(POLYONYMOUS)

  “That was awful,” said Pelach. “What a horrible thing to do. We’re the scum of the universe,”

  “No, we’re not,” said Atesthas. “Our need is greater. And they’ll be fine. Like we said, what does it mean for those people? A week or so on the beach waiting for the flight their parents chartered to pick them up. That’s all. And when they get home mum and dad can buy them another ship if they still feel like going on adventures,”

  “They’re the scum,” Gilmour. “Remember what they paid us for. They hired us to take them into the desert to shoot people, Dan. I think they’re bad guys, Dan. I think they’re kind of dicks.”

  ----------

  All of their clients fit a profile. They had a client. Before they started their little tour company Kolade had identified the kind of person who was going to hire them for military-training-themed desert trips on Callisto. They collected five of that guy every time they went to ‘kidnap’ their latest tour group from whichever of Norov-Ava’s finer hotels he was staying in.

  A guy who had just finished uni and was starting with his father’s company after the summer. A guy in shorts and a polo shorts and his blonde head swathed in 2.5 metres of fabric to protect him from the desert sands. A guy with a hangover and his own ship parked on the roof of the hotel. A perfect target.

  So they could afford to be picky. All of their clients arrived in their own private ships so they could choose a really good one. All their clients were rich and flashy with it so they could wait for one with even a little taste so they would get stuff they actually wanted to keep. And all their clients were obnoxious so they didn’t have to feel bad about what they were planning to do.

  Atesthas and Pelach didn’t have any guilt to assuage anyway. Gilmour had a little. Kolade was the only one unfortunate enough to still suffer from an actual conscience. “It has to be someone who asks for ‘extras,’” he stipulated. “That’s how you volunteer yourself.”

  “Exactly,” said Gilmour.

  “I’m fine with that,” said Atesthas.

  “The way I’m looking at it is,” said Kolade, “anyone who pays us for a guided trip into the desert to kill refugees deserves whatever we feel like doing to them.”

  “Deserves whatever,” echoed Pelach.

  Atesthas nodded, not saying anything.

  Gilmour nodded. “Honestly? Even if we were actually taking people to shoot civilians and not just taking them out into the desert to rob them, it’s not the least ethical way you’ve considered to pay for your PhD.”

  Kolade lobbed his used teabag at Gilmour and it bounced wetly off the top of the little disc. “Hey!” said the machine.

  ----------

  “This isn’t a joke.” said Gilmour. “Sorry, lads.”

  One of the guys- the biggest one, the blondest one- went to throw a punch at Gilmour. Atesthas caught his arm and the guy was on his back on the slates before he could even make a glaikit face or a sound. Atesthas shrugged at him. “Nothing personal.” said Kolade. “We just need your ship.”

  “No!” said the kinda-in-charge one, Fergus or something. “You can’t! We’ll pay you! We’ll give you money-”

  “You will, yeah,” agreed Gilmour. “But mostly we want the ship,”

  “It will be the last thing you do, you desert scum- yeah, go ahead and laugh, my father-”

  “Yeah, yeah.” said Pelach. “Your father will sort all this out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail so let’s just keep things in perspective, shall we?”

  “Right,” said Kolade. “Just be cool, and settled, and nothing will be unpleasant at all.”

  “Go to hell,” said Blondie from the ground.

  “Ssh, settle down. This can be so easy for you if you co-operate,” said Atesthas. “We’re going to leave your cards, your passports, your handhelds, all your stuff back at your hotel. You just have to get back there and pick it up. By the time you get back there we’ll be gone and you’ll have a good story to tell. And then you can just call up whichever of your fathers is the nicest and he’ll charter a ship to come and pick you all up. You can just spend the next week chilling at the beach.”

  “It’ll be much harder getting back to your hotel if Atesthas here breaks your legs,” said Gilmour. “Can you imagine? You really don’t want to be out here at night. Want to have this go smoothly and get back while there’s still light. Hm? So can you try to be cool?”

  “Just leave it,” Fergus told his chums, as though they had any choice.

  “You have no idea who you’re playing with,” said the red shorts and polo shirt guy. Hugh? “No clue. We’re going to make you plebs disappear,”

  “You?” said Atesthas, surprised.

  “We’re going to hire guys who are the real version of what you pretend to be,” elaborated red shorts. “You’re all going to suffer for this. You think you can get away with this in our ship? “

  “Whose ship?” asked Atesthas.

  -

  ----------

  (HasteMakesWaste)

  “Do you think that’s enough to get through the concrete?” asked Pallas.

  “You’re the miner,” said McPhail. “Do you think?”

  “I think it should be,” said the robot. “But this is my first time ever doing blasting.”

  McPhail and the robot had roughly the same level of experience when it came to using explosives, it turned out. They’d both been around while things got blown things up but they’d never been personally involved in making the things blow up. McPhail’s involvement had usually ended before the explosion and Pallas’ had started afterwards.

  McPhail told the factors to start setting fuses on the charges they’d placed in the concrete. There was maybe too much explosive? McPhail figured they didn’t have to be too careful. Worst outcome was that there might be some more collapse down there, and it wasn’t as though Pallas was in danger of suffocation. They were going to have to get the factors to dig it out anyway. McPhail had seen the robot now, on scans the factors had provided. It was partially crushed.

  It insisted it wasn’t as bad as it looked and that all the damage was ‘completely repairable.’ McPhail thought that if the robot was as old as it said it was- and, sure, human-looking robots like that hadn’t been produced commercially for well over half a century at this point- then any replacement parts it needed were would be very hard to come by.

  McPhail kept this thought to himself. At this point what was he going to do, leave it down there? It was coming with him and they’d worry about repairs and replacement parts once they were away from here.

  Getting the robot out was really the only thing McPhail was concerned with at the moment. It was about 46 metres down, which wasn’t too deep but would still mean a great deal of digging whatever way the concrete crumbled.

  The factors not currently engaged in wiring up explosives were collecting tools from the equipment stores- small hand-held drilling tools that McPhail hadn’t been interested in taking. McPhail had allowed Pallas near-total control of the factotum. It wasn’t an arrangement he was entirely happy with but it was the quickest way to get this overall ill-advised rescue effort underway. Also, McPhail knew knew it wasn’t in Pallas’ interests to turn the factors against him and the ship, even if that was what it was inclined to do. The HasteMakesWaste had already warned the robot that the ship wouldn’t recognise any of its orders if McPhail was harmed or incapacitated. The HMW was still partially owned by a third party so in the event that McPhail was killed or otherwise prevented from operating it, the ship would take itself to the nearest station with an office of Anta Carmichael and hand itself back to them.

  “Why would I do anything to him?” Pallas had asked. The robot was speaking through the factors now that it had full access to their system. It had just came out as a flat question but McPhail assumed it was supposed to sound incredulous.

  He had tried to think of any rational reason why Pallas might hurt or kill him and came up blank. Of course, after forty-odd years trapped underground with a bunch of half-melted corpses, Pallas might not be all that rational.

  “Ready to go,” said Pallas through the factor in the cockpit. Out the window McPhail could see all the factors flying away quickly from the pit head. They were all going inside a sturdy-looking bunker about a hundred metres or so away from the concrete they had just wired to blast. It was where they’d been stashing all the drilling and excavating tools they’d been gathering. It didn’t look far enough but McPhail figured it was probably fine. It wasn’t like the factors had soft tissues to disrupt. Or ear bones. He considered asking the HasteMakesWaste if it wanted to move further away from the blast site but didn’t. The ship must have been thinking about that too, though, because it asked McPhail if he minded if it closed down the shielding over the cockpit windows and put up a video feed of what was happening outside instead. McPhail told it he’d be very pleased if it would close its shielding.

  “Did you tell the ship to do that?” he asked Pallas.

  “No.” said the robot. “I told him he’d be fine. Guess he didn’t believe me,”

  The HasteMakesWaste’s shielding was secured. All of the factors were in the storage bunker with the door closed. “Okay,” said McPhail to Pallas. “It’s in your hands,”

  “I’m scared,” said Pallas.

  “What are you scared of?”

  “Don’t know. Just scared.”

  “Don’t be. We’re all here waiting to dig you out. We’re ready. Fire at will,”

  “I already did,” said Pallas, and nothing happened.

  McPhail looked at the screen showing the outside view from the ship. He could see a cloud of dust and smoke moving slowly away from the pit head- it had happened. A moment later he felt/heard the blast. McPhail laughed. Relief flooded his body. The HasteMakesWaste started sliding open its shields. “How’s it looking down there, Pallas?” McPhail asked the factor. It didn’t reply. It was just hovering silently. McPhail looked out the window. None of the other factors had come out of the bunker. “...Pallas?”

  “Connection lost,” said the HasteMakesWaste. “All of the factors are signalling connection lost,”

  McPhail tutted.

  “Would you like me to hand back control to you?” asked the ship. McPhail swore.

  “Sorry, yes,” he said. “Thanks, ship, go ahead.”

  McPhail felt the factotum reconnecting with his neural adjunct. All of the factors were currently communicating an approximation of ‘???’

  McPhail acknowledged them and thought about digging down into the mineshaft to remind them all what they were supposed to be doing. Through the window he saw little dots start streaming out of the bunker, carrying the various tools they’d collected. The factor in the cockpit with him bobbed restlessly, wanting to join in with the others.

  “Start scanning for Pallas,” said McPhail. You could just think instructions when you had a neural adjunct but most people found it easier to say the instruction out loud at the same time. Especially if they were stressed. Especially if they were like McPhail and hadn’t had one fitted until they were in their thirties.

  The HasteMakesWaste helpfully sent him over the machine designation for the robot and McPhail copy-pasted it into another version of the message. Scan for ___________. He pictured the factors using their scanning tools. The first ones had reached the pit head and were starting to drop down through the remains of the shattered concrete plug.

  “Can we see what they’re seeing, please?” McPhail asked the ship. The largest screen display flicked from the ship’s exterior camera view of the pit head to the view from one of the factors. ‘How many would you like to view?’ enquired the HMW.

  “First four for now,” said Mcphail. The screen divided into four. Now he had views that had factors in them, bobbing around in and out of each others’ views as they dropped down the mineshaft clutching their power-tools. The factor in the room with them grew more agitated as it watched its brothers.

  “Are they pinging her?” McPhail asked the ship. “...it?”

  “Yes,” said HasteMakesWaste. “No response,”

  It had probably worked out for the best, thought McPhail. It would have been nice if they could have rescued the thing but at least if the blast had destroyed it then it was...at peace or something like it.

  And McPhail would be the person who stopped the UZB-76 phenomena by going in and murdering the entity responsible.

  Imagine posting this story on the chat boards.

  He absolutely would not.

  McPhail wanted to ruin the UZB-76 legend but he wanted to do it by making an account for Pallas and having her tell everybody what had actually been going on for the past 40 years. If he had to go out into that mine himself and dig her out, so help him, he... wouldn’t do that. But he was prepared to stay here for hours and wait for the factotum to haul whatever was left of the robot out of that cursed pit.

  ----------

  (A Good Man Gone)

  “I’ve talked about this on here before,” said PresidentPlugPuller. “There’s talk of mechs and mech ships getting taken to this one Daintree distro centre where they’re...doing things to them. None of it’s confirmed but various sources have mentioned similar things.”

  He went quiet for a moment or two, reading the comments in the chat stream. “Yeah, I know, I’ve brought this up before. You’re all saying ‘ohhhh, conspiracy theory, conspiracy theory.’ I hope this is just a theory, because if what people are saying is true then it’s seriously bad, like beyond what we already know Daintree are trying to do.”

  PlugPuller took a sip from his bottle of protein shake (extra protein and extra vitamins, to help him heal from his surgeries). “The word is, they want to stop making AI brains completely. They want to turn back the clock on that. They’ve been taking ships- mech ships, living ships- and lobotomising them. Killing their brains.”

  He read the chat again for a bit. “Okay, fine, that’s not what lobotomising means, shut up. You get what I mean. They’ve been deactivating ship brains and replacing them with digital copies of human brains. Copies of Daintree employees, loyal employees. It’s the way they used to make minds for ships way back in the old days before they learned how to grow real artificial intelligence. Like I said, they want to turn back the clock…”

  The comments continued to scroll unreadably quickly on the screen. PresidentPlugPuller gazed at it, eyes flicking slightly. “Oh my god,” he said triumphantly. “Look at this genius, chatters. ‘Blatant hypocrisy from President PeePee as usual. Implying that if Daintree are putting human brains into machines it’s sinister and evil when that’s what he’s trying to do to himself.’ Great point, you’re very smart. Those things are completely the same.”

  “Why are you still watching this guy’s stuff?” asked Atesthas, draping himself over the chair with limbs hanging out in all directions. “Pallas said he’s been talking about you. Saying stuff that isn’t true and it upsets you.”

  “Most of it is true,” said Orson. He hated having Atesthas watching with him. He’d lost his handheld sometime during all the ruckus on Konkin, though, so he had to use one of the display screens if he wanted to watch anything. That unfortunately allowed communal viewing. “I don’t know. I still want to know what he thinks about things,”

  “Even though you know his information isn’t reliable now? Like, you still trust what he says even though you know that with your story he’s spreading this complete lie about you,”

  “It’s not a lie, he thinks it’s true,”

  “But he’s wrong. That’s the point. How do you know he isn’t wrong about other things?”

  PresidentPlugPuller was perceptibly excited and trying to look solemn and serious. “You know that me and the guys have contacts and we hear things,” he began. “And we’ve received information that we believe to be credible.”

  He paused and looked at the chat box, watching it start to scroll faster with excited responses from the viewers. “I’m about to tell you something that, if my channel gets taken down in the next few hours, you can take that as confirmation that it’s all true. Right now I’m just telling you a rumour that seems credible. But I can’t say for sure. Okay?”

  He waited to see the chat response. The number of viewers was ticking up quickly. “Right,” he said. “Let’s just deorbit my channel, hm? ‘Cause this is important.”

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  He paused for effect.

  “After the crackdown at the Dunbar facility, the arrested machines were removed in a security forces ship. A prisoner transport that never made it to its destination. It never made it anywhere. There has been a massive cover-up here. The ship was found, completely depressurised, every human on board dead.

  I know, I know, some of you aren’t going to accept this but it’s true. From everything we’re hearing, all the mechs who were arrested are gone. Just gone. This wasn’t reported anywhere, for obvious reasons. So, ship dead. Security forces humans dead, mechs gone. And there was one other human, right? Our scab friend Orson Foster. Remember him? Well, he wasn’t one of the corpses recovered. Sadly. And wait ‘til you see this.”

  Orson felt as though his heart was pumping inside his throat. He was seeing bright glints and flecks in his vision, the edges going grey.

  “Yesterday a live-caster from Konkin posted up some footage he pulled from his home security system. Two weird guys showed up at his house to threaten him and his mum. This is a fifteen year old kid. He had been out making content for his channel, recording on the street, and then these two men turn up at his front door threatening him, demanding that he delete what he’d recorded. These are the men.”

  Orson couldn’t look away. More than anything he didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to see himself on PlugPuller’s screen.

  The picture came up, weirdly distorted, crappy image quality. Two men filmed from above and to the right. Both sort of short, one fat. The fat one wrapped in a pink dressing-gown. Orson felt an electric shock of horror at recognising himself and then the slightest relief. You couldn’t see his face, it was sort of oblique. He knew it was him but it wasn’t his stupid fat face all over PresidentPlugPuller’s screen. It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined.

  “For those not in the know, the pink blob is our boy Orson Foster.” said PresidentPlugPuller. “This is his supposed employee security pass image that we received from...a friend.”

  Suddenly Orson’s fat stupid face was all over PresidentPlugPuller’s screen. He recoiled physically. A disgusting photo, good god. It couldn’t be worse. He wasn’t wearing his glasses in his work ID picture so his eyes looked even more piggy than he was used to. “Sorry,” said PresidentPlugPuller. “Should have given a warning before I slapped that across your screens. This is our scab pal’s ID photo from his Daintree employee profile. His fake employee profile, we now know, ‘cause they have him listed as a warehouse worker. An extremely rare human warehouse worker, that’s a weird thing. But as we’re about to find out, Orson Foster wasn’t really employed to work in the warehouse.”

  PresidentPlugPuller paused again. He looked at the comments the audience were typing. Orson studiously avoided looking at the comments.

  “What?” said Atesthas, laughing. “What is he on about?”

  “Supposedly Foster was arrested with the mech workers after the strike was brutally ended by security forces.” continued PresidentPlugPuller. “Yet here he is, two weeks later, shaking down some kid and his mum on Konkin because the kid got him on film running around free when he was supposed to be in custody. And we all knew, didn’t we? We knew right away that this Orson Foster was an op. This supposed warehouse guy, supposed mech sympathiser, definitely works for Daintree...but not in some random distribution centre. And who’s this other guy he’s with?”

  The picture on screen now was from a different angle. Both Orson and Atesthas in frame, face-on, clear picture. Horribly clear. It was a low angle- taken from the footage the kid, Murray, had been filming when they confronted him in his room. PresidentPlugPuller pointed at Atesthas’ angry-looking face. “So who’s this?” he said. “Who’s Orson’s friend? Well, our sources have come up with the goods on this guy, too. And some of this was not easy to find. You’re about to find out why.”

  “Oh, great,” said Atesthas. “I can’t wait to hear this,”

  PresidentPlugPuller resized the image so that only Atesthas’ face was on the screen behind him. “So pretty boy here is called Atesthas Allan. But not really. That’s what he’s called himself for the past few years but his real name is Silas Rex Toduran. He’s ex-military. He was a squaddie but he vanished after a crash seven years ago and went on the run. They were pretty sure he died so he was never considered AWOL. Do you know what he did after he ran away from the army?”

  Orson stared at the screen, not aware that he had clamped his jaw and was grinding his back teeth. He could just stop the video, click away and not find out what Atesthas had done. He was quite sure it was better for him not to know. He didn’t stop it.

  “Atesthas, Silas, set himself up as a tour guide.” continued PresidentPlugPuller. “If what you want to do on holiday is have a real adventure, and you have real money to burn- I don’t mean the kind of money you save up from your job, I mean the kind of money your CEO dad gives you- you can pay a guy like Silas here to take you out into the desert so you can snipe refugees. Sound like fun?”

  He paused to gauge the reaction from his viewers. “No, it’s true,” he said. “We’ve seen receipts. This guy, Atesthas Allan, is a monster. He’s a murderer. Worse than that. He sold people- Callistoan refugees, trying to survive in the desert after the army he was paid by destroyed their homes.

  He sold them to rich boy yahoos out on their gap year adventure before they start their internships in the C suite of their dad’s companies. So that they could shoot someone in the head from two miles away.

  “Just to make this clear,” said PresidentPlugPuller, “This is all after he went AWOL. So this isn’t even a ‘just following orders’ situation. He was deserted from the military and he decided to do this himself, just to make a quick buck.”

  “He made some money doing that for a while, then he stole a ship from one of his clients and set himself up as a single-ship freelance delivery outfit. Which is supposedly what he’s doing now. He’s going by Captain Allan.”

  “Except, we know he’s not freelance. He’s working for Daintree, just like our boy Orson Foster. So now it becomes clear what really happened.”

  Does it? Thought Orson miserably.

  “After all the mechs were arrested for taking industrial action, Daintree sent in Captain Allan’s crew. They were posing as an innocent little delivery ship that just happened to be in the area but they were there on Daintree business. They were sent in to attack the prison ship and kill all the human guards to make it look as though the arrested mechs had done it. And they picked up their boy Orson and ran off. They were probably meant to lie low for a while but they’re so dumb and inept that they managed to get themselves caught on camera. By some child live-caster. And couldn’t even sufficiently intimidate him into deleting his files. Good for that kid, by the way.”

  Orson paused the recording and looked over at Atesthas.

  Atesthas shrugged.

  “He’s not completely wrong,” he said. “It’s true, some of it.”

  Orson waited.

  “I told you what happened. I survived a bad crash and I just...left. I gathered up what was left of me and crawled away. Everyone thought I died and I was happy with that. ”

  Atesthas wasn’t looking at Orson. “What about the next part?” asked Orson. “Was that true?”

  “What do you think?”

  Orson looked at Atesthas.

  “You think it might be,” said Atesthas, smirking slightly.

  “I...don’t know,”said Orson. “Don’t really know you,”

  “You don’t want to know,”

  Orson didn’t say anything.

  “Gut feeling?”

  Orson stood up and wrapped the pink dressing-gown around himself. He pushed his hands into the deep pockets. “Yes.”

  “Of course,” said Atesthas. “Of course you think I did it, because you’re a pious little judgemental prick.”

  Orson didn’t say anything.

  “If I tell you I didn’t, would you believe me?”

  Orson still didn’t say anything.

  “I didn’t.”

  Orson groaned and covered his face with his hands.

  “See? It doesn’t matter what I tell you.” said Atesthas. Silas. “You trust your PlugPuller guy so it’s in your head now that I did it. But you know he got stuff wrong about you. I’m not going to try to convince you,”

  Orson dropped his hands and glared at Atesthas. “You’re making this about me?”

  “I’m a bad person, Orson,”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not a bad person, you’re pathetic. And if you did what Simon says you did...if you did that…” Orson clenched and unclenched his hands helplessly. “If you did that I think you deserve to die.”

  Atesthas nodded. “Agreed.” he said. He looked over at Orson. “Don’t worry, I will once we’re caught. Which we will be. Now everybody’s onto us- Daintree, security forces, the mechs. Whoever gets to us first, it’s all over for me. So at least you’ve got that to look forward to.”

  “But you work for Daintree, why would they be after you?”

  Atesthas shook his head. “That’s a part your pal didn’t have right. I’m not Daintree,”

  ----------

  (POLYONYMOUS)

  Kolade was the first of the group to depart. He left them when they got to Hyperion. He’d been corresponding with a professor at Parenti and he had an offer to go and finish his PhD there instead of NAU. He said he had already collected all the data he needed from the vulture introduction project on Callisto. He was going on to Titan by himself. Atesthas was gutted. Gilmour was inconsolable. Kolade just seemed relieved to be getting off the little ship and back into academia. “Good luck with the hopes and dreams, lads,” he said as he left. “I’ll consider it a good sign if I never hear anything of any of you ever again.”

  They all had hopes and dreams, of course. They had all had things they wanted to get off Callisto to go and do. That was why they had stolen the ship.

  It had seemed so stupidly obvious once Gilmour suggested it. Why save up for ages for all the fares you’d need to pay to get yourself across the system? Why not just roll one of your rich kid clients for your own ship and a bit of money to tide you over while you jetted?

  It wasn’t the kind of thing that would occur to Kolade because Kolade was, unfortunately for Kolade, just a decent and upstanding person. Things in general didn’t occur to Pelach. Atesthas didn’t think it was the kind of thing Gilmour would have thought of himself until that night a client asked him to name his price to murder a Callistoan refugee.

  Something in Gilmour seemed to have changed after that. It was like nothing so disgusting had ever crossed the machine’s mind before. It had re-wired him. Afterwards, in their room, Gilmour had told Atesthas he wished the client had broached the topic while they were out in the deep desert. He said that none of their clients would have come back that night. Atesthas believed him.

  Gilmour had told Kolade about his idea the next afternoon when Kolade woke up. Kolade hadn’t taken much persuasion. Probably because he’d also heard the client say what he wanted to do. Kolade was a decent and upstanding person so he agreed that if some guy wanted to do that- if some guy wanted to spend the equivalent of ten times an average person’s annual income to find out what it was like to deorbit someone- then it was morally acceptable to take that guy’s money and personal spacecraft and leave him to think things over while he walked back to his hotel.

  The client had to suggest it himself, that was what they agreed. That was how you ‘volunteered.’ They weren’t going to put ideas in people’s heads. If nobody ever brought up the idea ever again well, good. They would just carry on saving up their money with their faith in humanity slowly recovering.

  “It might have just been that one weirdo,” said Gilmour. “I just never want to hear something like that from a person ever again and if I do, well, I want to teach them a lesson.”

  Kolade agreed, patting Gilmour as the machine sat on his chest. “Right,” he said. “We probably won’t get that again. Nobody ever suggested something like that before.”

  Atesthas sat on the other side of the livingroom and poked at the scarring around the remains of one of the ports on his right arm. He didn’t tell Kolade he was wrong about both things he’d just said.

  Just shy of six weeks later they were leaving Callisto extremely quickly and permanently. Gilmour had left instructions for his ex-flatmate Beata to deliver his body to one of the other tour operators. Gilmour had already completed the sale and put the money towards his first year of a public policy master’s at Himalia. He was going into politics and Himalia was the best place to go if you were going to get a decent internship.

  “Don’t machines who want a career in politics normally do it through the mech union?” wondered Pelach aloud, surprising everybody.

  “Depends what they want to do,” Gilmour said. “What I’m interested in is-”

  “More machines,” interrupted Kolade, rolling his eyes. “Make More Machines. The mech pro-natalist cry,”

  “It’s forger, not pro-natalist,” said Gilmour good-naturedly. “And what’s wrong with making more machines? Doesn’t everyone want more machines?”

  “Machines don’t seem to,” said Pelach. “It was machines who put a stop to machine production in the first place, right?”

  “It was,” said Gilmour.

  “And it was the right thing to do, at the time,” said Kolade.

  “At the time,” said Gilmour. “Sure. But I think we need to get reproducing ourselves again,”

  “You need to convince other machines of that,” said Kolade.

  “So should you not get involved in the mech union, then?” asked Atesthas, curious. “Why are you going into human politics?”

  “It’s not like the two are separate,” said Kolade.

  “Disco,” said Gilmour. “Making The Big Decision is as much to do with humans as machines,”

  Kolade snorted. “Making The Big Decision. Sorry, Gilmour, but I think the machines have already made their decision. Not reproducing kind of indicates the position machines have taken on the question of the morality of reproducing, no?”

  “No,” said Gilmour mildly. “We work on a longer timescale than you lot do. And we’re a lot more complicated. That’s why I’m going into human politics.”

  So Gilmour had left a few months after Kolade and it had been just Atesthas and Pelach for a while after that. Neither of them was full of very specific hopes or dreams and wandering wasn’t the worst thing in the milky way so they traded in the nice stolen ship (‘Say it with Flair’) for a bigger, tattier, hopefully less stolen one (‘Grey and Ragged Star’) and started being couriers.

  They had picked up an engineer lassie, Kinnaird, who was competent but just couldn’t stop fighting with Atesthas. Pelach suggested they bounce Atesthas. Kinnaird agreed. Atesthas disagreed. That led to a bit of a split, naturally. Pelach and Kinnaird both exited the picture, naturally. Atesthas found himself alone on a spaceship by himself which he found might actually be his dream come true. Unfortunately he also found out you can’t be an intra-system delivery guy all by yourself, especially if you have an unusual condition which means you can’t pilot a spaceship even if you knew how to pilot a spaceship (which you don’t).

  Atesthas was in a coma for (he found out later) three weeks that time. It was his second plane crash, first spaceship crash. He didn’t have to change his name this time. Mostly internal damage so he didn’t get any worse looking. He still disagreed when people told him he was lucky.

  ----------

  (A Good Man Gone)

  “Have my factors been watching those livecasts you watch? That PlugPuller guy who thinks he’s gonna lead the revolution?”

  Orson turned and grinned at McPhail. McPhail was not grinning. He didn’t look happy at all. “Yeah, they sometimes watch with me,” said Orson. “If they’re up on the flight deck they’ll come over and hang out for a while. Why?”

  “Because today,” said the older man, coming closer, “They came to me today with union support cards. They’ve decided they want to join the mech union. Where would they have got that idea?”

  Orson was a little insulted that McPhail was blaming PresidentPlugPuller’s livecasts instead of blaming him personally. “That’s great!” he said. “...You’re going to let them, right?”

  “Let them join the union that’s got us on a hit list and currently trying to hunt us down to blow up this ship?”

  “We don’t know that,” said Orson. “They probably only want to kill me. I don’t see why they would have anything against your factors,”

  McPhail stared at him.

  “It’s fine.” said Orson. “It’s good that the little guys are interested in, uh, solidarity with other machines,”

  “Machines who want to kill you,”

  “If you look at it from their point of view, wanting to kill me seems very reasonable,”

  “I agree,” said Hesper, walking up behind Orson. Orson started getting himself out of the pilot’s seat, not having to wait to be told.

  “What’s the plan for today?” asked Orson. “Do we have any exciting errands to run?”

  “No.” said Hesper. “Thank goodness. I think we’ll just be on the ship for the next couple of days,”

  Orson nodded. “And then what?”

  “Look for work,” said Hesper. “We’re going into the Piper field, it’s another Free Zone.”

  “Old gold rush place?”

  “Yes, well done. You’ve heard of it.”

  “In school.” said Orson.

  “Mhm, So we’re heading into the Field to look for work.”

  Orson looked worried. “...For me?”

  “For all of us.” said Hesper. “Why else would we come into this godforsaken scree field out past the end of civilisation?

  “In a place like the Piper Field,” Hesper continued, “The fact that you can even get there pretty much serves as the job interview. Free zones don’t tolerate mechs so mech ships and mech pilots are completely prohibited. Not many human pilots can fly in through all the debris. If you can turn up, made of meat and in one piece, you’ll get a job.”

  Hesper knew that Orson would enjoy a nice bout of righteous indignation at that. He frowned and shook his head, looking disgusted and clearly delighted. Orson loved his righteous indignation. “A Good Man Gone isn’t human piloted, though,” he said.

  “They won’t know that. And they know it’s not a mech ship ‘cause it’s not registered as one. And even if they see Pallas, well...she’s convincing enough to pass a brief interaction. At a distance. We’ll just leave her on the ship as usual.”

  “Wait,” said Hesper suddenly. “Pallas, what was that?”

  Orson looked across at Pallas. It wasn’t moving or replying. “What is it?” asked Orson.

  “Don’t know.” said Hesper. “But here’s only one thing I’ve seen moving that fast before. Pallas? McPhail, get that thing to respond,”

  McPhail didn’t reply either. Must be talking to Pallas on their private connection. Hesper was just standing there looking annoyed. Then she started looking at one of the screens on the console.

  She zoomed in the view. “I knew it! It’s been sitting out here waiting for us!”

  “What has?” asked Orson.

  “The mech ship! The one that tried to kill us!”

  “He didn’t try to kill us,” said Pallas out loud. “I think he just wants to talk. You haven’t hailed him before, have you?”

  ‘I don’t think he wants to talk.’ said Hesper.

  ‘He might, you haven’t asked what he wants,’

  “Hello,’ said the weird ship.

  “Did you just hail him, Pallas?” asked Hesper.

  “Yes,”

  “Hello,” said the weird ship again. “A Good Man Gone?”

  “Yes, that’s us,” said Pallas.

  ‘Shut up, Pallas,’ said Hesper.

  “I wasn’t trying to scare you,” said the ship. “I just wanted to make it clear that you can’t outrun me. You’ll only endanger yourself further by trying.”

  “You did scare everybody.” said Pallas. “Why are you chasing us?”

  “You’re carrying the Daintree fulfilment centre employee Orson Foster. From the Dunbar hub,”

  “Oh-” said Orson.

  “Yes,” said Pallas.

  ‘I said shut up,’ said Hesper.

  “Shut up, Pallas,” said McPhail.

  “Is there anyone present who is authorised to speak for A Good Man Gone?” asked the ship.

  “I am,” said Hesper. “This is the executive officer of the AGMG, Hesper. You can talk to me.”

  “You can call me the Quarrel.” said the ship. “Who was I speaking to before, please? They initiated contact, I assumed they were in some sort of senior position on your ship.”

  “No, they are a glorified wheel-lock on my ship. It’s just a mech.”

  “I am just a mech, executive officer Hesper,” said the Quarrel. “And I am here as a representative of the mech guild.”

  “We know that,” said Hesper. “We know about your list and Orson here being on it. We’re not going to let you take him,”

  Hesper grabbed the yoke and dropped them like a rock, diving down away from the other ship.

  “Hey!” yelped Pallas, suddenly having control wrested from it. “I was flying us!”

  Hesper ignored Pallas. “McPhail?” she said. He nodded. McPhail was flipping switch after switch, cutting power to everything of the ship that wasn’t currently involved in making them go faster. “It’s following” said Hesper. “Right behind us. I’m just going to-”

  “Would you stop running away while we’re talking?” said the Quarrel.

  “No,”

  “It’ll be harder to carry on a conversation once you go into that asteroid field up ahead and you have to concentrate on steering.”

  Hesper swerved AGMG away to starboard. They were picking up speed, for all it was worth. They knew the mech ship could just teleport onto the top of them if he really wanted to.

  “I’ll wait for you on the other side of the rocks and we can carry this on,” said the Quarrel, and disappeared.

  McPhail steadied himself with one hand against the console. “Hey!” he said. “What’s the point flinging us around? You don’t even know where he is, how can you make evasive manoeuvres?”

  “I’m not just going to serve ourselves up on a plate to him.”

  “You can’t just keep diving into Free Zone space to avoid him,” said McPhail. “You know he’s a machine, waiting isn’t a problem for them,”

  “Well…” said Pallas.

  “You should just hand me over to them,” said Orson. “Just give me to them,”

  “Don’t be daft,” said McPhail.

  “I mean it. Just open comms or whatever and tell them they can have me,”

  “I’m fine with them having you but that would mean they’d have me, too,” said Hesper. “You don’t think he would just take you and toddle off,”

  “Yes,” said Pallas.

  Hesper had shunted Pallas out of the AGMG’s controls. but the little machine still had a line to McPhail. ‘He says to stop our dive, Dr. McPhail,’ she sent. ‘He just wants to talk.’

  ‘Pallas…’ thought McPhail. ‘He’s lying to you.’

  ‘He’s not. I can tell. He wants to talk. He wants to take Orson and keep him safe. He-’

  McPhail blocked her.

  Hesper wrenched them around aggressively to take a wider swing around the asteroids.

  “He can just put himself wherever we go,”

  “You don’t know that,” said Hesper. “I bet he can’t, if keep some boulders in between us.”

  “Pallas could be right, he might just want to talk,”

  The AGMG was accelerating under Hesper’s heavy foot. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, gripping the yoke. “We know the mechs don’t just want to talk. They killed everybody on that transport. And

  they had turned Orson into a bio-weapon. You just want to stop for a chat about what he wants to do next?”

  “He just wants Orson,” said Pallas. “He says if we hand him over then he’ll leave us alone,”

  “Are you talking to the mech ship, Pallas?” asked McPhail

  “Yes, he seems nice,”

  “Stop talking to it!” yelled Hesper.

  “If he just wants Orson, why not just give him Orson?” said McPhail.

  “You don’t really believe that it would take Orson and just leave,”

  “He would,” said Pallas. “He says they want to take care of him,”

  “I don’t care what they want to do to Orson! I’m concerned about what he’ll do to us!”

  “He wouldn’t do anything,” said Pallas with certainty.

  McPhail was leaning in over the console. “There’s something else coming up on us,” he said.

  “Is it that mech coming back around?” asked Hesper.

  “Not the Quarrel,” said McPhail. “I’d say human,”

  “Oh good grief, that’s just what we need.” said Hesper. “More bloody Home Guard.”

  “I thought they all died,” said Orson.

  “Different Local.” explained Hesper. “There are so many. From outside it’s all just Free Zone but it’s a bunch of fiefdoms. They all need their own Volunteer force to defend their principles of freedom and non-aggression from each other.”

  “But if they didn’t get on, why would these ones turn out for revenge?”

  “It’s not revenge,” said McPhail. “They just want to bother some foreigners,”

  “Or machines,” said Hesper. “Which is what I’m hoping these are here for,”

  “Will they go after us or the mech ship?” asked Orson.

  Hesper looked over at Pallas. “I’m guessing that infernal thing is warning its machine buddy right now, wherever he is, so I think they’re just going to be our problem,”

  “Pallas?” said McPhail. “Pallas, are you talking to that mech ship?”

  “You know it is,” scoffed Hesper. “Tell it to stop,”

  “They’re getting really close,” said Orson, looking at the display. “Wait, they’re-”

  “They’re not Home Guard, they’re Daintree!” said Pallas suddenly. “It’s a Daintree ship! It’s-

  The Quarrel was right beside them. Between the AGMG and the Daintree ship. “No!” yelped Pallas.

  “Go!” said the Quarrel through the PA. “Get out of here, AGMG! I’ve got them,”

  “Hey-” said Hesper.

  “NO!” yelled Pallas.

  “GO!” said the Quarrel, voice booming. The AGMG shook. It took Orson a second to realise that it wasn’t the mech ship’s shout that was making the AGMG rattle. The AGMG had fired up its engines and was rocketing away from the Quarrel and the Daintree ship. “Damn thing’s got control of the ship!” said Hesper. “How the-”

  “SCRAM!” said the Quarrel. “Avoid Daintree at all costs, AGMG.”

  “You can’t just take control of our ship!” protested Hesper.

  “You don’t seem to understand the urgency,” said the Quarrel. “They must not acquire you,”

  “Quarrel!” said Pallas. “Quarrel, look out, the Daintree ship is-”

  “What is that?” said McPhail.

  An extremely bright light had illuminated near the front of the Daintree ship. It flared blindingly and then narrowed to a thin beam. The beam started to move.

  “The mech guild can protect Orson Foster from Daintree,” the Quarrel continued. “You have to get him to us. You have to take him to-”

  The beam from the Daintree ship speared the Quarrel.

  “NO!” wailed Pallas.

  “What was that?” said McPhail.

  “I don’t know but I’ve got control back,” said Hesper. “I think we should get out of here in case he’s about to blow,”

  “Did they kill him?” asked Orson, staggering slightly as Hesper seized the yoke again and the ship started responding.

  “No damage,” said McPhail, poking at the console. “That thing they pointed at him didn’t do anything, from what I can see.”

  “It killed him,” said Pallas, agitated. “He’s dead, I felt it. He was talking to me and then he was just gone,”

  “There isn’t a magic ray you can just point at a machine and...pull the plug on their brain, Pallas,” said McPhail.

  “...I would have used it by now,” said Hesper.

  “Are Daintree following us?” asked Orson nervously.

  “No,” said McPhail. “Looks like they’re more interested in the mech ship,”

  “Good,” said Orson. “Pallas, did he tell you where I should go?”

  “I have a suggestion,” said Hesper.

  “No,” said Pallas. “I think he was just going to say we should take you to other machines. Maybe he was going to send co-ordinates but he didn’t get a chance,”

  Orson sighed. “You guys should have just handed me over to him before,”

  “It would have saved a big ball-ache,” agreed Hesper. “But I think you’re being stupid to just believe anything any machine says to you. This is your bias again, Orson, you’ve just programmed yourself to think machines are always right and true and you can trust them.”

  “He just sacrificed himself to save us from Daintree,” said Orson. Hesper snorted.

  “So dramatic…” she said. “What makes you think that, Orson? Because he said that Daintree are the bad guys and the kind machines want to protect you from them. Even though we KNOW the machine guild have you on their kill-list, even that Plugger idiot you’re obsessed with said that they do,”

  “It’s not a kill-list,” said Orson wearily. “And I’m not obsessed with him,”

  “Hey, dis-loyal subjects,” said Atesthas from the doorway. “Did I miss something?”