Chapter 4

  Launch

  DATE: 7088.03.05, RECON ERA

  SPACEPORT - CRSS RECKLESS

  Lotomi Colony, Planet Kelara, Gryanke System

  It took me a good forty minutes of pacing back and forth near the port’s kiosk, but I decided to forsake the Dark Lotus office. The bouncer guy was right; that Slate was probably good as lost. I pulled out my damaged SlabDeck finally able to sit down and extended the two sides to its full width on my lap. The displays extending so I could check the itinerary, my calendar and my emails. Double checking the university work order, and saving a copy to the memory out of habit.

  According to the launch reports, I had three windows to launch, and I had already missed the first two.

  I groaned.

  I’d barely have enough time to go back, do the pre-flight inspection, get the last of the navigation calculations finalized, check the water levels in the reclamation tanks. My fingers were held up in the air, an increasingly stricken expression on my face, while Forty-Five stood by, occasionally watching me as he kept an eye on the surrounding area.

  I clenched my hands and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and turning my face to the sky.

  ‘Are one-night stands really worth this much trouble? ‘ I thought to myself, cursing my insistence on disconnecting the cameras, and the odd flashes of sensation I’d had all day. He had kept going, and going, and going… leaving before I woke up.

  I vigorously shook my head. The sex had been amazing enough to remember through the drug haze, but I wasn’t sure it was worth the hundreds of hours of hacking my ID.

  I snapped the deck shut, the device shutting down with the action and I stood up with a huff. I turned on my heel, I briefly mourned the device, vowing to better track my equipment in the future, and presented myself to the kiosk. Without the ID portion of the Slate, I had to jump through several hoops to verify my identity and ship. I then had to add Forty-Five to my roster as a security unit, using the iffy data port for the first time. The rules on this moon weren’t as strict as on a heavily populated planet, but they were stringent enough that all weapons had to be registered. Security units fell into that category.

  It took another hour for me to clear customs. At this point, I was running down the raised walkway to my ship, absolutely panicked. I made sure that my jacket was on my shoulders and buttoned up, flicking the collar up to hide the bruise on my neck. A group of people and droids were waiting for us at the ship, scattered all around. A particularly impatient rotund man was shouting, tapping his foot and gesturing angrily in my direction, standing next to the airlock entrance of the ship.

  “I’m so sorry. I lost something important, and I was trying to track it down.” I called out, sprinting the last few meters.

  “I don’t care if you lost your firstborn; we’ve got a schedule to get to. You’ve got three hours to get in the air and clear the bay.” He tapped his wrist in the universal signal for time.

  I bowed my head and apologised. “I know, I’m so sorry. I’ll get my sec bot loaded up, and I’ll get to the controls in ten minutes.”

  “Hurry up, girly. I’ve got eight other ships I hafta clear after yours, and we’re running out of daylight!” He waved me through to my ship, turning around and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Alright boys, get working. We’re a go.” He then waved a finger in the air, a signal the droids identified as a command, and they went to work.

  I flipped open the biocode verification panel and slapped my hand on it, impatiently dancing on the spot as the ship took its time to open. Forty-Five had kept pace the whole way, though his longer legs meant he hadn’t needed to do much to keep up with my shorter stride. He examined the length of the relatively small ship, as if taking in his new temporary home. The twin thrusters were on either side of us, bracketing the airlock. The tops of the thrusters and airlock sloped to the second storey of the ship, dotted with viewport windows.

  I rushed inside, madly waving at Forty-Five to follow, who was staring at something down below the ship. Once he was fully in, I quickly opened the next door, causing the main entrance to hiss shut. I didn’t waste any time, hanging a left and swinging myself up the stairs three steps at a time to the upper engineering area. I paused for a moment before looking down to Forty-Five who had paused at the bottom of the stairs. He was looking first at the door to the sealed cargo bay, then turning his head to the right toward the starboard engine room.

  “45-R-N-N, present to the cockpit alcove and submit for a full diagnostic scan.”

  I sped down the upper hallway, quickly scanning over the displays of the water and oxygen reclamation and septic systems. I quickly tapped away a couple of warnings so the system would start working again. The hallway ended with a reinforced bulkhead door.

  I heard Forty-Five climb up the stairs but didn’t turn around to check. Instead, the door opened on my approach, revealing a spotless galley with a dining table in the middle of the room. Six chairs were arranged around it.

  A series of panels that would open to smaller alcoves were placed at each of the corners of the room. The guest head that never saw any use. The laundry where stacks and stacks of forgotten clothes had piled up over the last eight years, all hidden in cupboards and baskets. A spare pantry that still had the bio-hazard stickers on most of the drawers. And finally, a small hydroponic room that I never saw the need to refit.

  I rushed through the galley and into my living room and through to the cockpit. Passing the bolted-down couch and coffee table. Using the railings of the short stairs to swing my feet to the top step, I launched myself through. I dumped my satchel into the spare co-pilot seat before sitting heavily in the main seat, which was covered in a soft, plush fabric. I opened communications and found the harbourmaster blinking in the awaiting calls.

  I activated the communicator, and he began calling out stats and warnings that I needed to cross reference on my dashboard. I would call out what the ship's readings were, and the ground crew would check and fix, or call out the all-clear. When it came to the proximity sensors, I held my breath, not remembering if I had messed with the test launching sequence alerts. Hearing the test alert sound and being able to confirm their functionality was a relief. It was then highly likely that past-Melissa thought ahead and left the other system's test functions for pre-flight alone.

  It wasn't long before they gave me the final all-clear. At least this way, I was less likely to explode on launch and cause very expensive insurance claims on this poor moon.

  I still had an hour and a half before they would yell at me to leave, so I got up and stretched. Intent on stowing away the last few bits and bobs so they didn’t become high-speed projectiles when we fly. The inertia dampeners on this old girl weren't as sophisticated as the newer models.

  Turning around to go back down to the converted living room, I scooped up my bag with the free repair kit and manual for Forty-Five. I stowed the manual in the bolted down trunk that doubled as a coffee table, and the repair kit I added to the small research lab's stash of kits, squeezing sideways through towers of crates full of...very important components.

  When I came out to the living room again, I noticed Forty-Five standing off to the side. He hadn't docked himself yet, which was unusual.

  "Forty-Five? What's wrong?" I hesitated in asking, feeling a little silly at even considering that the robot didn't know what to do with himself.

  "Statement. CRSS Reckless does not have standard retrofit. The available plans and manuals are incompatible because of...” He paused, as if considering the polite way to call the upgrades I busted my ass to get done. “The undocumented renovations."

  "So? Only the galley and main hub have been modified extensively. What about it?" I said it defensively.

  "Query." He turned to look at me. "The sentinel alcoves are no longer accessible. Cannot submit for diagnostic scan."

  "What do you mean? Uh, there's one in the cockpit. You might be able to fit in there."

  He stared at me. "Statement. The cockpit alcove is for navigational droids only. Combat model sentinels require sentinel alcoves."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I tilted my head towards the cockpit.

  ‘Is that why that alcove was smaller than usual?’ I thought it was compatible for all bots.

  "Can't you just duck or something to fit in there?"

  He looked towards the cockpit, then back at me.

  "Statement. Laws of conservation of volume indicate that it is not possible."

  I burst out laughing, the sound erupting out of me before I could stop it. I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

  “Oooh! He got jokes!” I gasped.

  He watched me, his head tilting as if analysing the outburst.

  The laughter quickly turned into a wheeze. My chest tightened, the damaged tissue struggling to keep up with the demand for oxygen. I winced, reaching down the collar of my shirt. My finger found the small, subdermal button hidden under my clavicle.

  Click.

  My mechanical lung triggered with a soft, internal hiss. The artificial sac expanded, forcing air into my system, the sudden rush of cold oxygen easing the burn.

  I wiped a tear from my cheek, letting out a final, breathy giggle.

  “I’ll make sure to free up the sentinel alcove once we hit space,” I promised, straightening up. “For now….”

  "Solution. Cargo Bay," Forty-Five stated, turning stiffly toward the rear of the ship. "Unit will secure for launch in-"

  “Wait, no!” I stopped him, sobering up, looking back at the cockpit, a small, welcoming smile on my face. “I know it’s not standard, but why don’t you go sit in the co-pilot seat? You can sit, yes?”

  Forty-Five stopped dead.

  He didn't answer immediately. He turned his head slowly, the twin lights of his visor fixing on me. He seemed to be processing the request, or perhaps looking for the trap. Most people treated security droids like luggage; you didn't invite luggage to sit up front.

  The hesitation stretched out long enough to make me curious.

  “Forty-Five?”

  "Affirmative." He said softly, turning around with a small tilt to his head before striding towards the cockpit.

  He ascended the stairs with such fluidity that I couldn't help but wonder at the engineering. My eyes drifted down, tracking the movement of the plating on his lower back and thighs. Trying to imagine the hydraulics, gyros and servos needed to get it moving that smoothly.

  It took me an extra second before I realised I was staring at a robot’s ass.

  ‘Gods, did they have to sculpt the plating like that…?’

  "Okay, Mel, time to focus," I muttered, shaking my head with a chuckle.

  I turned back into my bedroom to secure it for launch, brushing a hand through my hair.

  I triggered the release on the double bed, guiding it up into its recessed nook until it clicked flush with the wall. I had forgotten to wash the sheets, and I caught a whiff of male musk and sandalwood.

  His mouth open in a silent gasp.

  His hand reaching for mine.

  I blushed and rushed towards the en-suite, quickly splashing my face with cold water. It was a marvel of modular technology: the sink, shower, and toilet were all mounted on heavy-duty rails that allowed them to be shuffled into the wall when not in use. It meant I never had to dance around a cramped wet room; I could just slide away whatever I didn’t need.

  The bedroom operated on the same principle. Originally designed as the women's quarters—capable of squeezing in three bunks and equipped with a dedicated sanitary incinerator—I had converted it into a private master suite.

  I moved around the room, sliding panels closed to create a seamless wall of brushed steel. Hidden behind them was a chaotic mess of life: a full wardrobe where a desk used to be, and shelves overflowed with knickknacks and gifted bath sets I kept forgetting to use.

  I slid the wardrobe panel open just long enough to stow my jacket. I paused for a moment, glancing in the floor-length mirror. Without the bulk of the jacket, I was left in just a v-neck long-sleeved shirt that hugged my curves a little looser than I remembered.

  The vision of him on top of me kept replaying in my mind, distracting me. I secured the bedroom quickly, transforming it into a wall of steel panels to shut out the memory, and moved on to the Lab and Office.

  The office—formerly the men's quarters—was untouched. I double-checked the locks on the display cabinets. The Ron Tech accessories inside, pristine power cores and mint-condition crystal data cubes, were worth a fortune, largely because the company collapsed during the Severance, over 400 years ago. Nobody knew why the most advanced tech of the age had just stopped, but the scarcity made me paranoid about thieves.

  Everything was accounted for, so I headed to the Med Bay for a final sweep. I was secretly hoping my Slate would turn up—that maybe I’d botched the tracking modification and it was sitting right here.

  Alas, the room was empty of smart glass.

  I sighed, tidying away the mess of anti-nausea and migraine pills I’d raided this morning. As I slotted the vials back into the cabinet, I paused. The splitting headache I’d had at Grantham’s? It had vanished somewhere around the time I met Ali. Come to think of it, the memory flashes hadn’t been nearly as intense since then, either.

  I hiked it back to the cockpit, satisfied everything was away and secure. I noticed that Forty-Five had managed to buckle himself into the co-pilot seat, fitting perfectly. The heavy duty seat robust enough to take his weight with only a slight creak. He was connected to the dashboard via cable.

  I pulled up the diagnostic report, reviewing the more comprehensive information. It reported a lot of errors. One of the warnings was a compatibility error.

  “Damnit,” I muttered, swiping it closed. “You can unplug yourself. I’m going to run diagnostics manually later.”

  I started tapping away at my dashboard, initiating the launch sequence. I had thirty minutes left before the port authority started charging me for loitering.

  Once the green light indicated all systems were go, I called through to the control tower. "Kelara 1K4 Control, this is Company Research Space Ship Reckless ready for launch. Please advise. Over."

  Static sounded for a few seconds before a thick accented voice replied.

  "CRSS Reckless, you are good for take-off. I repeat, good for take-off. Advised to engage zoom climb from bay six. Direct upward vector only. Over."

  "Copy. Launching in five, four, three, two, one."

  I pulled back on the yoke. The Reckless rose vertically, the old thrusters vibrating our seats. As we cleared the bay doors, I pushed the throttle, arcing the nose away from the planet. The altitude numbers on the dashboard climbed in a satisfying blur.

  Once we punched through the upper atmosphere and the sky turned from blue to the infinite black of the void, I adjusted our heading.

  Most pilots stuck to the Hyper-Expressway, the pre-calculated lanes where the navigation beacons did all the work. I chose the scenic route this time. I punched in a custom vector that would take us along the orbital paths of the outer planets. It was prettier, quieter, and free of traffic drones. Peaceful.

  "Course set," I muttered, flipping the toggle for the autopilot. "System engaged."

  I waited a second to confirm the stick moved on its own, locking onto the vector. Satisfied, I unbuckled my harness and stood up with a long, cracking stretch.

  Forty-Five’s head snapped toward me. His optical sensors seemed to cycle rapidly.

  "Warning," he droned, the monotone voice carrying a strange edge of urgency. "Navigational parameters indicate proximity to planetary gravity well. Standard Autopilot is insufficient for variable-gravity manoeuvring. Protocol dictates Pilot remains at controls until clear of gravitational influence."

  "It’s fine," I waved him off, not really listening. I gathered my hair, tying the dark, unruly curls into a high ponytail. "The system can handle a little gravity drag. It’s got a compensator chip."

  "Statement. Compensator chip latency is 0.4 seconds. In the event of debris or gravity shear, reaction time is inadequate."

  "You worry too much, sec bot," I groused, heading down the short stairs into the living room. "I'm going to put a movie on. Don't touch anything."

  I reached the sunken lounge area, intent on relaxing. The simple AI navigation system had never failed me before. Sure, it was basic, but the sky was big. What were the odds of hitting something?

  I bent down to fish the projector remote out of the coffee table’s compartment.

  Suddenly, a shadow fell over me.

  I froze. It felt like a wall had just moved behind me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Forty-Five standing there. He loomed over me, blocking out the light from the cockpit. He wasn't just standing; he was posturing. Shoulders squared, head tilted down, radiating a silent, mechanical menace.

  "Statement," he rumbled, the volume dialled up slightly. "Combat Sentinel duties include enforcement of safe practices. Pilot has abandoned the helm in a volatile sector. This is a violation of basic survival protocols."

  I straightened up, turning to face him. I had to crane my neck just to look at his visor.

  "Okay, look," I said, annoyed. "I appreciate the concern, but you're running on 'High Alert'. We aren't in combat. I need to ratchet down your threat assessment."

  I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see if there was a manual override switch on his neck seal—some older models had them.

  "Unit 4-5-RNN," I commanded, using my best 'Administrator' voice. "Client Authority Preferences. Modify settings: Standby Mode. Ignore minor navigational hazards."

  I made a mental note to disassemble him later and find the internal dip-switches.

  His head didn't even twitch. The worn security visor reflected my own frustrated face back at me.

  "Command Rejected," he said cold, hard, and fast. "Hazard is not minor. Return to pilot seat."

  He raised his arms. He didn't grab me, but began to herd me. He stepped forward, using its bulk to force me backward toward the stairs.

  "Hey! Wait a minute!" I protested, backing up. "You can't just—"

  I tried to sidestep, aiming for the gap between the bot and the coffee table. Forty-Five moved with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for something that heavy. He cut off my angle instantly, blocking the path.

  "Return to seat," he repeated.

  This behaviour was a completely different from any bot I’d ever owned. They usually just stood there and beeped if I did something unsafe. They didn't bounce me like a club security guard.

  The sheer audacity of it confused me enough that my resistance was sloppy. I tried to duck under his arm, but he simply scooped me up.

  One hand on my back, one under my arm; he lifted me like I weighed nothing. His plating digging into my ribs, unyielding and solid as rock.

  "Hey! Put me down!"

  He marched up the stairs, deposited me firmly into the pilot's seat, and before I could even open my mouth to scream at him, he reached across me.

  Click. Click.

  My harness was buckled tight enough to squeeze the air out of my lungs. Forty-Five threw himself into the co-pilot seat and buckled in with a speed that blurred.

  "Proximity Alert," he intoned sharply. No 'Statement'. No 'Warning'. Just the fact.

  I jerked my head to the dashboard. A single, silent red light was pulsing angrily on my console.

  My stomach dropped.

  "Oh," I whispered.

  I had modified the proximity alarm a few weeks ago. I hated the screeching noise it made whenever I flew too close to a minor asteroid, so I had severed the audio wire. It only flashed now.

  And it was flashing fast.

  My hands flew over the controls, disengaging the autopilot and pulling up the sensor suite.

  "Shit. Shit!"

  The LIDAR screen was a mess of red dots.

  "Micro-debris field," I muttered, my fingers dancing over the keys to calculate a vector. "The computer didn't flag it because the individual pieces are too small... probably a shattered satellite. But the density is high enough to overwhelm the shield and shred the engines."

  "Analysis confirmed," Forty-Five said, his voice tight. "Autopilot latency: fatal. Projected hull breach in 12 seconds."

  I swallowed hard. The autopilot—the "simple system" I trusted—would have flown us right through the cloud. We would have been shredded into scrap before I even found the remote.

  I shot Forty-Five a sharp look. Identifying a micro-debris field? Calculating the autopilot’s lag time down to the second? That wasn't standard security protocol. That was tactical analysis. A Class-2 Sentinel shouldn't have the processing power to question the nav-computer, let alone out-think it.

  My hands instinctively grabbed the stick, manually firing the thrusters to weave us through the opening gaps in the debris. A piece of jagged metal, maybe the size of a dinner plate, whipped past the viewport, close enough that I flinched.

  "Recommendation," the robot said, not looking at me, his eyes fixed on the void. "Remain in the pilot seat until we are beyond the debris field."

  "Yeah," I breathed, my cheeks and ears burning with a mixture of shame and adrenaline. "Yeah. Safety protocols, license, blah, blah...I get it."

  "Recommendation," he continued, turning his head slowly to look at me. "Reactivate the audio component of the proximity alarm. Silence is not a survival trait."

  I deflated, sinking deeper into the pilot’s seat as the adrenaline crash hit me. I corrected our course to clear the worst of the cloud, my hands moving automatically while my mind raced. I knew I fucked up. I had been complacent, and if the robot hadn't literally forced me back into the chair, we’d be drifting dead in orbit right now.

  "I'll fix the wire," I mumbled, keeping my eyes on the stars. "Just... don't tell the port authority."

  "Cannot confirm," Forty-Five said, settling back into his seat. "Infractions will be recorded."

  I glanced at him. For a second, I could have sworn the hunk of metal sounded smug.

  I would love to know if you guys are liking the changes (if you remember from the old version). If you want to have a read of the old version, let me know and I'll have the old version available (somewhere).