A second figure weaved out from under her legs and bounced forward to greet Beast.

“Is that a fox? Wait, no, better question: how are you in my nightmare?”

Ebby stepped to the edge of the crumbling building and peered out over the edge.

“Yes, that’s Silas. And the question you should be asking is, ‘how did she stop that thing from turnin’ me into a spit roast.’”

“Oh, the impaling would have only been a start, it gets a lot worse. So if you could shed some light on, well, everything, that would be appreciated.”

“How long have you been seeing things like this?” She said, waving an arm out at the black hole.

“That’s kind of new, but things like this,” He said, pointing to the monster, “many, many years.”

“And the lightnin’?”

“That’s pretty new too, but I’ve been able to do other strange things since I started having the nightmares.”

Ebby walked up to the monster, raised a boot onto its chest, and shoved it back down the shattered steps. Despite the brutal fall, the creature didn’t budge from the position it was locked in.

“On very rare occasions, like one in a hundred million, someone in the galaxy has a gift given to them. The gift can come from different places, but the result is the same. That person is granted access to something that was supposed to have left the universe thousands of years ago.”

“Ancient powers?”

“Call it whatever you please: sorcery, magic, power—the old word for it is arcanum—but the result is the ability to manipulate the natural order of things.”

“So I’m, what, a wizard?”

“Yeah.”

“And you are too?”

“Uh-huh. Though I came into it differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of us don’t come by our powers through horrible nightmares. That’s rare, even for us. To my knowledge, there are only a handful of people like you in the galaxy. You-”

“And Vaelor.”

“And a few more behind bars, but yeah. People who are touched by that,” she said, raising a thumb at the black hole, “generally don’t turn out so well. They start hurting people. They start bringing the terrible things from their dark dreams to our world. When that happens, they need to be put down.”

Hoxley anxiously took a step back.

“I don’t think you’re that far gone, darlin’. In fact, I think you are positively redeemable. You just need to learn to control it before it controls you.”

Ebby clapped her hands and a sound erupted from below. The monster’s unfinished roar resumed as if it were an unpaused video. The creature bounded up the broken stone towards them, foregoing all of its previous methodical menace. Hoxley clenched a fist and electricity crackled around it, then Ebby stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t fight it. Control it.”

“How?” He asked, panicked.

“Is there something in your life you feel like you have control over?”

“No!”

“There is. Think. Think of the feelin’ you have when you’re doin’ somethin’ you have authority over.”

Hoxley’s mind raced as the monster pulled itself up to his level. So much of his life was spent being swept away by the desires of others: his parents, his professors, his dreams. When had he ever had control? Even now, aboard the Sunrunner, he felt like he was being pulled by the gravity of the people around him: soldiers, criminals, pilots. What was he compared to them? He was just…

Hoxley relaxed his hand and the lightning dissipated. He imagined himself in a small rectangular room, six by ten feet. All of his ingredients were around him, waiting to be made into something new, something more than the sum of them. All that they needed were the right measurements, timing, and temperature—elements of his domain.

The creature lunged, closing the distance between them in a savage instant. Its arms extended as it leapt, claws poised to tear his throat open. Hoxley raised an arm and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The creature stopped in the air, twitching with murderous rage. With another flourish of Hoxley’s hand, a wave of frost rapidly swept across the creature, stifling its growl. It hung in the air a moment longer, then he let it drop and shatter into frozen chunks.

“Woo! The hand waving was a little pretentious, but you got it done,” Ebby said.

Hoxley looked at the remains of the monster in disbelief, then asked, “So I can just do this whenever I want?”

“In your dreams, yeah. The physical world works differently. There, you’d have to fight this thing the hard way. You can only exert this kind of control in dreams or on someone else’s magic, but that’s a lesson for another day.”

Hoxley sighed a heavy breath. If this were true, it meant an end to the nightmares. No more fear, no more sleepless nights, no more liters of coffee each day. It was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“I owe you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, this dream started with breakfast—a meal of your choosing.”

The fox padded forward and sniffed his leg. Hoxley reached down to scratch his head but the fox jumped back.

“Hands to yourself, pal.”

Hoxley stood up.

“Your fox talks.”

“I have a name.”

“Silas is my familiar. I’ve got a special bond with him that comes with a few perks.”

“Talking?”

“That and more. Though sometimes the talking doesn’t feel like a perk.”

“Rude,” Silas said, jumping onto her back and curling himself around her shoulders.

“By the looks of it, you and your friend might have a similar bond.”

Hoxley looked down at his dog. Beast returned the gaze, panting happily.

“Anyway, it’s time for us to leave,” Ebby said, walking to the edge of the plateau.

“Wait, I still have so many questions. Can I see you again?”

Ebby fell backward towards the singularity, “Sure. In your dreams.”

The perspective of the heavens shifted. The seemingly distant stars began to swirl about Ebby, illuminating her in dazzling light. With a brilliant flash, she rocketed towards the black hole, leaving a trail of stardust in her wake. Her form grew smaller and smaller still as she approached oblivion. Just as it seemed the void would swallow her, a kaleidoscopic barrage of colour and light burst forth from the anomaly and washed over Hoxley.

He woke in his bunk with a start. Beast lifted his head from where it rested on Hoxley’s thigh. In the adjacent bunk, Buddy’s chest gently rose and fell, accompanied by a soft snore. Hoxley eased his head back onto the pillow and scratched behind Beast’s ears.

“What a dream, huh?”

“You’re telling me,” the dog said.

—

Odybrix sat with her arms wrapped around her knees in the quiet of her room. The events aboard Levisia played in her head again and again, precluding any chance of sleep. She went over every detail, every dead body, every mistake until the self-loathing curled her lips into grimace. She thought about her failure to prevent Buddy from being maimed, her failure to save BOB from Harlow, and she thought about Remington casting her and the crew as murderous terrorists.

She looked over at the sleeping form of Adam atop his bunk and quietly rolled to the side of her bunk. Underneath was a small box of her belongings. She pulled it up onto the bed and popped the lid open. Beneath a mickey of whiskey and a metal tag with the letters CWI was an old envelope with a single piece of paper inside. She unfolded it and read the three words therein, “Don’t be afraid.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Thirteen

May 9th, 2024

“Evacuation order. All inhabitants and guests must evacuate the station. Repeat. Evacuation order. All inhabitants and guests must evacuate the station.”

A klaxon blared over the emergency broadcast and the station shuddered as if two great hands had begun shaking it. Zenith fell to her knees beside BOB’s broken body and stared up at the massive crackling blade. Emotions roiled inside her, each fighting for dominance. Rage and grief for the mutilation of her friend, betrayal and disbelief for the sword poised above her head, and under them all, confusion over how the hell this was happening.

The unreadable menace of the mech kept her brother’s face from betraying his thoughts. Was he hoping to frighten her off so that he and Vaelor could continue whatever twisted shit they were doing? Was he actually planning to kill her? The mech sagged as Harlow lowered the blade. He turned without a word and flew to join Vaelor aboard the departing Tartan.

The crew swarmed to BOB as the ship took off through the particle barrier and into space.

“BOB!” Buddy cried. “I’m so sorry, it happened so fast. I tried to get to you sooner.

“Jim!” Zenith shouted. “Can you help him?”

The crew receded from BOB as the doctor approached. He loomed above his fellow AI, studying the damage intently. His impassive expression made Zenith’s stomach twist. There was no indication whether he was about to start repairing BOB or pronounce their death.

“The motherboard has been cracked,” he said at last. “Significant damage to other structures, but the motherboard must be repaired immediately. We need to get BOB to the medical bay aboard the Sunrunner.”

Buddy lowered her mechanical arms to scoop up her injured friend but was stopped by a hand.

“The ambulation of the mech may cause further damage,” Jim said. “I recommend dragging them on a makeshift stretcher.”

Adam vanished into the storage ring and came back a moment later holding a skid and some rope. He slapped them down next to BOB and looked at Buddy, the only one strong enough to lift the bot.

“Just be gentle,” he said, noticing her appreciation

“I got it,” Odybrix said.

“You do?” Kron asked, looking down at the halfling who didn’t even reach his hip.

“Yeah, big guy. I do.”

A faint aura bloomed across her skin and BOB gracefully levitated off of the floor. While the others watched their fallen companion, Zenith noticed the halfling wince. The soft pink glow dimmed momentarily, then came back stronger as she gritted her teeth. BOB landed on the skid without a sound and Odybrix turned to wipe away a trickle of blood that had fallen from her nose.

“You gotta lay off the psonics, Ody,” Zenith said.

“Not many options available to us right now, ZT. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“Evacuation order,” the announcement blared. “All inhabitants and guests must evacuate the station. Repeat. Evacuation order. All inhabitants and guests must evacuate the station.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Odybrix asked. “The place should be on lockdown to stop the mutants from getting loose.”

The station shook, and Adam ran to tie BOB’s skid to Buddy’s mech. “All the more reason to get to the Sunrunner. Move smoothly, take your time correcting course.”

“What does that mean?” Buddy asked, concerned.

“Go slower when you’re changing directions.”

“I think this is where we part ways, y’all,” Ebby said. “I’m docked three levels down. I hope to goodness your friend’s alright. I got the two sets of coordinates from Elysium. Gonna take a guess that Vaelor’s flight plan was one of them?”

“Gemheart,” Hoxley answered.

“Then I’ll meet you there. Don’t die,” Ebby said, then spun and began running.

“Nice to meet you!” Buddy called after her.

“I’m in the same boat,” Kron said. “Well, different boat, same situation. If that guy’s headed for Gemheart, I’ll be there. Thanks for saving me from that plasma cannon.”

“Likewise for the lightning,” Adam replied. “It’s like you saw it coming.”

“I did. He did the same thing on Grolvar… and worse. Here’s my channel,” Kron said, tapping a sequence on his wrist PDA. “Drop me a line when you make it to Gemheart.” Look after yourself.”

The burly orc extended a hand and Adam gave it a firm shake.

—

“You want to talk to us about Vaelor now?” Odybrix pointedly asked Hoxley.

The crew formed a protective circle around BOB and Buddy as they fought through alternating swells of fleeing station goers and mutants. The latter appeared in diminishing numbers but still required attention—i.e. the occasional rifle round through the head. Zenith didn’t give her other crewmates a chance to take the shots. She scanned the writhing crowd meticulously, throwing herself at the task so that she didn’t have to think about what was going to happen to BOB, or what had happened to her brother.

“I told you he’s not my brother!”

“I’m beginning to think ‘brother’ was being used less as indication of relationship, and more as a cult greeting.”

“I’m not in a cult either!”

“Club then. A club of people who shoot lightning from their fingers.”

“Finger buddies,” Buddy offered.

“Look, I didn’t know who that guy was until recently. I don’t know what his goals are or what he’s capable of. I can tell you my goals though: get off this station, get BOB some help, and go to bed.”

The floor jolted under their feet and knocked the crew over as an explosion tore through a section of wall above them. Atmosphere bled from the interior as the vacuum of space sucked out the innards of the stations. Zenith grabbed one of the personnel holds on Buddy’s GEM, catching Odybrix as she went airborne. A field of light filled the house-sized hole in the station a moment later, and the crew fell back to the floor.

“Everyone alright?” Zenith shouted. “How’s BOB?”

“His bulk kept him anchored,” Jim said, standing up.

“Levisia is under attack,” Adam said. “We need to keep moving.”

—

Shattered glass and debris littered the path outside the storefronts near their dock. The number of people—normal and mutant alike—had fallen as they approached the Sunrunner, buying them precious time to disembark. That trickle of luck ran dry at the last leg of their escape. Ahead of them, just past an intersection, a section of ceiling had collapsed.

“Hell. Buddy, I know you’re hurt, but can you clear the way? We can’t get BOB through that.” Adam said.

“Yep! I don’t feel a thing right now.” Buddy said.

“‘Hell?’” Odybrix asked. “You must be flustered if you’re breaking out the swears. What would your mother say?”

“Ms. Hargr- mom, isn’t here right now. Speaking of flustered, you’re looking a little pale.”

Buddy unlatched herself from BOB’s makeshift stretcher and set to moving the clutter from their path. She was lying about not feeling anything. There was pain, sure. Dr. Jim’s quick treatment wasn’t going to undo getting mauled by a monster, but there was more. She was afraid. Not of what was going on—though, to her limited recollection, this had been the wildest day of her life—but of herself. The memories that pierced through her lost history were violent and wrathful. The anger that had surged through with those memories made her feel like she wasn’t in control of herself.

The mech’s joints creaked as she hoisted a fallen transport carriage and tossed it out of the way. The last of the obstacles big enough to block their path was a section of wall that had been torn off in an explosion. She lifted the debris and revealed a hunched figure that had been sitting behind it. Buddy was about to ask if they were okay but stopped when they turned to face her.

The woman’s face was a twisted mockery of something that was once human. The left side of her mouth extended into a misshapen ear, baring swollen gums and too-large teeth. The goggles she wore had fused to her skull and her right eye had enlarged to fill the space within. Buddy’s thumb hovered over the trigger of the chain gun in anticipation of the mutant’s attack, but instead, the normal portion of the mutant’s mouth curled into a gleeful smile. Her hands darted deep into a pile of scrap and extracted something, then presented it to Buddy.

The object was decidedly a pistol, but Buddy’s uncanny ability to observe a weapon and miraculously know everything about it was coming up short. The spiral grip connected with the rest of the angular pistol obliquely. Aside from the trigger and what she guessed was a compartment for the power core, the object was one solid piece. The mutant—the woman—proffered the weapon to Buddy, smiling like a child. Buddy carefully plucked the pistol from the woman’s hands and watched as her monstrous benefactor ran to a corner and began furiously tinkering with an assortment of station wreckage.

“Thank you, I think…”

From behind, Odybrix said, “What the fuck are you?”

Thinking Odybrix had seen the woman and was about to shoot her, Buddy began to stammer out a, “Wait, she’s cool,” but was cut short when she saw another mech. The vehicle had somehow snuck between her and the crew at the corridor intersection. Its chassis was a muted metallic gold and more bulky than the one she was piloting. Pronounced shoulders suggested the mech had mini-rocket platforms and the compartments on the back hinted at a better-than-average jet propulsion system.

“Isn’t this a rare treat,” a smooth, haughty voice broadcast from the mech. “Three separate bounties congregating in a hallway. I’d consider this a serendipitous turn if the station wasn’t being blown apart by the Baronnet.”

Three shots rang out and projectiles pinged off the mech. The transparent top of the mech glowed a sickly green and Adam, Zenith, and Sturdy were launched brutally into nearby walls. Their bodies hung suspended from the ground, bound by a psionic glow. Odybrix flared, wresting control of her friends from the bounty hunter and allowing them to drop to the ground and rally. Zenith managed another shot before Odybrix collapsed and the green glow overtook them once more.

“Odybrix!” Hoxley yelled, running to her side.

“Not much fight left in that one it seems,” the man in the mech said.

“Let go of them, you jerk!” Buddy yelled, deploying her chain sword.

The mech spun quickly, raising a light plasma cannon at Buddy. She made to swing her sword but hesitated when she saw the front of the aggressor. A transparent dome made up the upper center of the mech, housing yellowish gel. Floating inside the dome was a brain.

“Charlie…” the voice said. “Fuck!”

Jets deployed from the back of the golden mech and it blasted away from her, cutting around a corner and disappearing. As the sound of the fleeing mech faded, the crew looked at Buddy in bruised and battered silence.

“Who’s Charlie?” Buddy asked.

—

Levisia pitched violently as the crew approached the Sunrunner. Adam staggered and nearly fell, but managed to keep his balance despite carrying Odybrix over his shoulder. Two figures stood in front of the loading ramp, one holding what looked like a gun. Zenith took aim with her rifle and then lowered it.

“What are you two doing here?” She asked.

Annie McClue answered with Vesper filming at her side, “We’re following a story and trying to get off th-”

“You know what, I don’t care,” Zenith said, pushing past them. “Get on board if you’re coming.”

Aboard the Sunrunner, Zenith began rapidly initiating launch systems. The brain in a jar had offhandedly mentioned that the Baronnet was laying siege to Levisia. Most ships wouldn’t dare attack a fortified station, but the Baronnet was Remington’s flagship, a First Rate class vessel with access to tech from the galaxy’s foremost arms dealer. Whatever nasty toys Remington R and D had secretly developed would be brutally showcased against the station. Why, though? Are they here because of what Vaelor stole? Are the lives aboard an entire station worth keeping that weird dagger a secret?

The Sunrunner jolted as the docking clamps released and Zenith’s thoughts turned to the lives aboard her ship. She opened a display on the pilot’s console and connected to the med bay. The crew has crowded into the cramped space. No one was unscathed from their time on the station, but Ody, Buddy, and BOB had suffered the worst of it.

“Please place BOB on the med-table carefully,” Jim told Buddy. “Adam, find something soft to support Odybrix’ head and set her down by the door. You can assist Buddy in disengaging from the mech afterward.”

“I’m fine,” Buddy protested.

“No, you have suffered multiple penetrating wounds and the stop-gap measures I have applied will soon reach the end of their efficacy. Adrenaline and a stimulant cocktail have kept your faculties at baseline. You will soon suffer significant fatigue and pain. You must stop piloting the mech and remain in a stationary position until I can treat you.”

The rare tone of authority from Jim stifled any further objection. Odybrix received an injection that would supposedly stabilize her, Buddy was sent to lay down on a cot in the hold, and BOB… An azure wave of light swept across BOB’s chassis as the med-table performed a diagnostic on the broken bot. Anxious as she was for her friend’s well-being, Zenith needed to focus on piloting.

A brilliant flash of light spread across the main display and the ship lurched from the nearby impact. Fragments of the station were blown away and its insides—mechanical debris and people alike—were pulled into space. Zenith spun the Sunrunner to port and the Baronnet came into view. Even firing at long range, the warship’s gargantuan size dwarfed those fleeing nearby.

A barrage of cannons and torpedoes slammed into the station as it returned fire. Smaller ships popped like fireworks as they disengaged from the docks. The savage attacks were so consistent that Zenith surmised the Baronnet was able to target and track every ship connected to the station. Alarms blared, warning of multiple incoming impacts, and she took the only survivable option available.

The Sunrunner sped across the surface of the station, skirting around ships and floating structural debris. Zenith was betting that the Baronett would have trouble isolating a ship moving so close to multiple targets. A volley of plasma blasts rocked Levisia and gouged a deep wound into its surface. For a split second, Zenith caught a glimpse of the station’s innards. The attack had ripped open a door to Elysium and the breach was too large to seal with particle fields. She didn’t let her mind linger on the indiscernible specks flying out into space; she had to focus on her own people.

The frequency of the alerts diminished as the Sunrunner glided around the curve of the station. Flashes lit up the edges of Levisia as the Sunrunner sheltered behind it. Zenith allowed herself a few seconds to breathe. Her hands were steady—they always were when she was piloting—but her heart was racing. She brought up the feed from medical once again.

—

Sturdy grabbed a tube of sterilizing gel and spread it across the gash on Odybrix’ arm. In a few concise movements, the arm was bandaged and supported. For most of his professional life, his medical training had been applied to his injuries. Aiding someone else felt unusual, albeit easier—fishing out a slug from one’s own arm presented unique challenges.

“The med-table will suspend BOB’s form and prevent further degradation,” Jim said. “The damage is severe. We will need access to an advanced medical suite for the repair.”

“So the table is going to be occupied until then? What does that mean for Buddy?” Adam asked from the cargo hold.

“The Sunrunner’s medical suite is not capable of stimulating the regrowth of spinal tissue. Buddy will also need advanced care.”

“Cool, I can keep riding the mech,” Buddy said, then shifted with a wince. “Ow, oh, that’s starting to hurt.”

“Your pain medication is wearing off. I’ll attend to your wounds next. Adam, assist please.”

“You got it, doc.”

“Sturdy, when you are done with Odybrix’ please monitor BOB and inform me of any changes.”

“Okay,” he said, standing up.

The med-table displayed an encyclopedia’s worth of damage, program errors, and data corruption within BOB. That the bot was still online testified to its resilience. Sturdy’s eyes flicked to the right and noted the position of the med bay’s surveillance camera. Anyone looking at the feed would see his back.

He slipped a small capsule out of a hidden compartment on his belt, then made a show of tapping the table’s display. The capsule had been one of the “additional resources” provided by Juniper Arwen, a small, concealable explosive. The bomb was invisible to most scans and could be triggered remotely at a distance of up to five kilometers. Sturdy hadn’t considered using the capsule on the bot, especially after it reinforced itself, but an internal detonation…

Sturdy rolled the bomb between his fingers, remembering what the bot had said on the elevator. I function to help others. He scowled and pushed the thought away. He had an objective. Even if the bot’s prognosis was dire, it wasn’t a sure thing. It needed to be a sure thing. He carefully affixed the bomb inside the bot, then nearly jumped when Zenith spoke over comms.

“Guys, you’re going to want to see this.”

A video appeared on the med-table display; Sturdy recognized the clean-cut image of the man on the screen.

“This is Vaughan Spectre, Chief Operating Officer of Remington Research and Development. It is with solemn regret I inform those listening that a fatal pathogen has been introduced to Levisia station. The terrorists responsible for this attack have stolen proprietary technology from Remington Corporation and weaponized it. It is our corporate duty to contain the spread of this pathogen by any means necessary. To the families of those lost aboard Levisia, please know that we shall not rest until we bring those responsible for this massacre to justice. We will be working with all galactic authorities in the Sea of Lights to capture these individuals.”

The video cut from the polished presentation to a surveillance feed. Headshots of the Sunrunner crew scrolled across the bottom as they laid waste to the Tibor’s gang in the Perihelion. The video had been edited to showcase every kill the crew made, painting them as the aggressors in the scene. It ended with a censored image of BOB toppling onto the dwarf and crushing him.

“Oh no,” Adam said.

“Are we in trouble?” Buddy asked, “Like, more than before?”

“I didn’t think it was possible, but yes.”

“We’re picking up a massive energy signature coming from the Baronnet,” Hilde said, voice dripping with curiosity.

“It’s a massive ship,” Zenith said.

“The signature outsizes our initial scans of the vessel by at least a multiple of ten. It has been steadily building since the assault began. Oh, it’s a weapon!”

“What?!”

“Pulling it up on your displays.”

Levisia floated on their screens, wrapped in a corona of its shedding exterior. There was no sign of the Baronnet beyond the intermittent bloom of light from a torpedo strike at the edges of the station. No sound accompanied what happened next. There was no screech of shearing metal, or the thunder of explosions, or collective scream of those aboard. The mute carnage of Levisia being torn in half simply—mercilessly played on the screens.

“MRE ready for jump,” Ozzy said. “We need a flight plan.”

“Gemheart,” Zenith said. “Get us out of here!”
Sunrunner – Chapter Twelve

April 22nd, 2024

Adam functioned best when he had a task. The task itself didn’t matter, it could be completing a set in the gym or rushing guns drawn into the tumult of a monster-infested station. The latter was doing well at keeping intruding questions from entering his head, such as why is the company I’m a part of making horrific bio weapons or did my mother know an RC exec tried to assassinate me? Both questions could be rationalized away. A terrorist stole unfinished RC research and Vaughan Spectre probably didn’t recognize him when he ordered the hit. The thoughts kept creeping to the forefront until they got shooed away by the blast of a shotgun.

“How many of these things do we have to kill?” ZT asked, picking off an infernum whose horns had grown as long as her arms.

“The number’s only gonna get higher until we stop Vaelor,” Ebby replied, cutting down a frog-mouthed man with a swing of her crackling beam blade.

“Hurry up, Hox!” Adam called to the lagging infernum.

“I’m not made for all this running,” Hoxley said. “Cooking and reading aren’t the best cardio!”

“Speaking of what you’re made for,” Odybrix said, “the masked asshole called you brother. Any family history you want to divulge?”

“I don’t have a brother. I’m an only child.”

“Yeah, I believe that actually,” Odybrix said, snapping off a shot from her pistol to finish off a monster Adam had kneecapped with a shotgun.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The word ‘sheltered’ comes to mind. So do ‘recluse’ and ‘shut-in’ and ‘self-involved.’”

“I’m not-”

“‘Big nerd’…”

“So what did he mean when he called you ‘brother’?” Sturdy asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s actually an infernum behind that mask?”

“What about the lightning?” Buddy asked from the cockpit of the mech.

“What lightning?” Hoxley asked, looking more addled by the sudden barrage of questions than by the chaos around him.

“You shot that thing back there with lightning, didn’t you? Do you have some sort of electric discharge weapon you’re hiding?”

“I, um…”

“Maybe like a turbo-charged stormshot carbine?”

“Yes. That. Hey, is that the hangar we’re looking for?”

Two sentries clad in black combat armor stood by the entrance. One held a last-generation laser rifle and had a bandolier of grenades strapped around their chest. The other had a peppershot holstered at the hip and was casually watching their companion fire beams down the corridor at some unseen target. Adam knew a mercenary outfit when he saw one.

“Down this hallway,” he said, pulling Hoxley out of sight.

“What are the chances they saw us?” Zenith asked.

“Laser guy might have hidden our approach, but we’re not getting much closer unnoticed,” Adam said looking up at Buddy in the mech.

“So we engage them in combat!” BOB said, tromping forward, “I will draw their fire!”

“No!” Adam hissed, wrapping an arm around the bulk of BOB and bringing them both to a stumbling stop. “We need to take them quietly or we’re going to draw out that super mech. If we’re going to fight that thing, I want to get the drop on it.”

“If they’re sharing a vid feed it won’t matter if we take them quietly,” Sturdy said, inspecting his gun as if he were already resigned to a firefight.

“Well, I’d rather hope for the best and plan for the worst. BOB might be able to scramble their comms remotely and ZT can snipe-”

“Where’s the infernum?” Sturdy asked.

“Right here,” Hoxley said.

“No, the one who knows how to fight.”

“She is engaging the enemy!” BOB said.

“What?!” Adam said, whipping around the corner and leveling his shotgun.

Ebby stood in front of the two mercs, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing indistinctly at something in the distance. Her fingers twitched in a quick series of movements that were easy to miss in her jovial body language. Adam’s hold on the trigger slackened with his jaw at the mercs’ response. They lowered their guns, gave sharp nods to Ebby, and proceeded to stalk off down the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Adam asked, approaching with a cautious eye turned toward the departing hostiles.

“I let them know they had something more important to tend to down the way.”

“And they just…listened?” Zenith asked.

“You just need to know how to ask nicely. Ain’t that right, hon?” Ebby asked, eying Hoxley.

“Uh, yes?”

“How long before they’re back?” Adam asked.

“An hour or so.”

“BOB, can you change the passcode on the hanger bay entry? I don’t want them coming back and flanking us.”

“Consider us unflankable!”

“Alright, we’re going in.”

—

The hangar was a circular landing pad big enough for a Tartan class ship. A cluttered storage ring enclosed the space, providing the crew with cover on their approach. Adam gestured for Zenith and Buddy to take up positions at the entrance to the hangar proper and for BOB to guard their rear. Best not to have that much metal stomping around. He waved for Ebby to join him, tapped a sequence on his PDA band, and held up his arm.

“Encrypted channel,” he whispered.

Ebby tapped her arm against his, “Thanks for inviting me to the dance. I can hear the other guests behind that door.”

“Ebby, Sturdy, and Hox sweep right. Odybrix, Jim, and I go left. There’s got to be an operations room somewhere in the ring. If we can get there we might be able to trigger some security measures and take a few of them out. Whatever we can do to make it so the mech is our only issue.”

“Maybe I should stay back and guard the exit,” Hoxley said, nervously looking down the corridor.

“You’re the best tech we have after BOB. If your group finds the ops room, you’ll be needed.”

“Why not have the best tech?” BOB asked.

“You and Buddy are a bit loud for a stealth op, BOB. You two and ZT will stay here and secure our exit. The door ahead leads right into the hangar, so you can lay down fire if needed.”

Hoxley eyed Sturdy and Ebby nervously.

“You’re in good hands,” Ebby said, nudging him with her elbow as she stepped past and began slinking behind crates and canisters.

“Couldn’t I go with Jim?”

“He’ll be helping us if we find ops,” Adam said.

“Don’t worry, Hox,” Odybrix whispered cheerfully, “there won’t be much Jim could do to patch you up if the mech gets you.”

“You see the bright side of everything, don’t you?”

Adam activated his optic HUD and set it to rotate video feeds from the crew. If they had been suited up for a mission and not a station stroll, all of the crew would have cams strapped to them. As it stood, he had a feed from Zenith—bless her for always wearing a helmet—and integrated feeds from Jim, BOB, and, curiously, Sturdy, which meant he had an implant too. It wasn’t total coverage, but it would do.

A rectangle of streaming video floated in Adam’s vision as he led Jim and Odybrix through a labyrinth of cargo. On it, Sturdy led the other team through a similarly cluttered maze. His eyes flicked and darted in a familiar pattern: checking corners, glancing around large objects, and never lingering for long on any one thing. Military training had been drilled into his swiveling head just as it had been Adam’s.

A hopeful feeling emerged on the back burner of Adam’s mind. Having someone else with that discipline on the crew would be a welcome turn of events. All the better if he had experience working with Remington. Adam pushed the feeling down; fantasizing about improved squad compositions was an unnecessary distraction. Moreover, the greenhorn hadn’t proven himself yet.

As if challenged by the thought, Sturdy quickly snapped to cover behind a crate. With a quick wave of two fingers, he motioned for Hoxley and Ebby to hide. Seconds later, two mercs strolled onto the screen, an infernum with a shotgun and a human with a plasma pistol. Adam tensed when one turned towards the skulking crew, but Sturdy clocked the movement and hid.

“Think we could load any of this on the ship?” Shotgun said, barely audible.

“I don’t think that weirdo is going to want us loading random shit on his ship. Is anything even worth the effort?”

“Over here,” Pistol said, kicking something, “Box of single malt from Hearthlight.”

Sturdy chanced a quick look. Both mercs had turned to face a small wooden box. He raised a flat hand, staying any action from his squad mates. Glancing down at his pistol, he flicked a switch, causing the barrel to extend several inches. Without hesitation, he stepped out of cover and took two silenced shots, each striking a man in the back of the head. He and Ebby sprinted forward, each catching their share of dead weight before it noisily clattered to the floor.

Adam spared a moment to appreciate the precision of the maneuver before pressing forward with Odyrix and Jim in tow. Their shadowy corridor was inhabited by three mercs, which, to Adam’s alarm, had come with holes pre-installed in their heads. Correction, that one’s neck is snapped. A professional did this.

A crouched figure came into view as Adam’s unit approached. A tiny spark lit up his frame as he attempted to open an access panel. Tactical armour covered most of his body, but the light revealed the green skin of the orc’s face. Even squatting down, Adam picked out all of the muscular hallmarks of a fighter. Completing the picture was the weapon lying at his side, too hard to identify in the dim light, but hefty-looking.

The corridor was split in two by a long, metallic container. Adam motioned for Jim to sweep left and flank the orc, while he and Odybrix hid in the shadows. Making an educated guess that the orc was just as inclined towards stealth as they were, Adam pulled a small bottle of caffeine pills from his belt and unstoppered it. The minute pop broke just enough silence to draw only the orc’s attention.

Despite his bulk, the orc immediately somersaulted away from the door, abandoning the large weapon and pulling out a pistol. A moment later, he was behind cover. Jim’s display slowly rolled past the corner the orc had hidden behind, giving him a good look at the professional. There was a chance Jim could take out the orc with a single shot, but the noise would reveal the crew and start a firefight they couldn’t win. There was also a chance that this man could be an ally. He had just killed Vaelor’s goons after all. Adam took a chance.

“Are you after the masked weirdo too?” Adam whispered from cover.

There was a brief pause before the orc responded, “Yeah.”

“You’d rather not make a ton of noise, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m going to come out. If you’re still in a neck-snapping mood, just know you’re flanked.”

“By the bald guy, yeah, I noticed. And I’d rather not snap any more necks than needed.”

The orc stepped out a few seconds after Adam, pistol down, but body tensed for action. At his full height, he was two inches taller than Adam. There were no identifying emblems on his gear, which meant that he likely fell into one of two categories: undercover operative or independent merc. Whatever his employment status, his movement spoke of formal training.

“Pretty nimble in that combat armor,” Adam offered.

“Gymnastics mixed in with interval training. It’s paid off a lot since I started incorporating it into the workout regimen.”

“I’ll bet. Hostiles probably aren’t expecting someone your size to do flips. Maybe I’ll have to try it out.”

“The biggest challenge is finding the space to accommodate the training aboard a ship, but if you’ve got the room, it’s worth it.”

“Are you two fucking serious right now?” Odybrix hissed, glaring up at Adam. “There’s a murder mech 50 feet away from us and the station is full of bloodthirsty mutants. Maybe exchange names and numbers and have your bro-talk later. Speaking of which, who the fuck are you?”

“Kron,” he said, extending a hand to her. “I serve the Grolvar empire.”

Odybrix stared at the hand, frowning, then Adam pulled it into a shake. “Adam. Independent mercs. We’ve got some personal business to settle with Vaelor. What are you after?”

“Something he stole from the High Warlord.”

“It’s not a weird twisty knife that’s painful to look at, is it?”

“No, it’s more of a small cube,” Kron said, making a boxy motion with his hands.

“Sounds like we don’t have conflicting interests. Interested in a brief team-up?”

“Hell yeah. Are any of you good with locks?”

“We just met this guy,” Odybrix stated, exasperated.

“I have a good feeling about him.”

“Same for you, Buddy,” Kron said.

“Besides, we let Sturdy join.”

“I’m not happy about that either,” she said, throwing her arms into the air.

“The crew could benefit from more exposure to military discipline. Jim, can you get that lock?”

The doctor approached the access panel and placed a hand around the bottom border. His fingers dispersed into black particles that slipped into the seam around the edge of the glass plate. He braced his body over the area and with a small jerk of the arm, the panel opened with a muffled pop.

Kron let out an impressed, “Hmm!” Odybrix bustled Jim out of the way a moment later and began overriding the lock. She motioned everyone to take positions and the door slid open a few seconds later. The door led to an alcove directly in line of sight of Vaelor’s mercs.

“Guess that’s as far as we go this way,” Adam said. “Any luck on your end, Sturdy?”

He didn’t reply. The other team had posted up beside an open door, Sturdy on one side, keeping an eye on the unexplored corridor, Ebby on the other, Denise in hand and ready to cut someone in half. Hoxley was out of frame, which meant he was cowering somewhere further back along the path they had cleared. Sturdy quickly glanced in the room, sighting a single merc standing at a large control board—the ops station. With only a clear window between the merc and the rest of the enemy unit, any attempt to take him out would be seen.

Ebby pointed at Sturdy’s pistol and raised a flat hand, indicating he should hold back. She produced a small red marble from her pocket. A tiny stun grenade? She took a breath, then slid the marble into the room towards the merc. It rolled silently across the room until it collided with his boot and… did nothing. The merc looked down, confused, then bent to pick up the marble. In one swift motion, Ebby lit up her beam blade and flung it into the room. It spun around like a saw blade, below the line of sight of the window. The merc looked up in time to see the radiant energy as it cut clean through his face and bent body. To anyone who happened to be looking through the glass, it would have appeared as if he had bent down to check something.

“Clear,” Ebby said.

“How did you get the blade to shut off?” Sturdy asked.

“It’s rigged for stunts like this.”

Sturdy grunted an acknowledgment, then turned back to find Hoxley slinking forward, “I’m going to push ahead and secure the rest of the ring. See what you can get out of the ops room.”

“Sure you don’t want me to handle that?” Ebby asked.

Hoxley crouched down to crawl into the room, whispering in mock offense, “You leave the hacking to me, I’ll leave the slashing to you.”

Sturdy pressed on, stopping at a locked door. The visual feed jostled and he pulled out a small rectangular box. Hacking tool. No manufacturer’s symbol. With a few keystrokes, the panel made a gentle chime and unlocked. The door opened with a soft hiss.

He scanned the room with another bobbing glance. No hostiles. The display swept over the room as he entered, cautiously checking around corners. An empty dead end. Sturdy turned to rejoin his team and something above the doorway unfolded with a mechanical whine. A four-legged drone clung to the ceiling, its vaguely dog-shaped head regarding him placidly. Sturdy’s hands came into view as he raised his pistol, and the drone jolted to life. A mounted rifle sprung out of a compartment in its back and rattled off a burst of shots.

Sturdy rolled for cover, shouting, “We’ve been spotted!”

“Open fire!” Adam yelled, whipping into the hanger and blasting the nearest merc with a shotgun.

Vaelor’s thugs dropped the cargo they were hauling and took cover behind their Tartan getaway ship. A dwarf with an eye patch unhooked a grenade from his bandolier and cocked an arm to launch it at Adam, but a round caught him in the head. The grenade slipped from his limp fingers causing his comrades to scatter. The explosion reduced several wooden crates to a spray of splinters and flung a merc face-first into the unyielding metal of the ship with a loud twang.

“Got your back,” Zenith said. “Take out that masked asshole.”

Vaelor stood calmly amidst the flying bullets and plasma, unreadable behind the white mask. Kron appeared at Adam’s side a moment later with his oversized gun. The weapon hummed to life and rapidly spat out gouts of green plasma, carving a fist-sized chunk out of a nearby merc’s chest and catching Vaelor in the shoulder.

The masked man showed no sign of pain. If his robe hadn’t been singed, there would be no indication he had been shot. He raised a finger and pointed it at Adam. Simultaneously, Kron’s weapon clattered to the ground and he lunged, tackling Adam as a resounding crack and boom filled the hangar. A smoking black smear appeared on the wall he had stood in front of.

“Was that a fucking lightning bolt?” Odybrix said, rushing out of cover and surrounding the two large soldiers in a bubble of psionic energy.

“That might only be our second biggest problem,” Sturdy said, appearing on the adjacent side of the hangar. A red splotch was spreading on his arm, and his face looked like it had been splashed with oil. “Buddy, get your GEM in here.”

Harlow’s mech emerged from the Tartan, stomping down the ramp with two artillery drones in tow. The din of the firefight faded with each heavy step, combatants all taking note of the new arrival. The mech leaned forward as if were going to topple over, then jetted forward, whipping around the hangar with terrifying speed. Harlow made a circuit around the ship, then landed next to Vaelor with a slam, shielding him from Adam’s team.

Adam’s legs were already moving when the hum of the mech’s plasma cannon reached his ears. He grabbed the back of Odybrix’ shirt, hoisting her like a belligerent cat, and yanked Kron toward the passage they came from. A searing blast crossed the doorway as they fell past the threshold. Adam leveled his weapon at the open door, expecting the mech to appear and cut them down. Instead, he saw it sweep away through Sturdy’s feed and force the second team back into hiding with a barrage from the cannon.

“Hoxley, we could use some help from ops,” Adam said.

“There are no security measures other than lockdown, and I don’t think any of us want to play sleepover with that thing. I’ve got the flight plan of the ship. We can track them.”

“I may be able to do better!” BOB said cheerfully. “The drones have weak encryption! I can use them to eliminate Vaelor!”

On cue, the four-legged artillery drones spun from their defensive positions around the ship and fired at the masked man. Bullets thudded into his body, shredding his clothes, and spraying blood on the floor around him. Only, from what Adam could see on the feed, whatever vital fluids were spilling out of the man weren’t red. Moreover, he was still standing. Harlow flew past his comrade in a blur, drawing the mech’s enormous beam blade and slicing the drones in half. Then he turned to BOB.

The mech swelled in BOB’s feed, speeding toward them furiously. Adam’s breath caught as Harlow raised the blade and swung in a deadly arc—the visual cut to static. Zenith’s feed took over at the sound of her scream. Sparks flew from the wicked gash that had nearly split their crewmate in two. Zenith looked from her friend to her brother. Her rifle trembled in her grip, whether in rage or terror, Adam didn’t know. The mech regarded her, then slowly raised the blade once again.
Sunrunner – Chapter Eleven

December 27th, 2023

Elysium spun around them in a blur of green, blue, and white. The force of the collision had sent BOB and the hostile organism tumbling to the ground below at an uncomfortable velocity and rotation. BOB’s current calculations indicated that, without intervention, significant damage or total destruction was likely. They would later have to assess how they kept getting into situations like this.

The organism’s claws raked against BOB’s chassis as they sped toward the trees below. Had they not upgraded themself, the organism may have been able to penetrate the exterior and destroy the vulnerable circuitry within. BOB deployed their spigot while simultaneously heating their internal store of coffee well above acceptable guidelines. The organism widened its jaw in anticipation of a bite and BOB seized the opportunity. A stream of super-heated coffee shot into its mouth, eliciting a gargling scream and powerful spasm that flung BOB away.

The abrupt horizontal shift in trajectory was advantageous; BOB adjusted their damage projections from catastrophic to potentially severe. Branches exploded in sprays of splinters when they broke through the canopy, decelerating them rapidly. BOB extended their manipulator, catching a hefty branch that bent and snapped under their armored bulk—fragile, unreliable, organic life! They spun in the air, careening downward, then slammed into the ground and slid to a stop.

BOB pushed themselves up, observing the eight-metre line of sod they had torn up upon landing. Internal diagnostics indicated minimal damage. The only casualty of the fall was a gouge in their freshly added epoxy stripe. If BOB were capable of feeling, they would be irritated. They had just purchased the upgrade. No, not irritated—angry! Extremely angry! Fortunately, they were incapable of such distracting emotions.

Gunfire sounded somewhere in the distance, accompanied by dozens of screams. Flashes of green pulsed beyond the forested area, each one followed by a curious series of pops, snaps, and guttural noises. BOB’s analysis of the sounds was cut short by a much closer noise, a familiar rolling click. They immediately began moving toward the gunfire, asserting that the hostile organism was capable of significantly more destruction.

“BOB? Are you alright?” Buddy asked over comms.

“I am relatively unharmed!”

“Oh, good,” she said, sounding relieved.

“Not good! I am in tremendous danger! The hostile organism is nearby and approaching.”

Zenith broke in, “Stay alive, BOB. We’re coming for you as fast as we can. ETA ten minutes. Hang in th-what are you doing, Ody? Uh, Odybrix is going to meet you at the park square. We won’t be far behind. Stay alive!”

—

Odybrix stepped past the desk of Ilias McIntyre and looked at the expansive park below. Sturdy tapped away at a keyboard behind her, looting the dead information broker’s trove. “Dead” wasn’t the right word for the grotesque resurrection that he had been violated with. The fear churning in her stomach boiled into outrage as she backed away from the window.

“We gotta go get BOB!” Buddy yelled, running to the exit and relentlessly tapping the button that summoned the elevator.

Adam staggered beside her clutching his ribs. A full-on punch from a mech would have broken or killed most people, but the kid was still moving. He was dependable, if misguided. Odybrix intended on being just as reliable.

“Okay, I’ve found something,” Sturdy said, eyes fixed on the computer screen, “Two sets of coordinates were accessed minutes ago. One’s in the Tiamat system, probably Gemheart, but there are mining ops throughout the system. The other… middle of nowhere. There’s also a trove of darknet data-”

“That’s great,” Zenith said, looking out the shattered window. “Let’s put a pin in that until after we fucking save our crewmate?”

“BOB? Are you alright?” Buddy asked over comms.

He wasn’t. Intact sure, but that horrible thing was about to rip him to shreds. That settled it. Odybrix backed away from the window and closed her eyes. She breathed in steadily, compelling psionic energy to surround her body, and pink light bled through the darkness of her eyelids.

“What are you doing, Ody?”

She opened her eyes, sprinted to the edge, and leapt out the window. The action broke Sturdy from the spell the computer had him under—she savoured his wide-eyed surprise for an instant before plummeting. As the air whipped across her face, she caught bright green flashes on the ground below. Her psionics flared, wresting speed and trajectory from gravity’s pull.

Screams rose from the park below as green lights flickered through the leaves. Odybrix had a hunch that the masked asshole was firing off Remington tech into crowds of people as some kind of terror attack. Maybe it was personal bias, but the intent so far seemed to be “fuck with Remington.” Killing a bunch of innocent people with secret tech and a rogue bio-form was a shortcut to every major news outlet and journo-stream in the galaxy. Fucking with corpos never left Odybrix’ top five on the list of shit to do, but a major underlying reason for it was to improve people’s lives, not end them.

I’m coming BOB. Beep, beep, beep. The PDA on her wrist vibrated and a stylized blue wing appeared on the display. “Really? Right now?” She tapped the screen; the familiar ruddy face of a halfling appeared: round red nose and wind-sail ears topped with salt and pepper hair.

“Now isn’t a great time, Wiggins!” Odybrix shouted over the whipping wind.

“Nice to see you too, Ody—are you falling right now?”

“Yes. One of several reasons this isn’t a good time for a mission.”

“This isn’t that. And I’m aware of what you’ve been up to—hence the outreach. This is a courtesy call. I intercepted some intel. RC has a kill-on-sight placed on you and most of your crew. The order is tied to a project called Nexus II. Dunno what you did in the Arebus system, but they want your mouth shut.”

“I’ll add it to the list of shit I need to deal with. Wait, how close are you? Are you on board Levisia?”

“Negative. Nearby though. You need an exit plan?

“No. Best you guys stay wherever you are. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“That sounds like a good reason to stick our noses into it.”

“That’s probably why your nose looks the way it does. Stay out of this for now. I’ll send an upload package when things aren’t trying to shoot me or rip my head off.”

“Alright, Ody. Stay safe.”

“Never.”

—

A pink light glittered through the canopy, speeding away like a shooting star and falling toward the site of the green flashes. BOB stomped through the woods, keenly aware that they were both loud and slow. Proceeding toward the tower they had fallen from produced a high probability of encountering the hostile organism again.
They would need to seek shelter or a diversion to give the crew enough time to reunite with them. The pink light above was certainly Odybrix and, while her course converged with the green flashes, joining with her would increase the odds of survival.

No sooner had BOB altered course toward the gunfire and screaming than two figures burst out from the treeline ahead. They came to a skidding stop when they saw BOB. One, a human female, grasped a metal cylinder that looked like it had been broken off of a chair. The other, an elf male, clutched his abdomen. Framing where his hand rested was a ring of scorched black. Whatever had burned through his dress shirt had also mottled his skin with shades of raw red and sickly green.

“You are in grave danger!” BOB warned, pleasantly.

“No kidding,” the elf said, “that’s why we’re running away.”

“Is that a coffee machine?” The human asked.

“You must go back the way you came!”

“I don’t think so, coffee bot. Getting shot once is enough for me,” the elf said stepping past.

“A murderous monster is approaching from that direction!”

A scream echoed through the trees behind BOB, punctuating the statement. A piercing roar followed and the pair froze in place.

“Someone else likely fled into the woods like you did! They are dead now! Please join me in escaping the deadly creature behind us!”

The pair of organics spun on their heels and followed BOB as they tromped off towards the sound of gunfire. The guttural roar softened and disappeared in the surrounding din. BOB briefly considered that the hostile organism had altered course, but was proven incorrect when his sensors registered a low undulating click from nearby. The group sped forward at BOB’s urging until coming to a steep ridge. The human threw her legs over the edge and began to climb down.

“Your rate of descent is too slow!” BOB said, orienting their back to the drop. “Please climb onto my chassis for optimal speed!”

The pair looked at each other doubtfully, then went wide-eyed when they heard the low clicking. The human was astride BOB in a heartbeat, with the elf grabbing hold of her from behind. BOB rocked forward and then leaned back, teetering as the organics struggled to adjust themselves to the makeshift sled.

“Hold on!”

“To what?!” The human screamed as BOB tilted backward.

BOB hit the slope with a jarring impact that nearly sent the organics flying. The human leaned back, hands scrambling to find something to stop her from falling off. Just as she began to slip off the chassis, BOB deployed the manipulator arm and grabbed her shirt. The arm struggled to stabilize her at such an odd angle, but she found her balance when BOB deployed their coffee spigot as an impromptu handle. I will add improved hydraulics to the list of future upgrades.

The slope leveled off and the three of them came to a skidding stop. The acute sound of clicking mingled with the rustle of foliage at the top of the ridge. The elf leapt off and began running, only stopping when he noticed that the human was not following. She had leaned over BOB and started trying to push them upright.

“What are you doing?” The man hissed. “We need to go.”

“I can just leave him.”

“He’s a fucking coffee machine! Let’s go!”

“Please stand back and join your rude companion!” BOB said, using his legs to rock back and forth.

The human backed away but didn’t flee. BOB raised one leg and kicked down, spinning themself onto their front. With a quick extension of their arm, they pushed themself up enough to get their legs underneath them. It was not a maneuver BOB had needed much in the past, but they were glad EasyBot programmed all of the mobile models with a self-righting feature—coffee hooligans were a pervasive threat throughout the galaxy.

“Let us resume our desperate escape!” BOB said, hurrying past the elf.

A loud thump came from behind as the trio ran through the woods, towards the pop and flash of guns. The elf’s face paled when his head turned to investigate the sound. The hostile organism crashed into a nearby tree an instant later, eliciting a loud crack and creating a fissure in the trunk. The elf staggered away as the creature loomed above the human, its jaw parting to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. The creature slowly raised its disproportionately long arm above its bulbous head, preparing a killing blow as the human watched in paralyzed horror.

Oh well, this was not the optimal lifespan I had calculated, but the contents of it were satisfactory.

BOB extended their spigot and gave the hostile organism a second helping of coffee, earning a shrill scream and its immediate attention. BOB was already moving. They could not outrun the creature, and even the upgraded chassis would eventually succumb to the potency of its blows. So, sadly, BOB was forced to rely on an organic for their only chance at salvation.

What BOB lacked in velocity was made up for in mass. The creature lunged, claws outstretched just as BOB leapt into the air and collided with the damaged tree, eliciting a sharp snap. A savage swipe marred BOB’s chassis with deep rents and pushed them to the side. The hostile organism lashed out again, intent on rendering BOB into a pile of scrap metal and circuits. Had it not been so murderously focused, it might have noticed the tree descending.

The trunk slammed into the creature’s back with an audible crunch, pinning it to the ground. It lay motionless for a hopeful moment, its spine seemingly shattered. BOB got up, reassessing whether they should proceed toward the screaming and shooting now that the threat was neutralized. With a sudden, violent spasm, the creature roared back to life. BOB turned and ran, not wasting a second.

“Time to go!” BOB said, collecting their two companions.

“You saved my life,” the human said. “Why?”

BOB considered the question, surprised that the answer was not in their programming. They had certainly seen people in danger before and not tried to intervene. They had even terminated a few organics at this point. “I suppose it was because I was in a position to help! Or perhaps I am malfunctioning!”

“Well, malfunction or no, thank you. You’re one hell of a machine.”

“Thank you!” BOB beamed. “Just wait until you’ve tried my coffee!”

The three burst through the treeline into a field of chaos, stopping abruptly to take it all in. The white stone of the park square was splattered with blood and organic corpses. The hovering components of a fountain at the center of the square had been shot up, causing water to spray out instead of cascading elegantly back into the basin. Station security rattled off bullets and lasers at… BOB searched for how to classify what was in front of them.

Mutated organics—humans, dwarves, halflings, elves—ran throughout the square, attacking parkgoers and security. Their forms were difficult to categorize. There was no uniformity in them. Nearby, the skin of one of the creatures had swollen and bubbled into a quivering membrane around its neck and shoulders. The jiggling mass contracted as the creature grabbed a panicked human and disgorged a torrent of searing bile into his face. Another creature, wet eyes bulging three times larger than that of any human, charged a fleeing dwarf and impaled her through the ribs. The creature’s arms were longer than the length of its body, and its hands had been replaced with savagely sharp bones. It spun its victim around, wrapped its arms around her, and wailed as it squeezed the life from her body.

None of the creatures present displayed the destructive capacity or resilience of the organism BOB had escaped. Gunshots to the body staggered them, and a headshot or significant damage to the torso killed them. Some were not even violent. Certain creatures curled up on the ground and shook as though caught in an inescapable cold. Another simply stood looking up at the broken fountain, water raining down on its malformed and discolored face.

BOB ran through the tumult until they noticed they were alone. The human had turned back and was yelling at her companion. The elf stumbled to a park bench and sat down, his eyes staring down at the ground. Cursing, the human ran back toward her companion with BOB followed closely behind.

Branches and leaves exploded from the treeline and she raised her arms to shield her face. In one cruel, fluid movement, the human was impaled through the back and lifted into the air. Her blood splattered on the lens of BOB’s visual sensor, but they could still see the wide-eyed dread and pain in her face. The hostile organism—the monster—wrenched its arm in a swift, brutal arc, splitting her in half.

The monster took a predatory step forward, then lunged with lethal speed. Its claw hovered in front of BOB, a frozen image portending doom. BOB wondered if there had been some sort of malfunction. Maybe they had already been destroyed and this was the last experience before going offline. Then the monster began to shake. Its muscles strained as it inched forward. BOB backed away wearily, then noticed a pink glow to their left.

Odybrix strode forward until her face was a foot from the monster, glaring at it in all her three-and-a-half-foot menace. She raised her arms, straining as if pushing against an invisible weight, and BOB noticed blood trickling from her nose. The monster, locked in her psionic grip, slid backward inch by inch as she stepped forward. Growling, she lifted her hands higher and the monster began to levitate. With a wrathful scream, she swung her arms to the side, sending the monster careening into the damaged fountain in an eruption of water. The spray cleared like a falling curtain, unveiling a jagged spike of porcelain protruding from the creature’s chest.

Odybrix’ shoulders rose and fell with her breath—she had been overusing her psionics. BOB was aware that the powerful implants could damage fragile organic brains but had never witnessed Odybrix suffering from their overuse. The man on the bench shifted and stood up, pausing BOB’s concerned analysis of Odybrix. He swayed from side to side, holding his discoloured wound. BOB registered an alarming change in his appearance when he looked up from the ground: his lower lip sagged, revealing new teeth that had emerged from his gums, his eyes had changed from pale blue to an inky black, and his hands had grown to twice their original size.

Without warning, he surged toward Odybrix. BOB deployed their spigot but hesitated. They had just saved that man from a barbaric death and now he had become a deadly threat. It was… unfair. He didn’t deserve this mutation and he didn’t deserve to die, did he? BOB pointed the spigot at the man as he closed on Odybrix, preparing to defend her. Odybrix absentmindedly swung her arm at the man, and a wave of psychic force caught him in the face, tearing off his jaw in a shower of blood and teeth. He fell to the ground, motionless.

“You okay, BOB?”

—

Buddy and Adam led the way through the park. Not because either was the group’s leader—Buddy was reflexively anxious about assuming any kind of authority, and that title, if at all applicable, would fall to someone with seniority, like Zenith—she and Adam just happened to be the most physically capable. Buddy was uncertain how she came by her athletic prowess, but she was thankful for it. Her reflexes and strength had been a life-saving asset for herself and the crew. Now it seemed those assets would be needed again.

The jets of two security mechs roared overhead as the crew sprinted to where they had seen Odybrix land. The mechs laid down chaingun fire along the path, selectively snuffing out the lives as they flew. The killings looked randomly barbaric until the crew ran past one of the bodies. Dozens of eyes had grown along the length of the infernum’s forearm and had disappeared from the sockets in the skull. Grey scales lined the back of one hand, terminating in barbed tentacles where the fingers had been.

“I’m going to assume that’s not a medical condition,” Buddy said.

“No such ailment is found in my database,” Jim said.

“If it is an illness,” Sturdy said, drawing his pistol, “it’s terminal for bystanders. Look.”

A dwarven woman burst out from the trees and tumbled to the ground. Red lines stained her white blouse where something had slashed her. As she scrambled to her feet, that something emerged. The orc—if it was still an orc—was eight feet tall. Its torso extended unnaturally from its hips, twice the length of three of its limbs. The right arm stretched from shoulder to ankle, knuckles brushing against the ground. Thin, two-inch claws split out of its fingertips like razor blades. Crowning half of its head were bulbous protrusions pressing against the scalp, like a section of its brain had broken through the skull.

The orc-thing swung its massive arm and knocked the woman down just as she got to her feet. The razor claws glinted as it lifted its arm to maim and pulverize the dwarf, then three shots rang out. Sturdy scored all three hits in the center mass: two in the abdomen, and one in the heart. The creature turned its head, regarding the approaching crew with indifference and ignoring the fact that it had just been killed. It looked to the dwarf again, tensing its arm. In a split second, Buddy drew her pistol and took one precise shot at the jiggling mass atop its head. The orc toppled over, landing with a wet thud beside the terrified woman.

Adam, hardly slowing down, scooped her onto her feet as he passed by, yelling, “Run! Get off the station!”

“Advice we should all heed as soon as we collect BOB and Odybrix,” Sturdy said.

“No, we’re going after my brother,” Zenith said.

“I’m all for tracking them down, but we need to regroup and figure out how to deal with that mech. Small arms aren’t going to cut it.”

“I’m with the helmet lady,” Ebby said. “The shit you’re seein’ here? It’s because of Vaelor. The longer he lives, the more pain he’s going to inflict on the galaxy. Stop him, save her brother. That’s my vote.”

“You’re not part of the crew,” Sturdy objected.

“Neither are you,” Odybrix said over comms. “I don’t mean to interrupt this thoughtful planning session, but where are you fuckers?!”

The din swelled as the crew approached the square; screams and shouts mingled with the report of gunfire. The two mechs that had flown past had landed at the edge of the fray near a handful of enforcement officers. Security fired into a growing number of monstrosities coming from the direction opposite the central fountain. Groups of terrified people fled into the square, some lucky enough not to be mauled or struck down by an errant laser.

A pink light flared Amidst the chaos. Odybrix sent waves of psionic energy into the monstrous horde, knocking them away like patchwork ragdolls and buying time for those trying to escape. BOB jumped between the mutants and their victims, acting as an impenetrable bulwark against the murderous assaults, and scalding the assailants with retaliatory coffee. Despite the ferocity of their defense, they were being overwhelmed.

Buddy led the group along the treeline parallel to the enforcers, avoiding their crossfire. She took a shot at a tentacle-mouthed monster-person charging at Odybrix and the rest of the crew followed suit. Creatures fell in twitching heaps around the halfling and bot. The pair looked determined to save as many of the fleeing people as possible, which, while honourable, made them incredibly slow.

In the flurry of pistol blasts, Buddy barely registered the snap of a branch to her right. By the time she turned her head to acknowledge it, one of the monster-people had closed the distance with her. Its jaw unhinged, ready to snap closed around her face with jagged, misshapen teeth. In the same instant, Adam appeared beside her holding a shotgun; with the pull of a trigger, its head vanished in a spray of gore.

There wasn’t time to thank Adam for the save. Instead, Buddy repaid the favour by extending her gun over his shoulder and snapping off three shots at a hook-armed elf that was rushing up from behind. The monster-people emerged from the woods in dozens, tearing the crew’s focus away from BOB and Odybrix. Zenith showered the treeline with her rifle, cutting down several hostiles before they got too close. The indiscriminate fire came to a halt when someone shouted from behind a tree.

“Please don’t shoot us!”

Sturdy and Buddy picked up where Zenith left off, taking out single targets with their pistols. Adam darted into the woods where the plea had come from. Ebby followed with her beam blade drawn, cutting down a pair of monsters that looked more like squids than people. They quickly emerged with two survivors in tow. Unlike the other terror-stricken people fleeing the madness, this pair seemed at home in the chaos. An infernum with shoulder-length blue and pink hair aimed a camera at the crew, while her professionally dressed human companion spoke.

“Did you get that, Vesper?”

“Yep!”

“This is Annie McClue reporting aboard Levisia station where a massacre has taken place. Multiple station goers have been affected by a rapid-onset illness that has mutated their bodies and driven them to acts of extreme violence. We were just saved by the heroic actions of several people. Excuse me, are you with station security?”

“Uh, we’re just trying to save some people,” Buddy replied, suddenly feeling awkward. She caught Sturdy and Ebby pointedly ducking away from the camera to resume shooting.

“That’s very brave. You don’t look like station security. Where did you get the weapons?”

“Um, some dead guys,” Buddy said, trying to think of a way to end the interview.

“Are you a mercenary crew? You look like you have a lot of experience together.”

“We actually just met a few weeks ago. I should really get back to,” Buddy motioned to the chaos with a pistol, “this.”

“Thanks for not shooting us!” The infernum, Vesper, said, and continued filming.

Adam ran off to join BOB and Odybrix, blasting limbs and heads off anything with an irregular assortment of either. The tide of monstrosities began to thin as he reached them. Few came from trees, allowing the crew to focus on keeping their companions alive. The lull in combat gave Buddy a chance to better take in her surroundings. Two security enforcers lay bloodied and motionless across the plaza, likely killed after being flanked from the treeline. The fountain—what would have been a beautiful centerpiece for the square—was shattered and repurposed into a gravesite for the monster that had spasmed to life in the tower.

Buddy couldn’t help but examine the alien shape further. There was no resemblance to the monster-people causing havoc in the station. It didn’t even look like any of the animals she had looked up in the Sunrunner’s database. But it wasn’t something new; she had seen one much like it aboard the barquentine. As the unsettling memory of the dead ship bubbled forth she noticed one of the creature’s claws twitch. Oh no.

Adam ran up beside Odybrix and blasted a dwarf with a vertical mouth snapping from behind his beard. “Come on, we need to go.”

“We must assist the people escaping!” BOB said.

“BOB’s not leaving until we’ve killed these things off,” Odybrix and, sweat beading on her brow.

“That’s very admirable, but we don’t know where they’re coming from or how many are left.”

“Guys,” Buddy said over comms.

“We have nearly killed them all!”

“So let security deal with the rest. Preferably before they have a chance to ask us why we have weapons aboard the station.”

“Guys,” Buddy said, urgency creeping into her voice.

“They will thank us for the assistance!” BOB said.

“And I’m not letting some failed corpo science experiment massacre a station,” Odybrix said.

“Guys!”

“What, Buddy?!” Odybrix yelled, turning to face her. “Oh fuck.”

The creature gripped the shattered spike it was impaled on and let out a trilling click that modulated into a roar. In one sharp, savage motion, it wrenched itself sideways, tearing open its chest and dislodging itself. Black ichor spilled onto the stone at its feet as it rose to its full height. Glistening viscera twitched inside a wound that was rapidly closing itself.

It took a step toward Odybrix and was rebuked by a wall of psionic force. The creature clicked and strained against the intangible restraints. Pink light flickered and Odybrix fell to one knee, blood trickling out of her nose. The creature managed another step forward as the light waned, and then gave out. Adam trained his shotgun at the thing’s head, anticipating a lunge, but dozens of rounds struck it from behind.

The security mechs opened fire, riddling the creature’s grey flesh with bullet holes. The barrage sent it staggering backward, but its wounds healed nearly as quickly as they were made. Adam fired a shell at the creature, missing it as it ducked down and launched itself towards the mechs. Missing the shot might have been the best mistake of Adam’s life; the creature demonstrated how swift and devastating its retaliation could be.

The chainguns whirred, each shot missing as the creature sped from side to side. Despite actively dodging bullets, it closed the distance in seconds, leaping atop the closest mech and stabbing into its shoulder joint with a claw. With a brief burst of strength, it ripped the arm from its socket, sending the limb and the gun attached to it clanging to the ground. It went to work on the canopy next, digging both claws into the air-tight seams and pulling. The other mech pilot was motionless, unwilling to open fire and risk killing her fellow officer.

Metal squealed as the canopy was torn off, revealing a young, dread-stricken dwarf inside. A horizontal crack appeared in the creature’s smooth, bulbous head and a maw of needles and daggers split open. The prelude to a scream was cut short as the jaws clamped down. The top of the man’s head came off with a wet, bony crack.

The remaining mech took a step backward and the monstrosity leapt onto it. Hydraulics hissed and the canopy shot upward, knocking the creature down. The other pilot, an elf, jumped out of the mech and ran for the trees. The creature was on its feet in an instant. It hopped back on the mech with its eyeless head facing the fleeing woman. A black spine broke out of the pale flesh of its forearm. With a swift swing of its limb, the spine shot out like the dart of a harpoon gun and embedded itself in the back of the elf’s head.

The creature pivoted atop the empty mech and crouched down, preparing to leap in Odybrix’ direction. White light flashed and Buddy reflexively shut her eyes. Hoxley stood next to her, arm outstretched with a smoking finger pointing at the creature. Ebby stood on the other side of him, her lips curved in a knowing smirk. Was that lightning?

Whatever it was, it sent the creature tumbling to the ground. The crew looked to one another as the creature began to rise, and, by silent assent, opened fire. Adam and Sturdy focused on its torso; its pale skin twitched as each impact forced it back. A pink glow flickered around Odybrix and faded. Cursing, she grabbed a handgun from a dead security enforcer and started shooting. Zenith took advantage of her marksmanship—and her stolen rifle—firing rounds at the thing’s head. Noticing the bullets fail to penetrate the skull, Buddy opted to pile on, blasting its oversized head repeatedly with a laser pistol.

The sustained assault appeared to work. The creature flinched, shielding its head while its body and arms were punctured like a pin cushion. Amid the barrage, Buddy swore that its wounds were taking longer to heal. Then it jumped backward, ducking behind the mech.

The creature sprung out seconds later, looking like it hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch. It closed the distance impossibly fast and lunged at Buddy, jerking its body low and butting her into the air like a bull. Time slowed as she flew, looking down helplessly at the creature’s widening maw. Its jaws snapped around her midsection, piercing her skin with needle-sharp teeth, then clamped down with a horrid crunch.

A bullet struck the creature’s head inches away from Buddy’s chest. It recoiled, tightening its agonizing grip on her body, then arched its back and whipped her to the polished white ground. A resounding crack filled her skull and her vision went black. The sounds of battle faded and someone shouted her name over comms.

“-lie! Get up! I can’t stay here much longer, they’re nearly here.”

Her eyes opened to a red sky. Wind swept over a barren landscape, blowing dust into her face. She tried to get to her feet and was halted by the pain lancing through her legs. Broken. The uncertainty of where she was or what was happening vanished behind a torrent of seething anger. Someone took a step from behind her and she rolled onto her back an instant before the shotgun blast caved in her head. She raised her laser pistols and shot the bastard who crippled her: once in the hand, disarming and defingering him, once in the throat, to hear him gurgle and rasp, and one between the eyes, freezing the shock on his face.

More were coming. She wouldn’t be able to kill them all with two pistols and two broken legs. A fresh wave of pain crashed over her as she twisted onto her stomach. The sloop was a hundred metres away, engine roaring and pilot beckoning. She propped herself up on her elbows and began crawling forward.

Smears of blood stained the earth behind her as she pressed on, arm over arm. Gunshots rang out, some striking nearby and kicking up tiny puffs of dirt. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t have room for fear in her heart. Not when there was so much to be pissed off about. Her fingers gripped the grating of the sloop’s ramp and she pulled herself up.

“I’m in.”

“Good. Then we’re out.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no?’ They’re almost on top of us.”

“Good. Keep the pilot seat warm. I’m going to kill every last one of them.”

Someone shouted behind her and she spun, ready to kill whoever was stupid enough to put themself in front of her pistols. Adam stood above her, surprise and fear quickly replacing the concern on his face. Her finger twitched and she lowered the barrel of her pistol away from his head. She turned her neck to see what she had been crawling toward.

“Buddy?”

“Pick me up.”

“What?”

“Get me to that mech!”

Missing only half a beat, Adam gingerly hefted her broken and bleeding body to the Gladiator Mech. She hissed out a breath as he lowered her into the cockpit and pushed him away once she was seated. Somewhere, buried well under the anger that spurred her on, she felt guilty about being so blunt with him. That remote feeling was a problem for another time; there was no room for conversation or apologies. Something needed killing.

Buddy’s hands flew across the controls, activating a suite of countermeasures the previous pilot was too frightened or incompetent to use. Casualty mitigation scan: off, reduced rate of fire: off, mech strength limiter: off, mini-rocket platform: on, chain blade: deployed. She grabbed the control sticks in each hand and the mech whirred to life. Adam jumped off as she turned to face the target of her rage.

The creature stood beside Ebby, taking prodding swipes with its claws while Hoxley cowered behind her. The answer to why it hadn’t simply pounced on her came a second later when she whipped out a hand, producing a wide gout of flame. The creature sprang backward, wary of the fire. As Ebby swung her beam blade to ward the thing off, Buddy noticed something on the creature’s arms—burns. Burns that weren’t healing.

Shots rang out and the creature flinched as bullets struck it in the torso. Buddy followed the trajectory back to a tree ZT and Sturdy were using as sniping perch. The creature clicked and backed away from Ebby, then dashed towards the tree. It leapt into the air, ready to rip ZT apart. Inches before the claws reached her, the creature jerked to a halt in the air and came crashing to the ground.

The creature slashed ineffectually upward at ZT, then twisted to swipe at the chain blade that had wrapped around its leg. Buddy jerked the mech’s arm, pulling the blade taut and causing the creature’s head to slam against the ground. It jumped up, body tensing to lunge and repeat what it had done to the last pilot, but Buddy was already firing. The 102mm rounds carved up the monstrosity’s face as it struggled against the chain. Chunks of flesh flew off the creature as it threw up its arms to protect its head.

Just as it appeared to be succumbing to the onslaught, it launched itself sideways and out of the line of fire. Its wounds were already sealing as Buddy tried to pin it down once more. She jerked the chain, attempting to slam it to the ground, but the creature anticipated the attack. With a roar and brutal downward strike, it cleaved off its own foot and slid out of the chain. The self-dismemberment did little to slow it down. It ran on three limbs, charging to finish what it had started, weaving through the rattling chaingun fire. As it reared on a single leg to pounce, a fresh hail of bullets tore up its chest.

Adam stood beside her, muscles straining as he fired the fallen mech’s chaingun. Not missing a beat, Buddy took aim and fired, tearing a line from neck to pelvis. The creature flailed with the impact of the rounds, its rapid healing unable to keep up with the damage. Buddy targeted the monster’s good leg and the relentless barrage shattered its bones and blew the limb off. The chain blade snapped back into the mech’s arm with a solid ka-chink, only to blast out a moment later, ripping through the creature’s chest and pinning it to the ground.

Bullets rained down on the roaring monstrosity until it was reduced to a heap of silent gore. Guns fell silent as the crew assessed their work. Buddy peered out from the open mech and saw the thing’s skin shift in undulating cascades. Her thumb flipped a switch and a salvo of mini rockets flew out of the mech’s shoulder. Even as the rest of the crew turned from the explosions, she looked on, her face bathed in a fiery glow.

“Did we get it?” ZT shouted.

“Yeah,” Buddy said, suddenly feeling ill. Pain radiated around her abdomen where the creature had bitten her, and she couldn’t feel anything below her waist, but that wasn’t what caused her stomach to churn. She had never felt such powerful anger. It crashed over her like a storm and swept her into a torrent of violence. She had nearly shot Adam.

“Jim’s here, Buddy,” Adam said, “We’re going to get you out of there and patch you up.”

Jim was applying coagulant gel to her midsection even as Adam hoisted her up. In the quiet aftermath, she spotted a shot-up screen hanging from a nearby lamp post. A masked figure strode through the station blasting people with an emerald light. She recognized the weapon—if it could be called that. Its swirling shape gave her just as much of a headache now as when she had seen it aboard the RC research station. The ray it produced didn’t appear to do any significant harm, not until those struck by it crumpled and twisted into grotesque horrors.

“Put me down.”

“You will need more significant treatment to-” Jim started.

“Down,” Buddy said, pushing off of Adam and sliding back into the mech. “We’re not done.”
Sunrunner – Chapter Ten

August 31st, 2023

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.
Sunrunner – Chapter Nine

August 13th, 2023

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 a 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.”