Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising (20 page)

Chapter
20

Deaddrunk

“Why did you evacuate the town?”

“Need to know,” Milar said.  He
had shoved her off his lap like a sack of potatoes.  Then, while she’d sat
there blinking in surprise, he’d gotten to his feet, retrieved his gun, and
thrown the pillowcase back over his shoulder as if nothing had happened.  The
only difference that Tatiana could see was now he was whistling.

Badly.

Tatiana wanted to kill him.

“You still think I’m gonna run
off?” Tatiana demanded.

Milar raised a brow at her.

Muttering, Tatiana considered
what it would be like to kick him in the shin.  It would probably feel
great—right up until the point his fist made contact with her face.

“You are a complete bastard.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Milar
said.  He began whistling again.

This time, she did kick him.

If it had any effect on him, any
at all, Tatiana didn’t see it.  She even thought she saw him smirk. 
That
made her burn inside.  “When I get back in my soldier, I’m going to have it
make you a new hole.”

“So you like dragons, eh?”

Tatiana flushed scarlet.  “No.”

He tisked at her.  “Which one you
like better?  The red or the black?”

“I didn’t get a good look at
them,” Tatiana mumbled.

Milar raised a brow.  “Really? 
Because I saw you getting a pretty good look at them back on the ship, while
you thought I was distracted with the game.”

“Why did you have so many
pictures of me on your walls?” Tatiana snapped back.

Milar actually missed a step.  He
stumbled, then righted himself and kept going, pretending she hadn’t spoken.

“Hey, crawler, I’m talking to
you.”  She jogged to get in front of him.  “Where’d you get those pictures?”

“Patrick made them.”  Instead of
bowling her over, Milar stopped and struck a bored pose, but redness was
creeping up his neck, darkening the dragon legs.  His face looked a very
satisfying shade of scarlet.

“So?” Tatiana demanded.  “Why’d
you
have ‘em?”

“So I’d recognize you when I saw
you.”

“Oh
really.
”

He glanced down at her.  “Yeah. 
Really.”

“Do you believe in Fate, Milar?”

His eyes widened and his blush
deepened to a maroon.  He quickly pushed past her.

Tatiana laughed.  She danced back
in front of him.  “So what, Patrick draws them and you collect them?  Just for
what, Art Appreciation or something?”

Milar stuck a big finger into her
chest.  “You,” he said, glaring, “are really annoying.”

Triumphantly, Tatiana demanded,
“Wideman said I was going to kill you, didn’t he?”

Milar held her gaze for a long
time.  Then he said, “No.”

She frowned.  “Your brother?”

“No.”

Tatiana deflated.  “Oh.”

“You done then?” he demanded.

“Yeah,” she said.  “I guess.”

“Good.”  He started moving again.

“Where do I get that extra node?”
Tatiana asked.

“No idea,” he said.

“What if I was flying
for
the Coalition, not against it?”

“You weren’t.”

“He ever say anything about
you
then, crawler?”

“Lots.”

“Like?”

Milar glared down at her. 
“Question time is over.  Just shut up or I’ll find a way to shut you up.”

Tatiana crossed her arm over her
sling and opened her mouth.

Milar lifted a brow.

Tatiana reddened and dropped her
arm.  Then, blinking, she heard the sound of engines.  Getting closer.  She
quickly glanced at Milar.

Milar either hadn’t heard them or
he was too distracted.  He motioned regally for her to take the lead. 

As they continued walking, the
engine sounds got louder, and to keep him occupied, Tatiana muttered, “Treason,
kidnapping, conspiracy, assault—”

“Never assaulted you,” Milar said
distractedly.  He had finally caught the sound of engines and was listening. 
What he probably didn’t know—but Tatiana did—was that that the distinctive,
whipping roar belonged to P-15 Bouncers.  Coalition.  And they were close.

“You held a gun to my head,” she
said, trying to get his attention away from the ships.

“Well, depends on whose rulebook
you’re looking at,” Milar said, sounding not the least bit guilty whatsoever. 
A frown was forming on his face as he glanced at the sky.  “‘Cause the colonies
are a lot more lenient about stuff like that.  It’s more of a threat of bodily
harm than a true assault.”

Tatiana narrowed her eyes.  Then
she swiveled and kneed him in the crotch.

“There’s an assault for you,” she
said, grabbing his radio from his belt and flipped it to the universal band. 
Then, bolting away from Milar, through the forest, she cried, “Mayday, mayday,
I’m a kidnapped Coalition operator in need of assistance near a colony
village—”  She cursed.  What was the
name?
  If the Bouncers were still
in range, they would hear her, but she needed the
name.

With a pang of terror, Tatiana
heard heavy footsteps behind her and then Milar wrenched the radio from her
hand and shoved her hard against a tree, crushing her sling against her body
with a flare of pain.  “Don’t,” Milar snarled into her ear, “
ever
do
that again.”

Over the radio, a male voice
said, “Roger.  Give us your location.”

Milar twisted her around and held
the radio up between them.  Pressing Tatiana into the tree with his body, he
put the gun to her head.  For a long moment, he only stared at her, his face a
thunderstorm.  Then, softly, Milar said, “Tell them ‘fifteen miles south of the
Snake.  Cold Knife.’  Anything else and I swear to God I will blow you away.” 
He tapped her skull with the barrel of his pistol.  “Remember.  Cold Knife.” 
He put the radio to her lips and depressed SEND.

It’s Deaddrunk,
she
remembered suddenly.  Tatiana took a deep breath, ready to blurt it to all the
world.

Milar released the SEND button
and leaned forward until his face was much too close.  “I don’t give a damn
what Wideman says.  You give my home away to the coalers and it will be the
last thing you do.  Ever.”

Tatiana believed him.

“Now,” Milar said, “Cold Knife. 
Fifteen miles south of the Snake.  Say it.”  He depressed SEND.

Tatiana hesitated.

“Give us your location, over,”
the radio said.

Milar released the button once
more.  “This isn’t a difficult decision!” he cried, sounding angry and
frustrated.  “
Say
it!”  He shoved the radio against her face again.

“Your location, please,” the
radio said.

I will kill you,
Milar’s
stare said.  The gun was a solid presence against her skull, sincere in its
simple purpose.  Both Milar and the Bouncer captain waited.

Looking into Milar’s eyes,
Tatiana said, “Deaddrunk.”

Chapter
21

Double-Patty
Cheeseburgers

“Oh look,” Anna said, “They
caught the poor bastard.  What a shame.”  She sighed at a Fortune news reel of
a bruised, lanky man standing behind the Director as the Nephyr gave a speech
to the Coalition Free Press.  Then Anna leaned forward to change the feed with
her cuffed hand, making the chain jingle against the arm of the chair between
them.

Doberman glanced at the news
reel.  He had lost contact with the camp computer almost three hours ago, as
the shuttle made the long flight down the Tear to the planet’s largest
ground-based military installation, a ten-thousand-personnel stronghold on the
eastern side of the city of Rath.  Its purpose was to store and protect Yolk and
Nephyr draftees before shipping them off-world to the Fortune Orbital.  From
there, the draftees would be escorted to Eoirus of the Inner Bounds and the
Yolk would go under armed guard to the Core.  

Doberman recognized the egger as
Foreman 11 of the male side of camp.  “Joel Triton?” Doberman asked.  “What did
he do?”

“He was a jerk,” Anna said.  She
had changed the feed back to Rath’s arrival and departure schedules.  She
frowned.  “They have us waiting on that base for three hours.”  She switched
the feed again, changing them seemingly at random.

“Would you mind returning it to
the Coalition Free Press feed?” Doberman asked.  “I’m interested in what the
Director was saying.”

“You shouldn’t be.  She couldn’t
say something interesting to save the planet.”

Doberman placed his palm upon the
transmitter built into the armrest and synched up to the shuttle computer.  He
placed an override on Anna’s control panel, then calmly switched the feed
himself.  Anna sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“This itches.  I think I’m
allergic to it.”  She started scratching at the titanium wrist-band that kept
her within reach at all times, as per Nephyr regulations.

“It’s titanium.  You’re not allergic
to it.”  Doberman watched as an old holograph of Runaway Joel was projected
beside Joel Triton and he noted there was a ninety-eight percent match, with
the bruises, broken nose, slouching, beard, and lack of a smile all taken into
account.

“I want something to eat.”

“You aren’t hungry.  You are
being petulant.”  Beside the holograph of Joel, a second holograph began to
display the official charges against him.  Three hundred and fourteen different
counts of documented illegal activities in all, mostly smuggling-related.  The
man was to be put to death for twelve of them.

Anna Landborn had narrowed her
eyes at him.  “I need to use the bathroom.”

Doberman checked the time—the
fact that he had to consciously check the time instead of having a continuous time-stamp
running in his secondary processes still unnerved him—and then compared it with
the liquids that Anna had consumed recently and the physical exertions she had
made since imbibing. 

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I
do.
”

He glanced at her pelvis and
created a sonic image of her bladder.  He yawned and leaned back into his
chair.

In his peripheral vision, Anna’s
facial capillaries expanded again, allowing more blood to flow into her
tight-lipped face.  In fact, she was a darker shade of purple than Doberman had
ever seen her before.  He turned to look.

“Robots don’t yawn.”

“It was for your benefit.”

Anna crossed her arms over her
chest, leaned back, closed her eyes, and remained in mute silence for the rest
of the flight.  Doberman sat up as soon as he began to get signals from the
base computer.  He confirmed his status, gave carefully selected details of his
charge—she had blue eyes, not brown; she was nine, not seven; and she had curly
blonde hair, not flat and brown.  He even made deliberate errors in transmitting
her DNA sequence and voice patterns—none of which would be double-checked by
any entity but Dobie unless Anna Landborn ran afoul of the law.

Which she had yet to do, despite
many very eye-opening things she had confessed to him while waiting for the
shuttle from Yolk Facility 4, North Tear.  She had even allowed him to download
the full materials of Ghani Klyde from her r-player, which Doberman had
immediately dismantled and scattered across the flight yard the moment he
realized what she’d put in his memory banks.  Anna had been in a foul mood
since.

Once the base computer was
satisfied, Doberman glanced at Anna.  She had fallen asleep in flight, her
breathing patterns slowing and her eye-movements shifting to a REM-state, which
was all but impossible for the human mind to fake.

This was interesting, Dobie
thought, because she had unconsciously curled up against him in her sleep, her
head resting on his shoulder and her hand splayed across his forearm.  She was
drooling through his shirt, leaving a large stain on his arm.

“Anna, you can stop salivating on
my shoulder now.  We’re here.”

Anna grunted and opened
sleep-bleary eyes.  “What?”  When she saw the stain on his shoulder, her
capillaries expanded again.  “It was the drugs you used.  One of the side-effects
of Xenoprelene can be increased metabolisis in the salivary glands.” 

“The drug is fully metabolized
and filtered from the bloodstream by the liver after nine hours.  The symptoms
you mentioned would have vanished eighty-seven hours ago.  Any remaining
side-effects would simply be psychosomatic.”  Doberman retrieved a tissue from
the wall dispenser and carefully dabbed at the spit-stain on his shoulder.

“I’m tired of your robotic bullshit,
Tinman,” Anna said, crossing her arms.  “How about you just shut up from now
on?”

Doberman considered.  “Very
well.  Answer me something first, though.” 

Anna grunted.

“Of all the time we’ve been
within visual range after our arrangement, you’ve been asleep for
forty-seven-point-three-two percent of it.”

Her overall musculature tensed. 
Interrupted biorhythms indicated she was anxious.  “Arguing philosophy with an
idiot robot is a strenuous past-time.”

“It must be,” Doberman said. 
“The last eighty-seven hours are in stark contrast to the two days of observation
I made before contact.  Before our arrangement, you would sleep for couple of hours
per night and spend the rest of the period lying awake or working with your
r-player.  It seems, lately, you’re sleeping much more peacefully.”

Anna’s facial muscles constricted. 
Her breathing and heart-rate lurched.  “You mean ever since I knew I was
getting out of the Shrieker mounds I’ve been sleeping better?  This surprises
you somehow, dumbbell?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good.  Now you can give me that
silence you promised me.”

Doberman studied her elevated
biorhythms a moment, then decided to use the next minute and a half of
pre-embarkation time to research the base.

When the door to their secure
room opened, Doberman stood and assisted Anna to her feet.  Another robot waited
for them in the cramped hallway outside.  Through private channel, it informed
him it was Gryphon, chip ID G133HP919W26APO, of Eoirus.  It would be taking
Anna the rest of the way to the Nephyr Academy.

“Negative,” Doberman said.  “This
is a special case.  I have been given strict orders to escort Anna Landborn to
the Nephyr Academy and remain with her through training.”

Unit Gryphon nodded and left.

Doberman found himself perturbed
at how easily the Gryphon had accepted his response.

“Remind you of anyone?” Anna
said, at his elbow. 

Doberman craned his neck down to
peer at her.  “I assume you are referring to me.”  At her nod, Doberman said,
“No, I was never like that.”

“Oh-ho!” Anna laughed.  “Do you
like word games, Anna?  Is there something you don’t want to tell me, Anna? 
What’s your IQ, Anna?”

Doberman went silent.

Anna patted his arm.  “But you’re
getting better, Tinman.  Pretty soon, talking to you about emotions won’t be
like talking to a hamster about nuclear weapons.”

Doberman considered that.  Then
he said, “Good.  Emotions are an integral part of human interaction.  If I’m to
masquerade as human, I’d rather not remain flawed my entire existence.”

Anna went quiet after that.  She
said nothing as Doberman led her through the personnel chambers, out into the
overcast drizzle on the shuttle platform, down the shuttle ramp, and between
armed guards offloading of the fifty kilograms of Yolk that had shared their
ride with them.  The damp men did not even look at the Ferris leading another
Nephyr draftee to the terminal.  The guards at the terminal entrance simply
glanced at his simple gray Ferris uniform and ignored him as he approached the
scanners.

Inside, they entered a café and
Doberman stood with his back to her as Anna went to the bathroom.

“What do you want?” Doberman
asked, once Anna had tested four different booths and had settled on one near
the center of the cafe.  The metal-and-plastic service bot that had been
waiting for her to make her decision immediately approached to take their food
order. 

Anna said nothing.

“Anna?”  Doberman glanced at
her.  The seven-year-old was staring at the tabletop, ignoring the service bot
completely.  Doberman calculated how long it had been since her last meal, then
decided that she was due for another one.

“She’ll have a double-patty
hamburger with extra mustard and a large portion of fries.  Make it a large
strawberry soda.”  It was the same meal that Anna had gotten him to bring her
every day for four days.

“Thank you for your order,” the
food-service bot said to Anna.  “I will return with your meal as soon as
possible.”

“Actually,” Doberman said as the
bot was turning, “Bring me a hamburger, as well.  I could use the boost.”  In
reality, he was curious what a hamburger would taste like, if eaten for reasons
other than a sloppy nutrient boost.

In a singsong voice, the bot
said, “I’m sorry, Ferris, but we do not serve robots.  If you require a
nutrient infusion, there are several dispensers scattered throughout the
station.  Food items on Rath are for human use only.  The Allotment Council
decided that robotic consumption of food and drink was an unnecessary
extravagance for a struggling colony such as Fortune.  As per Coalition Code
paragra—”

“I know the code,” Doberman
snapped.

Anna’s head came up.  She stared
at him as the food-service bot continued its explanation anyway.  Then, as it
turned to leave, Anna said, “Double my order.  I’m feeling hungry today.”

“As you wish, citizen,” the
service-bot happily said.  Doberman found its big, painted-on smile annoying.

Anna said nothing for the next
three and a half minutes, and Doberman was content to ignore her.  No use
allowing her to believe her pettiness had affected him in any way.

When the service-bot returned
with Anna’s food, Doberman grimaced at the enormous portions.

“Enjoy your food, citizen,” the
bot told Anna, putting the two heaping plates before the girl despite it being
obvious that she couldn’t eat that much.

Doberman watched the bot leave to
service another customer.  He found himself calculating the hydraulic strength
behind its primitive frame, and what would be the smallest exertion on
Doberman’s part in order to destroy it.  He settled on a concentrated blow to
the chest-encased brainbox, followed by a twist of his pinkie to disconnect the
power supply, and afterward a few hundred pounds of pressure between thumb and
index finger in order to crush the chip casing and destroy its contents.   

Something cold and hard touched
his forearm.  Doberman returned his attention to Anna.  She had shoved one of
her plates toward him.

“Hope you like extra mustard,”
Anna said, lowering her eyes to the table.  She started to pluck at the fries.

Doberman examined the food items,
then glanced at her.  “What are you doing?”

“From now on, you’re my
taste-tester.  I am highly allergic to several organic compounds, and you are
going to make sure I don’t die of anaphylactic shock before I get to the
Nephyrs.”

“You should have told me this
sooner,” Doberman said.  “Which compounds?”

Anna shrugged.  “You get to pick.”

Doberman stared. 
This doesn’t
fit her profile,
he thought. 

“So tell me,” Anna said, stuffing
a French fry into her mouth, “What’s the most highly classified area on this
base?”

Still eying the hamburger she had
offered him, Doberman said, “Seven C.”

“What’s in it?”

“Experimental technology.  Why
did you give me the hamburger?”

“Experimental technology, huh? 
Can you get me in there?”

“To date, they’ve only allowed
sixteen test subjects and twenty-two scientists and military personnel into
that part of the compound.  Not one of those has been allowed to leave the base
for the last eleven years.  Explaining your presence would be difficult.”

“What if there’s no one around to
explain to?”

“I’d still need the base Director’s
personal Ferris code.  Coming from Yolk Facility 4, I am considered an outside
robot until I am reassigned.”

“So reassign yourself.”

“If I did that, I would have no
legitimate reason to escort you to Eoirus.”

“If I gave you the Director’s
password, would you be able to get us in?”

“Absolutely,” Doberman said.

“Good,” Anna said.  “Give me
access to a computer terminal.  I’ll have your password for you by the time you
can sneeze.”

“I will access the computer for
you,” Doberman said.  “What information do you need?”

Anna’s biorhythms remained
steady, but her hand tightened over her burger.  “I need to do it myself.”

Doberman eyed her.  “I assume you
realize that my registry is no longer under control of the camp computer, and
that by trying to deactivate me, you will merely be giving me greater reason to
execute you.”