Sunrunner
Copyright© 2023 by K. P. Sweeney
Chapter 18
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?”