“Warfare is not a simple thing. There are a hundred things to watch out for, and a single mistake can mean the end. Full stop. One missed detail, one thoughtless move, and it’s over.
There is a reason we spend so much time on training, senator. Why so much money and dedication is given to raising an army of professional, well-kitted warriors. Pick any serving member of my old regiment, and they will tear through your conscripts like a scythe through wheat.”
Federation Budget Hearing
Obedias folded his hands on the desk, watching the flurry of reports with cold, calm eyes. One detail was becoming clear. Matthias Brook was alive, and the man had played him. Obedias didn’t know how the man had gotten access to biomods, and he didn’t know how the man had smuggled a high-end AI onto his ship, but he had.
“Failure to initiate,” one of his engineers called. Obedias nodded once, not showing even a hint of his displeasure. Professionalism was everything in his line of work. “Shall I try again?”
“Do it, and see what local mercenary units are available for hire. If we can’t leave, we might as well take advantage of our location.”
“That will overdraw our active accounts, sir.”
Obedias tapped the table, the only reaction he allowed himself. “You are authorized to use reserve accounts one through three.”
The man got to work, so Obedias turned to his military expert, Gort. Such charming names mercenaries had. But the man knew his business, that Obedias couldn't deny.
Gort apparently felt his gaze, and turned. “We’re holding, for now, but we’re outnumbered and lacking active intelligence. With an enemy AI inside our systems, we can’t afford to connect the droids to the main network, and those already in rotation when the uprising began are running low on power. I’ll also need your permission to kill fifty two connected signatures.”
“Kill all who stray from the jammers,” Obedias commanded. “Our enemy lacks proper equipment. The moment we regain control of the ship, vent all main hallways and compartments. Are the traps serving as expected?”
“Understood. One of the bladeslaves appears to have an implant to detect them. Short range, we’re estimating its between two and five feet.”
“Who?”
“Matthias Brook.”
Of course. Obedias was regretting not killing that man the moment he had seized control of the Rivera, but regret was pointless. He had his stolen property back, and he had gained a free bladeslave in the process. It had been efficient.
Now it was looking more and more likely that Matthias Brook had come onboard on purpose. Hidden implants, expensive AIs, discrepancies in his history and medical exams. It was so obvious, in hindsight.
No matter. He had dealt with uprisings before, and he would no doubt deal with them again in the future.
Mat flexed his hand, both hands, and felt himself relax for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun. He trusted Bea to keep him safe, at least for now, but missing an appendage and being unable to use the other arm thanks to a broken shoulder?
He’d gotten rather used to being able to defend himself over the last year, and having that stripped away had been disconcerting.
But for now there was a stalemate, and so he got some time to heal. Enough to regrow the hand and reset broken bones. All four domuses were open now, but Obedias’ people had hardwired their entire section shut. Thick, metal doors blocked their path, the kind even moleblades and grenades struggled to break.
“Don’t rush me,” Nova hissed, tone wild and strangely alive. “I’ll take the ship once I’m good and ready, you hear me?”
Didn’t say anything.
“But you thought it, and— fuck, again? Obedias really, really wants to vent all of you into the vacuum of space. I’ll deal with it.”
By the sheer nature of his existence, Nova would probably never get the credit he deserved for this. Without him, the ship’s outer doors would have opened to allow reinforcements into the ship, and others would have shut permanently, sealing away entire groups of bladeslaves to be taken apart piecemeal. And a dozen more horrific, nasty things, not to mention the lack of real time information.
Mat shook his head, stepping fully into the room. Three others waited for him there, already seated. Reg offered him a smile, as relaxed as ever. Noah gave little more than a curt nod, though the man didn’t seem overly angry.
The last was Stef, a woman Mat only knew by reputation. A former soldier, and he was surprised to find Yon standing behind her. Stef had won the tournament back during the live performance, but other than that Mat knew little.
Well, aside from the fact that Yon apparently knew her, was relatively close to her, and that she had seized control over nearly a third of the bladeslaves.
Four people, himself included. The leaders of the uprising. He’d already removed all of their assorted failsafes, like the globeleash in Stef’s blood. And the same for five people from each group, because politics.
Fair? No. But aside from Reg, none of them really had any reason to listen to him, so bribery had been necessary. Well, that and the fact he controlled the AI which kept Obedias from killing them all. That helped too.
“We are not an army,” Stef began. That wasn’t exactly new information, but Reg nodded like she proclaimed ancient wisdom. “And even now we only have eight jammers. Barely enough to keep us safe while holding territory, let alone on the offensive.”
Mat pulled the last chair back, taking a seat. “That doesn’t matter. The hallways aren’t big enough for more than three, maybe four people to fight at once, so equipment and skill matters more than sheer numbers. How much did we end up taking from the armory, and can we use any of it to make more jammers?”
“After your injury, my people took over,” Noah reported, tone almost suspiciously helpful. “Some of the lockers were empty, but we have enough to equip roughly eighty people. With the gear we have been collecting from the dead, that makes about two hundred properly armed and armored fighters. And no, we can’t. My people are working on taking what we can from the droids.”
Stef frowned. “How many in your groups are trained in warfare? Military, security, mercenary, whichever.”
“Roughly twenty five from my group,” Reg responded easily. “Though outliers, like Mat here, are very good fighters despite having no former training.”
Noah grunted. “About forty, I think. I’d have to do a full headaccount.”
“And just under a hundred for me,” Stef finished. She’d drawn all the soldiers, then. Made sense with her background. “I vote to equip all those with previous military experience, or otherwise those who have already distinguished themselves.”
Reg nodded sagely. “Such as Mat here, for example. Not only is he the one who led the effort to free the first domus, which allowed this revolution of ours to begin, but his AI is the only reason Obedias doesn’t simply vent the ship. Or draw in hundreds of outside reinforcements. And he also subverted the droids. And also—”
“I get your point,” Stef interrupted. “I have no objection to him being here, Reginald. He has given a good account of himself both now and during the live performance for the Mauldoves.”
Mat grunted. “We can devolve into infighting later. For now, we need to act. I will add my vote to primarily equip those with military experience, and ask that Stef leads the effort to assault the main chokepoints. Noah, you’re a well known face, even outside your own domus. Fifty people died because someone moved a jammer twenty feet to the right. That can’t happen again. Can you keep the people organized? We can’t afford a panic.”
“I can,” Noah agreed slowly, eyes flickering from Reg to Mat himself. “Obedias has also cut off all food and water to this part of the ship, so I’ll collect everything we have in a central stockpile, just in case the fight drags on.”
“Thank you. Reg, could you assemble the group? Volunteers only, but if Bea refuses, try your best to convince her. Taking out the secondary unit will be hard enough as it is.”
Stef raised an eyebrow. “Something you would care to share, Mister Brook?”
“My AI identified an isolated powersource; a flaw in the design of the ship. It’ll be guarded, but when it goes out, the ship's AI will lose nearly half of its processing power, with no backup being able to take over until they physically bridge the connection.”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
He paused, looking over the three. “I feel like I have to say this, if only so that it is said. I am one of the most well-kitted fighters on our side. I control the AI that is keeping us alive, and I started this uprising, making possible something that has been impossible for many, many years. If one of you, or your people, work against our common goal now, I’ll kill you. If you betray us to Obedias, lured by riches or freedom or fear, I will kill you. I hope you understand my position.”
Silence greeted that statement, and for a long, tense moment, he was sure they would call the bluff. Yon alone could probably take him apart, what with being responsible for most of his training. Stef was a skilled fighter herself, and a soldier on top of that. Noah was an unknown, but dangerous in his own way.
Yet it had to be said, because he had come too far to have basic human stupidity fuck this up now. His hands were too drenched in blood for him to flinch at carrying out the threat, and hopefully, they would take it as the warning that it was.
Gambling on his reputation didn’t feel right, on the rumors and his history of pulling blatantly impossible bullshit out of nowhere. But he was, and most of all on the fact that these people were smart enough to wonder: what if?
Finally, Noah nodded, slow and steady. “I’ll keep my people in line.”
“And I’ll mine,” Stef added, tone calm and words measured. “Don’t warn me like that again, Mister Brook. Yon speaks well of you, but you are not my superior.”
Mat supposed that was fair enough. He didn’t really want to be in the first place, this theater here and now notwithstanding. “Then I’ll gather my team and get underway. Oh, and take this.”
He slid a dataslad across the table, and Stef's eyes flickered over the first page. They didn’t widen, and she didn’t stiffen in shock, but he could swear her blink was one of surprise.
“It’s everything my AI managed to get on Obedias and his forces,” he explained, perhaps unnecessarily. “Number of fighters, equipment, other personnel and what they’re currently doing. Its control over the ship is fluid, at the moment, but the dataslad will update in real time.”
She cleared her throat. “That will be very helpful. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Reg?”
His friend rose, stretching like a cat, and his tone was somehow both pleasant and predatory. “Of course. Let us hunt those who have dared to think me a slave.”
Mat was taking point again, though this time Bea was just behind him. Even with a speed biomod he wondered if she wasn’t better suited to be their spearhead, but arguing the point had seemed cowardly. That, and his local omniscience perk was still needed to catch traps.
Reg, Tobi and Jason brought up the rear, armed and armored for war. Both Reg and Jason wielded sleek, heavy guns, and even Bea had a gun on her hip. Tobi, just like Mat himself, didn’t have much experience with firearms.
The hallway was deserted. Empty and bare, with few rooms attached to it. Those they did come across were empty, some abandoned in haste and one with half eaten food still on the table. This wasn’t a particularly busy part of the ship, it seemed, though he was far from an expert.
“You’re walking into a blind spot,” Nova warned. “I can’t help you from here on out.”
We’ll have to manage.
Mat kept his voice low, quiet, though with the number of possible techplants in existence, enhanced hearing was far from impossible. “We’re running blind from here on out.”
No one responded, and he only saw Bea give a simple nod. Mat shrugged and returned to trap-finding duties, though he hadn’t encountered any so far. Just bland, empty hallways.
How big was this ship, anyway?
A minute stretched into two, that into five, and twenty had passed before Bea held up her hand. Mat froze, worried, but she pointed further down the hall. He tilted his head, seeing nothing. No, there was something. A… murmuring? No, talking. Enemies.
It was an empty hallway. Blind charging forward would overwhelm their phase shields in moments. He looked at Bea, waving at the hallway. She nodded, then glanced at the door they’d passed a few dozen feet back.
She moved over, and in almost complete silence, sliced clear through the hinges. Jason and Tobi caught the thing before it could fall, and helpfully, it had a metal bar on the inside. One that could be used to lock the door shut.
Or hold it upright.
Tobi moved forward, since none of them had a strength mod. But Tobi was stronger than a human had any right to be, even without one. Rich kid privileges, Mat supposed. The best gene-therapy mommy and daddy could afford.
The door was hoisted up, metal and thick. Tobi’s arms trembled, but the man held, and without further discussion, started running down the hallway. Mat ran after him, trying to keep behind the improvised shield.
This is fucking insane.
It might not be advanced, but it was still a surprisingly thick metal sheet, and it didn’t need to survive the journey. Second after second they gained momentum, until the five of them were all but sprinting through the hallway.
The first sign of Obedias’ guards weren't the guards themselves. No. Instead, a small, oblong sphere thunked against the floor, one that Mat got only a glance at before Bea kicked it further behind them. The explosion nearly forced him off his feet, but his balance shifted, and with one hand he stopped Tobi from falling forwards.
A trio of whump, whump whump resounded, and boiling energy tore into the door, soon joined by more. With every hit Tobi jerked back, so Mat put his hands on the man’s shoulders. Running like that was awkward as all hell, but it held the man upright.
More and more gunfire joined the burst, and after not four seconds, the first beam broke through the door, splashing harmlessly against Tobi’s phase shield. But their aim wasn’t perfect, and even when the one hole became ten, the metal still took the brunt of the damage.
Another sphere was thrown, then three more. Mat cursed, but joined Bea in liberally kicking them back towards enemy lines. All but the last. Mat reared his foot back, trying to maintain speed while not missing the thing, and moment before his foot made contact, light became his world.
It happened in a split-second. A fraction of time. There was light, like opening the curtains during a summer morning. Blinding, all encompassing light. Then there was noise, like the clap of thunder and the rush of a waterfall. Then finally came the force. The rush of wind and metal that tried to tear his body to shreds.
His phase shield took most of the damage, and by luck, Mat’s body shielded the rest of the team. Luck that he couldn't appreciate until later, because all he saw was his foot racing towards the grenade, and then he was flattened against the wall, every ounce of air pressed from his lungs.
Armor helped. It didn’t help enough. Mat didn’t even feel it when he splatted against the floor, thrown upwards before gravity brought him down again. His ears rang, his eyes gave nothing but hues rather than proper vision, and his body was numb in ways it never quite had been before.
There was screaming now. The sounds of battle, more felt than heard. Mat managed to push himself up, swaying as he did. His ears popped, his vision slowly sharpened, and he shook his head again as another dizzy spell came and went.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It was only thanks to Local Omniscience that he saw the blow coming. The perk hardly relied on his eyes, and even though it was but three feet, it was enough. Mat twisted, moving before thinking, and that turned a full decapitation into a deep cut. His leg snapped out, breaking the balance of whomever had attacked him.
Mat stepped closer, and the person came into full clarity. Metal ran all along her spine, much like he’d once seen on pictures of dinosaurs, but most of her was mere flesh and blood. A moleknife was in her hand, a proper blade in the other. His own weapon was gone.
She twisted, trying to gut him with the knife. Mat slapped her wrist away and stepped closer, close enough that he was all but pressed against her side. His arms, numb through they were, wrapped around her neck, and he kicked her in the back of the knee. She fell forward, trapped in a textbook submission hold.
Her moleblade came for his head, which he hid behind her own for cover. The impossibly sharp edge still bit into his shoulder, scoring a deep cut. But a lack of strength and his own armor prevented anything more, and he tightened his grip on her neck, his muscles almost bulging with effort.
To snap the neck is no simple thing, Yon had once lectured. The torso has to be immobile, or you simply turn them around very, very quickly. The motion has to be quick, strong and precise, aimed to shatter the upper cervical spine. Even then, it is unlikely to result in instantaneous death, especially when the target has hardened biology or defensive techplants. If you are in a position to snap their spine, better to take their eyes. It’s quicker, easier, and nearly as debilitating.
Mat mentally nudged his speed perk, and reality slowed. He released her, tearing off her helmet with the help of knowing exactly where the buckle was. With that gone, he turned, and plunged his thumbs into her eye sockets. Even with baseline human strength, his body was filled with adrenaline, and he was very precise.
She screamed, high-pitched and horrid, and he took her moleblade from limp fingers. A second later her head was on the floor, and Mat’s other hand tore the phase shield from her belt. His own was burned out, he knew that even without having to look. In fact, he knew the exact state of his entire kit without looking.
The wonders of perks. His ears popped again, and proper sound finally returned.
“—nestly wondering,” Jason spoke up. Mat squinted, his eyesight still poor. “The fighting is over, by the way. Bea killed most of them. So I was wondering; What exactly does it take to put you down? Cause I’m pretty sure you’re mostly blind, and you just tore out that woman’s eyes seconds after literally being slammed against the wall by high explosives.”
Mat snorted, staggering back and struggling to hold his balance, hand pressed against the cut on his neck. “More than a grenade.”
“Reg’s been hit,” Tobi called. Mat snapped towards the voice, forcing his body to move. “Phase shield overloaded. Gut shot.”
He didn’t have a precise number of his remaining medibots, but as he knelt down next to the collapsed Reg, he willed most of them towards the man. Reg’s breathing evened out, and after a moment, his eyes snapped open.
The wound, a hideous burn nearly two inches deep, didn’t quite close, but it would have to be good enough. Mat’s eyes finally cleared, but after that there was a sort of emptiness, and the wounds on his neck and shoulder didn’t mend.
“Out of medibots,” Mat reported. Bea took a first aid box from the small checkpoint and threw it at him, and he glanced at said checkpoint. Nothing more than a few upended tables. “Thanks. I don’t know how to use any of this.”
Jason snorted, taking it from his hands. “Let’s stop the bleeding first. This is a local anesthetic, which you use like so, and the gauge pulls the wound closed when attached like this. Then you—”
Mat listened while Jason patched him up, offering a tired thumbs up when Reg’s eyes focused on him. The man pulled a face, and Mat realized he still had eye juice on the digit. Honestly, he was too tired to care.
Onward and upwards. But first, as the Reg-proclaimed leader of the group, he was going to call for a five minute snack break.
Afterword
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