Refueled, Rebuilt, Sentenced

Something hard pressed against his face. He felt his copper jaw clank against the surface as it jiggled back and forth. Someone was pushing his shoulder.

“Sir? Sir? Are you alright?”

Buddy rose, a trail of lubricant leakage from his mouth pulled a long, cold and slimy string between him and the table. It snapped when he turned to look at who had so rudely woken him.

He grunted in the form of a question. His vision was recalibrating, though slowly, but soon it was sharp again, and he saw the worried features of the waitress. He also saw the glitching chronometer in the top corner of his vision. It wasn’t glitching anymore. It showed crude symbols he didn’t recognize. First three, a semicolon, then two, a semicolon, then two, a comma, and one more that kept flicking between hundreds, no, thousands of the figures in rapid succession.

“Are you alright, sir?” the waitress repeated.

“Wha… what…” Buddy said, worked his jaw, then, “what was in that drink?”

“Triple distilled whisky, like you ordered, sir.”

Yes, triple distilled whisky and… “where’s that lady who I was talking to?” he asked, his memory of the Chronologist returning.

“Excuse me?”

Buddy raised an eyebrow. “That tall white lady. With the mask?” he drew a circle around his face with his primary index finger to emphasize the characteristic.

“Oh, you mean that weird long cyborg? She left a little after she came in. You sat there for a while then just flopped down like a loose wire.”

“How long was I out?”

“Three hours.”

“Three hours!”

“Figured you were a lightweight.”

Buddy looked around. The patronage of the saloon had whittled down to one person apart from him. The cold sun was shining through the cracked, tiny windows. Motes of dust hung in the air as emphasis to the emptiness.

“Well, thank you so kindly for waking me up,” Buddy said with an insincere smile and got up.

He strode across the floor, footsteps clanking and echoing off the empty walls, through the doors into the pale daylight. He flinched as the sun caught his eyes. The mulling crowd from the morning had dispersed a little. It was easy to spot the green ornate robes of the Grower against the drab old cloths the locals wore.

“Howdy, you two, where’ve you been?” he asked once he’d stalked up to the two men as they stood by a stall selling protein compounds. Jean was in the middle of examining the foul smelling products, and Jaques started at the bounty hunter’s voice.

“Oh, Mr. Limbo, where’ve you been?” Jean said, placing a miscolored brick back on the stand.

The vendor shot a dissatisfied look at the Grower, who took up another of the lumps of calories to sniff.

“Exactly what I was going to ask you,” Buddy replied, not wishing to share his strange experience yet.

“We’ve just been going around the outpost killing time,” Jean said. “Ugh, what’s in this?” he asked the vendor.

“Same as is in all the others you’ve inhaled, sir. Sea moss and algae,” the rotund shopkeeper said with dwindling patience.

“Well, I suppose I should take a few anyway,” Jean sighed.

While he was making a deal with the shopkeeper, Buddy eyed the nervous teller. He was wearing a new tunic, and he was avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, Mr. Jaques, sorry bout that stuff earlier. Just can’t be too careful with the… well, them, you know,” he said, trying his best to come off as sincere.

Jaques turned toward him but didn’t raise his eyes to meet his. “I understand, no need to apologize,” he mumbled.

“How’s Lucia? Did she figure out whatever she needed to?” Jean asked, stuffing the newly bought clumps of rations into his pack.

Buddy crossed his arms. “She ain’t come back yet?”

“Well, no. We thought you were with her,” said Jean.

---

Hound sat on one of the one of the infirmary beds, Lucia sat by him idly caressing the top of his head. Both stared in an equal mixture of wonder, and a muted unease as the corpse that had once been Silvia Quinta, then Justinia, then a Conclave Wraith, sat opposite them, humming what she’d called a ‘highland tune.’

After what she’d called an ‘exorcism,’ a few hours back, the corpse had shot up, undressed, then, stark naked, and quite mauled, had gone about its work humming and cutting, grafting and welding. It had begun with its scorched face by carefully peeling away the pale synth skin with a scalpel. The result was a grimacing, eyeless, lipless, titanium skull with porcelain teeth bared in a rictus grimace.

Lucia had helped fix the eye sockets with new female ports, so that the newfound owner of the body could install the bulbous eyes of its previous form.

“Eyes are the windows to one’s soul,” Rousseau had said once they were in place, glowing with a warm yellow light.

Lucia had then been tasked to remove an arm and a leg, and some plating, from the chief medic’s previous corporeal form, now lying as a heap of useful scrap on the floor. They attached said leg to the stump and replaced the arm Hound had mauled with another brass limb. The surplus plating was used to cover up the commonplace cybernetic gray of the of the other limbs.

Once that was finished, Rousseau had pulled a beautiful feminine brass facemask from one of her drawers, caressed it, sighed, then welded it over her grimacing skull. That was followed by a flaming orange wig that she affixed atop her head, the locks falling to her waist.

Now the two sat, marveling at the craftsmanship of the chief medic mechanic as she sat naked on the cot opposite them, tweaking the silicone nerves of her personal replacements with delicate instruments and calibrating the lengths of her limbs to match.

When she was satisfied, she hopped off the cot, stomped her feet, spread her arms, one of ornate brass, the other sleeved in plating, not doing enough to hide the crude military graft beneath, and exclaimed, “oh, how wonderful to be young again! How do I look, dearie?” She twirled around, kicking back the brass leg in a dancer’s pose.

“Um… good, very beautiful,” Lucia said.

Rousseau brought one hand to her facemask. “’Twas my face back when I resembled  you, wee lass. I’ve kept it all these years as remembrance. I ne’er thought I’d bear it again. Still requires articulation around the mouth. A project for later.”

“I’m happy for you,” said Hound.

Rousseau grabbed her petite breasts, cupping them and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Oh, how quaint, seems like Silvia didn’t get these just for show. The sensory receptors in these are quite advanced, probably used up much ‘o her wages to get them installed.” She let go of them with a spastic gesture. “Ah! For shame. The lass had sinning on her mind!”

She cocked her head, feeling through the software, then looked down at her crotch, then craned her neck to peer at her behind, caressing the cheeks. “Oh, by the saints, the whole thing is covered with erogenous receptors.” She sighed. “New temptations to fight I suppose.”

Lucia, feeling uncomfortable watching the bot caress its body and speak of such things, looked away and said, “Mother, could you please clothe yourself now. We need to go inform the guard a Conclave spy has infiltrated the outpost.”

Rousseau waved off the worry. “Oh, lass, I sent the vid-feed and the data to command as soon as I got in these limbs. Guards are at high alert, but don’t you worry; the kinetic shields here at Decimum Iuxta Mari are quite enough to ward away ballistic and energy weapons. The only way the Conclave get in is from inside, and we’ve dealt with that now haven’t we?”

As she spoke, she tugged the minty green sheets off one of the beds and fashioned them into a toga. The fabric draped over her, accentuating her newfound feminine shape. She looked like a statue of a goddess from ancient times brought to life.    

“So, you killed the Wraith?” Hound asked.

“That banshee’s out of this body I can tell you that much,” Rousseau said.

“Where did it go?” Lucia asked.

Rousseau inspected her clothing, then shook her head. “Back to hell for all I care,” she answered, then removed the bedsheet.

She cut a hole in the center, then draped it over her head. “Ah, much better.”

“Mother, it has been… a pleasure, to help you work, but I think we really must be going to find the rest of our party and tell them what happened,” Lucia said.

“Not so fast, I think I should run some diagnostics on you wee lass.” The tall brass lady sat onto a saddle chair and rolled right up to the young squire before she had the chance to get up. In her new form she made it seem elegant.

Lucia giggled. “I’m fine, Mother. I run routine diagnostics every morning, and did so after you… um…”

“Exorcised?”

“Yes, exorcised, the Wraith. It’s not in me.”

“I know, dearie, but it’s that little tick of yours that worries me.”

Hound cocked his head. “Are you referencing her giggling?”

“Aye. Astute you are good sir Hound,” Rousseau said. Gently she took Lucia by the forearm and connected a wire from her brass arm to the squire’s.

“Please, it’s not an issue,” Lucia argued, trying to remove Rousseau’s hand.

“Oh, no you don’t,” the chief medic said and slapped the hand away. “Remember that though you’re on See business and have clearance, you are still under the chain of command. I’m your senior, young miss. You’ll not argue.”

Lucia squirmed. Rousseau brought her other arm up and felt around Lucia’s neck and under her left ear. All throughout the examination she hummed the highland tune. Then, she gasped.

“Dearie, your emotive enhancer…”

She didn’t have time to finish. Hound heard the sealed door hiss and open.

---

Unit Five-One stood over its master. It had been returned to its full murderous majesty once more; far more besides. It glared at the frail being it called father, with eyes a brilliant magnesium white. How easy it would be to tear the man to shreds, it thought.

Its great chest heaved as it brought in air through its ports, and the silicone musculature under its translucent skin contracted and relaxed in spasmodic ticks. It was not used to staying this still outside hibernation. It was a being of movement, of energy, of combat.

“You are in full health, my child, and I have good news for you: our assault on the land-crawler was a success. The Wraith unit was able to infiltrate the See outpost. It is in their systems now. You are to aid the coming assault.”

Unit Five-One parsed through the data-docket that his master had shared. “Distance/travel exceeds my capabilities. I will not arrive in time,” it said in its overlapping voices.

“Transport has been arranged, my child,” the master said and smiled. “This time don’t fail me. I will repurpose you if you do.”

Unit Five-one snarled. “The Neptune/Weapon… it is powerful. It was unexpected/unknown. This time there is sufficient data.”

“And this time there is sufficient firepower. You will not fail me,” the master repeated.

Unit Five-One flexed its four arms and powerful legs. The horrifying weaponry attached to each limb whirred or gleamed in malicious expectation.

“I shall not fail.”

---

Buddy leaned on the door frame. The guard had been hesitant in letting them in, but had relented when Buddy, with his innate charms, had convinced him to let them enter. He’d used the same coin trick he’d used on Jaques back in the no-name town, and on Jean later on. Neither had appreciated it being used again, suspecting some charlatanry to be involved.

He didn’t care. He was tired and confused. The payment for this mission better be amazing, given everything that had happened. He’d make it a habit to write up every expense suffered and send the receipts to the See to be reimbursed. God knew their coffers were big enough.

Thoughts of money took a backseat when he laid his eyes on the contents of the infirmary.

The most beautiful woman, hair a cascade of fiery orange, and face of burnished brass, sat before Lucia and Hound. Instantly, though against his will, Buddy was thrown back to his childhood and the vid-chronicles he’d consumed with a voracious appetite. Only in them had he seen such immaculate beauties before.

“Who,” he exclaimed before he could help himself, “is this beautiful young lady you’ve not introduced me to, Lucia?”

With elegant strides he closed the distance between the two, removed his wide-brimmed eastern hat, and bowed deeply, offering his most charming smile of gleaming noble metal teeth. He hoped his copper jaw wasn’t too scuffed from the incident at the saloon.

He took the lady’s brass hand in his, smoothed his cabling hair, and brought the dainty  brass to his thin lips. “Beaufort Limbo, bounty and relic hunter extraordinaire, at your service,” he said.

Lucia swiveled around and hopped off the other side of the bed as soon as the medic’s attention was diverted.

“Chief medic Rousseau, at yours. I take it you’re the ‘rest of the party’ this squire keeps referencing?”

“Yes, that’s us. And if only you’d know how difficult our journey has been, and what balm your presence is to eyes so weary as mine,” Buddy said, never breaking his gaze from the warm yellow glow of the medic’s halogen globes.

“Oh, you’re a silvery tongued one aren’t you. Listen boyo I ain’t no dainty lass fresh off me mother’s hem,” Rousseau said, removing Buddy’s hand from hers, “and flattery like that leads to but one thing and that’s sin, so sit yourself down and shut your mouth. Lucia, don’t you go running off anywhere!”

“I’m alright, Mother…”

“Wait,” Jaques broke in, “you are… Justinia?”

Buddy raised an eyebrow. “What’re you on about man?”

“I recognize that arm, that leg. You’re Justinia.”

Hound spoke up. “Actually, her name was Silvia Quinta.”

Jaques looked crookedly at the dog. “No, her name was Justinia.”

“Then why is she calling herself Rousseau?” Jean asked, munching on a block of calories.

“Obviously that’s her name,” Buddy said with a roll of his eyes.

“Then where is Justinia?” Jaques asked, not looking at Buddy.

“Who cares,” said Jean.

“She is who you think Justinia was, but not anymore,” Hound explained.

“What are you on about?” Buddy asked.

“SHUT UP!” Rousseau’s voice boomed from everywhere around the room.

Everyone obeyed.

“Now, lass,” she pointed a dainty finger at the squire, “sit yourself down. And boys, stand o’er there.”

The party did as the medic bid, and after a brief summary of the incident with the Wraith, all were caught up.

“Poison winds!” Jaques exclaimed, “the whole time she was a… Wraith?” he said, whispering the word as though he feared it would summon it back.

“You’ve a tendency of attracting Conclave, Mr. Jaques,” Buddy said, “seems my suspicions were correct.”

Color flushed into Jaques’s pale cheeks, and he looked away.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, she be gone in the wind now,” Rousseau said, turning back and forth from a monitor that hadn’t burst and an uncomfortable Lucia.

“What’s going on with you?” Buddy asked the squire.

“I’m fine,” Lucia said, giggled, and looked away as well.

“Nay, you’re far from it,” Rousseau said, “your emotive enhancer is subpar, almost gutter tech, and the hardware is dissolving, at a snail’s pace mind you, but still.”

Jaques gasped, Buddy raised his eyebrows, Hound cocked his head, and Jean gulped down a chunk of calories, almost choking.

Lucia frowned, giggled, then frowned deeper. “I’m fine…” then, before anyone could go on, she asked, “where were you, mister Limbo?”

Buddy sighed. “Well, might as well tell all of you, but I doubt you’ll believe me,” he said, then held a long pause for dramatic effect. When he was sure that he had everyone’s ear, he went on, dramatically placing a hand on his chest, “I was in audience with a Chronologist.”

Jean coughed, gagged, spat a gobbet of calories into a bucket by him and said, “Mr. Limbo, I've seen a lot, heard a lot, but that’s too much,” he pointed at Lucia, “the girl is in a serious medical predicament and instead of asking if she’s ok you go on about a Chronologist.”

Rousseau eyed Buddy, but her brass facemask gave no sign of her thought processes. “I advise strongly that you forego this expedition, lass,” she said, turning to Lucia, “outside stressors might expediate the process of liquefaction.”

“Mother, respectfully, I’ll be alright. I worked my way here, and got this spot, and I’m going to see that I accomplish my test of proving,” Lucia said, staring down the chief medic.

“Didn’t you blackmail the See to assign you?” Buddy asked, perturbed that no one paid any mind to his once in a lifetime meeting with a creature that was basically a myth.

Lucia shot him a look. Buddy raised his hands apologetically.

“If you’re dead set on doing so, I cannot stop you. But mind you that I’ve seen enhancer degradation in its final stages before. It ain’t pretty… uncontrollable ticks, periods of mania, madness, delusion, or hysteria. Only one in the best case, all o’ them in the worst. It be always followed by death.”

A somber, foreboding silence filled the room following the pronouncement. The light fixtures that hadn’t blasted flickered and whined, and in the background the medical equipment gave off steady beeps. No one mourned in advance, or if they did, they kept it to themselves. Death was all too common under the Broken Moon, but still, the essence of lingering humanity etched in every heart present, mechanical or organic, felt for the young girl who’d just been handed an expiration date.

 

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