Unstable Prototypes (17 page)

"Why don't you just make it?"

"Because this is an equipment fabricator, not
a matter fabricator. Trust me when I say it is not worth the time
or the energy to build or buy one of those. It is always cheaper to
just get the matter through conventional means."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"You guys have the small scale version.
Presumably you've disassembled it by now. Have your men cut open
the reaction capsule and do a scan. They'll find a few grams of
something they can't identify, and a quick look in the materials
database will reveal it to be Esche alloy."

Purcell turned to one of the soldiers. "Make
the call. Utmost safety precautions," she said, turning back to
Karter, "And if what you say turns out to be true, where do we get
this material?"

"With great difficulty. There are pretty much
no industrial uses for it, so nobody mass produces the stuff. And
it is fantastically tricky to synthesize. There might be five
facilities total that can pull it off."

"How did
you
get it for the small
scale?"

"Oh, I've got a small supply back on Big
Sigma."

"We will not be returning to your planet to
get it. We aren't that stupid. Where did you get your supply?"

"I got it from a colleague of mine, Dr. John
Esche. I developed the alloy but he gets it named after him for
coming up with the means to synthesize it. Where is the justice in
that? You won't be getting it from him, though. He died a while
back. It has some interesting electro-thermal properties, so it is
popular for analysis and experimentation at universities. Your best
bet is to raid one of those."

"Have it looked into," she directed another
of the soldiers.

"Give me a hand, would you?" Karter
requested, gesturing over the control panel to the work area.

The manipulator arm had finished constructing
a similarly crude duplicate of his now damaged mechanical arm.

"
Handy
device to have around, eh? It
made this new leg, too. I'll bet most people would
pay
an
arm and a leg for-"

"Shut up. You two, take Karter back to his
cell. Give him his food and a hard copy of one third of the
schematics and manual for the transporter. I want engineers in here
to inspect both the warhead he built and the modifications to the
arms. I want them to disconnect Karter's current arm, and leg. I
want them to analyze and compare the original prostheses to his
newly constructed ones. Whichever are less of a threat shall be
provided during times when he is working, and withheld at all other
times. While not in use, I want them kept in an externally locked,
radio shielded containers inside the outer cell storage lockers.
Power to this room will be physically controlled via a manual
switch. Raw materials entering, as well as waste and finished
products exiting, will be subject to strict audit, and any
discrepancies will be reported directly to me. Go."

"Remember, boys!" Karter taunted as he was
ushered out, "Candy bar!"

When the inventor had left the room, and the
engineers had started to file in, she carefully tapped her way
through the list of equipment which, at the touch of a button, she
could have at her disposal.

"Bombs. Heavy weapons. Ship engine upgrades.
And it took him barely two days to build, with virtually no
resources," she muttered. "If only this man could be controlled. We
wouldn't need that snake holding the purse strings anymore."

She looked to the hand she had sliced off of
him. It was still drifting lazily through the air in the zero
gravity bay. In what was almost certainly no coincidence, it was
floating with only the middle finger extended.

"... But why trade one psychopath for
another?" she growled.

Lex paced as much as he could manage in the
cramped accommodations, which was approximately two and a half
steps. It had taken Ma a frustratingly long time to tap out the
parts list for the CMEA. During that time, Lex applied some
adhesive bandages that Garotte had on hand to the minor cuts he'd
suffered during the fight, then pulled on his shirt. Since then,
his host had made a few dozen calls, using at least seven different
names and four accents. He'd learned that eight of the eighteen
prototype ships had been stolen, all in precisely coordinated
strikes, all with evidence of inside connections, and all within
the last six months. Three were gunship variants, five were troop
transports. As the information accumulated, it became clear that he
was correct in his assumption that the men who took Karter were
ex-military. That was essentially the only piece of the puzzle that
had become any more concrete. Finally, Garotte hung up the final
call and did not make another.

"So what's the deal? Where are we?" Lex
asked.

"My assessment? We are looking at an
organization that has been festering in the background for years,
but something changed in the last few months. Before that, they
were small time. Not small-scale, mind you, but small in influence.
They are an odd bunch. A few earmarks of terrorism, but a few from
the world of clandestine shadow organizations as well. That doesn't
mesh. Terrorists are all about visibility. Were I to place a wager,
I would say that they had been cultivating themselves, trying to
gain strength and influence without being visible enough to be
crushed by security or law enforcement. Then, perhaps seven months
ago, they got a big backer. Fund injection, perhaps new leadership.
Now they are arming themselves for the score they've been planning,
but still staying below the radar."

"Okay, so assuming you're right, how does
knowing that help us?"

"How does it help us decide what to do next?
Not a lick. I haven't got a single name or location to go on. The
best I can hope for at the moment is to try to keep an eye on one
of the resource dumps they are likely to hit, and hope that we can
catch them in the act. Other than that, I've got the two or three
military contacts I've still got left from the old days keeping
their eyes open. Now, what it
does
help us do is know what
we are going to need when the time comes to fetch our boy. Namely,
firepower. They are going to be very well armed and very well
trained. Not just in combat, but in tactics. You and I will need
better weapons than what I've got on hand, and we'll need an
additional-"

"Whoa, hey. I'm sorry. Did you say I was
going to have to handle weapons?"

"Yes. Strange as it may seem, in a rescue
mission involving veteran soldiers, there may be some
fighting."

"But... I fly things. That's my area."

"Indeed, and quite skillfully, from what I've
seen. Useful though that will no doubt prove to be, in a group of
two, achieving success in an action such as this will require a
degree of multitasking. If it is any consolation, CQB is not my
specialty either. I rather prefer the sniper rifle over the
shotgun."

"CQB?"

"Close quarters battle."

"See! I don't even know the acronyms! Listen,
if you need me to fly you into hell and out again, I can do that,
but I draw the line at pulling triggers."

"If it is all the same to you, it is my hope
to stay as far from hell as possible for the foreseeable future.
Listen, my boy. I can appreciate your apprehension, but if you are
truly dedicated to performing this task as quickly as possible,
then you simply must involve yourself at this level."

"No, I'm sorry, I just can't do it."

A yipping noise drew his attention to Ma, who
gestured with her head toward the screen.

"You infiltrated VC," the message read.

"VC? VectorCorp? This man infiltrated
VectorCorp?" remarked Garotte. After a brief but earnest attempt to
maintain composure, he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Lex asked.

"Nothing. I am sorry. Clearly the computer is
malfunctioning somewhat more deeply than we'd anticipated if she
thinks that you managed something like that."

"No, I really did that," Lex said
defensively.

"VectorCorp? The galactic
mega-corporation?"

"Yeah."

"How did you manage that particular feather
in your cap?"

"Karter gave me a bunch of doodads and I
snuck in. So if we're going to be doing this via stealth,
and
we swing by Karter's to pick up his mental cloak, then
maybe
I can lend a hand."

"Some of Karter's toys
would
be rather
useful," Garotte agreed, "The assortment I've got on hand are a tad
limited."

Ma shook her head and tapped out, now with
the aid of auto-completion, "Big Sigma being watched. Moat
disturbed by my exit. Entry not possible."

"Bah. It is to be expected, I suppose. I
shall lay it out for you, my boy. Stealth is our intention, but the
skill of our foes virtually guarantees that, if we slip up even
once, we will be locked down, flanked, trapped, and thus required
to blast our way out. If you aren't comfortable with that, then I
am better off without you, regardless of your past pedigree
regarding infiltration," Garotte affirmed.

"So you're going to do this solo?"

"Confident though I am in my skills, I am
afraid not. While we await one of our leads to bear fruit, I shall
look into acquiring additional help."

"Zerk," Ma tapped.

Garotte sighed. "This machine's dedication to
unleashing that particular blight upon the cosmos is becoming
worrying. No, I was more interested in something at least
moderately controllable. Silo fits the bill quite well, I would
say."

"What's Silo?" Lex asked.

"Silo can rightly be called a who, I believe.
An expert in combat in general and heavy weapons in particular, and
another individual unfortunate enough to have been involved in the
testing of Karter's equipment. Sentenced to a more substantial
prison term than I, and in a more substantial prison. As we have
seen, however, if the proper preparations are made, liberating an
inmate can be a rather simple task."

"Wait... how can springing someone from a
major prison be easier than taking on an ex-military group of
terrorists?"

"Because there are rules of engagement and
official avenues of inquiry in a prison. A few forgeries and
impersonations will earn you at least a few minutes free of flying
bullets, which should be more than enough to get in and out. The
greatest weakness and greatest strength of most extremist
organizations is the absence of a central bureaucracy."

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"I will need you to give me a lift to a more
civilized planet so that I can secure a ship of my own with a
greater passenger capacity. After that, I can think of no further
use for you."

"And you're sure you can do this?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but it
wouldn't be the least likely success story to my name. Now if you
will excuse me. Prior to our arrival, I had indicated that chief on
my list of requirements were a shower, a shave, and a drink. I am
in flagrant violation of my own schedule," he remarked, sliding a
well locked briefcase from behind a pile and clicking it open to
reveal a bottle of aged whiskey and a rocks glass. A finger of the
stuff was poured out.

"You didn't strike me as-" Lex began, but a
raised finger silenced him.

In a series of slow, reverent sips, he
drained the glass. A quick swipe with a tissue blotted it dry
before it and the bottle were returned to the case, which was then
locked.

"You were saying?" Garotte said smoothly.

"You didn't strike me as the whiskey
type."

"Normally I am a G&T man, but to consume
one without the benefit of ice and a wedge of lime seems utterly
criminal. If a drink must be consumed neat, then best to choose a
drink best consumed that way. Now if you will excuse me, I am
overdue for a shower and shave."

"Wait, after what happened to me, you're
seriously just going to go take a shower?"

"Keep in mind, my boy, the experience that
they have had with each of us. To them, you are the idiot with the
dog, whereas I am the lunatic with the gun. The two perceptions
inspire entirely different behaviors," he pointed out, revealing a
straight-razor from within one of the crates and flipping it open,
"I am confident that they will respect my personal boundaries. I
shall return shortly. Don't touch anything."

With that, he marched out the door and down
the hall. Lex took the opportunity to stow his dirty clothes and
dig out a bottle of water and a granola bar. After consuming each,
and staring at the wall until his brain was willing to move in a
straight line, he took a deep breath and considered his current
status.

"Okay... I give this guy a ride, and then I
am out of this mess. That's not so bad. I can deal with that. Are
you okay with that, Ma?" Lex asked.

She set aside whatever task she was working
on and swiped out the reply, "I trust Garotte's judgment for this.
Thank you for your help."

When she finished with the statement, she
went back to swiping and tapping purposefully at the pad. Virtually
every moment that she was not actively supplying the answer to a
question or offering up a helpful comment was spent in this
manner.

"What are you doing?" Lex asked.

She made two quick screen gestures, prompting
a synthetic voice similar to one of her own to speak from the
slidepad's speaker. "I am composing responses to anticipated
questions and piping them to the slidepad's built in screen reader
via a gestural shortcut so that I can more quickly and
intelligently interact in the absence of a functional
transmitter."

"That's clever," he said.

"Thank you," the speaker chirped.

"Are you going to stick with Garotte while he
does this thing?"

"This mission is the entire purpose for my
departure from the planet. I am dedicated to aiding in any way that
I can, and I shall do all in my power to assure that it is
completed quickly and with a minimum cost in human life and
property damage," she spoke.