“Prepare for peripheral nerve engagement, right hand.”
It too engaged.
“Son of abitch,” I said, adding a few comments about the engagement process. Gomez didn’t seem to care what I thought about his parentage or his sex life. Probably a good thing that the AI wasn’t sentient.
“Do you wish catheter and bowel removal collection to be initiated at this time?”
“No. God no.” I’d made the mistake of saying yes the first time I’d tried this. Never again. I’d hold it ‘til I busted first.
I was breathing. I was alive. I was protected in the lightweight, space-worthy armor worn by US military in space-going vessels. My heartrate began to slow.
“Liquid oxygen breathing supply required?” Gomez asked.
“No. Current Earth atmosphere, desert conditions, West Virginia.”
“Limited oxygen available according to current specified atmospheric parameters,” Gomez stated. “As measured by outside sensors, CO2 percentages are abnormally high in current atmosphere. Atmospheric dust filters active.”
“Acceptable,” I said.
“Armor donning complete.” The waist arm clicked back.
I stepped down to the floor. To see Jagger staring at me. Wide awake. With a gun pointing at my middle.
“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” he said calmly.
“Put down the weapon,” I said. “Do not pick it up again.”
Jagger put the fancy gun down. Cursed. Wide-eyed, he stared at the weapon, right there, but not available to him. He did not pick it up again.
“Go to sleep,” I commanded. Jagger slumped again.
“Mateo?”
“We’re dead without power. I’m moving out front, taking control of manual defenses. You’ll have to get into the ship and reroute power.”
Mateo meant for me to go into the crashed and damaged spaceship that had leaked hazardous particles for years, and transfer power from it to our batteries before our next unexpected visitors arrived. It was dangerous, as I remembered from my one tour through the ship. My armor was flimsy compared to the warbot, which had built-in weapons and shielding, so, yeah. He was better equipped to defend us if it came to that. And with the office out of power to run the weapons we had retrofitted, my defenses were useless to me anyway.
“CAIT will walk you through the procedures,” he said.
Right.
“CAIT” was the spaceship’s AI: Central Artificial Intelligence Technology. I wouldn’t be doing this alone.
I raced out the back and stumbled over the ladder. Notch, sitting on the top step, his face turned to the window, looked over his shoulder at me. I let the inner airlock close, sealing us in together. Standing frozen.
“Mrow. Siss.” It sounded like a statement. A two-part statement. I didn’t know his meaning, but it felt like,Invaders. Dangerous.
“Yeah. And more on the way,” I said to him. “Mateo. We got a screen in here? If so, show Notch the attackers approaching.”
“You and those damn cats.”
A tiny screen over the exit door brightened, flashed, darkened, and resolved into the vision of the road out front. “Invaders,” I said to Notch, knowing he understood a very little English, mostly stuff about food. “If they get onto the property, there will be no goat milk. No water.”
“Sisssss,” he said, this one angry.
“If the Puffers continue to replicate, there will be no more protein or kibble. And they will eat your young.”
His mouth opened to show his canines, which were bigger than a normal housecat’s. “Sisssss.” Very defiantly pissed. Notch eased down the steps to the floor and walked to the outer airlock. Looked back over his shoulder and again at the door.
