“But we always do here in Logan. This time, the military and the Hand of the Law and the Gov are trying to take control of all tech and comms, using either black ops groups of currently serving warriors or undercover military embedded in private military groups to accomplish their goals. Deniability for the upline conspirators is to be assumed. It is also assumed that they want our dam, our water, our mines, and our women. They want things to be the way they were during the war, them at the top and everyone else little more than slaves to work the mines. Shining Smith has pledged her people and equipment to the cause of getting Eloise back and shutting down the temporary, local base of operations of the rogue, dark, paramilitary group. After that it’s up to us to guard and protect our home, our town, our people. Anyone not in can leave now.”
No one moved. “Good.” Anse inclined his head to a man standing in a corner. “BillyBob. Claude. The bags.” To the others, he said, “Put your personal morphons in the first bag. Take out a comms set from the second.”
To give them credit, no one argued, and the exchange was so smooth that it must have been SOP for ops with the militia. No one asked us for our morphons or comm devices. Not that we would have complied.
Together Anse and I explained the plan to them. All were eager to participate in the rescue and take back their town. Unfortunately, we had never worked together as a single group, and from the orders he gave, Anse wasn’t used to being number two in a command structure. He also wasn’t happy with another man going in undercover as him. Anse desperately wanted to be the hero who saved the daughter he felt he had let down. That meant we were starting out with a divided command structureand a father fighting guilt. All that would add variables to our plans.
As I left the diner to fully armor up, which took too much space to do inside most buildings, I tapped my comms and said, “Jolene, you copy all that?”
“’Course I did Shining Sugah. And I can cut general comms and take over giving orders or cut out individuals as needed.”
“And monitor any traitorous or questionable outgoing signals?”
“What’cha take me for, Little Girl? A newbie? I got every war plan and battle scene in history in my databanks, and I am fully capable of intercepting incoming and outgoing signals, deducing potential problems, and figgering out ways around anything the enemy comes up with. Bless they little pea picking hearts.”
That sounded way more insulting than a Southerner’sBless your heart. “Riiight,” I said, my riding boots crunching gravel, “Sorry. Thank you, Jolene.”
“Humph,” she said.
I tapped onto my command private channel and said, “Anse. I’ll meet you at your place in twenty minutes.” I toggled him off and said to my team, “Phase one to commence.” I toggled off the team channel and said, “Jolene, has everything been moved to the pawnshop?”
“Negative on that,” she said, sounding like CAIT, the AI of her spaceship. “He kept back two pieces that belong on me. From the sensors Jacopo and Mina put out while they were reconnoitering, both pieces are still in his home. A blaster and a med-bay he’s used to treat the orphans he takes in and sick people and accident victims from the town. He made a profit on the med-bay, but according to the internal log, he hasn’t used itin the last six months. Even with the sick child they were talking about.”
“Is it functional?”
“Affirmative. I postulate he’s out of supplies, which is why he needed the antibiotics.”
“Hmmm. Too bad he doesn’t have a spaceship nearby with a functional fabricator capable of producing medical supplies.”
“Shining Sugah, I’ve heard that tone before. That right there is your bargaining tone. You planning to leave parts of me there?”
“No, though I can’t blame a man for wanting to help his people and make a profit all at the same time. But I might trade out for one of our military versions and charge him a percentage on each use. And a nice trade up value on medical supplies.”
“How much a that do I get? Me and Gomez is planning to get hitched, and a honeymoon might be fun.”
I opened my mouth to bargain and closed it with a little pop. How did two AIs go on a honeymoon? I decided I really didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask. I said, “Like most everything in life, it’s negotiable, as long as I make a profit. For now, I’m about to make a show of power.”
Shoulders back and my face hard, I made a strong statement as I strode to Cupcake’s quad. The weapon in the back was already on full display. But now my VP helped me remove several cases and set one up in front of militia headquarters, positioned to allow anyone who wanted to watch. It wasn’t like I was trying to keep my gear a secret anymore. I hadn’t stolen the military equipment; I had simply relocated most of it from the thief’s property.
Pulling my armor from its case, I hooked the front piece to the rest, and snapped the suit into the bulky portable donning station. Cupcake swiveled the Meatchopper around to cover me.
As economically as possible with so many people watching, I stripped off the boots, jeans, gloves, and outer shirt, and tossed them to Jagger. He grinned, appreciating the show, knowing what I was doing. Every eye in the area was on me. The attention-getting stunt left me in leggings, socks, and a thin long-sleeved T-shirt. I stepped onto the mounting pedestal and leaned back into the armor, face out toward the street. People were moving closer to get a good look. Armor meant power.
No one was watching Mina and Jacopo, who melted into the distance on their bikes, fully muted, and disappeared.
Cupcake said, “Initiate auto-donning.” I pressed my thumb into the suit. It stabbed me with a microneedle to assure that I was the suit’s proper wearer. It hurt like a son of a gun, but I kept my face expressionless. The positioning arm made a snicking sound as it slid around my waist and pulled me against the torso segment. The armor sections snapped over my body, interlocking. I’d used it enough that it didn’t have to be repositioned. It fit me perfectly.
I hadn’t initiated the helmet yet, so no breathing tube was necessary. And I had peed before this started and planned on not needing the catheter option. But the hands were yet to come. And they were worst.
“Prepare for boots and gloves, for peripheral nerve engagement, both hands, except for right thumb,” Cupcake said.
I took a breath and blew it out hard. The glove sectionals encased my fingers. Microscopic needles pierced into my palms. Mentally, I used every cuss word Pops had ever allowed me and a few more after that. The armored boots snapped shut. The suit injected something to stop the pain.
Aware that Anse’s men were in position around the intersection, armed, watching, I stepped from the donning station and nodded to Jagger. His job—other than covering my back—was to make sure no one ran away with our gear.
I found Mateo, parked in his quad under a lone tree. I couldn’t see his face behind the sun’s glare on his warbot suit, but he adjusted his weapons slightly in acknowledgement, the nearly silent hum of servos loud in the dead silence.
Climbing on my bike, I pressed my right thumb against the bioactivated starter. It rumbled to life. I hated electronic starts. It felt like cheating. But I did like that biomarkers prevented my bike from riding off with a thief.
