《Divergent Development: Revival-Interrogation Department》


 Revival-Interrogation Department 1: Subject: Jacob

    As Jacob looked out over the dunes, hating the heat, hating the sand, hating every bit of this god-forsaken desert,  he gave a grunt; and dragged his pack up to his legs, settling back to sit on it; and glance back at the long trail he¡¯d left behind.


    He was a long, lean figure; sunburnt and broken by malnutrition and constant effort, covered in a long hooded cloak, the silvery fabric improvised from a vacuum suit helping keep the worst at bay.


    He hated walking during the day, here. It was a miserable, awful, experience. But, unfortunately¡­ he needed the drone to be¡­. Thirty-seven meters north, stuck into that very dune right there, in an hour and a half, and if the dune were too tall, he needed to dig it out. Otherwise, he¡¯d have to wait another seven months  to try again.


    He wasn¡¯t sure he could survive here another seven months. He¡¯d been eating local plant-life for almost a year now, and the taste was¡­ well. Didn¡¯t quite match up to anything he¡¯d had before the crash. He tried to imagine it tasted like a pear, since it roughly matched the texture, but¡­ no. A strange, indescribable taste of the local cactus-equivalent. But¡­. it had water in it. And it kept him alive. The taste was so strange, the feelings it gave him so odd, he almost didn¡¯t want to keep going.


    The problem¡­ he was immortal. Not only had he had the good fortune to be born as one of the many augmented breeds that didn¡¯t age¡­ but he¡¯d had the digitization process started long ago. By now, his brain was half computer, or even more. He might live for centuries on this desolate hellhole¡­ and if he let his body die, his mind might live on, trapped in a useless husk. A living hell, until whatever electrical energy persisted in him finally died out. He knew there was a battery in there, being topped up by his body; but it was damaged. He had no idea what the remaining charge was; it might die out in weeks after his flesh did¡­ or centuries.


    An hour left now. He dragged the pack over to the target dune, and settled it into position. There was no point doing it too early; the sand might shift and knock it off course with a sudden gust of wind.


    As he oriented the drone, carefully pointing it into the sky; the meter he¡¯d built using the wreckage gave a green light when he had the orientation right; he sighed.


    This was the part he was dreading. The place he would have to send it¡­. If someone were here, to watch him program it, or even just able to track the drone¡­ they¡¯d find the base. And undoubtedly sell its coordinates to the Alliance. He shouldn¡¯t take this risk. It was allowed, but usually something you only did if you knew you were safe.


    The first time he¡¯d had the chance, he¡¯d decided not to. Too much risk to the others. Eventually, though¡­ surely nobody would be willing to wait over a year, just for the off chance he could get a message out, and they could track him? The odds of him surviving that crash were virtually nil. It would be a terrible waste of resources, with virtually no chance of paying off.


    He knew that, eventually,  he would give in. He wasn¡¯t suicidal. When it reached the point where the sparse local ecosystem couldn¡¯t keep his flesh moving, he¡¯d try, damn the risks. Might as well be now.


    He looked up. The moon was approaching the right spot. If his computer was spot-on about the math, he was currently in a 45-minute window that the drone could reach orbit, with the best odds at the middle of the window.


    This was it. The gamble. If some Alliance spec-ops team was watching him through a scope¡­ something he¡¯d searched and checked for thoroughly for two years now¡­ the coordinates he was about to enter would put two thousand lives at risk of death, slavery, or worse.


    He waited. At the beginning and end of the window, the odds were a bit over sixty percent. In the middle, closer to eighty. He only had one drive. One means of getting anything out there faster than light. He closed his eyes¡­ and when the computer gave a beep, that the odds were over eighty percent right at that moment¡­


    He typed in the coordinates quickly. A message; the standard code they¡¯d expect for him for the Anti-Slaver-Union, his location and condition¡­ but no active alert code, which would send up a red flag and mean they didn¡¯t respond automatically. The alert codes were updated regularly, but they were strictly passed person to person; and he had been out of communication for a year. He had to give something different; a personalized message, which would be passed to the right person for review. Something to let them know he wasn¡¯t being watched, and needed retrieval.


    ¡°This is Jacob Alpha Charlie Echo Sierra Wilco Indigo Lima Delta. Stranded on the planet contained in the records. Tell Benjamin he was wrong about the cows, they would¡¯ve survived on Inferno just fine if someone had watched them.¡°


    The codes weren¡¯t supposed to form words. Just be a random series of digits. When they verified that was actually his code, he¡¯d probably get a reprimand.  Just¡­ hopefully they¡¯d come get him. And the phrase would both tell them to check with Benjamin¡­ and that he wasn¡¯t being watched.


    ***


    Officer Seraph pumped her fist, grinning, as she shut off the power. For the subject, it would be as if time slowed, then froze; and nothing else would happen until the moment she turned it back on. She¡¯d gone from the heavily accelerated time-state to real-time as the pivotal moment arrived; and it had all paid off, perfectly.


    She gave a low stretch, spinning her chair around; long, curly red hair framing her dark skin, though the golden color indicated either an odd background or simply an expensive dye-job, the seemingly young woman clearly happy about her achievement. She¡¯d just spent the past eight hours on poor Jacob here, creating the perfect simulation, running his mind through it, and creating the situation where he¡¯d give up some useful intel, without ever being aware he was being interrogated.


    He didn¡¯t even know he¡¯d been dead for a month. Dead men always told the best tales; the Alliance was lucky the man¡¯s brain was intact; most likely, the power supply had been hit by an EMP during the fight and left the man¡¯s brain intact, but his body dead, and his neural network de-powered.


    Now, either they would try to torture him; generally a useless effort, as it would destroy the man¡¯s mind; or run through the possibility of either selling his brain or destroying it.


    Either way¡­.


    She tapped a few buttons on the display, and muttered a code-phrase under her breath, before speaking. ¡°This is Rev-Int Officer Seraph Glass. I¡¯ve got a set of coordinates for a probable ASU base, a code-phrase to use for contact, and am requesting final disposition orders for the latest.¡±


    A few seconds of calm on the other end. Her boss¡¯s face came up; the lean, pale face of Director Ericson looking even more disturbing than last time; some new implant along his scalp, a shiny bit of chrome with the flesh around it still appearing raw.


    ¡°Excellent work, Seraph. Keep him on ice for now. Is using or selling him viable?¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°He thinks he¡¯s been stranded on a desert world for over a year. If we keep him on ice that long, I could just fake that his body fails in a way that leaves the brain intact, and anyone not affiliated with us could use him as a Ship¡¯s AI with minimal effort, he¡¯d even be thankful for the ¡®rescue¡¯. Definitely not suitable for navy use; he seems too smart to be fooled by the overlays we use, though he was a pilot and engineer, so someone could pay well.¡±


    Ericson shook his head. ¡°Too bad. I love the stupid ones. Great to make them kill their own people without ever realizing they¡¯re doing it. Sometimes, when the navy decommissions one, I remove all the overlays and let them see what they¡¯ve been doing, just before the lights go out.¡±


    Seraph sighed. Needless cruelty and wastefulness all combined into one. Classic Ericson. ¡°Of course, sir. Have the next one off the stack for me?¡±


    ¡°Of course! But no rush, they¡¯ll stay dead, sweetheart. You¡¯re officially still working on that particular AI for the next two days, that one was labeled as ¡®highly resistant to interrogation¡¯ and they gave us a 24-hour estimate. I¡¯m ordering you to relax for the next shift¡­ spend it at your desk or not as you like. After that you can either take a third one to relax, or report this in as having completed it in a third less than the official time estimate and pad your bonus a bit further. I¡¯ll have the next one sent over tomorrow.¡±


    He might be an asshole to the gene-augs¡­ and always spending far too much time staring at her¡­ assets¡­ when they met in person. But otherwise, Ericson was a great boss, so long as she kept doing her job. It helped that the sale of her subjects more than paid for her salary, and the boss had to find ways to spend the budget to keep from getting less next year.. So every mind she got information out of but left in a condition for sale got him a bonus as well.


    At one point, she¡¯d wondered why he didn¡¯t make her do more¡­ pad his pockets even further, buy even more of those cybernetic augments he was addicted to. But if the department made too much profit, someone might start looking at the books.


    She powered off the console. Time to head home. She glanced at the display. It always felt weird to her. They¡¯d been born to someone who, genetically, wasn¡¯t human. So officially, they weren¡¯t human. But in this state, Jacob there had no difference whatsoever from the brain of someone who¡¯d had classic human genetics. If she died tomorrow, they¡¯d put her into a database and she¡¯d go on to live in a beautiful simulated afterlife¡­ or if she wanted, get a job flying a ship, or even still doing this work. And Jacob there¡­. Would be destroyed. Or sold. Because of something that didn¡¯t matter in the slightest, at this point.


    She shook her head. Hers not to reason why. Hers to go enjoy a bit of real alcohol, play a few sims, and maybe look at taking out a loan she could pay off with that bonus, to buy herself a pet.


    ***


    She grumbled as she badged her way out of work; most of her family who had office jobs got to work from home, and wear whatever they wanted. But nooo. She worked on classified, important material. She had to wear a nice white alliance uniform despite not being part of the military, wear an unranked ¡®Operative Officer¡¯ badge¡­


    The uniform doubled as a vacuum suit in an emergency; add a helmet and she could do a spacewalk. Which was even more ridiculous. She lived on a planet. In a city. She only left the surface for the training she¡¯d needed to get her security clearance and credentials.


    Technically, it was also an extremely light form of armor; but the only real positive note to it was that she looked good in it.


    About half a kilometer from her job¡­ and another half from her home¡­ was the Bloody Fist; a bar which, despite knowing she was about as much a soldier as she was a being from beyond time and space, still gave her a discount for being Alliance; and as the bartender started pouring her usual, she deftly sidestepped the janitor; a 7-foot tall bald gene-aug who looked like he could pick her up and snap her in half with one hand, wearing a simple grey utility outfit, and a very obvious black collar.


    She nodded at him as she passed, noted the place only had a handful of patrons, and settled in at the bar. ¡°Hey, Gina. Slow day?¡±


    The woman leaned back, and studied Seraph for a moment. ¡°You realize that most people aren¡¯t off work yet? You might work by the job, but the regular Alliance folks keep hours. It¡¯ll start getting busy in an hour or two, and get really busy in about four.¡±


    ¡°Oof. Sorry, sorry, Tracy.¡± She picked up the glass; red willow, a drink made by fermenting some local animal¡¯s blood, producing a strange blend that produced a nice buzz and precisely zero hangover;  and took a sip.


    She looked up at Tracy; the woman was covered in tattoos, had a cybernetic left eye, and based on what she¡¯d heard, at least one built-in weapon whose implant scars were mostly hidden by the dragon tattoos on her arms.


    ¡°So, they¡¯ve given me all sorts of regs since I got my security clearance. The apartment¡¯s been lonely as hell, the only guys I can date are ones with at least the same clearance¡­. So I¡¯ve been a bit lonely, thinking about getting a cat. Any recommendations?¡±


    Tracy tilted her head¡­ and glanced over down the bar. There was a married couple sitting in one of the booths, accompanied by a pair of Gene-augs; smaller, and both with cat-like ears, clearly engineered for appearance sake rather than any genuine utility.


    ¡°A cat like¡­ a cat, or a cat like..¡±


    ¡°Of the four-legged variety!¡± Her blush was barely visible thanks to her skin-tone, but Tracy could tell she was embarrassed. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not really interested in a man who can¡¯t say no. Or woman.¡±


    Tracy chuckled. ¡°As if they would. Come on now, you know how guys are. But I get it. You know the rules for cats, right? No letting them out, gotta get them pre-fixed, only the big facilities can breed them¡­ don¡¯t get me wrong, I like cats, but if you¡¯re gonna trap it inside its whole life¡­¡±


    ¡°Devastate the ecology of two colony worlds and suddenly people have to be careful¡­.¡± Seraph grinned.


    Tracy shook a finger at her. ¡°Ohhhh, no no no. Seven. Only two Alliance worlds. Cats have devastated seven worlds total. So far. And if our obsession with keeping them as pets doesn¡¯t stop, I bet those are only the beginning.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hard to imagine cats wiping out a world. I know it happened, but¡­ Ugh. Still. You know a good place? The official stores are like¡­ thousands of credits for a kitten.¡±


    ¡°Ehhh¡­ actually, yes. You¡¯re Alliance, and you¡¯re local¡­ there¡¯s a pet-care service that keeps an eye on the pets of Alliance folk who head out into space. It won¡¯t be a kitten, but sometimes when someone dies, you can pick up their cat, cheap.¡±


    Seraph glanced down at her hand; a momentary flicker. Tracy had just sent her a message. She smiled. ¡°Nice! Kittens are adorable, but any cat would be wonderful!¡± She drank down the rest of the glass, and set a credit chip on the table. ¡°Thank you so much!¡±


    She turned, and started walking back out of the bar, practically skipping; she might come back later, check for men with the right clearance level¡­ but more likely she¡¯d just go home, lookup whatever number she¡¯d just been given¡­ and probably play sims for a few hours.


    ***


    As Seraph stepped out, two figures watched her from a nearby alley; dark grey skinsuits with orange markings standard for a cargo loader from the spaceport.


    The first; the one who looked fairly normal, no implants, no obvious oddities; spoke up. ¡°That¡¯s her. Same path every day. Stops at the bar¡­ sometimes for hours¡­ then heads home. No stops for friends or family, gets all her groceries delivered¡­  Not sure what she does¡­. But she¡¯s Alliance. And whenever she talks to a guy at the bar, if he doesn¡¯t have any security clearance, she just goes cold. Means she¡¯s got one. Knows things.¡±


    The other; a pair of cybernetic eyes the only thing visible beneath a rebreather and grey facemask that matched the skinsuit;  gave a soft chuckle. ¡°She might just do. Now¡­¡±


    It turned to the man. ¡°If you speak with anyone about this conversation other than Alliance Intelligence, you will never be seen or heard from again. No police. No other criminals. If you¡¯re concerned, you can contact them¡­ but if you speak with a single other soul, I will personally remove your spine.¡±


    ¡°O¡­Oh. You¡¯re¡­ Alliance? But..¡± The man looked confused¡­ but then nodded. ¡°Of¡­ of course.¡± He started walking away, stepping out into the path of the other pedestrians, trying to pretend like nothing was going on and failing miserably.


    A pair of cybernetic eyes focused on Seraph as she headed down the street for home. ¡°... We¡¯ll just have to see what it is you know.¡±

 Revival-Interrogation Department 2: Subject: Victor; Preparation

    Seraph didn''t really have to work today, or even tomorrow; she could just turn this into a four-day weekend, and was, to a certain extent, tempted to do so; get a kitty for less than she expected, and then have four whole days for it to get used to her... it would be great. But... on the other hand, she wanted to check the next subject. See how much effort it was going to take, how many old assets she could re-use, the whole nine yards; if she knew it would be a quick one, she might go right ahead, or even hurry up and handle it fast and just wait to report in... so that she could turn a four-day weekend even longer.


    She whistled to herself as she walked past the front gate; her badge blinking for a moment, Bobby giving her a nod as she walked by; she admired him for just a moment; Alliance Intelligence didn''t pick mall-cops for its security. It picked capable, confident people; and unfortunately, despite being handsome and single, Robert was very, very gay. And the second shift guard, Priscilla, was very, very not gay, equally tragic.


    They sometimes did more in-depth screenings; but they''d completed a genetic profile when she started, her badge would only work for her, so just a casual scan to verify it was her badge, she was wearing it, and she hadn''t used the tiny slip built into it to report she was under duress... Bobby''s HUD would flag him if there was a problem. Ninety nine percent of the time, she walked right through.


    This time was no different; the Alliance military campus included a variety of structures in a nice secure block attached to the Starport. Her own office was one of the lower floors of Alliance Intelligence Headquarters; a massive, towering, silver structure whose own guards were a bit more serious than Robert out at the gate. Not that they checked more thoroughly, but they wore helmets and body-armor at all times, and had rifles... definitely a bit of a drag.


    As she stepped inside, and briskly walked into the elevator, she got a jealous look from the secretary at the front desk; she had to be here nine to five, every day, monday through friday... and wasn''t paid nearly as well as Seraph, though she might not know just how big a difference there was.


    She had to badge into the elevator... into her office... her computer didn''t just need a badge, but a scan of her eyes, fingerprints, and a password... and, of course, there was another spot there to trigger a silent alarm. Soooo much security.


    Finally, she was there, settled in at her desk, with the next subject file ready to go. Victor Starr, another gene-aug; this one originally intended as a simple menial laborer, but he''d escaped, turned soldier or mercenary and was believed to be ASU. The very fact that he had an implant was confirmation enough of that; they weren''t expensive, but nobody would bother implanting some slave whose job was digging ditches. They only did that for slaves that had skills that could be useful once they were digitized; Jacob had been a pilot, and had likely been implanted even before he''d escaped and joined the ASU.


    There were some files on the subject; a complete body-scan, the bare minimum they''d need to make the sim believable. A scan of the location he''d been when he died. Known associates and history.


    The information they wanted; aside from anything that would be revealed by happenstance, was anything about who helped him escape the plantation, how he''d had his obedience collar removed and made orbit. For the thousandth time she wished they had a computer good enough to just decrypt his memories, let them actually just read through everything they knew.... it would make her job a bit less fun, but far, far easier.


    So. She had a laborer-turned-muscle who''d been gunned down... alongside Jacob, her previous subject. Nice, she could make use of that. What she''d learned from him, and the file on his own body, would be useful. She might even bring Jacob himself in, if she found a good way to do it... but to maintain the integrity of the Sim, she''d need to make her new subject spend a subjective year stranded, too.


    Who would he willingly tell about the people who helped him escape? If she did a sim of other ASU people, they should already have access to that information. There was an obvious answer.... someone in the same region as he''d been, another slave.


    She gave a nod as she studied her stored files, and tapped out a message; requesting the camera data from one of the plantations for a few weeks in the area Victor had worked. ''Starr'' was a name he gave himself post-liberation, so there was no Starr family to locate.


    She started compiling sims based on an Alliance military transport, a crash site... it seemed about half the time she did this she ended up simulating a starship crash... and nodded to herself. This should be trivial. She could go buy herself a cat and spend the day relaxing, and when she came back tomorrow, use the camera data to generate the sim of the plantation... and be all set.


    She started to just leave... only to stop. That was two men from the same ASU team that had been taken. Were there any others? Could she resolve multiple cases at once, get herself even further ahead?


    There were... two former laborers, both from the same region, but they''d only sent her one. If she couldn''t get info from him, she could try one of the others, but she should only need to do one. This... was a bit of a disappointment, but meant this was less risky. Two former engineers who were flight crew on the ship, neither of whom were ever slaves, just different varieties of gene-augs from some other star-nation that considered them normal... and a pilot who was red-flagged.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He was un-augmented, a natural-born human from outside the Alliance. Legally, there were limits on what she could put him through in the sim, and neither the total perceptive nor chronological time before he was released could be longer than the 40-year sentence for aiding and abetting the theft of gene-aug slaves; he''d been sentenced as soon as his case had gone before a judge, but from him, they wanted more.


    She could lie to him, deceive him in all sorts of ways, but she couldn''t subject him to feelings of pain, starvation, or extremes of temperature unless he went through them voluntarily in the sim. He''d been automatically assigned a lawyer, and she''d need to give the lawyer access to him at the end of his sentence, as well as recordings of everything he''d gone through.


    He was an ASU member, though. She''d dealt with them before; the absolute worst she''d get was a slap on the wrist. Best not to actually put him through all 40 years though; if she did, she''d have to release him into the public stacks, and he could warn his friends what was going on.... and likely get a new sentence for doing so immediately.


    Victor would be trivial. The female engineer, Janice? She''d be just as easy, they just wanted to confirm technical details of ASU ships. That un-augmented, Terry? He''d be a problem.


    She had access to about a third of the crew of the ship they''d been on, and what the wreckage was like during the capture. If she could think of a good scenario involving most of them, it''d be more believable; she''d leave that for later, though. For Victor, it was best do to him solo.


    ***


    When the request was properly filed, Seraph headed back out; when she had all the recordings tomorrow morning, she could produce a nice, convincing sim of the region where Victor had always worked; and she already had a few possible game plans for getting him to talk. None of that was important for right now, though.


    With a smirk at the secretary; now likely even more pissed at the younger technician; Seraph tapped the code Tracy had given her into her wrist.


    "Hello there! Hi, this is Seraph Glass, a friend of mine, Tracy, gave me this number to call about a cat?"


    A soft beep. A male voice on the other end. ~Oh, good lord. You know we don''t arrange for cat-people gene-augs, right? Just the four-legged variety?~


    "Yep! Not looking for some cat-boy or cat-girl. Just a cat! I always wanted one, and, well. Now I''m old enough, and have a decent enough job with the Alliance, to afford a real one and not just a sim."


    ~Good, good. So I''m assuming Tracy explained what we do; find new owners for cats whose people died on them?~


    "Exactly. A kitten would be nice, but I''d love to take an older cat." Seraph nodded at Robbie, as she stepped out onto the street, looking around; completely ignoring the pair of cybernetic eyes that watched as she turned for home.


    ~Nice! Well then. I''ve got a few possibilities at present, but they all go quickly. Mostly about five thousand credits for the cat is the standard rate~


    Seraph grimaced. She could get a decent two-person car for that; or a used air-car. Still. It was closer to ten for a kitten, and her bonus would be more than that. "Mostly? Is there something different?"


    ~Well, I''ve got one guy who says there''s a possible offer at a reduced rate, but its got some kind of stipulation attached. I can pass you along, if you''d like.~


    Reduced rate? What kind of stipulation could it be? "Well. Worth hearing about. Sure. I''ll take his number."


    A soft beep. She''d received a message. "Okay. Thanks! If it doesn''t work out, I''ll be calling back!"


    Her feet had been moving on auto-pilot the whole time. As she swapped numbers, she badged herself into her apartment, sealing it behind herself... and leaning back against the door as it rang.


    "Hi! This is Seraph Glass, calling to ask about the cat? I was told there was some sort of odd stipulation bit?"


    A moment of silence. ~Well. Bryce Johnson here. The cat''s been staying with me, but belonged, or belongs, to a Navy officer, my brother, who no longer has a physical body after his ship ran into an ambush out in independent space. The cat would be five thousand credits, or five hundred if you''d allow him to inhabit a drone and watch the cat while you work.~


    She blinked. The idea of some dead guy wandering around her apartment as a drone was... disconcerting. ".. I''d... need to see the agreement. And meet the cat."


    ~What are your normal working hours?~


    "Nine to five is my standard schedule." She tapped the fridge. The ingredients list popped up, and she considered what she''d have for lunch.


    ~Six o''clock tonight, if that works for you.~


    "Sure does! Can make it earlier, if you''d like; things are a bit slow at work, they won''t care if I go early."


    ~Oh. Well then, three work?~


    "Fine by me. Pass me the address." She tapped a few buttons; and some chicken started cooking, auto-dispensed into the oven. "Oh... thats just a few blocks away. But then, he was Alliance, so no real surprise. I''ll be there." She tapped her wrist again, smiling as the smell of chicken started to fill the apartment. This would be great! She couldn''t wait to see what the cat looked like.


    ***


    The hooded figure stared at her apartment for a few seconds before continuing on his way.


    This was proving a bit more distressing. Her hours were inconsistent. Her path predictable, but he''d been interrupted in eating lunch to follow her home... and she didn''t seem to be going back to work. The city had windows in its security, like any city did, but if he was going to pull her through one of those, he needed to plan for the right moment. Or just make plans and pray it would work.


    She was oblivious, and barely noticed anything around her, which was nice. But... he might need to study her for days, weeks, to find good openings. He''d just have to keep ration bars on him, and actually stake her out for a few days... which would be hard. He''d need to find somewhere... anywhere... that didn''t have someone scan it periodically. Which, here in the city, likely meant....


    He glanced down. The sewers. Those were only checked once a week, and by maintenance techs, not security. This promised to be a lovely experience.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 3: Cats and Drones

    Drasport was a lovely city; despite the size, the millions of inhabitants, every block was split by a tiny park, and any sort of smog or inorganic waste was deliberately packaged and launched off into orbit if it wasn''t useful. No smoke, no smog... she only even knew what those were from her time in the sims.


    It followed the standard Alliance pattern. Apartments, homes, and businesses clustered up in the center, around the Starport, to make everything easily accessible; but even between two massive 100-story spires was still a nice open space. If an augmented dog that could survive here on Drasda wasn''t so expensive, it''d likely be filled with people walking them. She took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp air as she approached the apartment block from the call; one of the ones for Alliance military, which meant that not just the former owner, but the brother who was watching the cat, were both soldiers of some description.


    Could it be possible the brother had a security clearance? The possibilities ran through her mind as she reached the elevator, and tapped the button for the correct floor.


    The elevator was familiar; the same style, the same camera system... if she were a criminal, the elevator would just lock in place and trap her here... She absently tapped her foot against the wall as it ascended... and when the box stopped, she glanced at the numbers beside the doors... evens right, odds left. Okay. So somewhere ahead on the... there we go.


    She tapped the button beside the door, checking her wrist a moment; 2:59. She was exactly one minute early. As the door slid open, revealing... a tall, slim man, skin almost as dark as her own... not exactly athletic of build... too tall to be a pilot, not buff enough to be a marine... engineer, maybe? "Hi! I''m Seraph, called about the cat?"


    He nodded. "Thanks. I''m Bryce, currently taking care of His Majesty... sort-of. Ben does most of the work on that score, amusingly enough. Come on in. Your majesty! You have a visitor."


    Seraph chuckled as she stepped inside; and grimaced. Something just felt... wrong. Uncomfortable. As if her nerves were just.....


    "Ahh, there''s a sonic emitter on the door. If you keep a cat, they have to be on anything that can be opened to let the cat out... and you can''t turn them off til he''s in the carrier."


    Even as he spoke, the cat turned the corner, looking at Bryce... a massive tabby, he studied first Bryce, then Seraph; and turned his nose up, looking away, proceeding to make a dainty path across the room and hop onto a bookshelf... settling into a wooden box, curling up into a ball... but one with a face pointed at her.


    He was adorable. He was huge, she didn''t think cats normally got that big. And she absolutely had to have him. Her hands had risen to her cheeks, and she was just staring, making a small noise she couldn''t quite recognize, as Bryce shook his head.


    "His name is Richard, but Ben called him ''His Majesty, Richard Lionheart'' all the time, so he usually responds to Majesty. Ben should be along any second to explain." The man looked expectantly at one of the doors... and after a minute or so, frowned, starting to rise. "Okay, just a second. Let me..."


    A drone floated into the room almost perfectly silently; it had tendrils at the four corners, and was covered with scratched-up, rubber-coated padding, but was clearly a fairly nice, expensive, hovering drone; a modified version of the sort some rich lady might take shopping with her to carry her purchases with her. A small holographic projection appeared over its head, showing a torso, arms, and head not too different from Bryce.


    A surprisingly good projection; and one that the cat immediately turned and tilted his head, staring at. A bit lighter of skin-tone than Bryce, if it was accurate, but otherwise very similar.


    ~Hello there. Look. My brother is gonna be deployed soon, he¡¯s going on one of the liberation campaigns. I can mostly take care of His Majesty just with the drone, I can feed him, clean his litter, so forth¡­ but while he likes it when I brush him¡­ he really needs a living, breathing, friend. He doesn¡¯t like to sleep alone, and now that I¡¯m in this, he considers me more a toy than a person. So either another cat, or a person. And another cat would eat up most of my savings.~


    Seraph studied him for a moment, and gave a nod. ¡°I can understand. But anything electronic I bring into my apartment has to be approved by Alliance intelligence. I come across classified intel all the time, and they do a review of my place once a month, make sure I¡¯m who I say I am, that there aren¡¯t any bugs, anything that could hack my implant in my sleep¡­ and if they catch something I didn¡¯t let them review, thats it. I can¡¯t even bring home a boyfriend or a simulated intelligence like yourself unless he¡¯s got at least a basic clearance.¡±


    ~Oh! Well that¡¯s just fine. I handled electronic intelligence-gathering in the field, controlling drones a bit more complicated than this one. I¡¯ve actually got a security clearance. Huh. It¡¯d be nice to have someone to talk about that with.~If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Seraph blinked. ¡°...On the one hand, it¡¯d be a bit weird to have you in the apartment. On the other¡­ if I¡¯m allowed to just shut off the drone and let you go online so I can still have privacy, and you pass the clearance check¡­ I¡¯m down. You wanted 500 credits?¡±


    ~Five hundred credits, and you pay for at least a one-terabyte internet connection.~


    She chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve got a five. I usually spend a couple hours in sims after work.¡±


    The hologram frowned. ~...That¡¯s good, and if its a couple hours thats fine, but¡­. He can be kinda a needy cat. If you¡¯re in a sim, I want to be active so I can be with him.~


    ¡°Hmm. Sounds fair. If I ask them to, Intel can do their observe and verify thing early; they would probably check every day if they could, the once a month thing is¡­ well, anyways. I can have them come by when I get off work tomorrow, and that¡¯ll be another month before they come back. We can save them some time and bring you in while they¡¯re checking the apartment; they¡¯ll want to verify your ID.¡±


    ~..Okay. That¡¯s fine. What time?~


    ¡°Five thirty tomorrow. They like to escort me home from work after these, or if I¡¯m not working, meet me at the base and follow me. They do this silly thing and check my path home, make sure nobody¡¯s watching me or anything.¡±


    ~Well then. Feed me the address, I¡¯ll meet you there. Bryce, mind taking me?~


    The living brother, quiet til now, shook his head at first... then sighed. "Yeah, yeah, fine. I''ll miss the damned fluffball, even if he is a little terrorist when I try to sleep sometimes."


    ~Honestly, I should never have gotten a cat. I love him, but really, the only folks in the military who should have one are people like Seraph, here. Who have nice, stable jobs, stay here in Alliance space. Don''t spend weeks or months out there, or risk getting killed.~


    Seraph looked at the drone... and nodded. "Yeah... don''t get me wrong, I''m extremely grateful for guys like you, doing what you can. I just don''t know if I have it in me to risk my life like that. Some get lucky like you, their minds get recovered and brought home. Others... its permanent. No more you. Scary."


    Bryce laughed. "Well, so long as we do our jobs, we''ll be fine. There''s always a risk, and the Alliance will always have enemies, but we''re the last true bastion of humanity in the universe; we have to stand tall. Get the job done."


    ***


    When she arrived at work the next day, it was with a touch of amusement. She was late, again, of course. The secretary was angry, and jealous, of course. Today, though, she¡¯d actually have to leave on time; the spooks would be following her home. The last time they¡¯d found out the time she went home varied randomly; from hours early to hours late; they were happy about it. It was strange, but apparently they¡¯d prefer if all of their people had completely unpredictable schedules.


    Less so that she always took the same route, and almost always stopped at the same bar, but she lived too close to home for much variance there.


    As she settled in at her desk and checked her messages, her boss had sent her a note that more recovered minds had been added to her stack for when she was ready; but that she was still well ahead, no rush.


    She reviewed the responses to the data requests she¡¯d sent; and started going over recordings of surveillance on the plantation. The way the sun rose and set, the way people worked, the movements, the speech¡­ simulating people was always risky. She had to run them herself, and it was possible she could miss a cue that someone familiar with the situation wouldn¡¯t; but for the specific information she wanted, it had to be someone this ¡®Victor¡¯ would reveal it to.


    The plantations were massive places; usually a single main building, with dozens of bunkhouses the slaves lived in; all genetically augmented folks with unusually large builds, generally bred for extreme levels of endurance as well as docility; but obviously, with Victor as an example, they were still people, and would rebel if given the chance.


    They were watched at all times; a handful of drones would orbit the property, catching anything obvious; usually the slaves would wear shock collars, rather than bothering with massive fences, so that they could be triggered at any given moment, or as soon as they left their assigned work-place.


    Usually, they were only used for certain specific kinds of labor; despite all the drone advancements, some kind of fruit still couldn''t be reliably picked by machine; which meant that a trained laborer was the only option; and obviously no citizen would want to do such arduous, back-breaking work, hauling thousands of fruit every day so that they could be sold at the market or distributed.


    She had videos inside the bunkhouses. Videos of the whole area. Of the orchards where the picking went on.


    She could hear what they said to each other while they worked. See what they did. The idea that someone like Victor had ever managed to escape... it was just crazy. He absolutely had to have had outside help... which made the reason for the simulation she was building all the more obvious.


    The setting needed to be perfect. The people could be just slightly off, so long as it was believably so; everyone was unique; but she also couldn¡¯t use the exact people there, just in case Victor had met one while harvesting.


    Still. She had options. She¡¯d done this hundreds of times; she knew exactly what sort of manipulations it would take to get someone to reveal secret information, without ever knowing they¡¯d revealed it. This Victor fellow would never know what hit him.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 4: Subject: Victor

    When Victor woke up, he was... about as deeply frightened as he could possibly be. The last thing he remembered was the fight. The ship had taken hits, they were probably about to die.... and then darkness. His position now... was terrible. He hurt... he''d broken something in his left leg, maybe an ankle, and could feel untreated burns along his skin... and was currently strapped, naked, completely helpless, to the wall of... something. From the sound of it, a spacecraft that was currently leaving orbit.


    He couldn''t see much... he was immobilized. But across the container, he could see one of his companions.. the pilot, Jacob... equally helpless... but when Victor caught his eye, the man winked.


    He frowned. What would he possibly... wait. The man''s left eye had started to glow.


    He''d never known Jacob had a fake eye; he''d never really looked that close. If he weren''t gagged, he''d ask the man about it, about what it was for...but then again, if he weren''t gagged, his teeth trapped apart, he could trigger the suicide charge in one of his molars, and avoid getting taken in alive. Hopefully they didn''t check that before they removed the gag.


    Wait. Was the eye a suicide charge of some sort? That would be an odd place for it... though very good for taking out the brain. Why did he wink?


    After a few seconds, a man in an Alliance uniform stepped into the container; a faint scraping of metal could be heard as he walked, and he stopped in front of Jacob, checking the restraints, and giving a nod. "A pilot, huh? I''m sure we''ll make use of you, one way or another." The figure; anonymous in his white vacuum suit and armored helmet; turned now to face Victor.


    "Ahh, a local boy, huh? I wonder if they''ll be able to send you back to work... or if they''ll just kill you outright? Not like you know anything anyone''s gonna care about." A low laugh.. and the figure kept walking.


    From the sound of his comments; and the restraints being checked; Jacob and Victor weren''t the only ones captured alive. When Jacob looked at Victor, he blinked three times... and then held his eyes shut.


    Was that a signal of some sort? Victor felt the restraints; the man had barely checked them. Victor was born strong... everyone of his particular line were... but there were stronger people out there. Either due to high-end cybernetics, or being engineered for high-gravity worlds, he''d met people a fraction of his size who could out-lift him with ease... but when it came to fighting, mass was an enormous factor.


    A United Worlds marine might be able to lift twice as much as he could, but she also weighed only a fraction of what he did... and he could hit harder. Would that matter, for breaking restraints?


    He strained against them, uselessly. They were built for people of his size, his strength. Likely exactly the sort they would use if they captured a group of plantation workers on the run... which, technically speaking, he was... albeit on a very long, long, run.


    Local boy... he was back home, then. There was a city not too far from his plantation.... Drasport. The place had an Alliance military facility there. He''d never been, but the Anti-Slave-Union always wanted to blow the place up. He closed his eyes.


    He''d never wanted to come back to this world. To this place. He only wanted to hear about it, that the Alliance had been overthrown, the slaves liberated, thanks to the work of people like him... but, well. That work was done, for him. Now... just to...


    He heard a crackle. A soft buzzing sound.


    He opened his eyes. Jacob had gone limp... and that glowing eye was visibly crackling with electricity. The lights in the container had gone out, and the man who''d been checking the restraints was running closer.


    The banging of armored boots on metal. The man blocked his vision of Jacob as there was a sudden, loud, pop. The world went dark.


    ***


    This part would be dicey. She needed it to be believable, or it would all fall apart. She watched closely, and adjusted the dials; she needed the subject in just the right amount of pain, but not too much to be able to get the job done...


    ***


    Victor''s world was awash in pain as be became aware of his situation... and he felt as if he were being tumbled in a washing machine, the craft constantly shaking back and forth. He was half bent-over, his hands both still attached to their restraints... but a solid chunk of the cargo container wall had come off with them, apparently not as sturdy as the restraints themselves.


    He focused. Staring at his arms, and lifted the chunk of wall up... seeing... Jacob''s legs. Fragments of bone, of blood, and not much else. His eye must have been a bomb... and as soon as the Alliance soldier was between the two of them, he''d set it off... giving Victor... maybe... a slim chance.


    It was an absolute pain. His arms were bound to their restraints, still, but that wall... He strained. Pulled. Put every bit of effort he could, from years of hauling buckets, years of working out, of combat training... and through sheer effort and will, snapped the chunk of wall between those restraints... and was able to start undoing them.


    When he had both legs free, he assessed the room, looking around... several of his former crew were there, most injured to some extent, none of them conscious... he checked the dead Alliance soldier at his feet. No guns. A stun baton. One which had a power meter on the side currently reading dead; that bomb in Jacob''s head must''ve had an EMP component.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He looked at the spot where the restrained legs were all that was left of his former ally. This... he''d made a sacrifice. Jacob might have been more valuable to the union than Victor was, but thanks to that freaky eye, he was the only one who could do it. Victor had to make it count for something.


    He started down the line; removing restraints from everyone''s arms. Slapping them lightly to see if they could be awoken...and to his sorrow, finding quite a few of them already dead.


    He could hear a whistle... he didn''t have much time. Hopefully one of them would revive enough to move, but if not... he took the baton, heading out of the container into the ship proper... he could hear shouting. the screech of metal... and most distressingly... the shriek of air. The ship... was falling into an atmosphere. That.... was not a sound that ever lasted long.


    He glanced around...he''d been on these before. Boarded one of these transports years ago. The lifepods... He glanced back. Two people to a lifepod. With his size....


    He ran back to the container, looking around. Who would... all of them were still out. But Henry was a heavy-worlder. Barely over a meter tall. He could fit in the same pod as Victor. It would be... uncomfortable.


    He casually hefted the much lighter man, running back out into the hallway, then tossing him up onto the next deck... before climbing up himself. There. Eight life-pods. Six already gone.


    Did he have time to go back and get more people? Maybe. Couldn''t risk it. He was probably already too late. He yanked open the closest pod, dragged Henry along... stopped for a moment. Emergency transponder. Made to track it. These pods had three of the damn things. It wouldn''t do any good to drop if.....


    There''s one. A second. Both yanked off, tossed into the bay; they were made to be user-servicable from inside the ship, thankfully. The last one... He dropped into the pod, pulling Henry along... and yanked on the lever. These things were hardened. The other transponder was inside the pod, but he needed a tool to.... Ah.


    The pod dumped him out; the limited engines firing as he hurtled out towards the ground. Trying to ignore his probably imminent death, Victor broke apart the stunrod. Wires. Battery.


    The transponder was... there. Would shorting it out kill the thrusters that stopped this thing from landing? Would it kill him?


    Better death than capture. He pressed both wires into the right spot. The emergency lighting in the lifepod flickered for a moment. The transponder... was done.


    He breathed a sigh of relief... and glanced at the display, now dead. Had he just killed himself? He''d find out soon enough. Bracing himself would do no good whatsoever, but he did it anyway, wondering just how long he had until...


    ***


    There we go. A good solid break-point.


    She left Victor''s simulation paused; the poor dead man wouldn''t know anything was going on; while she tapped in a message to the cafeteria, and requested a meal be delivered to her office. Nothing complex; just a sandwich and something caffeinated to drink. She relayed a message on to the Counter-Intel department about the request to accelerate her usual timeline, and have an intelligence reviewed; as well as why....


    And of course, the Spooks responded immediately. Of course they were happy to come early. She''d get a complete gene-scan, her badge would be re-matched to her, and they''d thoroughly examine her apartment and... ugh.... her sims to make sure she didn''t have any leaks.


    She really hated when they looked over the sims. It wasn''t too embarrassing, but it did make it clear she hadn''t had a boyfriend since she got this job. Hopefully they didn''t mention it in front of Ben. Or was it Bryce? Oh god, why did both of their names start with a B?


    She double-checked the render of the plantation region prepping while she ate... it was always best for these things to be smooth so long as the subject was awake. Rendering artifacts would ruin everything, and if two rocks were identical due to a software error...  It all looked good.


    ***


    When he woke up... everything hurt. His spine, his arms... but mostly his legs. Especially his right one... when Victor glanced down at it, in the dim light of the broken lifepod, he could tell that the ankle was twisted in the wrong direction... which meant, that if the Alliance was tracking him, he was screwed. Granted, he was screwed regardless; this was an Alliance world, with its soldiers, its fleets, its lunatic slaver populace...


    He''d never realized just how crazy the Alliance was until he got out in the universe, visited other nations. Saw how normal people lived. But now.... he was stuck right back in it. He might be best off killing himself, making sure to destroy the implant... but he''d give it a good try first. See if he could make Jacob''s sacrifice mean something. And get one of those eyes for himself... just in case.


    He reached out to the ejection handle on the lifepod; there was supposed to be a display, showing ambient temperature, oxygen content, everything else important, beside it... but he''d likely killed that alongside the transponder. He wasn''t moving, so he wasn''t in the water... so... He yanked the handle.


    An audible hiss of escaping gas, as the compressed air fired off, launching the door away from the pod. Designed to fire with enough pressure to flip the pod over if need be, when it was in a situation like this, facing out, it ended up launching the door at least thirty meters... and with an audible clang, it slammed into a fencepost.


    Victor stared out the open hatch. Those fenceposts...Seemed familiar... this... He struggled, pulling himself up to stand on his good leg and look out.


    He was in a field, mostly empty at the moment; the debris of crushed plants from the last harvest scattered in every direction. This.... was the right time of year. Slaves like he used to be would be picking fruit in the orchards, and using machines to lay seeds for the crops that could be harvested by the tractors. These fields were enormous, miles across, and often not watched, while there wasn''t anything growing.


    When the seeds had been planted, drones would be sweeping by, checking for pests, checking water conditions, at least a couple times a day... which meant that he was lucky. He glanced down at his leg. Mostly lucky. He might have as much as a few weeks before planting, before they knew the pod had crashed here. And if he could move it...


    He grunted, and pulled himself out by the doorway, looking around. The pod had made a small crater in the fertile soil, scorch-marks where the breaking thrusters had fired. There was an irrigation trench, with water flowing down it... seventy meters away. Ugh.


    Well. First. Grab the emergency supplies from the pod. Second... roll it into the trench. Extremely painfully, and slowly, with only one good leg. Third... head for a nearby plantation. Definitely not his own. See if he could make contact with someone from the Union.


    Granted... it not being his plantation was a problem. At his own, his whole cohort knew the timings of the drones, the positions of the cameras, the weaknesses of the fence... but they might have changed.


    Unpacking the emergency kit, laying it out on the soil beside the pod, he sat down.. looking at the horrible position of his ankle... and took a deep breath. Step zero. Point his damned foot the right way. He closed his eyes, and took hold of the foot with both hands; and somehow, despite the horrific sound of his own screaming, he could still here that horrible click and crunch of the broken bones as they shifted before the darkness took him once more.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 5: Subject: Victor: Resolution

    Seraph grimaced as she watched the simulation of the former slave using his immense strength to roll the lifepod across the field... and into the water. Thanks to its relatively low weight, and the way the top was pointed up as it went in, it would float an unknown distance before sinking... and the system could safely delete it from the sim after a while, once it was clear he wouldn''t interact with it again.


    She knew full well that the simulation was giving an accurate feedback of a broken leg. She didn''t want to think about why it was doing so... because not ten meters away, when she first started doing this for them, they''d tortured a couple of escaped slaves in the scanner room... not for information, because torture rarely got them the sort of information they wanted... but simply to give her good scans of how different sorts of broken bones and torn muscles felt.


    She could remember one of the interrogators explaining that if they asked for names under torture, the subject would give whatever names they thought were wanted.. with the actual import being completely meaningless. That unless they had something direct and easily verifiable to ask for, they might as well toss a dart at a wall for all the good it would do. Except... that they enjoyed the work.


    Two men had suffered absolutely brutal torture just so she could program the simulation more accurately... and she''d gone on to use some of that data, with her boss''s permission, to help her former employer in its feedback for its own sims. She and him both had just been signed on as ''Consultants'' for that... as had the two security agents whose ruthless enthusiasm had delivered the actual breaks.


    She really needed to stop drinking. She''d made so much money over the years, and what did she have to show for it? Did she actually like this job? Sure, she was good at it. And while she might disagree with the whole ''Augs and their children aren''t people'' thing, she wasn''t stupid enough to sabotage her work... but...


    ...Maybe she shouldn''t stop drinking. This kind of thinking could get her arrested.


    She turned back to her console and watched as the next simulated entry arrived; an Overseer and his work crew, based on real people. Ideally, he''d figure out a way to avoid notice, and contact one of them. If not, she''d have to pull the ''they assume he''s a missing worker'' bit, which might look suspicious.


    ***


    Victor heard the incoming work crew long before they arrived; the drones that watched over the crews made a very distinctive hum, and he took cover in an exceedingly difficult fashion; by using one of the fabric coveralls from the emergency kit to make a tube... and burying himself in the crater left by the lifepod. The ground was still very disturbed, and they''d use a machine to flatten it out before the planting, later... but an actual slave would look at it directly, first, to make sure whatever it was wouldn''t damage an expensive machine.


    And, of course, if the overseer for the crew was irate, he might make them dig it by hand. Of course... the overseer probably wouldn''t be with the crew. He''d likely be sitting in an office, kilometers away, watching through the drone to make sure no-one escaped. That was normal.... and ideal.


    As the drone passed by overhead, and the engine slowed to a stop nearby, he looked up through the tiny hole; shifting a rock and glancing up at the nearest crewman... who looked at him with shock for a moment.


    He could''ve been Victor''s cousin. Massive build. Hairless skull. Skin engineered to last for endless days of working in harsh sunlight and heat, with a very subtle, unnatural tone to it deliberately spliced in; it would always look just slightly grey in patches without makeup or surgery, and no-one would ever confuse a ''Labor Slave'' for an actual person, here in the Alliance.


    He''d seen numerous ''unnatural'' skin-tones out in the wider universe. Folks with greenish skin that had photosynthetic elements to reduce calorie and oxygen needs. Bluish fur layers for better insulation. So many variants... but here, it was deliberate. An existing line of non-people modified to make sure they didn''t look like people.


    The biggest difference was, of course... the lack of a shock collar. The man looking down at Victor looked up at the drone... and then quietly pushed a rock in place to hide him. He couldn''t hear the muttered conversation between the slaves... but he could hear shovels digging into dirt. Earth being moved. Talking.


    Someone close to him was patting the ground. A barely audible voice. "...You Union?"


    "...Yes."


    "..Should we leave you here?"


    Victor thought for a bit. This particular patch wasn''t under constant observation. If he could avoid drones and cameras....


    "Can you get a message to another plantation?"


    "Maybe. Takes time. Days. Can you get one of us out if you do?"


    A problem. The Anti-Slavery Union could get people out, sure. It either took time and planning or a brash up-front raid. If he could get word to his contact... an Overseer named Maxson on one of the plantations in the region who worked with the ASU... they could stage something minor. There were cells all around Alliance territory, and he knew one of the ones here. They had a small freighter, usually used for loading food for transport to one of the stations out-system... could hide maybe a dozen people in a food shipment like they had with him.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "...If you can get word to Maxson. On the Mckenzie plantation. Just do it quiet. I''ll stay here. And if you can''t.... I need something to destroy my implant."


    "...You got an implant?" The slave seemed startled. The very idea of a laborer being given one.


    "You can too.... if you get out of here. Almost everyone has one... out there."


    ***


    She paused the simulation again. This might be where she left it. If Victor knew this was a simulation, this could be a false flag, to get an Overseer he hated into hot water. If not, if this were legit, then this could be someone responsible for helping free slaves, a genuine ASU cell member. She glanced at the time. She still had two hours left on her shift... that she didn''t really need to be here for... and she didn''t even need to have Victor''s case handled til... next tuesday or wednesday. They expected her to take a few days for each of these. Sometimes, rarely, it did. Or even more.


    Most of the time, though... it was much, much faster.


    She glanced at the stack. Neat disks, each a standardized 3 inches thick with a six-inch radius, containing a condensed version of a human brain, after the long, drawn-out process of converting it from biology to circuitry. With one exception, all of them were augs. To be sold or destroyed, once she was done. Victor... was one that would be destroyed. No piloting skills, or anything else worthy of keeping him around for sale, and actively hostile to the Alliance. If she didn''t resume that sim, the final moment of his existence as a thinking being would likely be him offering reassurance to someone he''d just met. She.... didn''t want to post the results and send him to the disposal, just yet.


    She selected one of the disks on the stack that she knew wouldn''t be destroyed when she was done, skipping by the Janice and Terry files she already had preliminaries on, to collect... Felicity. The disk looked identical to the others, but was essentially marked ''if you had time'', and had some political issues tied into it; she was taken when her powered-armor suit was hit, and was suspected of actually being a United Worlds marine still; she''d definitely been one before, but the question was whether she was ordered to come here, or whether her file was true, and she''d just retired from active duty... and run off to join the ASU.


    Of course... there were reasons this one was minimal priority. They were almost dead certain that the marine would be able to tell it was a sim, and they had only recovered about seven percent of her body; they couldn''t give her a good scan at all. So aside from the seventeen seconds of video footage, she had no data to construct her body for the sim.


    The original had tattoos. Which... were only partially visible in the recordings. No way to know what the parts under her shirt looked like. They could recreate her original body based on her genetics, but would need a plausible reason for the tats to be gone.... which amounted to a whole-body reconstruction. And the Alliance had Seraph and her bosses create this department because they knew both the Empire and the United Worlds had exactly such a department, so she''d know that this might.... huh.


    It was a longshot. But if her earlier subject, Jacob, had found this disk, still embedded in the power-armored figure who wore it, what would he do? Especially if he had the parts to make an interface, hook it into a drone... even if it was one like Ben... Bryce... whichever... used? He''d bring it back. And maybe, just maybe, she could learn something useful from the conversations. Use the two subjects against each other.


    After sending a message to her boss about the idea, alongside a request to hold on to Jacob''s stack a bit longer, she sent out a request for any other data on how ''Felicity'' was recovered. She thought about it for a moment... and sent a request up to borrow a few combat drones to stick into the scanner; intact or broken, didn''t matter; alongside an explanation of why she wanted the data.


    Alliance combat drones weren''t that much better than what you could get on the independent market; but detailed scans of them weren''t available online, just deliberately wrong ones for online wargaming. And, well. If she used those, someone who''d actually blown them up in combat might notice.


    She smiled. She didn''t need to do any of this today... but she was well ahead. She could just laze about til wednesday without doing anything if she wanted now... but maybe she could go further. Get enough of these done that she could take a week off. Just relax... with her new cat. She was so looking forward to that.


    It was just about time now. She sent a message to the spooks; they could start following her route home, do their usual paranoid due diligence.


    ***


    Buried three meters below the apartment building, a vacuum-suited figure grimaced. The smell was horrific.. and adjusting his mask had led to just a tiny bit getting through. There was no open flow of sewage, just masses of pipes, pumps, facilities; but there had been leaks, in the past, and the smell seemed to be eternal.


    He had been down here since the day before, watching; he had a fiber-optic cable run through the storm drain, with no active emissions above the sewers themselves, letting him watch the street... and was working on his method of entry.


    They girl went from a heavily secured facility, through observed public, to her private residence, almost every day. He hated it, but if he wanted a moment alone with an intel specialist, he''d need to break into the building. He''d scouted another few intel specialists, but every damned one of them was either the same or worse; some of them he couldn''t even find where they lived, they always took random routes.


    It would be nice if evil meant incompetent. But... he watched, as the girl approached the building. Followed by... a man in uniform. An actual Operative? Whoever he was, he was scanning everything, looking everywhere... he even looked suspiciously at the storm drain, though the cable was so thin as to be invisible at that distance. Wait. Was this her monthly audit?


    This... was perfect. They''d do the gene-scan. Completely verify her ID and check her security. And if he could slip into her apartment without being detected, and apply his own unique brand of leverage... she''d have a month to get him the data he wanted... or enough to be worth getting out alive. He wouldn''t even have to threaten to come back for her... he could make her own government her enemy with a quick injection and a little patience.


    He brought up the floor plan. No ventilation big enough to fit a person... but thats what drones were for. He could get it set as soon as these people were gone... and then just walk right in the front door.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 6: Household Problems

    His Majesty, Lord Richard Lionheart, was not pleased by the cat carrier, or being moved, in the slightest, and made his feelings on the matter quite clear as Bryce followed Seraph up the stairs; Ben''s drone tagging along, carrying a crate filled with cat food packets. They ended up waiting in the hallway as Seraph watched the Spooks move around in her apartment.. sweeping for bugs... drones... DNA samples... everything. Only after a very thorough check was she allowed into her own home; one tall, physically fit specimen of an Intel agent sitting down on her couch, and nodding at the drone, even as the other headed into her office... and started checking her computer.


    She wasn''t happy that the spooks had access to her computer. She had to keep them updated within the next 30 days if she changed passwords; and they''d prefer immediate. She also wasn''t happy with the gene-testing; but, well. There were augs out there that could change their appearance; with a little make-up and a voice modulator, she could be someone entirely different. By verifying her every month, they made sure her badge was tuned up; and would turn black if anyone else tried to wear it.


    The system wasn''t perfect; but it worked about as well as anything could. As far as they knew, the ASU had yet to infiltrate anyone; but they were always paranoid someone would abduct an Intel agent, scrape all of their dead skin off, shave their head, and then just cover whatever part they knew would be tested with the victim''s DNA. So... this had to be a blood sample. And if she went to any truly high-security areas? They''d take another blood sample, from a random place, before letting her in, rather than just relying on the badge.


    Then there were the sonic emitters; a sort of control system she had to install, that basically made the cat uncomfortable if he came too close to the door; and in theory, could knock him out if he tried to leave without a carrier. Irritating; not something anyone who liked cats wanted; but mandatory.


    To her, Richard was just an unusually large cat. Perhaps twenty or thirty pounds, which was just crazy for a housecat. Genetically augmented to be longer-lived, able to survive on a more varied diet, and more resistant to disease, a cat like him was a deadly, apex predator that could kill over ninety percent of the native life on those worlds that had non-terran fauna.


    As she sat down on the couch, and the enormous ball of fluff slowly circled her apartment, beginning an inspection, the drone containing Ben performed its own, similar check.. and she watched the cat move.


    Earth was an unusually high gravity world, by the standards of living things. Only two worlds with higher gravity had ever been found that had native life; the natives of Celeste were much larger than any earth creature... but also incredibly fragile, delicate. A human-sized creature native to Celeste would be easily dispatched by his Majesty... and as soon as cats realized that a Celestial tasted good, that was the end of the Celestine food-chain.


    Images of the beautiful, angellic birds of Celeste, and what cats had done to them, were front and center on display boxes for feline control equipment. Which... was mildly disturbing. But when the warm mass of fluff deigned to hop onto the lap, green eyes focusing on her for a few seconds before he settled onto her lap, making a small circle before turning into a giant orb of fluff... the gentle rumble that filled her as she slowly started to pet him made it all worth it.


    She''d pet cats in the sims before; she had a Ranger character who had a pet tigress that could give a convincing purr. But somehow... the sims could never compare to the real thing.


    She was relaxed. Happy. Had a decent-paying job that never really asked much of her... granted, one with a certain level of moral ambiguity she wouldn''t have been comfortable with as a child, but it paid the bills.


    Seraph closed her eyes and lay back on the couch. This... was just about perfect. The soft buzz of Ben''s drone in the background couldn''t possibly ruin her mood.


    ***


    Three drones. Three positions. A heads-up display on his left eye showed the drone currently perched over the main security system for the apartment building; he could short or disable it with ease, but wanted to get in and out undetected, so... he needed to do something different. The Alliance was better than the various independent systems, but he had United Worlds tech to draw on; and these decade-old systems had an exploit he was very familiar with.


    A tiny barcode was placed in view of one of the cameras by the drone; and the primitive AI driving the cameras, deciding what to record and when to upload it to the police... scanned it... and directly injected the recorded binary string into its own code.


    These systems were designed to program and ignore ''Spooks''; anyone wearing the right badge on their shoulder would be ignored and reported to a certain specific line, then deleted from the recording; only Alliance intel would know they were there. He could simply adjust it... and make it so anyone with two cybernetic eyes was deleted from the recording, and not reported to anywhere.


    The other two drones would bypass the security on the elevator and on the target''s door; which would just be perfect.


    He slipped inside the back door of the apartment building, and opened the closet of a small maintenance room next to it... looking around for a moment... and nodding. He grabbed a bottle of scrubbing solution for the bots that kept the hallways cleaned, and poured it over himself; better to smell like soap than sewage; before rinsing off his vacuum suit with a hose.


    He was wet. Dripping soapy water. But still. Better than the alternative. He headed out into the hallway, to the elevator; as one of the residents several doors down looked his way, he pretended to wave a keycard in front of the reader, as the drone operated the door... and he stepped in.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    He checked his pocket. A silenced handgun; a simple, compressed-air weapon firing tiny darts, each delivering a dose designed to knock out a 100-pound human. Caution was needed; three darts would last for too long, four darts would be possibly fatal; but just in case she wasn''t alone....


    And his other pocket... a syringe. Containing a substance that would ensure the cooperation of the subject. He smiled. As the elevator rose, he contemplated how a typical Alliance stooge would react, after being told what he''d just been injected with... this was going to be great.


    The hallway was short. Nobody in it at present, thankfully; and the subject''s door popped open even as he approached, pistol already raising.


    She was sitting on a couch, a cat in her lap... that looked up at him, hissing, as he entered. As she looked up as well, he calmly took two shots; one taking the cat in the torso, the other striking the girl in the shoulder... and as the door shut behind him, his HUD flashed a warning... just before a drone smacked into the side of his head. He shook himself, and shot two darts into the drone; they weren''t meant for bots, but sheer percussive force would do the job... and stomped on the drone after it fell to the floor.


    That was... surprising. It wasn''t too dangerous, but drones weren''t supposed to be programmed for that sort of thing; automated attack bots that would just go after someone without orders were illegal in Alliance space. Well, everywhere, really, but... huh.


    He studied the drone for a moment. That... was weird. He emptied the remaining darts into it, since the girl was already out... and then tossed the cat off the girl''s lap, into the floor, heading over to pick her up... and lay her out flat on the floor, removing the syringe. Time for a change of heart. He chuckled, settling the point directly over the girl''s heart, aiming precisely... he could lie to her. Tell her he''d given it to her, and it should work just as well. But if she had the ability to test it, then getting it confirmed would only make her even more dedicated to the cause.


    The body gave an involuntary spasm as the needle rammed home; and an injection started to flood into her body, her heartbeats pulsing and spreading it... and he nodded. There we go. Now... to destroy the syringe... and let her know she''d just switched sides.


    ***


    Everything was pain. Her head, her arms, her legs, her body.... she felt sick. Just awful. Even her bones somehow hurt, something she''d never experienced before... and Seraph blinked, looking around... she was in her bed. But she didn''t remember going to bed. She was on the couch. Petting the cat. Did she...


    There was a cough. "Well good morning, miss Glass! You were out for a while, which was a good thing... the worst of the pain will have already passed. It will still be significant for the next few months, but regular painkillers can handle it from here. I''ve been told without sedation the first few minutes are just agony, so I was nice enough to let you sleep through them... but I need to get going soon."


    She blinked. "Who... who are you?"


    She tried to sit up on her bed... there was someone sitting at her desk... wearing a simple dark grey skinsuit, clearly male, with a black jacket over it. A soft chuckle.


    "You can call me Sue. As in A-S-U. You work for the Slavers, I work for the Anti-Slavers; we''re functionally polar opposites there. Or at least, used to be, before that injection."


    She looked down at herself. Her suit had been opened, and then clumsily resealed by someone else. And this pain throughout her body... "... What did you do to me?"


    "Simple enough! While most Augmented humans are just the descendent of humans who were already augmented... usually to better survive some colony world... they all had to get there somehow. So.... the injection that turns people into an augment? You just got a modified version. Over a hundred years old, actually, the Mark 5 Combat Augment fielded by the United Worlds forces. They usually gave it right before basic training started, and then forced the troops to deal with the pain through training... and by the time it got done... redundant organs, sturdier bones, faster response time... combine it with a good workout routine and you get an enormous improvement over baseliners."


    This... it wasn''t the worst possible thing. But... it meant she had to leave. Maybe take the cat if she could, and get a flight offworld, before her badge stopped working...she... couldn''t stay in the Alliance anymore, that was for certain. But.... "Wait. Modified how?"


    "Well, back when the Alliance was just starting to become a big deal... a hundred years ago... the dubs wanted to put infiltrators in. So they modified it so it would be harder to detect the genetic changes, and made the physical changes less obvious. Its marginally less effective... but also not as easy to detect. Granted.... the Alliance figured that out years ago. An in-depth scan will spot it, but it will fool your badge, or any cursory scan, without a problem. So.... if your bosses see it... they''ll think you''ve somehow managed to fool the monthly scans, all this time. And an anonymous tip to the right number...."


    Wait. He was going to make her an aug against her will... and then turn her in? "...Why would you do that?"


    "Intel."


    She heard something. A creaking sound? Someone was walking in the hallway outside her apartment.


    "You''re going to help me get access to Alliance Intelligence. Their databases, their systems... and when we''re done, I''ll get you out of Alliance space. I''ve got a way to get you safely off-world... and hey... if you do a good enough job, get us enough intel, the ASU might even be able to get you a good job, helping out against your former taskmasters."


    She closed her eyes, thinking. If everything he said was true, she had few options, here. The only way she could stay in the Alliance is if she died before whatever was going on got finished... her implant would be removed, and she could join everyone else who had died just... living in sims for the rest of eternity. And this guy... wasn''t trustworthy at all. "...Is the cat okay?"


    "Eh? The furball? Nah. Sorry, the dose for a human is way too much for a cat."


    She''d always dreamed of having a kitty. And this fucker had killed him almost as soon as she''d had a chance to pet him. "..Go fuck yourself. Kill me now, or the cops will be on you before you can get offworld."


    He blinked. "...Are you... serious? You''d rather die than turn on them?"


    "I''d rather die than help you. Besides... you''d probably kill me before I made it offworld anyway."


    "...Huh. I guess you''re smarter than I thought you were. True enough. Once I''d gotten all the data I could out of you, it''d be easier to get offworld on my own. Hah."


    *He slid the pistol back out, and slapped a new magazine into place, tucking the old one into a pocket. "Well. One dart will take you out... four should be fatal. We''ll see what all eight does to you."


    He raised the weapon. She glared at him, the tiny metal circle of the barrel meeting her gaze.


    And then... a vivid flash of light.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 7: Not Dead

    The experience of your life flashing before your eyes was something she''d heard about, but never really experienced. Maybe because of how realistic sims were, she''d ''died'' so many times; mostly as her ranger, getting in over her head, happily burying a pair of blades in some big beastie; that the gun pointed at her head didn''t feel that real. That she half-expected that she''d wake up at the chosen spawn-point; for her, the tavern her party had used as a basecamp, because she''d never been in real danger before.


    She closed her eyes for a moment. The sound was strange. Unusually loud... and it didn''t sound like that silenced dart-gun.


    Instead... it was a loud roar, almost as if it were an explosion drawn out for a few seconds. When she opened her eyes, the man was standing there, looking down at... the stump of his right hand, and a terrible gap running down into his torso, exposing masses of charred flesh and organs.


    She''d seen it in games, and on the news; but never in real life. A pulse laser. Fires rapid pulses of intense non-visible light that flash-vaporize a chunk of the target; absolutely devastating against unarmored subjects.


    The man collapsed to the floor... his remaining arm reaching up towards his neck...only for an armored white boot to slam down, pinning the arm to the ground, even as a second armored figure stepped out, standing between Seraph and the man; crouching down in a way that she could tell was deliberate; if the man was carrying some sort of suicide bomb, its detonation would hit him first, maybe give her a chance.


    A precise, shorter, burst... severing the spine. These two figures were wearing tight white vacuum suits, with armored breastplates and helmets; standard-issue for basic troops in the Alliance... but they were acting more like Intel agents; clearly ensuring that, if the victim was implanted, they could recover him. This... they may very well be asking her to recover something from this man in the future.


    The agent standing between Seraph and the corpse reached down, grabbing her... and slung her over her shoulder, charging out of the apartment... and she could see, behind her, more figures enter. Her faint grip on awareness started to slip as she was being bounced around on the man''s shoulder... and the world went dark.


    ***


    When she next woke up... there was a cold feeling of something metal against her right arm... and an unfamiliar bed. She was warm, comfortable.... but... everything was wrong. She blinked, looking around... she was in a hospital room. Alone, at the moment.


    She could see a display... see the doors... this wasn''t a secured room. She could just get up, open the door, and walk out... so they didn''t know she was an aug... yet. She sat up, looking down at herself. A simple green shirt and pants had been put on her while she was out... and she wasn''t... messy... or catheterized, so she hadn''t been out for long. She inhaled for a moment.... and checked her left arm.


    There was a tiny tattoo she''d had done... one made to deliberately cause sensor artifacts if someone scanned her. If they did, the eyes on the little tiger should be perfect triangles, and still look fine even if inspected visually... but no. It still looked normal. She had a handful of little cues like that, and wouldn''t be a hundred percent until she''d checked all of them... but she was reasonably certain she wasn''t simulated.


    So. She was in a hospital. Genetic scans weren''t an everyday thing; sorta like a scan for alcohol, its something they did when they had a reason to. Maybe they knew what she was now... maybe not. Nowadays, most augments were the children, grandchildren, great-great whatever of people who''d been augmented, rather than being rewritten themselves. Its why, outside the Alliance, most people were augs, despite the initial process being so expensive.


    Whatever he''d put in her... it had probably been irreversible after a few minutes... and after that, it only served to accelerate the process. She''d seen old videos, of when it took months for terraforming workers to reach mars in that first giant work-tug, and the augments that had made them so incredibly resistant to the extremes of that uninhabitable world had been a quick injection; and then taken a couple of months to take hold.


    No point in asking them to flush her system. They''d have needed to do it before ''Sue'' had woken her up. The nanites would''ve started with her bone marrow, taking other targets of opportunity along the way... if flushed immediately, it might take months for them to work all the way through. She''d probably be only partial right now... in six weeks, it''d be more like ninety percent, with only parts of her brain and a few organs still normal.


    Six months, and her whole body would be augmented... and thats if the nanites were gone. The pain Sue had warned her about would be them constantly working at her to accelerate that process, leaving her less than a month before....


    She blinked. There... was no pain. Was she on painkillers? Did.... they already do that flush?


    She stared at the device hooked onto her arm; feeding her a saline solution from a small box beside her bed... but it could also be used for all sorts of drugs, chemicals....


    A knock on the door. She glanced up... and two figures entered. A nurse... a tiny, pale woman in grey scrubs with long blond hair and a mask, followed by... Ericson. Her boss, in his classic white uniform.


    The nurse stepped up and set a hand on the saline pump... and gave a nod. "Ma''am. I''m Teri, and I''ve been your nurse for the past few hours. We removed a few small metal objects from your body, which appeared to be delivered via dart-gun, and gave you a mild anesthetic. You should be good to go whenever you''d like, and there''s no trace of any other problems. Whatever your attacker put into you, its been removed. You''re good to leave, though you may be a bit sore; the darts tore your muscle and skin on the way in, and your body will naturally be recovering from that. Some over the counter painkillers should be fine... if you need something more intensive, just let us know."Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Seraph nodded, and let out a low sigh. No flush. Just painkillers. Those machines were still inside her, working away. She could ask, but they''d know immediately.


    When she detached the device from her arm; a faint red circle that she checked to make sure wasn''t bleeding; she nodded, and stepped out... leaving her alone with Ericson, who seemed... exceedingly happy.


    "So. You can fill out a complete report of the incident later, but they asked me to get your first impressions. Just so you know, the attacker disabled your security systems. We''ve got recordings of the entry from Ben, and the last fifteen seconds from the operatives who took out your attacker... defiant in the face of death, telling an ASU operative to go fuck himself... they''d have preferred you went along, long enough to avoid risking your life, but still. You''re getting a commendation and a bonus. And also one of maybe four Injured in the Line of Duty medals in the whole building."


    He smiled. "You can take some time off, if you like, but... care to fill me in on your side?"


    "...He broke in my door. Tranquilized me and the cat. That''s all I saw, at first. Then I woke up, hurting, with him over me.... and he told me he''d put something in me that could kill me. And I had a choice between helping him, or dying. I wasn''t inclined to help him to begin with.... and figured that he was gonna kill me no matter what. So... yeah."


    He glanced back at the door, then down at her. "Well. My boss, and his boss, both heard that fifteen seconds of audio. Lets be honest here... I was mostly just your handler; they didn''t consider you completely trustworthy, being some fresh young game developer with a handful of politically questionable posts in your social media history. You were the only true asset in the department, and I usually just did administrative work and sold the results of your labor after acting like some sort of political officer to be sure you weren''t screwing with us. A bunch of nonsense, I know."


    He smiled. "So. If you want it, you can be the Director of the RID department. We''ll get you a secretary to handle admin, if the workload gets big enough to need it you can hire more people. I''ll be getting a promotion myself, so I can still handle your budget and the sale of subjects..."


    She blinked. It would mean a pay bump. And no more real boss she''d deal with day to day, just equals. And be absurd, really. "... Definitely interested. But for now..." She needed to make plans. She needed options. "I''d like to take a combat refresher. I qualified with a pistol when I started the job, but the only training since has been sims... and I doubt using a sword will carry over to personal defense. And... I''d like a license to put a combat drone in my apartment, and to carry my own weapon, just in case."


    "Done and done. Technically speaking, we''re all supposed to re-qualify on pistols once a month, and you''ve always been allowed a handgun for personal protection outside the base... but...honestly, most departments have been slacking on that. Your situation has been a wakeup call, we thought we were better than that."


    "...Thanks. Any chance the department will help pay for those?"


    "You realize the sale of the subjects post-interrogation is enough to cover both of our salaries and then some? I have to slow-roll them to avoid too much attention. They''ll be in your office when you next get to work. And... they hold the refresher courses every morning. Nine AM sharp. Usually not many there, but after this, there''ll probably be plenty of attendance."


    Options. This... would give options. "Thank you. I''d.... like to go home now. I''ll head into work tomorrow and be at that course, though I don''t know how much actual work I''ll do the next few days."


    ***


    When she made it back home...everything was clean. Immaculate. There were no signs of her blood, or of Sue''s, or of the incident at all. Everything seemed as if it had never happened... except for a single, brand-new, drone on that table; a newer version of the one Ben had used previously, which she''d last seen smacking into her attacker''s head.


    She frowned. Ben''s drone? Was he still here despite....


    She remembered the cat. Warm. Fluffy. Purring contentedly on her lap. Just a few golden moments... but she''d still miss him. She shook her head... maybe if she played with her tiger in the game for a bit she''d feel better. But first... she needed a plan.


    She headed into her office, tapping a button to wake up her computer. Time for the second and third bits. The second... was a tiny hidden drawer under her desk. Invisible to scans, only she knew it was there.... and after sliding it open, she nodded. A pair of antique six-sided dice, weighted. She tossed them onto the desk.... snake-eyes. Perfect.


    She tucked them away again, the drawer appearing seamless once it was closed. The sign-in process for Alterra Online was a multi-step affair; requiring her to give it her keys as well as to verify images from their end. It was possible Alliance Intelligence had access to the game''s encryption, but unlikely... this version was just an instance of one used on thousands of worlds. Once she was signed in, and it was asking for an implant connection, she was as certain as she could be... she wasn''t in a sim.


    She sighed... and cancelled. No time for games. She needed a plan. To get out of Alliance space without attracting attention. And with something she could sell to make a new life, somewhere else, if possible.


    First... the legal option. She could simply buy a ticket on a flight offworld, to an Independent system, outside of Alliance space. As an Intel agent, it would be suspicious, but allowed... and considering what just happened, they would do a more thorough inspection of her and her belongings. Make sure she didn''t have some sort of arrangement with Sue. They might or might not do a genetic scan... if they did, she was screwed. Extremely risky. Riskier for every hour she waited, as more of her body became... augmented.


    Next, the smuggling option. She herself had no contacts, but she had the name of someone Victor knew that had helped him get offworld; a name she hadn''t passed to her superiors yet. She could use that to her advantage, probably. Risk completely unknown.


    Lastly... the stupid option. She could use the chips she had, slap a few ASU agents into combat drone bodies, and steal a ship. Three of the minds she had access to were former pilots, so it was doable, but even riskier than the legal option... and she didn''t really want to kill anyone.


    So. First, see if there was any legal options that didn''t look suspicious as all hell. Next, do some prep-work for the seizure option, since most of what she could do for that would just make sense for someone whose apartment was just broken into by an armed thug. And last, she could make a few calls. Needed a good way to do it without a trace, though. Ugh. Tomorrow did not promise to be pleasant at all.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 8: Body Check

    Seraph hadn''t been early to work in... months. She was almost always late, though she did often leave late as well when she was caught up on a particularly interesting assignment.


    She used to think that this would be great for her career as a game designer when she left... now, not so much.


    She didn''t recognize anyone on-duty at the gate, probably because she was before the shift that covered mid-day; but they simply scanned her badge, letting her through... and she looked around for a moment, briefly lost; she''d had to qualify when she first got the job. Run a 6-minute mile, score at least a 85 on the Marksmanship trial immediately after; they''d actually fudged the numbers for her for a bit because her accuracy had been horrific after the run, and she''d taken about forty seconds too long for the mile. There were optional unarmed combat courses, and, them being optional, she''d ignored them, of course.


    After a moment''s thought, she remembered where she was going; a massive structure, as big as a typical soccer stadium, with a huge running track surrounding a gym, and three floors of shooting ranges. This was generally only used by ''Spooks'' or trainees; the real soldiers did their training out in the middle of nowhere, using drones or.... augmented people... as targets.


    When she reached the doorway, and badged herself in, she looked at the level, and then downstairs, frowning. Physical exertion would help the augments take better, help the nanites get into her muscles and do their job... though... one of the advantages of augments was they didn''t need to work out to maintain their muscles. She.... should really see how much this had changed her.


    Hell... if that Sue guy were lying, and she wasn''t really augmented.... then this would be a good way to tell, with no tests.


    For the first time in over a year, she checked out a set of athletic clothes, and slipped into the locker room to change; the whole process was automated, she''d return the clothes, they''d be washed and re-packaged for someone else after; and emerged onto the running track, watching people running their laps.


    Running shorts and a tank-top. She wasn''t used to wearing anything that showed this much skin... and she smiled back at the appreciative looks she got from a few of the trainees. Though... the women among them almost universally had more muscle, and less fat than herself.


    She frowned. Or than she used to. She.... no longer had any excess fat she could see. That... wasn''t a good sign. She glanced at her wrist, and her comm-unit... and tapped it, setting a timer.... before she took off herself.


    Each of the wide lanes of the track was used by people keeping roughly the same pace, and she set herself a good, comfortable one; at first, in the slow lane on the outside... then moving to the middle lanes... and finally into the closest. It wasn''t until she was at three quarters of a mile, and had yet to reach the three minute mark, that she realized showing a huge improvement like this might be suspicious.... and dropped back to the slowest lane, pretending to be exhausted.


    She crossed the mile marker at five minutes and forty-five seconds... but knew full well she could''ve done it in less than four. Each stride was easier... her stamina was better... this was..


    There were benefits to being an aug. She just needed to get somewhere it wasn''t also a sentence to slavery... or death.


    Normally, they had people use the range as soon as they stopped running; the idea was to get you in a stressed-out, exhausted situation... and the range was a quick fifty-meter jog from the mile marker.


    There were a variety of weapons; slugthrowers, mostly using nonlethal rounds. Laser pistols, both pulse and otherwise, all set to a nonlethal intensity. Nothing for needlers, though... no shooting range was allowed to have railgun-based weapons in city limits. She selected two of them.. a pulse laser pistol and a slugthrower... and stepped up to the line. She inhaled deeply, and focused.


    This, unlike most skills, actually crossed over from the sims. The more modern, realistic ones were almost as good as a shooting range.. and while she preferred a bow and a pair of shortswords, she''d played a few of the more modern sims with her friends.


    When she first got the job, she''d tested at 87% accuracy; four full clips emptied, less than ten seconds to empty each, only thirteen misses. She set the four magazines on the counter, and examined the pistol for a moment. Alliance standard-issue 10mm light handgun. Used for small game and personal defense, the regular troops never even carried these; they were cheaper than a needle pistol or a laser pistol, and even had more stopping power; where a needle would go right through, making a tiny hole, one of these bullets would explode inside someone and usually be deadlier.


    They were also terrible at piercing armor, and the ammo was both heavy and expensive. These four magazines together cost as much as the pistol did... while the laser just used batteries, and a needle either just used tiny metal darts, or the big ones just shaved bits off of an iron block to fire. The standard Alliance uniform would stop one of these... but leave you with nasty bruises and broken bones.


    She sighed... and slapped the first magazine into place, raising the handgun... and started firing downrange.


    Her focus was better. Her movements more precise. She felt just a little bit better in every way.... and when the final magazine was set on the counter, empty... she''d only missed six shots. Which.... was probably not an improvement. She did better in sims regularly.


    She picked up the laser pistol. Accuracy with these was always better; for the beam version, you could set it to a visible light spectrum and literally just trace your target with the beam. For the pulse ones... just point and click. Barely any kick; they vaporized air, yes, but it was still virtually nothing.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    She focused, keeping it dead-set on the target''s head.... and just fired away. Audible clicks. Minor pops. The target hit counter steadily climbed; and this time, she got one hundred percent. Not exactly an achievement; she did it in the sims all the time; but in the real world, her best score on that was ninety-five. So... eh.


    She collected the weapons, the magazines; and gave a nod at the women beside her who''d been trying it herself; before returning the weapons; the armorer giving her a nod as he added them to the racks to be cleaned and disassembled. It always seemed weird, how quiet the noise-cancelling field made the range... the sims always made guns so loud...


    So. She wasn''t a superhuman, now. But.... she''d definitely improved. No amount of sim-time would explain that much improvement in running speed... and stamina. Ugh.


    She got into the shower, and looked herself over, for the first time since Sue''d injected her... and was glad she didn''t shower here regularly. Whatever else it had done, the change had burned off at least ten pounds of fat, and replaced it with lean muscle... the skin was just as dark, but now she had actual abs...she shook her head and rinsed herself off, before drying and changing back into her regular uniform. Time to get to the office, and see what Ericson had gotten her.


    ***


    Part of what she found wasn''t surprising. A lockbox sitting on her desk, likely keyed to her own fingerprints and retinal scan; probably holding a handgun. But... there was also a larger briefcase, also locked, and a handcart with four much larger cases on it... that... was just weird.


    She checked the handcart; there was a note strapped to it.


    ~As per your request, we sent over a sample of some of our combat drones, in various conditions, for you to feed through the scanner. Per security protocol, we had to strip the weapons and the computer cores out of them before leaving them; if you need recordings of those, you''ll need to return these and do them separately.~


    She stared. Each case was big enough to hold a body, if you folded it up. Which meant.... she was looking at four different combat bots. She didn''t even remember asking for these until reading the note. This... if she could get the people she had recordings of to cooperate....


    Depending on the condition they were in, if they actually had a recorded operator, these things were actually better than a typical Alliance soldier. The brains in them could be tuned to react faster than people, and the only humans stronger pound for pound than a humanoid combat drone were the heavy-grav augments; deceased operators bringing these drones in were one of the ways the Alliance helped even the playing field against their physically superior opponents, though usually by remote control rather than actually built-in.


    The standard combat doctrine of the United Worlds was to have a drone operator with each team, usually with implants letting him control dozens of them to augment the team''s firepower... and the Alliance loved to mimic their older, more advanced rival when it came to combat operations and tactics.


    She wasn''t a drone operator. The closest she came was ordering her pet tiger to maul things in-game, and he mostly managed himself. But if she could convince a few former ASU people to help her escape Alliance territory...


    Okay. So more options. She still needed to check the legal possibilities.


    She settled in behind her desk, and thought for a bit. What would be a reasonable, logical reason for someone like her to go offworld, to an independent world, for the first time in her life?


    A vacation, sure. That would be normal for someone who almost got killed, to want to get away for a while. Something work-related? She could take a look at.... Ahhh.


    She tapped a few keys. After a few seconds, a display popped up... for Sim Expo 300; the 300th annual collective for Sim programmers, equipment engineers, and gamers, to show off the latest and greatest in equipment and talent.  It was in two weeks... and while it was broadcast to all of the settled systems, it actually had a physical location where most of them met...  at an independent system, over a hundred light-years away.


    They were a big deal, and one she didn''t think she''d be able to go to. But if she''d gotten an early bonus....


    It was something she would want to go to. Something that would serve as a good vacation... and something she could claim to be work-related; to try to learn more about programming sims, get new up-and-coming data. In-character, not suspicious.


    She pressed her eye up to the retinal scanner for a few seconds, and then opened up her bank account... and there it was. A deposit  for ten thousand credits. Enough for a car. A down payment on a pre-fabricated habitat. A couple of cats. Or... a ticket to SE-300 and an extremely nice, extravagant, vacation.


    Okay. It would work. Was there any good way to bypass security and make sure she wasn''t red-flagged for a more thorough genetic scan on the way through? Hmm.


    She smiled... and closed the menu, dialing her boss.


    "Hey, boss. I saw the amount of the bonus, and I gotta say... thank you. I was also wondering.... the Sim Expo 300 is coming up. Would it be fine if I took my vacation time and went ahead, before I make a decision on the director position? It would both be something I''ve always wanted to go to... and maybe something I can get some good software or tools for work purposes. There''s always some United Worlds and sometimes even Imperial scanner and sim tech there."


    Ericson studied her for a moment... and smiled. "You know what? That sounds perfectly fine by me, getting away for a bit, relaxing in a new place.... In fact... we can make it a work trip, especially if you have buying some outside tech on the list. I''ll go ahead and authorize it."


    She frowned... that would be even better. But.... "...I''ve gotta admit to... a certain level of paranoia after the incident. I don''t suppose there''s any way Intel could fabricate an assumed ID for me and get me past security, rather than making it official? Obviously our people should know who I am, but the civvies could be hacked. Or maybe if there was a budget for sending along a guard, or a security drone, for the trip out..."


    "Done. I''ll go over the specifics later, but either we''ll get you there without anyone but us knowing who you are, or we''ll get you an armed escort all the way, or both. Any particular tech you''re thinking?"


    "The dubs have a more advanced, higher-fidelity scanner than we do. Less likely to get artifacts in the results, produces sims with marginally better accuracy; only really matters if you''re trying to fool someone who has been to the place you''re scanning, felt things. The Imperials actually have an organic scanner that picks up and replicates smells and tastes with amazing precision, something we''ve always had trouble with, so I''ve always had to avoid the subject entering... well. Any place that serves food they''ve had before other than your basic MREs and the like. Its always been a matter of me having to actually eat some of whatever it is, and tweak it in the sims for hours to get it right."


    She thought for a moment... "And... the ideal would be if you could do a quick check. See if there''s someone who works intel and has already passed on, wants to go to the expo. Could let them pilot a little combat drone I could fit in my carry-on... and then if you just slip me in past security, not let them check my carry-on, nobody should know I''m there, and I''ve got backup if need."


    "We''ll see. Don''t worry about it, we''ll keep you safe, Glass."


    This... could work out perfectly. If she played her cards right, she might be able to sneak a carry-on full of Alliance intelligence right out from under their noses without anyone being the wiser.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 9: The Illegal Solution

    So. She had plan A down. One lockbox. One combat drone. The chips containing the brains of as many Slave Union people as she could smuggle... and whatever data she could copy without risking getting caught.


    Now... it was time for plan B.


    She started off by pushing the hand-cart loaded down with cases next to the scanner. While she had a handheld unit that she could use to scan an object or a room, the heavy-duty scanner could get resolution so fine that the human brain couldn''t make out the difference without technological assistance; and in a sim, with that assistance being simulated, it could fake that as well if it needed to.


    As she opened the cases, she found exactly what she''d wanted when she made the request; one immaculate, brand-new humanoid combat drone; one older one, which had clearly been used on patrol for some time but was still in working order; and one damaged but operable one. And the fourth case...


    She studied it closely. It was a standard-issue flying combat drone, the most popular one the Alliance used... though it didn''t look like much, in its current state, just four engines attached to an armored box with a slit down the middle just wide enough you could shove a gun through it. They were built so you could mount a standard combat rifle in them; though they also made more compact weapons specifically for them, that didn''t have all the excess mass, often with extra battery mounts to extend the life of the drone.


    The idea was simple; you buy the drone, a rifle, and you assemble it. It didn''t have a means to reload the weapon, so you wanted a needler, or a laser weapon, something that could keep firing for a long time between reloads.... you mount the rifle, sync it up with your implant or a controller... and poof. You have fire support you can remotely feed targets.


    While there were variations and refinements, the core principles remained the same as they''d always been. Slap a few batteries in it, it''ll fly around for half an hour delivering death to your enemies, then come back, you swap in more batteries, rinse and repeat.


    If she ever had to fight for real, she wanted one of these. She could make it act like her tiger... designate targets, it moves around for a good angle....


    Eh.


    She powered on the first one, and tapped a series of commands into the exposed control panel; it rose to its feet, and would move wherever it was gently pushed; the default, passive, state of it. She pushed it onto the scanner... and started it up.


    If she was going to get out of here in a less legal fashion, she needed a pilot. And she had exactly the right candidate in mind.


    ***


    Jacob blinked. One moment, he was programming a beacon. Hoping against hope for a rescue. The next... his sunburn was gone. His aches, his pains... all of it was perfectly fine. It was as if he''d just... slept it all off, and woke up....


    He was standing in an empty grey room. There was a couch, a table, a chair... no doors. No entrances. Everything was smooth. Perfect.


    And... he was in a sim. He''d just given away the coordinates and a codephrase that the Alliance could use to lure an ASU ship into a trap, thinking it was coming to rescue him.


    Fuck.


    He sighed... and sat down on the couch. This... was bad. They had him completely helpless, completely...


    A woman appeared, wearing a white Alliance uniform; simple, vacuum suit, red Alliance logo... no gloves, no helmet, so she wasn''t serving on a ship, or a fort. Cute; dark skin, curly hair... but... Alliance. He glared at her. "So. Whats the story? you got enough info, so now the torture starts to see what else you can drag out? Or are you the good cop?"


    She frowned, and glanced up at the ceiling. "So. This is an avatar. Simple programming. I can hear you, and I can make this thing say what I want it to, but I''m actually sitting at a computer console. Obviously, you already know this is a sim. So please, don''t say anything about the ASU that the existing recordings don''t already reveal; those have already been turned over to my boss, unlike Victor''s, so I can''t undo that short of slagging the database; if everything goes wrong, they''ll have this recording as well."


    He frowned. Was this going to be a good-cop, bad-cop thing? This girl comes in and acts sweet, then some brutal thug comes in for the torture? Why did she mention Victor? "Well. If you don''t want me to reveal anything new, what''s this about?"


    "I''m planning to defect. I''ve got a trip planned to an independent world, that should be able to get me safely out, and I''d like to bring as much intel... and ideally, as many minds off the stack... as possible. I think I''ve got a good route. A conference I''ll be attending, about sims like this one. I leave in a week, and never see Alliance soil again. But.... things might go wrong. And while you might be dead... you''re a pilot. And I can get access to drones for you to control. So... if it comes to a shootout, and I can get some drones, I''d like the option of stealing a ship."Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "....I''ve heard of this sort of nonsense before. You take one of ours and convince them they''re working for the good guys. Then you use whatever drone or ship I''m piloting to kill more ASU people. Either I never find out... or I only find out when I''m at the end of my usefulness."


    She sighed. "Yeah, that''s true. My boss loves doing that sort of thing, takes a real vindictive pleasure in doing it. But... no. They already judged you weren''t a good candidate for that. When they do it, they just put an overlay that makes Alliance ships look like ASU or United Worlds, and vice versa... and then put the victim into a fighter or gunship as the pilot. If someone''s smart enough they can figure out whats going on by analyzing the patterns, seeing how people fight and react... the ASU has tons of cash but not many people, while the Alliance has both. Means they fight differently, deploy different assets. The ASU has used so many drones and so much borderline AI stuff the Directorate keeps investigating them. Not to mention the capabilities of the craft. We make our own stuff, the ASU uses random craft from everywhere."


    "...Yeah. Sounds about right. I would''ve been suspicious to start, and if the force I was part of was equipped like Alliance ones, I''d go rogue. And if they lied on the overlay about what each side had, I might get the fighter destroyed for no good reason."


    "Exactly. So. I''ve got all the minds of people recovered from your crew. Gonna bring them all in here, one by one. If you''re willing, I''ll be putting receivers in a group of combat drones I''m currently scanning so you can remotely control them... and carry your minds and a transmitter with me. Either you wake up in independent space, where I can hand you over to someone from the ASU that can give you all the proper credentials.... or you wake up because we need to shoot our way onto a ship and get offworld in a hurry."


    Jacob studied her for a moment... but the figure was emotionless.  Just an empty image, not a real person. "...I make no promises. If it looks legit, I''ll help escape. I''m down with killing a few Alliance spooks either way, I know how nasty those people are. If not, I''ll take you out first."


    "...Just decide fast, if it happens. If you get activated, it''ll be because they got suspicious and did a gene-scan of me, or otherwise decided to hold me and check my carry-ons and found your minds. Either way.... you''ll have minutes, or less, before the authorities unhook you, and you''re on the way to being sold or scrapped, and I''m on the way to an execution."


    "...Execution. An attempted defection merits an execution? I thought it was legal to leave the Alliance?"


    "I''m Alliance Intel, and I''m an Augment. The sort that will pass a surface-level scan, but not an in-depth one. No matter what I tell them, I''m gonna get killed or enslaved in a few weeks when they next run a detailed scan. I''d prefer neither."


    A slow nod. The United Worlds had been screwing with the Alliance since they were just a bunch of pirates and religious nuts. For forty years there''d been a back and forth, the dubs making a new version that would look normal to scans, the Alliance developing new scans to detect them. As far as he knew, the Alliance was ahead on that score.... but it was possible she''d been a new variety... or one of her parents had.


    This whole thing reeked of trickery. He''d take the chance to kill some spooks, if he could... but make absolutely sure not to reveal anything else they didn''t know already. Was she an implant by the dubs, who just found out they''d made an advance in scanner tech and would find her next time?


    "...Well then. I suppose I can understand your motivation."


    ***


    That went about as well as could be expected.


    The trip would take a couple of days, if it went to plan. She''d get a small carry-on bag for the initial launch, and to take in whatever berth she paid for, and a footlocker that would be stowed with the rest of cargo. She had no idea why, but there was a specific size that both the Alliance and the dubs used for their footlockers; and which was the standard.


    If things went wrong, they''d go wrong before launch. She should be able to avoid being scanned... but if she wasn''t, she''d never reach the ship. If she wanted to make it out alive, she''d have to activate the bots, try to join up with them... and secure one of the ships. Something like a gunship; small and fast enough to get away, but big enough to make it out of the system.


    ...She was not a professional soldier. Some of these minds were, and would be devastating piloting a combat drone... but the odds were low. She needed an alternate option. A way to make the backup plan actually viable.


    She inhaled deeply. Victor''s info hadn''t been sent to her boss yet. The Mckenzie plantation. Maxson. She needed to track him down, and speak to him, without leaving a trace, without her bosses knowing... even just searching for him on this console would give the game away if she ended up not needing him.


    She knew he was an Overseer. The name of where he worked. And probably his last name. What if there was more than one Maxson there? Ugh.


    She saw a beep; an incoming message on her terminal.


    ~Hey, sweetheart. The docs have retrieved ''Sue''s implant and are cleaning it up now. You''re our foremost expert on this sort of thing. They want him processed and interrogated ASAP. I know you wanted some vacation time, and I''m fine with making sure you have a safe trip out, but considering who it is.... I''m not going to force you. Just asking.~


    It was from Ericson. She grimaced.


    ~I would certainly be willing to. I have to warn you, though... it would mostly just be an effort to make him suffer a bit for my own personal enjoyment. I frankly don''t think he''s likely to give us much; he knows who I am, and what I do... and saw what the laser did to his torso. He''s going to assume he woke up dead, which means it''ll be almost impossible to get anything out of him through trickery... and we both know how useless torture is unless we can verify it on the spot. I''ll end up looking at a bunch of leads that probably have no actual connection with the ASU, torturing him for a while longer, then coming back, rinsing and repeating, and never really know. I might even just burn his mind out completely.~


    ~Understood. I''ve got a courier taking it your way.~


    She stared at the screen. This was awful.... but it might also be useful. This asshole was the cause of her current predicament; maybe he was a ''good guy'' in the grand scheme of things, but his methods were terrible, and he''d killed the damned cat!


    On the other hand... he had to have a way to get himself, and some intel, offworld. So... hopefully, she could use that.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 10: Subject: SUE

    This was the first time Seraph had ever seen a... fresh... implant. Usually, they were all in neat little bundles, converted into a hockey-puck like disc, all clean and ready to be inserted into a reader. Adapters fitting the same standard design let you use one to run a starship, a drone, but this...


    It was a lump of metal, wires, in roughly the right shape... but it still had tiny bits of blood and nervous tissue on it beneath the clear plastic. It was a rush job that was both a bit disturbing, and made her think of her own implant.


    Right now, even as she looked at this lump of metal, a similar one inside her own skull; perhaps a slightly less compact model, this ''Sue'' had the latest United Worlds model; was ever-so-slowly replacing her brain with metal filaments. As it did so, her thinking became slightly faster, her memories more clear; unfortunately in a bit of an uneven way; the memories she made before getting the implant would take over a decade to become perfectly clear the way things she remembered right now were.


    Her memories of her apartment, and of this ''SUE'' character, were so good that if she were an artist she could perfectly reproduce those cybernetic eyes from memory... while her childhood, her long-deceased parents.... not so much.


    How long had Sue been implanted? Had his childhood memories survived, or was it just his personality and more recent memories?


    There was a scan of the state of his corpse, at time of retrieval. A note that he was an augment, and thus she was allowed to do whatever she wanted with him; they were operating on the assumption that there wouldn''t be anything worth selling when she was done, and that he probably wouldn''t give any useful intel.... but if he could, they wanted to try.


    She glanced over at the sim that had Jacob in it. It wasn''t connected to the larger network; a deliberate choice, in case someone was such a good programmer they could somehow migrate a virus in the sim. Well. Should she partition it off, put Sue in a separate one? She looked at the disturbing mass... and sighed.


    She hadn''t told Jacob that Sue had -just- turned her into an Augment, deliberately. The truth might sound even more suspicious. But Sue might be useful to an escape attempt....


    Ugh. She''d talk to Sue alone first. bring them together if it seemed proper.


    She slotted the disc into the console and tapped a few keys to bring up a new sim; this one based strictly on Sue''s genetic profile, rather than a scan. Without the cybernetics... it was obvious why they existed.


    ''Sue'' was a hot-world augment, from the looks of it. Body covered with numerous light blue filaments that absorbed and dissipated heat, naturally looking like a layer of blue fur that would allow the subject to survive in temperatures where water would boil on exposure to air, eyes designed to survive exposure to extremes of temperature and light, looking more like slits... looks like they just shaved the fine layer of hair off of their body, maybe used a cream to stop it from regrowing... and either had the implants for other reasons, or to make them look like a normal human... cyborg, at least.


    ...Or was he? This was just a sample. It was fully possible that Sue had been altered, or had just a sample of someone else on him. The Alliance didn''t tend to keep many augments that looked that... exotic... around, except for plantations on otherwise uninhabitable worlds.


    Ugh. Well. He would know it was a sim the moment he woke up. And when he saw her, she''d see how he reacted.


    ***


    Waking up to his natural vision was... completely unexpected. Surprising. He hadn''t looked through his biological eyes in over a century. The feeling of fur... less old. He shaved it down when he wasn''t on a hot world, but he''d last gone home less than a decade ago, so that wasn''t too odd...


    He sighed. Well, hell. He was dead, and in a sim. And they weren''t bothering with trickery. So. Torture... it...


    He saw the face in front of him. The girl he''d just injected. Was that... had he seriously just.... he knew she was intel. But not what department she worked for. Had he managed to turn.... if she was.... god, she must think he was some sort of brilliant spy, picking exactly who would be responsible for interviewing him if they managed to kill him, and turning her.


    He smiled. "Well hi there, miss Glass! Fancy meeting you here. I don''t suppose you''ve given my proposal any thought?"


    She glowered at him. "I can dedicate enough processing cycles here to make you experience a year of torture for every day that passes, or more, or even just hook this implant up to a solar battery pack out in the wild and leave you to run for the next few thousand years, at accelerated time, experiencing absolutely nothing, just trapped unable to feel, see, hear, nothing, until the parts finally fail. I don''t need you, and we''re unlikely to get much use from you. Nobody expects anything here. If I fry your brain, thats exactly what they think is gonna happen anyway."


    The figure didn''t move from where she was sitting behind the desk. ''Sue'' couldn''t help but feel a bit of fear there. There''s a reason he had a self-destruct rigged to his implant, and a reason they''d stopped him from triggering it.


    "...So. what do you want?"


    "I''ve got a plan to get offworld. Legally and without being scanned. I can definitely get myself, and enough stolen data to fill my datapad and make me set for life anywhere the Dubs or your ASU friends have influence. What might pose a challenge is getting brain-chips out, like yourself. I''m reasonably certain your friends would pay me handsomely for getting some of their people back intact. So. What I want is a means to get them out of here."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "...Them? Not me, then?" She must be bearing a grudge. Which... was somewhat justified.


    "No. You killed Richard, and tried to kill me. You don''t get to bargain for your life, you get to bargain to avoid thousands of years of torment. You still get to achieve your goal, if you care about that, though... with that gene-mod you injected me with, I''m motivated to leave, and I know your bosses will pay. So. Do you want to help me get some of your friends out?"


    Well, fuck. This wasn''t going as well as he''d hoped. "You''ll need me for this, but I can help you get anything you want offworld. I''m a pilot. I''ve got a stealth ship buried out in the middle of nowhere. I load up, hop us to orbit whenever there''s a storm... which is fairly often, around here... and I can get you into orbit, and then out to independent space."


    "Stealth ship... sounds mostly like bullshit. And I already have a pilot. More than one former ASU eager to get offworld, actually, stuck on brain-chips, just like you. Where''s the ship?"


    She already had.... hell. How many of the ASU''s people had they captured, and interrogated, like this? Was the whole organization compromised? They needed to setup new security measures... or not use implanted people for work in Alliance space. But... almost everyone got implanted, eventually.


    It... was a problem. "Stealth is a relative term, she''s got extremely low emissions and.... And if I want to show you in person, you''ll just leave without any of us?"


    "Essentially. There''s a convention I''ve got a ticket to. Thanks to the fact Intel already did an in-depth scan of me, they''ll help me bypass security on the way out, and I don''t care about security on the way in. So.... the only reason I''d have a use for your ship is to get your fellow ASU people offworld."


    "....Let me talk to them and know that you really have some that need help, and I''ll give you the coordinates."


    She frowned. "If you tell them you injected me, or that I''m not bringing you because you killed me, I''ll just leave the lot of you. Strictly need to know. Don''t say a word that the Alliance doesn''t already know, just in case... I might end up having to leave them behind, and unlike you, destroying some of them would be suspicious."


    "...Okay. Fine."


    ***


    She sighed. This was nonsense. Why take this risk? Was it the money, or was it over sympathy?


    She dialed up the Jacob sim once more; to him, only a few moments had passed before she reappeared... looking at him in that cold way that established she wasn''t really there, emotionless, direct. "I''ve got another ASU operative. He''s not one of the ones I''m gonna try to get out, because he killed my cat, but he claims he has a ship here. Wants to talk to you."


    Jacob blinked. "He... killed your cat?"


    "He had a tranq gun. Shot me with it, and the cat, too. The kind of dose that will knock out a human.... Anyways! He wants to talk to one of the people I''m going to bring out if I can, before he''ll tell me where the ship is. Maybe pass its location to you in some sort of code. Unlike him, I want to get you out alive, so I''m fine with taking you along to find and fly the ship."


    The man stared at Seraph for a moment. "...Thats.... I get it. But is it right to leave him in the Alliance''s hands over a cat?"


    "Saving you is a risk. Saving him is a risk. I can probably get out fine on my own. I''m not risking my life and future over the asshole who killed my cat. A brain chip isn''t something that I can just hide in a rank badge like I can for the data I''m stealing. Each one I take is taking up space, taking up mass, and increasing risk. I can just about guarantee getting my badge through with a drive containing terabytes of data from the Alliance, and let your people know how we hunt for them. I can probably carry through a handful of brain-chips. The only way I can get a bunch of them is if this ship thing is real... and even so, I still have to slip them out of security."


    She shook her head. "So. I''m gonna bring him in next, then we''ll bring in the ones I''ll be trying to sneak out if I just fly there legally. Just use caution what you say; nobody is watching right now, but they might be able to recover recordings later."


    She simply vanished, moments later.... and in her place, ''Sue'' appeared, in the same chair, looking a bit confused.


    Jacob blinked... and looked around, then at the man. ".... I take it you''re the one who shot her cat?"


    "...Yup. You''re the pilot she''d rather use over me?"


    "Well, I can fly a ship, and I didn''t shoot her cat. So I guess. Jacob Rawlins, formerly out of..." He frowned, glancing up. "...An ASU vessel. Was lost on the job with all hands. They stuck me in a simulation until I gave them an emergency code and directions, and... then this lady dragged me out. I thought I was on a desert planet for a year, struggling to survive. Turns out I was actually just being fooled. Stupid as all hell. Hate sims."


    ''Sue'' nodded. "Tyler Proxima. Mercenary sometimes, ASU operative always. I was supposed to tag an Intel officer, convince them to give me something, anything, useful. Figured I''d sell it to the dubs, then give a copy to the old lady. She... kinda likes me. We met on Ash."


    Jacob sighed. "Never met her before, but I went through Ash myself."


    Tyler studied Jacob for a moment. "I''ve got a ship. Gunship sized, has both excellent emissions control and the hull absorbs radar like crazy. For the first six or seven hours of flight, she can run cold and quiet, and you only spot her on a telescope if she gets in close... except when she''s lifting off, or landing. I''d prefer to get out myself.... but this intel lady is motivated to get out before they find out she''s an aug. So.... better someone gets out than nobody."


    "Handle much different from an assault shuttle?"


    "Not really. Bit more engine power, bit heavier."


    Jacob sighed. "Yeah... I can handle her. Gonna tell me where she is?"


    "Safehouse Tiamat mean anything to you?"


    Jacob thought for a moment. There were no names for safe-houses. Just 3-digit codes, a letter and two numbers. "No. Safehouse Ninety-Nine mean anything to you?"


    A soft chuckle. "Sorry, its a nickname. And a bit of a confirmation. T-42. If you know what that means, you can find the safehouse. If you''re ASU, you''ll be able to get in and fly the ship." He glanced up. "If you''re planning on shutting me down now, thats all he needs."


    After a moment... Tyler vanished. Replaced by a familiar figure; the massive, heavyset figure of Victor, who''d been part of the muscle on the last mission... followed shortly by more figures, both familiar and not... as well as the same woman from before; dark-skinned, wearing an Alliance uniform.


    "Alright, folks. I''m gonna make a few calls. See if I can smuggle you all out on my existing flight. Test the waters. If it looks good... I''ll be hooking a few combat drones up to receivers and getting them set so you can rescue me... and yourselves... if things go south. I''ve already explained to each of you solo whats going on. Feel free to hash things out decide what to do, I''ll leave this running for a while, just remember... this is a sim... and the Alliance may be able to see all this later."

 Revival-Interrogation Department 11: Pointlessness

    A few days later, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, Seraph considered her life. Her future. The past she''d known, the place she was raised... and the solitary existence in the real world.


    Most of her friends were in the sims; she spent hours every day, pretending to be a ranger, playing a variety of games, having fake relationships with fake people, killing fake monsters... and then she went to work for a government she never agreed with, for a boss who was a greedy asshole. The only people she''d really miss seeing were the ones she played with in-game... and she''d only met a couple of them in the real world, and that was never quite the same.


    As a kid, they''d taught her the ''downfall'' theory; that humanity had started creating monsters in human form to help colonize worlds, and that the downfall of humanity was that first batch that had been engineered to help colonize mars. Soul-less monsters, created in defiance of the will of god; and when the Darkspace drive was built, years later, opening up the stars, it only grew worse, with a hundred different variations of monster spreading out into space, hideous abominations with fur, with tails, with unnatural skin tones, hideous emaciated features.


    The Alliance, of course, was the sole beacon of light in the universe. A place where converting a human into such a thing was a capital offense, and these altered beings were established as property, things, not people.


    Of course... she had internet access, and not everyone was born in the Alliance. She''d known since she was a teenager that it was mostly bullshit; that these ''abominations'' were just as human as she was, and the augs she''d met certainly weren''t animals, even if they might be kept in collars. A few of the kids in the foster home she''d been in before college had even been born in the United Worlds, and given her the scoop. The Alliance was founded by a bunch of religious nutjobs who fled earth to establish ''pure'' settlements, and its gradual escalation to where it now lay was due mostly to a coincidence of making an agreement with a ''Pirate King'' who happened to be an un-augmented human, supplying him food and helping maintain his ships... so long as he only enslaved and targeted augmented people.


    A couple of generations later, they founded the Alliance... and now, over a century later, it had somehow grown to one of the largest nations of humanity, tens of billions of souls. Despite the overwhelming majority of those people out there considering them backwards lunatics, she was born in that bubble of crazy where they made it all seem normal.


    And so, here she was. Turned into an ''Abomination'' against her will, working for a country she didn''t believe in. Needing to get out, and soon, or she''d end up killed, or enslaved herself. She had options. So many ways to get out. And today... was the day.


    She looked at her luggage, beside the bed. Enough for a trip for a few weeks; not much point in spending a few days travel to just turn right back around. All of her various prep-work, the different options, learning there was another ship to get her offworld.... she wasn''t going to need any of it. In a few hours, an Alliance Intel shuttle was going to drop her off directly at her ship. No need for a security check other than just bringing her badge. She was... trusted.


    This was the last time she''d see this apartment. All of her various collectibles and keepsakes were staying behind; aside from a few bits of jewelry from her family. Not enough room.


    She rolled out of bed, and looked at her shelves... a pair of fake swords, replicas of the ones she used as a ranger. Until recently, she didn''t have as much strength as her character, so they were lightweight plastic, good for going to the local conventions. Bracketing her prize; a complete collection of all seventeen thousand chapters of the One Piece manga, taking up half the wall. Three of those volumes were actually from earth, over two hundred years old, and actually worth quite a bit; but she definitely didn''t have room for all of them, and couldn''t bring herself to break up the set.


    She ran her fingers over the spines one last time... she still hadn''t even read through all of them... and nodded. Time to go.


    ***


    She was nervous as she entered the campus wearing a simple blue utility suit rather than her white Intel uniform; flashing her badge; still recognizing her as a baseline, normal, human... and headed into her office. She was supposed to meet someone from security here at ten to make sure she could handle the drone and the gun, then a ride to the spaceport. For whatever reason, they didn''t want her to bring the gun they already issued her... which was weird.


    They gave a cursory scan over her luggage; but even when they detected her laptop in it they didn''t seem to care; though they did snap their own lock around it to ensure it would alter them if she opened it; but not her carry-on, which she didn''t have any electronics in.


    She attracted a few looks, dragging her wheeled luggage behind her, looking more like she was going to the spaceport than to work... but this wasn''t too odd.


    Her office was the same dull, familiar place. Her desk, the computers, the locking racks containing the brain-chips... she inhaled deeply... and looked down at her desk, and blinked. She''d been expecting a carrying case for some sort of hovering combat drone. This.... was a mobility assistance drone. A Carrier.


    She checked it out closely; she was familiar with the design, but mostly from gaming, not the real world. Four legs maybe eighty or ninety pounds, no apparent head, just a platform with straps that luggage could be attached to. Short-duration hover engine. Something built to carry luggage for a trip, or a disabled person; these things could carry a few hundred pounds for days with the right batteries.


    She''d seen armored, combat versions, but this didn''t look like that.... at first. She shook herself. Best wait for the security guy to advise on that.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    She looked around her office; she''d gotten permission to take a personal computer from here with an Intel-approved malware sweeper to go over anything she got at the convention before bringing it back... but the long cylinder she loaded into her carry-on... wasn''t just a computer.


    It was a stack of brain-chips, a power supply, and a computer, complete with transmitter, wrapped in a shell of a larger, more powerful computer. If they examined it closely, it wouldn''t hold up at all; the chips completely filled the spot where the battery usually was, so instead of lasting for days, this would only last a few hours... which should be enough.


    If she slapped the green button and activated the transmitter... the brain-chips inside the cylinder would activate. The drones that they''d let her scan, and were now in a storage room with hundreds of other drones... would wake up, controlled by the ASU people she was rescuing... and try to save her.  She''d need to protect the cylinder til she could meet up with them, which... was not good odds, if she had to slap the button. She might already be a few klicks away at the spaceport.


    She glanced at the carrier drone. If.... that thing were armed, and they were going to put, or already had put, a soldier in it... which was likely...it could gun her down the moment things went wrong. But if she stripped the brain-chip out of it, that would look suspicious; these things were very.... awkward, if not remote controlled. And she didn''t have time to improvise a controller. If it were made to be controlled by a brain-chip, she''d need another.


    She''d already loaded up all of the ASU people she''d planned to bring, carefully concealed in the fake computer. There was only one loose one that was vaguely trustworthy for this..... she glanced at her desk. She''d given her bosses a bunch of useless intel Sue.. AKA ''Tyler''... had helped her generate; they''d already found a few old abandoned ASU hideouts because of it. She''d planned on either abandoning him for the Alliance to deal with.... or destroying his chip on the way out.


    She... might need to use him in the carrier. She grunted, wrapped it in one of her shirts, and stuffed it in the carry-on.


    The handgun they''d provided her, now that... was interesting. It felt like plastic to the touch; and was able to fold up. She decided not to mess with it, for now, considering it was a deadly weapon, but clearly they intended her to be able to defend herself even in areas she wasn''t supposed to have weapons at all. Which... was nice.


    The clock read 9:43 when a gentle knock at her door announced someone coming in; and Seraph smiled. Ahh, bobby. Handsome, tall, clean-cut.... he''d always been nice to her, and just about everybody. She''d miss him.


    Bobby gave her a nod, and a chuckle as he stepped up to her desk. "Ahh, good. They already delivered it." He was carrying a small box, chrome, shiny, and seamless... and set it down on the desk. "This... is Corporal Vance. He''ll be accompanying you on your trip. Your superiors consider you an asset, and the ASU has already tried to take you once; so it was a toss-up between authorizing the security you asked for, and forbidding you from going. The liner you''ll be taking forbids weapons that aren''t locked in storage, as do some of the convention halls you''ll likely be going to. So..."


    He slaps a badge on the desk. "We''ve got a falsified badge that lists you with a leg disability, requiring the carrier if you have to walk more than fifty meters. The carrier has a set of neurotoxin dart guns to protect you with forty darts each, a concealed burst laser, and of course...." He gently presses a spot on the front. "Can be directly controlled via a brain-chip. No hacking, no remote; no concern someone will make it shoot you. We believe it should pass every scanner you come across, and between your fake disability and its nature... should be able to protect you for the whole trip. However!"


    Bobby grinned and picked up the plastic handgun. "Just in case you run into something more heavily armored. Miniaturized Needle-pistol. Unless they take it apart..." He held down a button on the side, and carefully folded it. "It looks like a comm-unit. An old, bulky one. And even better... if you could press your thumb here..."


    Seraph took the comm, and grinned. This was a bit cool, actually. She held her thumb down... and felt a mild buzz.


    "Its functional. You can make and receive calls with it. It''ll only unfold for you, and has enough juice to fire up to twenty needles. Just.... be careful. It might be small, but its still a needler; they''ll go through a spaceship hull."


    She nodded... and practiced opening and shutting the pistol a few times, as Bobby opened the small chrome box... and started carefully hooking a brain-chip into the drone. Once he had it in, she smiled. "Excellent. I feel safer already. If something happens, and I have to leave the carrier behind, can I pop Vance out to take him with me, just in case, or is this gonna be sealed until I get back?"


    Bobby nodded. "Hopefully that won''t be needed. But if it is, just touch that seam right there." He ran a finger beneath it. "It''ll power down, eject the brain-chip, and you can grab it and run. The drone is synced up with the phone-pistol-thing. You can remotely steer it for a bit with that, but... not fire the guns. Alright. You ready for this?"


    "Of course! You''ve gone through so much to keep me safe... Why wouldn''t I be?"


    "...You''ve never left the Alliance before, so... here''s the thing." He glanced at the door, then stepped closer. "Here, its a city of people. Out there, in the wider galaxy... its... you walk through a crowd, and there''ll only be a dozen humans. The rest are just... monsters. You won''t believe it til you see it."


    She inhaled deeply.... but shrugged. "I''ve spent tons of time in fantasy games, and other sims... elves, orcs, dragons, demons... and the silly thing is that for most, there''s actually augs out there that look like it, somewhere. I''m probably about as ready as I can be."


    "It''s different, in real life. You ready, Corporal Vance?"


    The drone gave a short bob; and a digitized voice emerged. ~Of course, Robert. Lead the way.~


    Seraph nodded... and looked at the phone, then the carrier. "Oh, and, uh.... is there a temporary standby button, for, well. If I don''t want it... you... to be online while I''m in the bathroom?"


    Bobby looked at her... and sighed. "Look, you can hold down... this..." He pointed at a button on the phone. "For three seconds to put him in standby. But..."


    The drone lifted itself up to maximum height; just over four feet. ~I would not recommend doing so; honestly, unless you''re in a secure area, like an Alliance embassy, I''d recommend leaving me online, and close, for the entire trip.~


    She looked at the drone... and sighed, lifting her carry-on, and setting her other luggage back onto its wheels. "Fine. Shall we?"


    Bobby chuckled. "Let Vance carry that. We''re pretending a disability, right?"


    She looked at the luggage... and grunted as she settled the locked container atop the carrier drone, using the straps to secure it.. and then her carry-on. "...Fine."


    It felt strange, not to be carrying, or pulling anything behind her, as she stepped out. She glanced back at her office, for the last time. She might not have liked who she was working for... but she did enjoy the job. Maybe the ASU, or the dubs, could use someone like her. She sighed, and turned, following the strange gate of the carrier drone down the hallway. She''d miss this place. Hopefully.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 12: Into the Stars

    The spaceport was an enormous hub of activity; there was a perimeter wall surrounding the landing platforms, complete with guard towers, dozens of security checkpoints; all for the simple purpose of ensuring no augmented people or weapons crossed without being detected. What seemed strange as the shuttle approached was a cargo container; a classic rectangular block of metal; seemingly floating in midair... with an enormous line of them on a track behind it.


    As the shuttle landed, she could see a spacecraft dip down just far enough for magnets on the bottom to snag the container... and then lift back off, heading back into orbit. She blinked, watching it ascend, and glanced at Bobby in the next seat.


    "...I thought cargo was moved in giant ships. Freighters, hundreds of meters long. Whats the story there?"


    He glanced over, watching as the next container is pulled forward, and starts to float upwards itself. "Well. The main cargo ship never actually enters atmosphere. Its got like a dozen shuttles that drop and pickup containers from spaceports in a steady stream until its got everything settled... and then goes on to the next planet. Those big mothers only make the long, direct routes to hub worlds... and all the smaller ones, where you can see pirates and so forth, are taken up by little freighters."


    The shuttle settled down on the landing pad... inside the security perimeter. The back hatch opened, forming a ramp to the ground... and Bobby stepped out onto the concrete, looking up at the ship she was about to board... a boxy shape, hundreds of meters long, at least a hundred wide; a massive, fat monster of a ship, bulbous and rounded, with ramps every few meters, people and cargo being loaded on. She looked up at the behemoth, and rose to her feet.


    "...Its the size of a building." And this was a tiny fraction of the size of that behemoth of a cargo ship in orbit.


    "Yup. Passenger liner. The KIS Bonavent. Those two beside it are the KIA Malice and Aggressor." He pointed at two much smaller, but still at least several dozen meter long, spacecraft beside it. "Her escorts. A few of the crew are augs, and they don''t let the Bonavent out of the range of their guns til they leave Alliance space. It... makes things a bit stressful. Some of our inspectors have been shot trying to board one."


    "...." She looked at one of the smaller, more wedge-shaped craft. There were at least three visible bulbs that undoubtedly protected turrets from re-entry, likely ready to pop free and start defending the ship at a moment''s notice... and from the shape of the hull...


    "...That''s... a Dragon? Those are from the second galactic war, aren''t they? Older than the Alliance?"


    He chuckled. "Dragons are an old design, yes. But its a forty meter railgun with a crew compartment and defenses wrapped around it. Those Karth folks make their own, new ones, with the latest stuff. And some of the older stuff, too."


    She sighed... and stepped out after Bobby, with the carrier whining as it stepped down, servos working under the weight of her luggage. She glanced at him, then the ship. "Older stuff... if you''re refitting it to new tech, why use older stuff too?"


    "Not sure. Some of our captains want to do the same thing, so there''s got to be a good reason, but... not navy."


    "So... I just walk up... give them my ticket... and then poof. Out of the Alliance. Into independent space. Into the stars."


    "Yup. Your ticket gets you an actual room, somewhere in that monster. A bed for the next two days. Just keep your weapon on you, your carrier prepped... and don''t shoot unless you have to."


    She looked at the ship for a moment, then at Bobby... and nodded, starting to walk towards the ship, the carrier drone following a few steps behind. She could hear a digitized voice as she drew closer, from the carrier. ~If you wish to convince them you are disabled, I would recommend leaning on me for now, or simply riding.~


    She slowed down a bit, leaning on the drone as she walked... and approached the ramp.


    Two men wearing full body-armor; the core was clearly a vacuum suit, just like the Alliance security armor she''d seen every day, but this had ceramic plating over everything but the joints... and there were visible scorchmarks on the chest of one man. All of the armor plates were black, with the underlying suit being red; and the woman who took her ticket was also wearing red as she studied the flimsy wafer, scanned it, then looked her over.


    The woman gave a firm nod, then focused on Seraph''s face. "It seems this is your first time offworld, and out of Alliance space. Let me make it clear... most of our duty crew are augmented. They are also the crew of this ship. You are to obey any commands they issue while aboard without question, and if you cause a problem, you will be locked in an airlock and kicked out at our next stop, regardless of whether its your destination or who is on the other side. We cannot promise the exact time of our arrival at any given destination, but do our best to maintain timeliness. Once we''ve arrived, you will have two hours to disembark before you''ll be required to pay for the flight to the next destination or be disembarked forcibly with or without your belongings. Do you understand?"


    "Of course. Thank you."


    She looked at the wafer again.. and nodded. "Well then. Your comm-unit should have the directions to your room loaded, and will notify you at meal-times and when you arrive. Welcome aboard the KIS Bonavent."


    ***


    The ship was massive; several floors tall, filled with expansive chambers for everything from working out to eating to... well. It wasn''t quite a resort hotel with thrusters, but it came close. All of the designs were odd, with the ''cafeteria'' having each table inside a sort of odd cubicle, currently flat against the wall... She couldn''t help but gawk for a moment at one of the crew; the red-skinned vacuum suit wrapped around a 3-meter tall, hairless, pale woman who was directing people up a flight of stairs... and noticed Seraph, giving a nod... and pointing at a door.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Your ticket indicated you had difficulty walking. We gave you a bottom-floor room. There are warnings to strap down during the red lights... they''ll flash first to warn you. For someone who doesn''t handle walking well, I''d recommend doing it for the yellows, too. Red is a hard burn... like when we''re lifting off, or landing.. and yellow is the minor stuff... docking with a refueling station sort of situation. When we''re underway, look for the blue X on the wall; that''s the floor. When we land on a planet, look for the green X."


    A quick nod. "Thank you, ma''am. Understood." Seraph looked at the indicated door... 153... and pressed the wafer of her ticket to the slot by the door... watching it slide smoothly aside, as her carrier followed her inside.... and settled onto the floor. A fully contained, clearly water-tight booth for a shower, that would be a tub while the ship was in flight... that also had straps for attaching yourself to the wall. A modest, twin-sized bed, just off the floor... with straps to attach yourself to it, as well, and space under it for her luggage. It was right at the corner of the floor and the wall with the blue X... and there was a lever at the head of the bed. She smiled as she read the instructions...


    ~Pull this lever to re-orient bed, if power fails. Ensure all luggage is strapped down and everything is contained if the lights start flashing red. We are not responsible for injuries caused by unsecured falling objects.~


    And... a desk with a chair. The space was tiny; the equivalent of an ultra-cheap motel room that she''d dealt with during training, before she got an apartment.


    She looked down at the carrier drone, sitting beside her on the bed, and glanced at the comm... she could remotely disable it and switch the brain-chips right now... but best wait til they left the planet, just in case. She tapped a few buttons, and managed to pull up a view for the ship; a broadcast from one of the landing cameras.


    She looked around the room... and then settled in on the bed, laying down... carefully adjusting the straps, securing herself down. She couldn''t sleep... but she''d need to do this for launch anyways. She closed her eyes. Thought about what was going to happen, about her future... and when the sirens blared, and the lights flashed red... welcomed the feeling of weight against her chest as a sign of, amusingly enough, freedom... as the ship lifted into the sky. She glanced down at her comm; grimacing as the sudden weight tried to pull it from her hands... and watched the spaceport disappear beneath her.


    Drasport. She''d always known it was one tiny city, on one tiny world, among thousands humans called home. Seeing it go from a mass of flat grey concrete... to a rough circle of grey and silver.. to a tiny dot amidst a mass of green.... and finally, resolving to a beautiful green gem of a world.


    The feeling of weight persisted, of being heavier than she should be... and she could feel the bed shifting. The change of direction was disorienting; it felt just... weird... as the bed apparently moved along a track in the wall. When the lights started flashing again... and finally went off... the room looked... different. Everything was the same, but... the desk could clearly fold up and down, the shower became a tub, the bed re-oriented... it was all... odd.


    She glanced at the carrier... it was currently attached to the wall, magnetically gripping it a few feet off the ground.. and then down at her comm. She was offworld. Any second now, they''d be entering Darkspace, and she''d hopefully never be in Alliance space again. She watched the comm for a bit, the planet continuing to shrink until it was just a white dot in the distance....


    And then.... darkness. It felt like nothing at all, the transition from one dimension to another. If she could look freely outside the ship, she knew what she''d see; movies showed it all the time, especially ones with space battles.. perhaps they''d have a better view here. Either way... that was it. Nobody could claim Darkspace. She was out of the Alliance.


    She inhaled... and held down the button on her phone. After a few seconds, the carrier beeped, going into standby...dropping to the floor with an audible thunk.. and she unstrapped herself... reaching down, finding the seam. A few moments of pressure and it popped open, revealing... Corporal Wallace.


    She lifted the brain-chip out; this was no hack, rush job; it was a careful, precise piece of work, made to last. She had no idea what she''d do with this brain-chip, but... she unsnapped her bag attached to her luggage, and looked at the ''SUE'' brainchip. She looked down at the drone... these things usually used an extremely limited AI to walk and follow, or were remote controlled. Hopefully this thing was compatible...


    She slid it into place, shut the slide, dropping Wallace''s chip into her bag... and powered it back on, watching expectantly.


    After a few seconds, there was a buzz... and it righted itself, standing up on the floor, focusing on her. She studied it, and sighed. "Well... Mister Proxima. I changed my mind, for various reasons. One of them being the drone you''re riding in. Can you control that drone you''re in? Or even understand what I''m saying?"


    The drone pointed the flat front of its shell at her. ~I was expecting to be dead, not loaded inside an... armed four-legged drone. Weird. Are you about to ask me to die fighting some Alliance troops? I wouldn''t mind, honestly, so long as you make sure my mind gets destroyed alongside the drone.~


    "No. Actually.... you get to live, in this plan. They gave me a sort-of security guard... a corporal who''d passed on some time ago, steering an armed drone that could defend me if needed. They slapped a ''disabled'' sticker on my file, and he''s listed as a mobility aid, to help carry me and my luggage."


    The drone shifted slightly. ~That''s... well, not the worst idea. And whats this new plan entail? How do we get out of Alliance space?~


    "We''re already out of Alliance space. I just didn''t want to look suspicious to these... Karth Imperium... people who own the ship, and I also didn''t want an Alliance watchdog on my ass. I needed to swap him out before I go visit whoever I''ll be passing the intel over to so... no time like the present. Figured I''d give you a chance to learn how to drive this thing before we show up. Take a few minutes. We''ll explore the ship a bit come lunchtime, so you''ve got a couple of hours to get your legs properly under you."


    ~And the other ASU people?~


    She patted her luggage. "Safe and sound. You don''t have to admit you secretly work for the dubs, but I''m assuming a trip to the United Worlds embassy wouldn''t be a problem for you?"


    ~Not at all. If you''re faking all this up to get information out of me, you''re doing a remarkable job.~


    She sighed, and glanced down at her tattoo; still no artifacts. Still, hopefully, not a sim. If this were all being recorded by some watching Alliance officers, swapping Wallace out for Tyler would likely have been the moment her crimes crossed over into provable treason. Not that it mattered... they''d have executed or enslaved her the moment they discovered what Tyler had done to her anyway, which meant anything she did to them might as well not have a penalty. Aside from pissing them off.


    Hopefully she wasn''t going to have some Alliance kill-team tracking her down. She knew how good those bastards were at their jobs. And how vicious.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 13: Karth Imperium Starship

    When Seraph opened the hatch, she stared for a few seconds... it looked as if she''d entered an entirely different ship. Instead of a long hallway all of the rooms at her level and along the hallway... it was a far smaller one running across the ship. As she stepped outside, the carrier silently stepping behind her, she could see that the floor was made of sections that rotated with the change of direction... and spot handheld cranks that could be used to rotate it back, exposed by the movement.


    It was... crazy, as if the ship had gone from a three-hundred meter long structure that was half a dozen stories tall, now it was a... several dozen story tall structure? Perspective had a tendency to mess with your head. Her comm gave her directions to the cafeteria that would be serving her section... which was apparently the people of the first several floors.


    It wasn''t far; perhaps fifteen, twenty meters; to the chamber, and she could see long rows of seating against tables; with each section of chairs bolted to the floor, which itself had rotated, going from one wide open space into three floors, each containing a few tables... one of which shared space with the kitchen.


    Whatever was cooking... it smelled delicious. Like bacon, perhaps. As she stepped towards the line, she could see a few dozen people... all fairly normal, from dark-skinned like herself to pale, wearing all manner of clothes... and in line was that same enormously tall, thin woman she''d met in the hallway. Some of the passengers were keeping their distance from her as she received a tray from behind the counter... and headed to a table with another two in red suits, with one of them covered with the outer layer of black armor.


    One of the three crew looked normal, if a bit pale... while the third, in armor, was four feet tall, at most. Maybe even less. Most of the passengers were splitting up into groups; possibly families, or businesses, people making a trip like this alone were uncommon; one man seemed to be trying to get her attention with a bit of smalltalk.


    "First time out of the Alliance?" He leaned in close, smiling at her... as she ignored him for the moment, and accepted a tray... it looked to be simple fare; earth vegetables, green beans among the mix, a starchy substance that was likely fake mashed potatoes, and some sort of meat and grey mixed in. She acknowledged him after taking it.


    "Yup." And then just kept walking... stopping at the table with the three crew. "Hello there! Mind if I sit down?" She focused on the tall one who''d helped her earlier... who blinked, and nodded at one of the seats.


    "Go ahead. .... Miss Glass. You know, most of you Alliance types tend to stick together when they leave. Lots of places out there less than friendly with them." How did she know her name? Did it matter.


    Seraph shrugged, glancing at the other tables, then back at the woman. "If I''m going to be around quite a few people who aren''t... baseline? I should get used to it as fast as possible. Mind if I ask your names, and if the... ''Karth Imperium''.... is one of those places?" She glanced at the other two.


    The woman chuckled. "Well, miss Glass. I''m Photino. This is my boyfriend, Charles.." She nodded at the extremely short man in armor. "And Tommy, who is both broke and useless." The pale, normal, man, who rolled his eyes at the response.


    Seraph nodded at each of them. "Charles, Tommy. Names Seraph." She took a bite of the meat, and blinked... surprised at the flavor, before taking another bite, chewing slowly.


    "And for that other question.... I''m assuming you don''t know the history?"


    "Ehhh. The basics. The Imperium is the split from when the Alliance was first founded... the people who thought augments were soulless abominations stuck with the Alliance, the rest fled to the Imperium during the year of founding. Mostly the same sorts of people... pirates and religious nuts... just that one particular schism."


    Charles laughed. "Well! That''s one way to put it. Good old Dante Karth, Pirate King, worked with your illustrious founder, Jebediah Tarley. They were enemies first... then friends... and finally they founded the Dantari Alliance. And like most pirates... his crew were, mostly, augmented folk, like everywhere. If he''d tried to purge them from his fleet, his whole Alliance would''ve died on the spot. So... he picked one of his sons, Jason, who had an augmented lady for a wife... and gave him command of half the fleet. Split it, augmented and non. And..... Jason founded Karthage, while his dad founded Dantari. Almost a biblical story."


    She looked around at the ship. "So.... here we are. Part of one of the biggest navies in all of space, and making tons of credits by being the main gatekeeper between the Alliance and the sane, rational, nations. Some of our augmented people are actually the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, of the guy who founded your Alliance... so they can''t just seize our people willy-nilly like they do elsewhere or their own..... is he the president now, or..."


    Seraph chuckled. "Dante Karth died at about a hundred and seventy. He didn''t believe in implants, and he wasn''t augmented, so.... yeah. His grandson is the Grand Admiral of the navy, and his niece is the Chairman of the council. So.... same family runs things on both sides, then."


    Photino nodded. "Pretty much. There''s all sorts of arguments and infighting, but Imperium ships can''t attack Alliance, or vice versa, or they''ll get executed when they get home, we''re officially ''Allies''. Karthage is the closest world that an Alliance ship can dock where all its augmented people won''t be freed immediately... and if they step off the ship, they''re considered free the moment they set foot on Karth, even if they get hauled back aboard. Last time a slave escaped an Alliance transport on Karth, and they killed him with an explosive collar... the ship was impounded and the owner was executed on the spot for murder."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She blinked. "Wow. That''s... crazy. I bet they stopped bringing slaves on trips into your space after that. Same rules for when they step onto the ship? The moment they board, considered free?"


    Charles nodded. "Yup. The KIA Malice had a slave-girl the captain had visited at a brothel sneak onboard last year while it was docked. The owner tried to get her back.... captain told them to fuck off, and powered up the railgun. I think they''re married now. Obviously he did something to help her sneak on, but nobody could prove anything."


    "...Mind if I ask... why they name the ships KIA? That has... a very different meaning in the Alliance fleet."


    "Ohhh. Its a joke, from the Emperor. Officially, its to confuse our enemies if they get our naval data, make them think they only have the list of lost vessels. The truth..... he was planning on founding a constitutional monarchy sort of thing, and one of his crew suggested that if they named it an ''Imperium'', his ships could be ''Karth Imperium Assault ships. And he could make the designation KIA. He thought it was funny. So... KIS for civilian ships. KIA for military."


    She glanced around... checking how close the other passengers were, and nodded. "Huh. I bet thats how it is with most acronyms like that. They have some deep meaning that people claim, and then the truth is just that it sounded good, or funny. Anyways. Glad to hear that. I actually thought it worked something like that, but I wasn''t sure." She considered telling them she was an Augment; but there were probably other Alliance personnel here. One might decide to kill her en route.


    "If I wanted to move out of the Alliance, go live somewhere a good distance away... any recommendations?"


    Photino chuckled, taking a drink from a squeeze bottle. "Not to talk about it in front of other Alliance people, for one. You''re Alliance Intelligence. One of the other people is probably keeping an eye on you, and I wouldn''t doubt if you were trying to keep an eye on somebody else."


    "Oh, no, no. I work for them, sure. But I''m a programmer, not a... spook. Where''s the best place for programmers to find work out there?"


    "...Do you have a problem working with people like us?"


    The carrier made a beeping sound. Seraph glanced back at it, then at Photino. "Not in the slightest. It''ll take some getting used to... you''re the tallest woman I''ve ever seen by at least half a meter... but I''m not the religious sort. If there is a soul, which I doubt, then I sincerely doubt it can be destroyed by re-writing someone''s genetics. Did you know some people in the Alliance consider cyborgs to be inhuman, too? They''re considering leaving the alliance, fleeing out into the void and founding their own colony to avoid being oppressed by their machine overlords."


    Tommy, silent until now, started laughing, shaking his head. "Oh good god, that''s terrible. The religious nutjob country now, itself, has religious nutjobs. Whats gonna be next, they think only men are human, or only people of a certain height, or skin tone?"


    Seraph grinned. "First, the anti-Cyborg colony. Then a new cult flees, which has a nobody over six feet policy, to avoid being oppressed by tall people. Then a no pale people colony, because obviously the soul content is based on how much melanin is in your skin, and if you don''t have any... or even worse, have red hair... monsters."


    Tommy nodded. "Oooh, and then finally they reach the end, because a new one that is a men-only colony that only reproduces by cloning, because women are evil."


    Photino interjected. "Wait, after that, the gay clones and the ones who are attracted to women but think they''re evil split off. So we have a new colony, of just asexual male clones with a specific skin tone and a height under six feet."


    Seraph pointed at her. "And finally, the logical conclusion, the true ending... only clones of the same guy."


    Tommy rubbed his chin for a moment. "Ehhh.... I''m sure that they''d start sorting by the age of the clone, percent of defects... you know what..... I don''t think there''s a limit."


    "Still. I''m considering moving out of the Alliance after this convention, its kinda a... scouting trip to see what its like out there. You got any recommendations?"


    ***


    Perry tried to pretend he hadn''t heard anything. That this was all normal, that he was just eating lunch alongside a few business associates from the Alliance. But... no. He was here to do an intel drop; he and some of his fellows would periodically update headquarters on things on Karthage, and take decade-long shifts outside of the Alliance, until their aging would make them suspicious. He''d given his report already, and was heading back to his post.


    He didn''t look like a spook. That was pretty much mandatory for his job, working among the Imperium. The tattoos that showed he was a former pirate, the lean build, the hair that looked more like spikes than actual follicles... he had deliberately undergone surgery to look like one of the various combat augments... without actually changing his genetics. He looked, like most augments, in perfect health, and so long as he was careful, would keep looking like one for another decade or two.


    Nobody who looked at him, in is dull orange vacuum suit with its various utility patches, his inhuman hair, just the whole look, would even begin to suspect he was a normal human. He even had patch samples of an augment he could feed into a scanner if they wanted to check him for some reason under his thumbnail and tongue.


    They''d updated him on this Glass woman. Her mission, that she probably wasn''t in danger, but he should keep an eye on her anyway until they parted ways; pass along the message to his fellow spooks to help her if need be. But.... this.... was she looking to defect?


    He''d taken too long between bites, and faked a cough, before putting down another mouthful, chewing as he considered his options.


    She had a security clearance. Permanently moving out of the Alliance wasn''t an option, she knew too much; and when she returned, would be interrogated and scanned in-depth, just in case. There were two possibilities here.


    Either she was trying to gather intelligence herself, in her own awkward way, perhaps looking for data for her programming....


    Or she genuinely wanted to leave the Alliance after that attack, possibly afraid of an ASU hit-squad. She might even have gone rogue, and be carrying intel out with her. He couldn''t be completely certain.... but he could check her room for anything suspicious, anything she brought with her that might show she didn''t plan on coming back.


    And if so.... try to figure out a way to kill her, without getting caught. He had options. Drones. Toxins. He might not be an augment, but neither was she; sheer brute force would work, he had over fifty pounds and extensive combat training on her.


    He blinked five times in a row; his HUD popping up, ignoring the conversation as he ate... and started issuing commands to his drones. He''d been on this ship before, dozens of times. He knew which room was hers. This.... should be trivial.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 14: Void Hazard

    As she sat through the meal, and kept talking to the crew, she learned more about the Imperium; and, amusingly enough, about the Alliance. Most things she already knew... but she was actually surprised to discover that the Alliance had the fifth biggest navy in the known galaxy... and while it was at least a century behind the most advanced navies out there, in sheer tonnage there was only one navy that just flat-out out-classed them; the Republic had more than twice as many ships as the Alliance, or any other fleet, and also the largest population.


    "So. I''ve heard about the ASU, and Alliance Intel believes that the United Worlds is behind them. They always want to find proof, and I think they have before, but considering that was from torture victims... is it true? I know they lie about so many things..."


    Photino studied her for a moment, and smiled. "There''s a star system called Ash, that I''ve been to before. Its a dub system. The site of the biggest battle in galactic history; at the time, like now, the Dubs had the most advanced navy in all of space, and the Empire had their weird biotech, and thought that, working together, there was no way they could lose. The Federation and the Directorate had bigger fleets, yes. But they''d need to lose two ships for each one they killed. Nobody would be willing to do that, right? Keep throwing ships at them until they won, losing a whole fleet just to inflict a handful of kills?"


    Seraph chuckled. "I know about that one. The place was operating in defiance of the AI research ban, and basically everyone but those two nations was against them. It used to be called something like... New Reykjav¨ªk, but the Directorate burned the whole place to ash when they finally won."


    "Exactly. Biggest starship graveyard in existence, and a massively industrialized world... with no biosphere anymore. The dubs learned an important lesson in that battle; technology is great. But you need numbers. There''s millions of dead starships in that system. They have specific cleared lanes you have to travel through to avoid debris. The dubs never liked to have their own soldiers die in the war, and they liked to hire mercenaries to do much of the fighting. But every single mercenary fleet in the galaxy wasn''t big enough to stop the Directorate, or even slow it down."


    "...What does that have to do with the ASU?"


    The woman shook her head. "I''m getting there. They turned Ash into a mercenary training hub. When its time to decommission ships, they add them to the debris field, and the scrapyards there take ships from around the galaxy. Nine out of ten mercenary and pirate crews in the galaxy get trained and equipped there, with a mix of new and scavenged parts, and all of them know that if another galactic war happens, the dubs will welcome them with open arms.... and wallets. Every ASU member just about got trained on Ash and fed propaganda about how evil the Alliance is. So when they go out to get work as a mercenary...."


    Seraph nodded. "They didn''t actually make the ASU. They just... deliberately engineered a situation where it would form."


    "And give them extremely lucrative mercenary contracts sometimes. Ones that don''t target the Alliance, but help curb its expansion. Honestly, the dubs do the same thing with us Karhaginians; they pay us to protect colonies near Alliance space. Most of the time, those colonies end up as part of us. The dubs want to make sure that if there''s a third galactic war, the Alliance is surrounded by either enemies, or at the very least people who won''t fight for them... and can defend themselves."


    "...Crazy. So.... this is all leading up to a third galactic war?"


    "Eventually. Every year, the Alliance gets bigger, and its enemies do too. Gonna suck when it happens."


    Seraph sighed. "Alright. Well. Thanks for that. I thought I had a good picture of everything, being in intel, but I guess I was a bit behind. See you at dinner?"


    As she rose to her feet, the three crew nodded. Charles smiled. "You should check out the viewing deck. There''s a dome of armored glass that actually lets you look out into Darkspace while we travel. I think its ridiculous... some people think its beautiful. Or go crazy, looking at it."


    ***


    When she left the cafeteria... and didn''t return to her quarters... Perry decided to act. After checking with one of the other operatives, he discovered things would be easier than he thought; that drone that was following her around was actually an Alliance soldier, a Corporal Wallace, who''d died and volunteered as a drone operator. There were two actual flash-and-blood operatives and one drone; they might even be able to dispose of her out an airlock without anyone realizing it. As he settled down in his own quarters, eyes closed, two of his drones; tiny, spider-like things; were carefully opening the air vent inside her quarters.


    The air vents were all designed to seal off in an emergency; but normally simply had grates to prevent pests from spreading in the ship every couple of meters. It was painstaking work; disabling the alarms that would warn of a rat infestation, opening the grate, moving two meters, doing it again... but he''d made it to her room while she was eating. And now, however much time she spent elsewhere, he could spend inspecting her room.


    It looked normal enough. A decent space; a bed, a desk, a shower. And.... there we go. A standard heavy luggage piece and a carry-on bag. The luggage was locked up; someone had sealed it before it had been loaded, but the lock wasn''t really an obstacle. It was mostly a noisemaker; something to make sure the ship''s crew knew if someone opened the thing, since they put those locks on if possibly dangerous devices were inside.


    Still. He''d check the carry-on bag first; one of the drones carefully undid the straps holding it down, while the other did a scan of the luggage from the outside... and then the two both opened the carry-on, taking video of the contents.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The first problem jumped out immediately. There was a brain chip inside. A computer, sure. A bit of a bulky, older model. But... the drone inspected the brain chip. It was an officially produced model, with a serial number..... and it matched one Corporal Wallace.


    She''d removed the brain chip of the corporal, and left the drone running on auto-pilot, or was just remotely controlling it herself.


    One of the drones started carrying the chip up to the vent, while the other simply re-sealed the bag, and started re-doing the straps.


    That was all they needed to know. They''d pay the captain for the luggage, just letting him know she was Alliance Intel, and claim they''d make sure it reached her family; the girl was an orphan, so no-one would be claiming it; and give it a more thorough inspection at the next Alliance port the ship stopped at.


    He contacted the other operative onboard. They''d find her. Wait til she was alone. Kill her, and dump her body out an airlock at the next stop if the injuries couldn''t be faked as natural causes.


    Obviously the first priority was getting her comm; it was both a hidden gun, and what let her control the carrier. After they had the comm... well. She was a pretty enough thing. Nothing against having a bit of fun before the end, if they had the time.


    ***


    Stepping into the dome was.... interesting. There was a couple, seated on one of the benches, which appeared to be either deep in conversation, or making out... and didn''t even notice her enter. She did her best to ignore them, staying at the other end of the large chamber... which while the ship was in transit, seemed to be made up of a dozen balconies, each with a few seats to let you look out into the darkness.


    At the moment... the view was a bit scary.


    Mostly grey-black. No stars. No nothing. Just, off in the distance, a tiny orb of darkness, and whatever the grey was surrounding them sort-of swirling into it.


    A black hole. Generally called the ''Core'', it was the source of the tiny bits of matter that made FTL possible... and deep inside the ship, in the engine, a tiny bit of matter that had once been exposed to it formed the connection that let it work. This other place, this ''Darkspace'', wasn''t a real place. It was a... projection... of the black hole. It looked wrong. And people who stared into it for too long, sometimes went crazy.


    It was the cause of the first galactic war. The source of most FTL travel. And.... it was beautiful.


    Now that she could actually see it, with her own two eyes... it wasn''t just black, and grey. There were other shades of iridescent light, tiny ribbons twisting and arcing into it... always there, like a delicate spiderweb. They might be stars that fell into the black hole eons ago. They might just be tricks of the light. But.... she had never seen it before.


    She stared, in awe, having no idea why they never showed this in film, wondering if there was some significance, some meaning, behind the lights... until the sudden flicker, as they faded out... and suddenly, she saw... stars.


    They were back in the real world, flying through actual space. The next stop; passengers would get off. Passengers would get on. They were at some space station in orbit of a colony world; who knew what might be loaded on, or taken off. Soon enough, they''d be docking... and she had no idea which way the floor would be, then. Should she go ahead and strap in? Was it going to change?


    She wished she had a crewman around to ask as she watched the stars shifting in the glass, the ship moving.... and the couple was getting up to leave... making her completely alone in the dome. Aside from the drone.


    She sat there in silence, watching as the ship twisted; she got a view for a few seconds of the planet it orbited; a vivid blue-orange, likely some sort of native life being slowly pushed back and tamed by humanity as they made the world their own. She wondered if this was a world normal humans could live on... or one of the thousands that would need centuries of extensive terraforming before anyone but an augmented could dream of walking in the open air.


    There was a reason most people were augs, after all.


    A man entered the dome on one of the other balconies; just a few steps he could climb to reach her; she wasn''t familiar with his type of augment, but considering his hair was a row of bony spikes instead of anything normal, it was probably one of the older combat augments; there were probably more of those spikes in other places. She grimaced. If he knew she were alliance intel.....She slid her hand into her pocket, and gently unfolded her comm into its pistol form. The drone... or Tyler, rather... should be able to handle things. But just in case...


    Another man stepped onto the balcony with her; she didn''t recognize him, as he nodded at her; but he was a normal human; a bit pale for her tastes, but the black hair was a good style. No apparent adjustments. Which meant, most likely, not someone who would have an issue with Alliance intel, if he knew what she was. She was slightly relieved, and smiled at him... as he glanced her over for a moment, then out into the stars.


    "Stargazing, eh? First time in space, or perhaps lived in a city and didn''t have a good view of them?"


    Seraph nodded. "Both, actually. I saw the stars when I visited plantations for work a few times... but never this clear. The difference is amazing, though... the difference in Darkspace was even more. I''m surprised they never showed how beautiful it was in all the shows."


    The man nodded, and looked up; spotting the man with the spikes for hair as well. "Huh. What sort of augment do you think that is? Don''t think I''ve seen spikes like that before. If it were on the arms, I''d think combat... but why put spikes on the head?"


    She glanced back at the other figure, thinking as she studied him below her. "... You know. I..."


    There was an audible pop... and a sharp, intense pain. The man had something in his hand... and had just jabbed it into her back, sending a powerful jolt of electricity through her. She grabbed hold of the hand; surprised that this stungun didn''t seem to be strong enough to actually stop her, she thought they were supposed to make all of your muscles seize up... and with a solid yank, tried to take the stunner away from him... only to hear... a series of terrible cracks.


    The man looked down at his arm in surprise, dropping the stunner... and started to duck down, reaching for it again.


    She didn''t know what to do; she''d trained in unarmed combat basics, years ago, but... was she supposed to....


    She just grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved, tossing him off the balcony... leaving him to fall to the bottom of the dome, perhaps ten to fifteen meters below... where he hit with an audible crack.


    As the man below her stared, shocked, she could hear the blaring of a siren, and the red lights flashing. Strap in. Find a spot to hang on, the gravity was about to switch, or they were going to undergo heavy acceleration.


    She glanced at the carrier. It was going to be fine, it had magnets, could just stick to wherever it was.... and... there.


    There was an extremely awkwardly placed chair with straps on it against the wall; she settled in, and started securing herself. She lost sight of the spike-haired man down below.


    Good lord. Did she just kill that guy? Why did he try to attack her? And there was a witness! As she could feel the ship shifting, moving, and it started to feel more as if she were laying on the floor rather than sitting down,  she considered her options. Surely, there was a security camera in here. If not...


    She glanced at the drone. She''d be fine. It had seen the whole thing, and had built-in cameras. She.... should be okay, right?

 Revival-Interrogation Department 15: Investigation

    Captain Brian West glowered down at his security officer from his chair as if she had just left something foul-smelling on his floor; which, in his opinion, she might as well have done.


    The KIS Bonaventure hadn''t had a passenger die in over a decade now, and hadn''t had a crewman die in six years. Promotions, pay raises, and the chance to switch tracks depended on efficiency, maintenance records... and casualty counts. Accidents happened, yes. But most of the navy were augmented personnel, who didn''t age, and were dedicated to the cause; you you had to be damned near perfect to move up the ranks; the constant expansion of the fleet might mean they needed more captains every year, but the skill and experience of its staff meant you couldn''t just be good at the wargames... you needed a real, established, record of dealing well with your crew and ship.


    Losing a passenger... in a possibly preventable way? It would put him behind a decade, or more. He wasn''t immortal; he couldn''t afford that if he wanted to command a fleet while he still had flesh and bone.


    He closed his eyes for a moment, and re-focused. "Jenny. Repeat that for me again... only this time in a way that doesn''t make it sound like you deserve to be fired."


    She grimaced. "... One of our known Alliance operatives on the crew disabled the security recording mechanism on the Observation deck, entered, and then fell to his death in an apparent accident whose only witnesses were two other Alliance operatives. One of these two operatives... had disabled security in the air vent out of his room, and may have been spying on someone else in the crew, or even robbing them. We were inspecting his room for stolen goods at the time of the incident, and had planned on determining how to deal with him after seeing if he had anything he hadn''t boarded with; it might have simply been a covert hand-off of a data-chip."


    She looked up at the captain; and despite the vast distance in height between the 3 and a half foot blond woman and her captain in his chair, there was no intimidation; she was a heavy-grav augment, and could break him in half with ease. The distress... was from her apparent poor performance.


    "So. He was spying on someone, or robbing someone... and is now dead. Because instead of confronting him directly and tossing him in the brig, we decided to... investigate."


    "Sir. General policy is that we don''t mess with the Alliance spooks we carry unless they do something serious. This exact spook has done this four times before, and we usually just make sure he didn''t rob or hurt anyone and ignore it."


    "...Both of them are in the brig?"


    "Yessir."


    "....Well then. The only people to blame are HQ for setting the policy and the Alliance for whatever stupidity they told the man to do. Ugh. Apologies, Jen. I''ll head down and question them. Barring something absurd, we''ll just ship them hope and let the Alliance decide on charges."


    ***


    The brig, amusingly enough, wasn''t that different from her room. A tiny box with a toilet, a bed... the only real difference was the armored camera in the corner. The door looked the same; though it didn''t open from the inside.


    Seraph looked at her feet, wondering what the hell she was going to do. She''d just broken a man''s arm, killed him... if they looked at the recordings they''d know he''d attacked her first, but... what would they do? Should she have pushed him? It was almost hilarious that, as soon as the ship had docked, suddenly it was a wide, open, flat room... the idea of someone falling to their death there was absurd.


    She curled up on the bed, tucking her legs in, staring at the wall. She was in a brig. Completely at their mercy.


    She''d just... killed a man. She''d felt his arm break. At least three times. Heard that terrible crack when his head hit the floor. It....


    She tried not to think about it. She''d never killed anything for real before. She''d played games and killed things there, and it had always felt so realistic, so fun. But knowing that was a real, living, person... did he have an implant? Was he going to be waking up digital, or given a drone body? Head injuries were always a risk, even with implants; you could damage them, break them, and this... was definitely a head injury.


    She might have just permanently killed a man who was genuinely trying to use a nonlethal weapon. He must''ve been Alliance, right? No way he could be ship''s crew? He wasn''t wearing a uniform. He''d looked... surprised.


    She was rocking back and forth, still staring at the wall, when the cell door snapped open; revealing two men standing outside. One of them looked like an unaugmented man; the signs of age made that clear, as the pale-skinned figure had grey mixed into his dark beard and hair; and looked... exactly as a captain should. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Capable. Though... he looked more like a warship captain than a passenger liner one. Or was that a stereotype?


    The woman beside him looked tiny in comparison... but the distinct slender build with adult features was practically a threat; she looked almost exactly like the marine from that one movie, who''d torn a man in half after they''d peeled her out of the power armor.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    So. Don''t try anything stupid. As if she would.


    She sat up straight, as the man studied her for a few seconds.


    "Seraph Glass. Alliance Intelligence. Heading out of the Alliance for the first time to attend a convention for simulation enthusiasts. People who work on games and digital afterlives. An expensive trip, and a last-minute one... which your government is paying for. None of that makes sense on its face, but the sort of cover stories we get from your type are often inconsistent."


    He crossed his arms, glowering down at her. "You may call me Captain West. In theory, I could throw you out the airlock for killing another passenger. But both of you are Alliance spooks. So. Explain yourself. Give me a good reason to keep you onboard, or to kick you off and let your paymasters get you a ride home."


    Seraph closed her eyes, and gave a quick nod. "I.... was hoping he was just a thief. But if he wasn''t... I.. am looking to defect. Leave the Alliance. I''m not sure how they knew... I didn''t think I left any evidence they''d have found yet, but... he came up behind me. Tried to stun me." She felt her lower back for a moment. There were likely scorch marks on her outfit now. "And... I broke his arm... accidentally knocked him off the balcony. I didn''t mean to kill him."


    He nodded. "Interesting. Well. Since you''re both Alliance citizens, and it was most likely self defense, I''ll let an Alliance court sort it out. Your attacker disabled the cameras before stepping in, so I suspect they''ll assume you were right. Defecting from the Alliance isn''t illegal, just frowned on, so once the courts get through with you...."


    She stood up abruptly. "No! I... I can''t go back!"


    He tilted his head. "And why, exactly, is that?"


    "I''m not just an Intel officer, who they wouldn''t want to let go but I might be able to wiggle my way out eventually...I''m an augment. If they get hold of me again, as soon as they run the next gene-scan, I''ll either be executed or enslaved. Best case... I end up as the arm candy of some Alliance official. Worst.... I don''t even want to think about."


    The captain blinked. He looked at her... then down at the shorter woman... then back at Seraph. "...Thats...what? How does an augment get to work for Alliance Intelligence?"


    "Its... an irritating story. But you can test me if you''d like.. just not the hair, that probably would read as normal. And...." She bit her lip. "Even if you do turn me over to the Alliance, I would sincerely appreciate it if my baggage could be delivered to a United Worlds embassy, or someone from the ASU. Or really, just anyone outside the Alliance. I''d kinda hoped to use it as a bargaining chip, maybe help get myself settled, but..."


    He looked at the security officer. "Have her luggage delivered, and all three rooms searched. All of their contents to the brig as well, lock them in the other cell. They might have stolen something important from her. Also.... have doc in. We''ll test her, confirm her claims. Tell him we want a full sequencer."


    He looked back at Seraph. "For now, you''ve managed to buy a delay. We''ll get you to your destination. Whether we let you off there, or just drop you off at an Alliance base is the question; if you''re really an Augment, then you and your belongings will be as safe from the Alliance as we can keep you. If you''re lying to me, I''ll have you manacled and delivered back right where you came from. So... depending on whether you''re telling the truth... either relax... or think long and hard about what got you here."


    ***


    The ''Doc'' was the fattest human being Seraph had ever seen. The blue-grey skin, the massive bulk; he was as wide as he was tall, at around five feet in both directions; and she couldn''t even see ears on the man. If the Alliance wanted to use someone as a picture of why they considered augments to be inhuman, the bulbous figure would be the perfect example.


    She was reasonably confident he would''ve survived that fall. Bounced, even. He also seemed... a bit irate, as he started taking samples.


    With a guard looking on, he settled in place, glaring at his device, then back at her. "Alright. We''ll start with the hair..."


    Seraph nodded. "That will show me as normal, sir. You''ll want a skin, blood, or tissue sample."


    "Ahem. I said. We''ll start with the hair."


    He glowered at her... and when she sighed, and leaned forward, he snipped off a tiny bit of hair... before placing it into a tube, and pressing it into a slot on the machine.


    "Now. Next, we''ll take a tissue sample."


    She held out an arm... and he shook his head. "No, no. It needs to be a random place. The best way to fool a test like this is to have a sample of fake DNA in a particular spot. Just close your eyes."


    He waited until she closed her eyes... and then a sharp jab of pain in her left shoulder. She grimaced, and nodded.. as he backed away, and placed another tube in the machine. "And just in case.. I''m going to do two more. Go ahead and keep your eyes closed."


    "...Yes, sir."


    She tried not to think of anything at all, especially not the needle... as the bastard jammed it through the utility suit, first into her thigh.... and then her right foot... and placed them both in the machine.


    "Do you have any idea how many rich idiots I have to deal with among the hundreds of passengers and dozens of crew here? I don''t have time to waste getting dragged down to the brig for some Alliance nutjob to pretend she''s an aug because she wants to defect. I''ve got four old women who think the acceleration is giving them diabetes, and god knows what else. Why are you...."


    The man trailed off.


    "...Huh."


    He glanced at her. "...Well, hell. You''re not lying."


    Seraph smiled. "My job might be to lie to people, but I don''t do it that often in my day to day life."


    His face seemed to have lightened up a fair bit. "...The Alliance has had the tech to detect your genotype for decades now. I know you look normal... but how did you fly under the radar? Did you only recently get augmented, or does it have something to do with why your hair tests normal?"


    "Pretty much just got augmented, just before I left."


    ".....Should''ve waited. Don''t get me wrong, if I could afford the treatment, I''d get my genotype changed in a heartbeat. But doing it while still in Alliance space... crazy risky. And probably even more expensive, too!"


    "It... wasn''t voluntary. I was never a fan of the Alliance, but someone wanted to make sure I left, whether I wanted to or not."


    The man just stared at her.... and then back at his machine. "...I''m taking you to the med-bay. We need to have a talk."

 Revival-Interrogation Department 16: Welcome to the new You

    "Alright. Its been over four hundred years since humans started slapping genetic templates on each other. You''ve got the really rare stuff... someone having their own genes customized... and then the stuff like what was done to you. A... template, of sorts. An overlay on the existing genes. I can go through the technical basics, but really... the important thing is that you''re going to need to change your diet up a bit, and are currently suffering from a bit of malnutrition."


    Seraph frowned at ''Doc'' as she followed him into the medbay... a clean white room that had some sort of field that gave her a strange buzzing sensation as she entered... there were four coffin-shaped tubes mounted to the wall, right at the corner, clearly made to orient themselves as the ship changed direction, one of which was sealed, clearly occupied. "...Malnutrition. I.... thought augs didn''t need to eat as much, or even breathe as much?"


    "Well, yes. But you''re a combat augment, whose body is trying to replace all of its bones with a set of denser, more durable ones, as well as its musculature. The muscle is easy to replace, the bone takes longer.... and if you don''t get enough carbon, you may end up with stronger muscles than bones... and break them if you over-exert yourself. We''ll give you a booster, and a more in-depth scan. But for the next few months... tons of greasy, fatty foods is what you need."


    She nodded... as the rotund man stopped next to one of the coffins. She looked at the open container... which seemed to be smaller, much smaller, on the inside. "...I... need to get in?"


    "If you would, please. You don''t have to... but it''ll cut your reliance on painkillers for the next few weeks dramatically. And unless you plan on staying with us, you''re probably going to be waltzing into danger the moment you step off the ship. So.... I''d prefer to take care of this."


    She put a hand on the coffin, and looked back at Doc. "...Why would I be in danger? I thought that I''d be mostly safe, outside the Alliance?"


    "They''ve got people... both their own and mercenaries... all over the place. I''d recommend getting a new ID, wherever you go. Honestly, if you explained why, most nations would offer you asylum and do that for free. If you want to wander the galaxy for a bit, I''d recommend one of the smaller, independent systems. If you want to settle down... I''d go with the dubs. Usually I''d say the Imperium, but we''re too close to the Alliance, and are just crawling with their operatives."


    Seraph hesitantly climbed into the device, laying down; the inner walls actually shifting to match her own dimensions; and barely even noticed the needles pressing into her skin; she didn''t feel them go in.


    "So. The solution I''m pumping in right now is gonna give your body some of what it needs to help you develop properly. Do you know what all is involved with the new you?"


    She sighed, looking down at him."...No. The guy who did it just told me it was a combat augmentation package mark five, an infiltrator variant, that it really hurt for the first few minutes, and would keep hurting, just not as much, for a long time after. We didn''t talk for more than a few minutes before he decided to kill me, and the cops showed up."


    Doc blinked. "That''s... gotta be an interesting story. Alright. So."


    He tapped a few buttons on his console, whistling to himself. The security officer stepped closer. "He decided to kill you? I gotta know... a dose like that is expensive as hell, a whole syringe full of nanomachines. You could buy a backpack load of nukes for that, or maybe even a used passenger shuttle."


    Doc glanced at her, shaking his head. "This is the ASU. They probably get dozens of doses directly from the dubs for exactly this sort of operation. Now! The important stuff."


    He looked up at Seraph. "Your bones are going to be heavier, more dense, and durable, much higher carbon content, but still show up as normal on a scan. You won''t grow the redundant organs that a normal combat aug gets; but many of your organs will become multi-purpose. Your lungs, each of them, can act as a substitute heart if the regular one were to be taken out, just for an example. You''re much more resistant to radiation, somewhat resistant to just about anything else... fire, poison, cold, sheer kinetic impact... and should get roughly doubled muscle response time and capacity."


    She looked down at herself, squeezing her fists. "I... don''t look any different?"


    He chuckled. "Well, that was a deliberate choice on the folks who made the augment. Looks normal, passes scans, but costs you a fair amount of capacity." He glanced behind himself, and nodded at the security officer.


    "Jenny there was engineered for a heavy-gravity world. Only weighs eighty pounds... can lift well over eighteen hundred. They weren''t built specifically for combat, but the dubs love using heavy-worlders for marines; they can actually carry a suit of power armor without the power until its time to power on and start the fighting."


    Seraph looked down at the tiny figure beside him. "...But she''s obviously not a baseline human."Stolen story; please report.


    "Not even close. And a normal combat-aug might look mostly human so long as you don''t look at the eyes too close... but that''s skin deep. Skeletal structure, musculature... all different."


    She could feel something cool flowing into her, her muscles relaxing. "...So if I were a regular combat augment I''d be... stronger? Faster?"


    "A little. Not a huge difference, but there''s like... seventy different varieties of combat augment out there, and each one is a little different. There was even a discontinued one that turned people into berserkers."


    She closed her eyes. "...So there might be people trying to kill me as soon as I leave the ship. And some of them might be much faster, stronger, everything, than I am." A deep inhalation. "...That drone, the carrier. I don''t actually need it to carry me around, but I''m sure you know that. There''s a person inside it, an ASU man. Would it be a problem if he kept following me around, and we pretended I was still crippled?"


    "Your muscles and bones are going to rebuilding themselves at an accelerated pace now that they have what they need. You might have periods of weakness, spasms, for the next day or so.... honestly I''d recommend keeping it around in case you need to be carried. I was going to have it delivered here anyway, they stuffed it in lockup."


    She looked down at her arms and legs for a moment. They felt... strange. Tingly. "...Oh."


    ***


    When Seraph awoke the next morning on the tiny bed in her cabin, the ship was underway once again... and her body still felt... cold. As if she''d just climbed out of an icy pool, despite the heat of the room. She was shivering, but felt hot. It was... terrible. But supposedly there was a point to it, so... she''d live with it.


    She sighed... looking down at the carrier currently standing on the wall with its magnetic grips, having not moved since the ship had gotten underway.... and held down the button on her comm, reactivating it. "So. Mister Proxima."


    A few audible clanks, then a beep. ~Miss Glass. I''d ask how long I was out this time, but there''s a handy clock, so I know exactly. Going for another walk, or what''ll it be this time?~


    "We''re going to be arriving late this evening, or early tomorrow morning, depending. The Sim Expo is apparently a bit deal, so there''s gonna be a whole traffic jam on arrival; we might be waiting our turn to land for a few hours, or more; they actually added in some wiggle room to the schedule for it. This... Tybalt system is fairly safe, a big, powerful independent nation, embassies for all the big five, nothing dangerous. You know I want to go to the dub embassy. Should I?"


    ~It''d be my recommendation; we don''t work for them, but the dubs have hired my people to do jobs before outside Alliance space. The only place it would be bad to go would be the Directorate. Everyone else refuses to turn augmented fugitives over to the Alliance, no matter what the crime. They''ll likely get you a good new ID, pay you for recovering the others, maybe even some gene-tweaking so you can look different if you like, and then poof; you can go on your way. Even attend the convention.~


    She nodded... and sighed. "Okay. I''m disabling the remote functions on that carrier so they can''t disable you, or remotely make your new body shoot me, if they have the codes. Please don''t shoot me... and if something happens to me, get my luggage to the embassy."


    A soft beep. ~If something happens to you, and I can manage it, I''ll also get your body to the embassy, if possible.~


    "Great. Now... just to hope there isn''t anyone else waiting to try to kill me."


    ***


    A tiny display, floating over her phone, showed the diagram of the Tybalt system as they arrived; currently out at the far edge, several light-hours away. There was nothing she could do to influence the ship''s course, nothing she could do at all until they arrived; she was confined to quarters until departure, as there was likely at least one other Alliance operative on board, and they didn''t want to have to follow her around all day. Tybalt didn''t allow entry too close; it had its own navy, its own rules; and entering any closer than the furthest planet would likely be met with missiles.


    Tybalt was fairly typical; one of the terraformed worlds, a fairly uniform, boring sort of place.... centuries ago. From its humble colonial origins, it had grown hundreds of cities, vast orbital infrastructure; mostly due to a fairly unique mountain range that extruded so far out of the breathable atmosphere that the spaceport was in a functional vacuum. She could see a strange, domed city, surrounding a spaceport atop the mountains, bigger than anything she''d seen back home... not that she''d ever left home...


    In orbit, there were thousands of craft of varying sizes; small personal shuttles, enormous cargo ships... a vast mining infrastructure... just a few seconds of looking was enough to confirm that just the ships and stations in orbit held more people than her entire homeworld.


    She felt a slight shift... and there was a knock at the door.


    As the door slid open, the form of that heavy-grav augment, Jenny, glanced inside. "Go ahead and load up your luggage. Your ride''s on the way."


    Seraph frowned... and rose slowly, checking the carrier... and sliding the luggage out from under the bed... glancing up at her. "...My ride. What do you mean? Aren''t I getting off at the docks?"


    Jenny tilted her head, frowning. "You... didn''t call for a ride? I''ve got an old UW destroyer heading in to give you a direct ride, orbit to embassy, supposed to make sure you get down safe."


    "...No. I didn''t."


    The diminutive guard studied Seraph for a moment, and grunted. "Well. That''s...." She glanced out at the hallway. "That could be a problem. They''re sending a shuttle to come get you. Claim that you asked for a ride to the embassy, for asylum purposes."


    Seraph grimaced. "That''s..... well, fuck. I didn''t call anyone. But the Alliance guys might have. Are we sure its UW?"


    "...It''s an older UW ship. Not current. We need to talk to the captain. The dubs make those things in bulk and sell them to mercenaries, independents... about the only ones they won''t sell em to are known pirates and the Alliance. Which... doesn''t mean that they can''t get hold of them... if they want to."


    "....If they''re after me, it''d probably be safest for the rest of you to just hand me over, wouldn''t it."


    Jenny nodded. "Of course. But if they''re just pirates paid off by the Alliance, the safest route would be to just blow them out of space, none of us would be safe. Not our choice. Come on." Seraph could feel sweat dripping down her back as she followed the woman down the hallway, the solid metallic thunk of the carrier following behind her. She wondered whether she''d ever actually make it to the ground alive.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 17: Perfectly legitimate

    She felt nervous. Terrible. And all-around just anxious to even exist... as she waited in the Captain''s office, sitting beside Jenny... wondering what was going on, and why. As the door slid open; and the captain, looking like the perfect image of a navy captain from all the classics, stepped in, looking at the two women... and smiled.


    "My security chief has informed me that you did not, in fact, call the dubs. Or anyone else, for that matter. So... we''ve decided to make a few preparations, just in case. Would I be correct in assuming that you wish to remain aboard until we land?"


    She nodded. "Yes... sir, captain West. Whatever they look like, they just about have to be pirates, or at the very least, working for the Alliance. I''d very much like to avoid going with them if possible."


    He studied her for a moment. "A perfectly valid concern. I suspect they don''t consider you defecting without having talked to the other side possible; those Alliance types always seem to think their people leave due to greed or other petty personal motivations. No insult intended; not wanting to become a slave is a perfectly good reason."


    He walked over to his desk, and settled down being it. "Jenny. What are our odds of repelling boarders if we allow them to dock peacefully, tell them thanks, but no thanks, and then they try to take her by force?"


    She looked at the captain, then at Seraph. "Well, sir. I''ve still got my armor, and it can be ready by the time they arrive. Otherwise, though, this is a civilian passenger transport. We''re all trained to repel boarders, but this ship doesn''t have the armor or internal weapons to make it a challenge if those are real professionals. Even worse, they can start using the ship''s guns on us if we resist. If we can avoid boarding, its best to do so."


    "Unfortunately, we need to give them the chance to attempt it. If the Malice is going to make a kill-shot in the opening salvo, they need to have a good, predictable position."


    Jenny blinked. "I... thought they left as soon as we left Alliance space?"


    "They were supposed to split at that first station we docked at, yes. When that spook died, I asked Weathers to stick with us until we dumped all of our known Alliance people off at Tybalt. I believe his crew is looking forward to taking leave there. Regardless.... under normal circumstances I wouldn''t give the Malice good odds against a destroyer. But we don''t have a shuttle bay, we''re built for landing. And, apparently either not aware of the Malice, or not caring, they''ve asked to dock with us to receive the girl. Which... makes them uniquely vulnerable."


    "...They might be planning to take the ship, even if we give her to them."


    Seraph looked between the two. "Wait. So... we think they might be pirates. So instead of running.... we''re going to act as bait?"


    Captain West glanced at her for a moment. "This thing we''re sitting in is a civilian craft. Fairly rugged, yes. Built to survive a few meteor impacts, and even has a couple of point defense turrets rated for asteroids. But the inertial compensator... the thing that keeps you from feeling all the gravity of acceleration... tops out at about ten gravities, and of course only works in one direction, towards the stern of the ship. If we''d already been accelerating for a while, we might reach our destination first. But anything military is going to catch up to us, and fast. The Malice easily breaches 100Gs, and there''s destroyers that can get faster."


    "...So we''re going to let them board us, and if they refuse to leave peacefully, kill them?"


    "Its simple. They''ll likely demand to talk to you in person, if we tell them you refuse. So you''re going to refuse in person... wearing a proper skinsuit with a helmet there at hand... and with a power-armored marine standing just around the corner, waiting. If they accept that refusal and leave.... we prepared for nothing. If they try to take you.... the Malice takes her shot, and Jenny gets to take point on the aftermath."


    Jenny looked at the captain for a moment, then at Seraph. "This... could get nasty. But if we can get you safely to Tybalt, we will."


    ***


    Kevin ''the Lacerator'' Johnson checked his needle pistol one more time, just to be sure... and looked over his uniform, and those of his companions. This wasn''t going to pass any sort of rigorous inspection... but it shouldn''t need to. The rules of engagement were pretty simple. This was an Alliance contract; they wanted a specific Alliance intel operative off the boat. Since the Alliance was paying the bills, they were strictly forbidden from firing on any Karth assets unless they showed hostile intent; but of course, the captain already told them that since the girl was Alliance, refusing to hand her over would be considered hostile intent; they''d claim kidnapping later, if it came down to it.


    The blue uniforms felt weird... nobody would possibly buy a ship this old being UW still. They should''ve pretended they were mercs hired by the dubs, it''d make more sense, if they were actually trying to fool someone. Ugh.


    Four people. Him with his pistol, his friends with rifles... and of course another dozen waiting behind them, just in case. It was absurd; this was a passenger ship, just the Shriek''s guns should be able to pacify any resistance by virtue of being there... but no. The captain wanted them ready for a possible boarding action... and Kevin practically drooled over the idea of his share of the ship''s sale price, not to mention the ransom for all the passengers.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    They probably wouldn''t be that stupid; nobody in their right mind would pick a fight with a bigger, better ship that you allowed to dock. But if they were... this would be amazing. He almost wanted to warn the girl about things just to get things started... but they had to play this right.


    The ship shook, as the dock sealed; a long, flexible tube had attached the two ships, and was currently retracting... until it pulled taut with a momentary hiss of escaping atmosphere.


    He waited through the length process of pressure equalization, for the airlock to open.... and paused. Two black-uniformed soldiers, wearing light combat armor and rifles, complete with helmets, armored chestplates, the works, were waiting on the other side... and gave a nod. Looked like they were a bit suspicious, for all the good it would do them.


    Kevin stepped forward, smiling. "Hello there! I''m here to retrieve a ''Seraph Glass'', and bring her to her destination. I''ve got a genescan and photos here so we can verify her ID and get her out of your hair."


    One of the two soldiers nodded. "We''ve spoken to her. She doesn''t want to go with you, would rather ride to the planet with us. Our Captain felt you might want to hear that from her in person; if you insist, we can bring her here."


    He gave a slow nod... and settled his hand on his pistol. Visions of credits and what he could spend them on flowing through his mind. That ceramic chest-plate looked nice... but a needle spike would go through it like a hot knife through butter. "Sure! Bring her on down. But I''ve got to tell you... I''ve got orders to bring her in, regardless of what you, or she, says. There may be some concern she''s under duress, you see." He grinned.


    The guard gave a slow nod. "Just to make that clear...the young lady indicated she doesn''t want to go with you. And no matter what she wants, you''re taking her?"


    Kevin chuckled. "That''s exactly that. Now look. You''ve got a nice gun, there, some nice armor. But the Shriek has plenty of guns... some of them pointed at your ship, right here and now. If you don''t hand her over, well, we''ll just have to take the whole ship, and there might be some..."


    There was a sudden, audible, crunching sound. The airlock shook, as something made both ships twist, shake... and then again.


    He leaned against a bulkhead wall, blinking... and.. then suddenly, the world was on fire. He couldn''t see, couldn''t hear... everything was just... pain.... then darkness.


    ***


    ~That''s a confirmed kill on target. Sorry, gentlemen, looks like she was tough enough for a richochet, advise alerting damage control.~


    Seraph blinked, looking up at Jenny; currently towering over her in the powered armor, a two and a half meter tall monstrosity of armor and weaponry, currently standing between her and the airlock. "What does that..." A sudden hiss...


    She could feel wind traveling towards the airlock, and frantically snapped her helmet on... even as the wind stopped... and three figures laid out on the deck. One of them wearing a blue skinsuit that vaguely resembled a United Worlds uniform, the other two the security guards who had been posted at the airlock... the two guards pulled to their feet, while the one in blue was making muffled screaming sounds, rolling on the deck.


    They started dragging him down the hallway, one glancing at Jenny. "Other ship tore loose. We''ve got three floaters, and had to laser this one."


    "He gonna live?"


    "Maybe. Wasn''t trying to keep him alive, definitely got his eyes, maybe the brain."


    She nodded... and stepped up to the airlock. "I''ll see if I can retrieve the floaters. Miss Glass.... stick with one of our security at all times until you''re off the ship. And shut this airlock behind me."


    The airlock automatically opened... and a distinct whistling sound could be heard; Seraph couldn''t feel the breeze this time, thanks to the helmet.... but the whistle cut off after the massive armored suit entered it, and the airlock snapped shut with a slap of the button; apparently the outer airlock was damaged, making it a bit important not to let all the air out.


    Remembering Jenny''s words, she turned and started following the two guards dragging the injured pirate... glancing back at the airlock. "I can have the carrier move him... its more stable."


    "Nah. He''s a pirate at worst, a merc trying to kidnap you at best. Fuck ''im."


    "Do you... know what it means when she says there was a ricochet?"


    One of them glanced back at her. "Bad news. Means the ship''s internals were tough enough to stop the spike from going out the other side... so it bounced. Instead of a clean pass-through, it would''ve shredded the insides of the ship. The Malice tried to take out her reactor. If that worked, but it bounced.... not gonna be many survivors, and the ship will barely be worth more than scrap."


    The other grumbled. "Which doesn''t matter, cause they''re pirates. What does matter is we''d docked to em, so it gave us a solid yank. Means we need to park her ASAP and get the whole ship evaluated for leaks and warping. This isn''t a warship."


    "...So we''re not gonna land after all?"


    He chuckled. "No. We''ll dock at an orbital station, and everyone will have to ferry themselves down. What should''ve been maybe a day or two in this system will be a week, at least."


    As they turned the corner, and the two men started dragging the man into the medbay; his muffled screams and whimpers had long since silenced; he turned back to her. "On the plus side... since we won''t be going anywhere, we''ll likely get a whole week''s paid leave. Always a plus. Might even get an assist tag for taking out a pirate. Looks great for the Malice people, even better for us."


    Seraph closed her eyes for a moment, leaning against the wall of the medbay... she could hear the injured pirate groan as they loaded him into one of the tubes, and Doc''s voice as he started asking questions. Great. So she''d have to swap ships to get to the surface anyway. What were the odds there''d be yet another pirate, or some spook, or god knew what waiting for her?


    Maybe if they really were going to go on leave, she could convince some to tag along on her ride to the embassy...


    It seemed a bit remarkable for the crew of a civilian ship to be so ready for this sort of thing. Maybe she should ask about that. But... no. Hopefully, this was almost over. This time tomorrow, she could be wandering through the convention she''d always wanted to go to, maybe even under an assumed name.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 18: Embassy

    As she stepped off of the KIS Bonaventure, Seraph watched the other passengers; mostly various degrees of irate; heading off, splitting off into a dozen different directions. Aside from the known Alliance operatives they''d all gotten tickets refunded, and for those like her, here for the convention, they still got just about where they were going; but that didn''t make it any less inconvenient to now be dealing with all sorts of alternate travel arrangements.


    She looked back at the airlock as it slid shut... and then around the maintenance terminal, where dozens of men in skinsuits, carrying packs loaded down with tools and spare tanks, were waiting for all the passengers to offload... undoubtedly here for a very thorough examination of the ship.


    She glanced at the man beside her; a Corporal Morris, who she hadn''t met before, but was just about two meters tall and looked intensely frightening if she hadn''t known he was on her side. The red skinsuit, the black carapace armor, the handgun... definitely looked ready for a fight. "...How bad is this going to be for Captain West? Losing this many credits?"


    The soldier glanced down at her... and shook his head. "It''ll triple his odds of promotion, or more, and the ship''s share of the salvage rights on the ''Shriek'' will more than make up for lost ticket revenue and repair costs. You didn''t hear this from me, but that merc ship had a few million credits worth of nukes on it... which is just crazy. Fortunately, the Bona isn''t owned by him anyway, but by the Imperium, so none of the usual rules would apply."


    With the carrier on one side, and the heavily armored Morris on the other, she stepped up to the counter, where a harried man was going through passengers, one by one, directing them to shuttles, searching up itineraries, trying to get his share of the hundreds of passengers to their destinations.


    He looked at the two of them. "Destinations?"


    She inhaled deeply. "Both of us and the carrier, for the United Worlds embassy."


    He stopped for a moment... and studied the two for a few seconds. "Nobody''s going there specifically, but its in the Embassy district, and the shuttle in bay... seventy-three... is going there in five minutes. I''ve got another shuttle heading down in an hour and a half to the old terraforming platform, which is right next door, and another direct to the Embassy district in three hours."


    "Five minutes is perfect. Sooner is better, obviously I''m already loaded."


    "Hatch shuts in five minutes. I''d advise hurrying; its that way." He pointed off to his left... and Corporal Morris gave the man a nod... before starting to barrel through the crowd; not trying to hurt anyone, but not letting anyone slow him down. Seraph and the carrier both trailing behind the larger man like a trail of ducklings... and a few other passengers started moving in their wake.


    When they arrived at bay 73, a man in a grey utility suit, looking ready for vacuum at a moment''s notice, was talking to a couple at the door... and when they entered, turned to the two. "Five seats left. If you want to take that thing, it''ll count as three seats. Not that it matters, all of these tickets are covered by the Bonaventure. Heading for the Embassy district?"


    Morris nodded. "Yes, sir. I''ve also got a 1000-credit tip for you and the pilot if you land directly at the dub embassy... either before or after." He held up a small metallic sliver; the worker looked at it, then at Morris... his expression unreadable through the helmet... before he snatched the chip. "Done. It''ll have to be after, though, and you''ll have to jump quick... some of these folks might get arrested if we land at the dub embassy first, and if they do, it''ll be my job."


    As the two headed into the shuttle, all of the seats were taken by the time the two had strapped in; and Tyler''s carrier simply kept its magnetic feet firmly attached to the shuttle floor, standing in the spot of one rack, leaving the seat folded up.


    As the shuttle disconnected... and started to drop through the atmosphere... she glanced at Morris for a moment, then at the seamless grey wall of the shuttle. No windows. No displays. This wasn''t something fancy, or made to stay in for long. Just... a drop shuttle. She could feel it shaking, feel it warming up.... and hear the hiss of cool air flowing through the room trying to keep the passengers comfortable.


    When the sound of the rocking and buffeting of the air started to die off, she relaxed... and when she felt the shuttle settle down, and the hatch open... she turned to Morris. "Shouldn''t we just... get out and walk the rest of the way?"


    He glanced at her, then outside. "There might be a whole team of assassins out there, hiding in the crowd, knowing this was the first shuttle to the district; these things are scheduled hours in advance. If its the pilot and his co-pilot here, I can take them out, but it''d be hard to swap pilots that quick, so..... Walking is riskier. The cap asked me to get you to the embassy, if thats where you wanted to go. I''m getting you to the embassy."


    ***


    "Alright, so. We''re not supposed to be landing there, but its not a big deal... for us. For you, it will be. I''ve let them know you''re coming, so they won''t shoot us down, but I can see you''ve got a gun on you. My advice... drop it the moment you touch down, or stow it in the luggage. We''re not quite gonna touch down... if we do, that counts as landing in UW territory, and that has consequences. So. Be ready. Billy there can get us less than a meter off the ground, so it won''t be much of a drop."Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "How much extra to actually land?"


    The man shook his head. "No, thanks. We''re not landing again til we''re in orbit."


    As the shuttle gave a gentle bob, shifting, and the hatch popped open... Seraph could see a round landing pad, two men in heavy combat armor in a vibrant navy blue... and at least a dozen combat drones surrounding the shuttle.


    She unstrapped, looked down... sure enough, not even half a meter, though it was bobbing up and down a bit.... she hopped off, stumbling a few steps as she did... the place just felt... wrong for some reason.. and glanced back to see first Morris, then the carrier step down; Morris already placing his handgun on the landing pad.


    The two guards both approached; one keeping its weapon aimed at the carrier, the other with his gun lowered, as the helicopter started to lift off. The guard looked them both over for a moment. "The pilot warned us he was dropping you two off. As of right now, if you don''t give us a good reason for you being here, you''re trespassing. What the hell is going on here?"


    Seraph closed her eyes... and slowly stood fully upright. She felt... lighter than she should. Was the gravity lower here? Did she need... no, she didn''t need to worry about muscle loss if she stayed here too long.


    "My name is Seraph Glass. I was an Alliance Intelligence agent, and am wishing to request asylum. The Alliance tried to have me killed or captured, and Corporal Morris here was kind enough to escort me til I reached you."


    The man looked them both over... and nodded. "The ambassador will wish to speak with you both, and I''m sure they''ll provide you a place to stay. The drone can''t come in... I''m detecting at least three weapons in it."


    She glanced at it. "... That''s not too big of a deal, but its got the brain-chip of a former ASU member controlling it, and I don''t want to leave it out of my hands, though I guess having you guys hold onto it might be fine. Can I take the controller, and the computer, out of my luggage with me?"


    "If its gonna go inside, I have to scan it for weapons. If there''s no weapons in whatever you''re wanting to bring, go right ahead."


    ***


    She looked down at the tiny mass in her hand; a poorly made brain-chip, a tiny fleck of dried blood still visible... and then beside her, at Corporal Morris her computer in his arms, as the guards escorted them through the embassy... and to a large, ornate door; beside which read ''Ambassador Cricket''. She blinked. Cricket... like the animal? Good lord, was there going to be a bug-person on the other side?


    After a firm knock, the door opened... and as she walked in... there was a massive wooden desk, with the United Worlds logo on it; a star cluster on a blue circle over a black flag; and behind it, a bald, extremely tall, pale man in a lime green suit, wearing a headset of some sort wrapped around his head and gesturing at the air.


    He turned to face them, and made a ''come here'' gesture, pointing at the seats in front of him... and smiled.


    "Hello there! Name''s Cricket, ambassador to Tybalt! Sorry if I don''t take off the headset, I''m actually blind at the moment and seeing you through the cameras. My guards tell me you''re a defector from the Alliance? Intelligence, even?"


    Seraph blinked. Blind... at the moment? Did something happen, or... nevermind. "Ahem. Yes, sir. My name is Seraph Glass, formerly Alliance Intelligence. I worked for a program that created simulated worlds for use in intelligence-gathering purposes; I was a computer programmer, looking to go into sims and games, and this program was pretty much brand new. I don''t think I was the only one doing it in the Alliance, but I was the only one on my homeworld."


    The ambassador nodded. "Very nice! We have our own program, with similar functions, and didn''t know the Alliance had copied it. Good information. Well, just to be clear, so long as you cooperate and give us a little information, and it doesn''t have to be alot, you can become a UW citizen, and we''ll make sure you get into our space and outside Alliance reach. Is there anything else you''re looking for?"


    "Honestly... a house and a job would be nice. Maybe a bit of help hiding who I am, some gene-tweaking or similar. I like what I did, just not who I did it for, and I would be in a unique position to help the ASU do the exact same thing with any Alliance minds they acquire. I''ve got tons of scan data from an Alliance city and the Alliance Intel headquarters there, encryption codes... all sorts of things.


    He gave a nod. "That''s a bit expensive of a process... but we''ll consider it. Some cheaper plastic surgery is definitely on the t able, though. And, well. Homes are a question, it''ll depend on where you''d like to settle."


    He focused on nothing for a few seconds. "As for the job... Well, while the ASU is not part of the United Worlds or its military, we do have contacts with them, though I''m not sure about putting an Alliance Intelligence...."


    She interrupted him mid-sentence. "I''ve also got a stack of brain-chips of captured ASU members, one of whom was a United Worlds citizen, and one for an Alliance marine we should probably send back."


    He stopped. turned to the brain-chip on the table, then the computer. "....There''s at least a dozen people here. Do you have names, IDs?"


    "For a few. The others I asked not to give any info until someone from the UW or the ASU could verify they weren''t still in a sim somehow."


    He smacked his hand into the desk, and rose to his feet, extending a hand. "Young lady.... Thank you. I can''t speak for the ASU. I''m not their boss, they don''t work for me. But the bounty for freeing ASU members from Alliance captivity... lets just say you don''t need to worry about the price on the gene-tweaking, or for the house. We''re looking, at minimum, a couple hundred thousand credits. I''ll have these minds passed to my IT department so they can get started getting them in contact with friends and family, and I''ll have the sequencers start up an adjustment for you, but you need to do some thinking."


    Seraph was a bit confused, but shook his hand, listening... and shrugged. "Okay. Thinking about what, exactly?"


    "Gene-tweaking is the same price, regardless of what sort of template we''re adding, and the United Worlds have an extensive catalog. If you''re willing to become an augment... well. You need to decide what you want to be."

 Revival-Interrogation Department 19: Reconstruction

    Life was strange. Just a week ago, she''d been unhappily working her way through life over a hundred light-years away, drinking heavily to avoid thinking about what she did for a living, while simultaneously mostly enjoying her work. She was seriously considering getting a cat, as the highlight of her year.


    Now... she was laying in bed inside what felt like a posh hotel room, but was really a guest room at an embassy. Looking at options for what she could look like in the future. She was literally choosing what her body was going to be... and none of this getting injected and dealing with a slow, painful process, no. She''d fall asleep, get stuffed into a machine... and over the next few days, her whole body would be completely reworked, top to bottom, to match her new genetics.


    When she left.... there would be nothing connecting her to Seraph Glass at all, unless she did something stupid.


    She... would have to abandon her ranger. All of her online accounts, really. Fortunately, she''d get a little cash to start some new ones.


    So. Options. The whole ''shapeshifter'' deal was out. Those people had to be trained for years, and could never fool scanners... and the whole process was intensely painful. Pretty much all drug addicts, after a while. The same thing for the ones that could just change skin color and pattern to help blend in; without suppressing drugs or decades of training they were always unconsciously changing them without trying.


    The one which would give her the absolute most possible choices later would be if she picked one of the Empire combat augmentation versions. They all shared the same ethnic origin in ancient Japan, and immigration was free if you were of that ethnicity; not that any nation had only one nowadays, but that was literally the only country where your skin tone or facial structure mattered... aside from the Alliance, which she would never go back to.


    She didn''t plan on becoming a soldier, but learning how to defend herself wasn''t a bad thing, and having a genetic advantage on it certainly wasn''t either. She wouldn''t mind sticking with the augment Tyler had jabbed her with, but if there were newer, better options....


    The simulation playing out in front of her currently had over a hundred versions of herself standing there in skin-tight vacuum suits... it was like the character creation menu for a game, right down to attribute adjustments and special traits.


    The various heavy-world augments? Ranged from just about normal sized and eight times as strong, but with slightly worse reflexes and a much higher metabolism... to far smaller and stronger variations. She could lose a few centimeters of height and come out able to pick up a car, and punch like a train.


    The space-augment ones were huuuuge. Almost three meters tall. But... hairless. She could still go with darker skin, and she''d tower over everyone... and even better, she''d be able to live... uncomfortably... in a vacuum. Which... yeah, never gonna happen.


    The ''Berserkers'' had better reflexes... and on top of just baseline stronger, faster performance than a normal human, when the adrenaline was flowing, they got even stronger than that. The absolute best ones could almost match one of those heavy-worlders for a little while.


    She didn''t even look at the cat-girl. She knew the sort of people that were into that, and... not her thing.


    She decided she wanted to have just slightly darker skin, and of course make herself just a little bit prettier, in her own opinion; and narrowed it down to four choices.


    The tallest version of the heavy-grav augment. Being super-strong and tough was just amazing, but she liked being tall, and this would at least keep her within the realm of ''average''. This was probably her favorite. There was even an Empire version on file... but no. Still wanted the darker skin.


    One of the core combat-augment variants was just even tougher than them, though not as strong... and had so much organ redundancy that they had to vary the installation of brain chips because their brain was partially distributed into their torso. It was almost impossible to kill them in one shot. The only downside was that they''d need to uninstall hers... and start from scratch.


    And the last was the Berserker augment. Supposedly, if it came down to a fight, they were the absolute best, so long as it wasn''t a long, drawn-out conflict. If you could end the fight in less than two minutes, they could outfight anyone.


    After quite a bit of thinking, the decision wasn''t too hard. After all... she didn''t expect to be getting into many fights unless something went terribly wrong. She fine-tined it a bit; making sure she was as tall as that heavy-grav augment allowed... but no. Her current 1.7 meters of height was taller than the tallest of this genotype could be and still work properly. And if she went for the absolute max of it, it''d be obvious she was artificial.


    No.... she''d settle for about 1.6. She did a bit of fine-tuning of her work... and resolved to get a new tattoo while she was still here. She could attend the convention... learn about the most recent scanners and sims... and make sure she could tell if she were in a sim going forward.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Once she had the new her designed... something that just felt crazy, since it was about as complicated as designing her ranger... she made the call. Time to make sure the Alliance would never be able to track her again.


    ***


    The Anti-Slave Union wasn''t a monolithic organization; but rather a loose group of hundreds of cells, working with anyone it could It owned its own stations and colonies, yes; but each was as independent as possible, and most of its military forces didn''t know who or where each other were, so that anyone who was captured couldn''t reveal the location of more than their own cell.


    And, of course, technically, they had no allegiance to any specific outside nation. The current meeting was purely a mercenary talking to his employer, not an agent of a government speaking with his superior.


    As Adrian Proxima leaned back in his seat, shifting to rub at his eternally itching back from the constant applications of cream to keep himself bald and normal-looking, the bridge abuzz with activty behind him, the holo-emitter activated, and he checked his systems for the seventeenth time; not only was the call encrypted, but it was being routed through a variety of different sources... at least two of which should be untraceable. Still. While he might be on an ASU ship lurking on the periphery of the Tybalt system, and the person calling him inside a UW embassy, it was always possible someone could listen to one end...


    He trusted his people. But one might be bugged.


    When the image of Cricket popped up on-screen, he blinked... the space-aug man was wearing some sort of headset as he sat behind the desk, completely covering his eyes and part of his forehead. "....Everything okay, Ambassador?"


    ~Getting another round of implants installed, so I''m blind at the moment. I''ve got good news, great news, and bad news. Naturally, we''ll start with the bad news.~


    An abrupt nod. "Always the best policy."


    ~The Alliance has started up a program on multiple worlds, harvesting brain-chips and putting them into simulations, making them think its all real, for data extraction purposes. They''ve captured an unknown but extensive number of your people, and have been gathering data for over a year now. We have a program like that of our own we''ve used for some of the Alliance chips your people have captured, but, well. A thousand light-years away, slow turnaround and all that.~


    Adrian blinked. "Ahh, fuck. That explains a few things, we actually had one of our retrieval teams run into an ambush. How are they getting them out intact? We didn''t know about this but have... means of frying ourselves in those cases."


    ~Training and tools, Prox. Training and tools. I''ll pass over any data I can get. Which actually brings us to the good news.~


    "With a bombshell like that, I can use it."


    ~First of all... We''ve already paid out a bounty on your behalf, out of the escrow account, for 14 recovered ASU operatives whose brain-chips were in Alliance custody. It won''t be the same as having them back physically, of course, but having them back and able to drive combat drones, fly ships... will still be good.~


    He nodded. Bittersweet. Some of those people would think that they''d died when their bodies did, and get depressed. Others would turn out okay. "Anyone I know?"


    ~You could say that.~


    A sudden snap... and a new figure appeared. Covered in a fine layer of blue hair rather than shaved down bald like he usually was, but immediately recognizable. "...Motherfucker. Tyler!? you died?"


    The figure blinked. ~Ahh... yes. Sorry? I was on a... wait. I need you to tell me something the Alliance wouldn''t know. Prove this isn''t a sim.~


    "Birthmark you said looked like a swastika. The reason aunt Joyce left you. Prove you''re you."


    ~....Why''d it have to be that? It didn''t really look like a swastika, and it wasn''t a birthmark, it was actually an old stab wound. And... I slept with my nephew''s girlfriend. She caught us.~


    Adrian turned back to cricket. "Get him off the line, please. I suppose that fucker being dead qualifies as good news, of a sort."


    The man vanished... and he sighed. "Okay. That recovery is... great news. What''s the other bit?"


    Cricket looked at the void where his uncle had been standing moments before. ~...Well now. Didn''t know about that. I just knew he was your uncle.~


    Adrian rubbed his forehead for a moment, shaking his head. His uncle always gave him a headache. Why would it stop when he was dead. "Okay. Well, was there other good news?"


    ~Yep. The other good news is that the person who rescued them... who also hates your uncle, by the way, because he shot her cat... was part of the Alliance project I mentioned, and would like to help the ASU setup exactly the same sort of operation with recovered brainchips, out here on the frontier... let you get actionable intelligence faster than we can.~


    A defector. It happened, all the time; a solid third of the Alliance didn''t think being augmented made you a soul-less monster, which made operations in Alliance space much easier than they would be if the whole country were hardliners. "...Can we trust her?"


    ~She''s being gene-tweaked right now, and we''re getting her a new identity. So... if she tried to go back, she''d face slavery or death. I wouldn''t bet the farm on her, but... definitely not a true believer. And they did try to kill her. So... purely coincidentally, I''ve got an offer for a mercenary contract, an ongoing one, for any data that can be pulled from Alliance minds. I''ll forward it to you now.~


    This sounded too good to be true. He''d need to be cautious with her; but nothing wrong with letting her interrogate Alliance people. Just... best not to rely only on whatever she learned. "Would I be correct in assuming that it would be enough to pay for setting her up to setup these sims you''re talking about?"


    ~That would certainly be possible.~


    "Alright. We''ll be by to pickup my people. Once she''s out, pass us the new girl''s contact information. Obviously we''ll need to offer her the job ourselves."


    ~Any progress we should know about on your side?~


    "Oh, good lord, yes. Those Alliance fuckers tried to get by our encirclement tactic by stretching a line of colonies out further into the frontier.... but never officially claimed them to avoid our attention before we could cut them off. The surveyors Corps just got a call to come out and survey the Libertine Pact... a set of three brand-new colonies, all of them which just happened to have a slave rebellion. You''ll be getting a request for a mutual defense treaty from them alongside the surveyor paperwork."


    ~Standing policy of the United Worlds is to grant any request for a mutual defense treaty from any democratic state that guarantees the freedom of all of its people. I strongly suspect that I''ll just be signing it the moment it arrives. Excellent work, Prox.~


    "It might take another century, but we''ll get these Alliance fuckers. One way, or another."

 Revival-Interrogation Department 20: Starting Anew

    Pain, and the mildly dulling effect of painkillers, had been a constant companion of Seraph''s since the day she''d been shot at home; when she woke up beneath the embassy... the first thing she noticed was the lack of pain. She felt... amazing. As she slowly crawled out of the glass tube she''d been laying in, a nurse in set of green scrubs was standing over her; he was holding a bathrobe for her to put on, which, with a brief flush of embarrassment, she slipped into to cover herself, as she slowly rose to her feet.


    She felt so.... light. Amazing. As if she could walk on a cloud.


    The nurse looked her over... and gave a nod. "Ma''am. You''ve got a set of paperwork... new IDs, new bank accounts, complete with the payment of your bounties inside.. that will be coming to you... I don''t handle any of that, they just wanted me to give you this packet with your room key, and you can talk to them upstairs about it. I''m here to give you a few warnings and clean up."


    Seraph nodded, and stretched a bit, feeling the softness of the robes... and looked up at him. She... didn''t like the loss of height. "Some sort of downsides to the new form I wasn''t aware of?"


    "A few. You currently weigh about forty-five pounds, and without any training, can easily lift over four-fifty. Your bones are both lighter and more durable than the original equivalents, as are the muscles. You might be tempted to try a few feats of strength, lifting couches, people, all sorts of things. Don''t. You are like a feather. You can easily lift my weight, but if you tried to pick up me, you''d fall right over and maybe hurt me. Most heavy-grav folks wear weighted clothing in normal gravity conditions, and generally train and bulk up a bit; I''d say a peak for your frame would be maybe eighty pounds, with a max lift of two thousand; you could probably get more, but at a cost of flexibility. If you want that, though, you''ll need to work out and build muscles for a few months."


    A low grumble. "Fine, fine." Images of superheroic lifting of cars flickered through her mind, only to be dashed. "Anything else?"


    "Your appetite is going to be constant. For peak health, I''d recommend you just consistently eat small amounts throughout the day; carbs and oils are a must. You can get by on three meals a day, but you''ll always be hungry; I''d recommend eating a box of donuts and a few pounds of jerky a day until you reach your target weight, scattered throughout the day."


    "That... sounds amazing!" Jerky was okay. But having a nurse recommend donuts? She''d already been recommending some delicious meals for the former augment, this was nice.


    "And go to a gym. Lift at least a few hundred pounds, every day, at least a few times, for a few months... or get some weighted clothes that are a couple hundred pounds. You can lift more if you want, but thanks to how your genotype is made, that''ll be enough to get you to the ideal."


    Two hundred pound weighted clothing. It was hard to imagine what that would even look like... but she''d try. She accepted the plastic packet. "Okay. Do I have some clothes to wear out? My old ones won''t quite fit anymore."


    "Head back to your room. Security will meet you there with some clothes, more information, and some advice."


    She thought for a moment. ".....Could they be weighted clothes? Might as well get started now." If she wore them from the very beginning, she''d be used to them. And if she ever did need to throw her weight around, it''d be best to actually have some weight to throw around.


    "...Will do." The nurse nodded. He might appreciate that she was following his advice... but it was hard to read him behind the surgical mask, as he started cleaning out the machine.


    She stared, for a moment.... and the smell hit her. Good lord. That.... was that her? There was a vile, semi-organic sludge being pumped out of the machine, mixed with hot soapy water... which meant... the last stage was a cleaning cycle. The other... what, sixty pounds? of her weight had just fallen off of her while she lay there, converted into... that stuff... and then she was rinsed off.


    And this poor nurse had to deal with it. No wonder he was being abrupt with her. She headed out the door through the embassy; not a soul batted an eye at the woman waltzing through wearing nothing but a bathrobe, which... might have been concerning under other circumstances.


    ***


    She''d been a bit anxious after an hour passed, and started watching one of the local sims; it was about some lunatic who had his brain-chip installed in a feline body so he could spy on people; when a knock came at the door.


    She opened it, looking down at a heavyset security guard in the standard United Worlds blue uniform.. dragging a cart behind him. As she held open the door, he wheeled it in... and glanced at her. "Alright, miss. I''ve got a fitted suit for you, the training variety... it won''t look too out of place, tons of heavy-worlders wear them on normal worlds just so they won''t feel as bad when they get back home. Its actually moderately durable armor, though thats not what its for, and made to fit over a skinsuit, or under a set of coveralls. Got a random handful of outfits for you to choose from, a photo ID and a set of credentials, names, passwords..."


    He extended the ID. "Now. I''ve also got something we give folks to help with your situation, if you want, but you probably won''t need. If you''re going to be around people you once knew, we''ve got an earpiece and choker combo... basically filters out your old name. Makes it so you won''t react if someone mentions it, or accidentally say it. You''ll feel a faint buzz for the choker, but the earpiece won''t alert you at all, audibly, just record it and message you on a delay so a watcher won''t connect the response."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "...And what''s my new name?"


    "Erica Grayson. Feel free to get a legal name change to whatever''s comfortable for you; your new ID belonged to a young woman of your age from the Sirius sector who died several years ago; no surviving family or known contacts. She was from Adamant... a heavy-grav world that was about four Gs at the lowest and five Gs at the highest. "


    She nodded slowly. "Well then. That''s... it? I''ve got a new ID, a new... comm-unit keyed to my new genes, a good-sized bank account... and I can do what I''d like?"


    He chuckled. "I have it on good authority that you''ll be receiving a job offer from a mercenary organization, soon. You already have enough money to retire comfortably here, don''t match your old appearance, not even height or build, have the wrong genetic profile, your implant has even been coded with Erica''s ID... so long as you don''t do something stupid.."


    He focused on her, dead serious. "Like log into one of your old accounts, either to chat with old friends, or for a Sim game like that one you play as a ranger, or use knowledge from your old life to your advantage in them..."


    His tone lightened up again. "Then you''ll be fine. At this point, the only risk of you being discovered is your own actions. So... do good. We''ve got you a hotel room, and can quietly drop you off at the lobby, with a trace showing you arrived from the Sirius sector on a transport today. There''s a whole convention out there, filled with like-minded people. I''d recommend going out, making some new friends, building a new life... and if you want to work for our... associates... just accept the job offer when it comes."


    ***


    On the plus side, the gaming scene was generally a local affair. Your various digital worlds people played around with were restricted by the simple fact that, even with FTL communication, lag between star systems made playing with someone light-years away impossible; so it would be an entirely new community no matter what.


    On the downside... the most popular games used a galactic, cross-border network that would have instanced, NPC copies of you that acted based on your history other people could interact with in limited ways, and would let you carry your progress to new places. If she were her old self, she could login and play as her ranger here, with all of her progress.


    Which meant... she needed to start over from square one. Should she do it here, though? Did the ASU work out of Tybalt, or somewhere else, closer to the Alliance?


    Well. She should check things out, at least, see if there were anything new, fun. If there was a brand new game, she could start off new with everybody else.


    The ''Sim Expo 300'' was an enormous event; she could see a holographic projection over the convention center of a globe, with "SE300" spinning around it... and a train running around the convention center, with diagrams, directions... she could spend days walking through this place and never see the same thing twice.


    People were wearing costumes and armor, showing off different designs; ranging from classic antique military designs to modern equivalents to fantasy designs; elves and cat-people were the two most popular themes, and two people in Vegeta costumes were using field emitters and holographic projectors to stage a fight flying over the convention floor; she shook her head, amused, as she slid through the crowd.


    Some of these people were wearing costumes. Some had actually had themselves altered; surgically or genetically; to look like fictional characters, or just fictional species. The ''Elf'' sector of the convention always promised to be amusing; less because of any particular creativity, than because the people in it who, one way or another, had made themselves into pointy-eared humanoids, always had a loud argument over whether any given species of long-lived pointy-eared people counted as elves.


    That section was right next to the new release section, so she stopped for a few minutes to admire the costume... or engineering.. designs. Women had used these things as an excused to show off sexy outfits for longer than humans had traveled through space, and the Shade Children cosplay from a property released just a decade ago looked distinctly like the centuries-old Drukhari cosplay across the hall; and the two women, who wore outfits closer to bondage gear than cosplay, were both decrying the other''s costume for absurd reasons.


    She shook her head in amusement as she entered the ''New Release'' section... hoping to find something to her taste.


    First there was a whole section for modern-day combat sims; where barely fictionalized versions of the real world military factions were simulated in varying levels of accuracy. Hardcore gamers could play a game where the pain felt real, the weapons and armor all felt like the real thing, and they were fighting against, essentially, enemy soldiers given a dumbed-down AI with a coat of off-brand paint.


    For a moment, she was startled at all the brown uniforms.... there were actual, Directorate military people here, watching and observing everything like hawks... but then... these people were the ones who wrote the Petrov convention after the second galactic war, and were paranoid that someone might try to use video game AIs to program real-world self-replicating killing machines.


    She frowned. That... was actually a problem. The rules forbade self-replicating AI, and they forbade giving AI control of weapons, the ability to shoot without human intervention. But... there were heat-seeking missiles. Landmines that ignored people with the right IFF. Where did you draw the line?


    She shook her head as she kept walking. She didn''t want modern military simulations. She wanted fantasy. Magic. And as she entered the Fantasy section of the new release hall, she stopped to look around... the cosplayers were just as prevalent here, but now it was far more of the fantasy element. She could make out at least six Jonin the wise copies, surprisingly well done, and several Aragorns who were so good she could even tell which version of the ranger they were cosplaying, from the original, ancient, version done by some human actor name Viggo; who one of them might actually have had surgery to copy the face, he looked so lifelike; to the most recent version where a band of lunatics actually got enough fans together to build real armies of Gondor and Mordor and have an actual war, really killing people... though of course, they''d make sure not to use any weapons that could destroy a brain-chip.


    She sighed... and stopped focusing on t he people, the politics, the nonsense of reality... she was here for the games! What sort of absurd obsession was she going to be spending the hours she should be sleeping on for the next decade?

 Revival-Interrogation Department 21: Repetition

    "Erica Grayson. E..rick... ahhh... Grayson." She focused on herself in the mirror of her hotel room; it was pre-paid for the next month, giving her plenty of time to relax and decide just what to do. She didn''t know if she was going to be staying on Tybalt, so looking for an apartment seemed a bit counter-productive.


    On the plus side, her hand was a bit smaller, stronger, and differently shaped than it used to be; so her signature would''ve been a bit different even if she didn''t try to change it. Her vocal chords were different, too; no need to change the voice.


    She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and then glanced at the comm stuck to her wrist. Someone from the ASU was going to be calling sometime. She''d double-checked with the embassy; she should be looking for the code phrase ''Chain Fire'' fit into a conversation. She had yet to leave the dome, and go see the planet proper; so of course, she''d suggested meeting on such an excursion today; this world had been terraformed a century ago at this point, and was apparently proud of its work, offering all sorts of tours, hang-gliding, ski trips, so forth, to tourists.


    She wasn''t set on riding through the sky on a mass of fabric and poles, so.... a trip through a century-old redwood forest would be the next best thing. She opted for a nice blue suit; not actually a vacuum suit, for the first time in a while, just normal bright blue fabric with a lightning pattern running through it; over the usual heavy undersuit she would likely be wearing for months to come.


    As she stepped out of the hotel into the street; looking at the busy lines of pedestrians going every which way, tourists, business-people, local military... she watched the sign mounted on the pole; she was looking for the next bus to B-17; buses traveled out along 18 lines in varying paths from the city center, and the hotel was on line ''B''; with the redwood park about two hundred miles away. She''d either need another bus or some other transit from B-17 to the park; but wasn''t too worried.


    This whole world had been planned from the beginning; small, picturesque villages scattered through the wilderness, vast stretches of land seeded with a mix of terran and compatible alien flora and fauna; the cities, as they were built, expanding upwards and down rather than out, all connected to the mass transit lines to the one central spaceport it had all started from.


    She couldn''t help but feel small as she worked her way through the crowd, climbing onto the smooth cylinder of one of the trains; she knew the Alliance had worlds this big, this populated, with their masses of billions... but she''d never been among them, and the crowds had always been... normal. Just the common variations of skin-tone, not the vast differences in height, in ears, eyes, the blues, the reds...


    As she stepped into the bus, waving her comm at the scanner before settling into a seat, it started on its smooth outward path. The bus was even strange; the seats wider than they should be, with a handy lever to adjust the level, clearly made for people of a variety of heights and widths that was well outside human normal. The smooth, gliding motion of a magnetic hovering engine was familiar, at least; some things the same everywhere.


    She could feel a faint buzz as the bus reached the outskirts of the city... passing into a tunnel that would lead from the heights of the dome, outside the planet''s atmosphere; down through the darkness a dozen miles... until it reached... sunlight.


    Her first view of the proper sky of Tybalt was amazing; a vivid teal, with whispy clouds, a vibrant yellow-orange sun, and vast fields of tall grass and wandering animals before her. She got only momentary visions of them before the bus stopped at ''B-15'', a few passengers getting off, a few getting on....


    One of them; a man who was completely bald, and had a set of odd eyes which were clearly engineered for surviving and still being able to see in extreme heat conditions; tiny, squinting, oddly-shaped masses; settled in beside her, and nodded. "G''day there, miss. First time on Tybalt?"


    She glanced at him, then around the bus. He looked decent enough; physically fit, in fair condition, wearing a utility skinsuit; not a uniform, but clearly something built for work in space, all done up in patterns of blues and gold. He had also walked right by a dozen empty seats to sit next to her.


    She thought for a moment. He might be the ASU contact. Or he might just be a random guy looking to chat with a pretty girl. "First time anywhere with big trees, actually. From the Sirius sector... spent most of my life on stations you could walk from one side of to the other.... and, well. Born on Adamant. Biggest tree there was a meter."


    He nodded, smiling. "Ahh, a Dub, then. I''m a frontier man, myself... born to the crew of a BSE ship, though I did visit the United Worlds for a while, ended up taking a trip out to Ash, becoming a mercenary... I''d say the folks were disappointed, but they didn''t really care."


    As the bus slowed down at stop ''B-16''; a small village had formed around the bus-stop, named ''Adironi'', the man looked her over for a moment. "Spent a few years as a merc, until the ship I was on had an incident where we were fighting some pirates. Bit of chain-fire, where one of the missile bays erupted; whole thing went off at once, half the crew ended up being frozen, a few killed entirely. This was before implants were as widespread as they are now, so some of them were never recovered."


    Oof. Before implants were that widespread? Was this an actual story, because implants had become cheap enough that most people had them in her grandfather''s day... close to a century before. Nowadays, almost everyone got one, especially folks with dangerous jobs. They''d even started putting them into slaves with useful skills a few decades ago. "You know, sometimes its strange to look at someone and hear a story like that. You have no idea how old they are just by looking at them... just see a decent-looking guy with a story, and wonder... is that really his story? Is he over a hundred, and chatting about his youth... or is he four hundred, and chatting about something from after he retired from his original career for the excitement of mercenary work?"


    He studied her for a moment. He wasn''t sure whether she''d gotten the code-phrase, it seemed. "Only if you''re from a place with tons of baseline folks. Most people are used to it. Becomes a sort of fun game, you sit down at a table at a party... no idea which of the girls is your date''s mom, which is her grandma, which is her sister... you make guesses. Sometimes you''re wrong. Sometimes, you can even get yourself slapped by confusing a girl and her great-grandma, and kissing the wrong person because the resemblance is just that strong."Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She chuckled, smiled at him.... and extended a hand. "Erica Grayson. Heading out to see the redwoods?"


    He smiled back. "Adrian Proxima. Yes, in fact, I am. Spend so much time in space, good to take a break, now and again."


    She froze for a moment. "... Ahh. Well then. I suppose we''re going at least that far together." Her voice was suddenly strained. Proxima. How common was that last name?


    At the next stop, B-17, she rose from her seat... as did Adrian... and when they stepped out into another small, quaint village... they could see them. Enormous, hundreds of feet tall, towering in the distance... a redwood forest. The forests around them were real, dense with smaller varieties of pine and oak; but after centuries of exploring space, they''d found few things to compare to the redwoods.


    Granted... they brought at least some of those things with them, here. As she stepped way from the bus, looking out at the surrounding forest, so difficult to make out from the speeding train, she could see the faint light of glowflies; a particularly pretty quasi-insectoid which had bioluminescent traits, and had been dragged all over the galaxy by humans who kept them as pets. They liked to form intricate patterns in the night sky, or beneath the canopies of trees; and people just loved them.


    A nearby sign offered redwood tours; at did a dozen other signs scattered down the street.. and she sighed, picking one at random. Hopefully this guy wasn''t as bad as the other Proxima; or, even worse, a relative holding a grudge.


    ***


    If he hadn''t been referred to her by the embassy, she''d have refused to come out here. Being asked to leave her comm behind, and walk out amongst the redwoods with a stranger... especially one with the last name of the man who''d shot her... it was outside her comfort zone. Still. If she wanted the job....


    She inhaled deeply, and followed. She''d wanted to come here, regardless. The massive trees.. dozens of feet across, the size of whole buildings... the sound of birds in the distance, the squirrel watching her with interest from the bushes... it was all so... strange. It touched something, deep inside.


    She glanced over at him, as he planted a small cylinder in the dirt, twisting the top... and then there was an audible pop. She blinked. She was suddenly a bit... confused. Her memories of the walk out here... weren''t quite as clear.


    "Sorry, miss. Just an EMP. I scanned us both for any listening devices once we dropped our comms, then left the scanner behind... and one more check. Anyways! First of all, thanks for saving my uncle. He''s an asshole, but he''s family, and from what I hear, you''d have been fully justified in leaving him behind. In fact..."


    He stuffed the expended device into a pocket. "If you hadn''t brought any of our people out, your risk to reach Tybalt would''ve approached zero. The Bonaventure told us that they got suspicious on hearing you talk about maybe moving out, but didn''t decide to act until they realized you had someone else''s brain-chip, and not that of their marine, in the carrier. You had to know that bringing our people out was a risk, and you did it anyway. You''ve already been rewarded financially... but I just want to be clear. We appreciate it. It was a good, noble thing, and you''re our kind of people."


    He extended a hand... and Erica looked at it a moment.. and accepted, giving him a firm shake. "I wish I''d done it earlier. Honestly, your... uncle.. might have been an asshole, and he did kill my cat, but he gave me the kick in the ass I needed to leave a government I always knew was in the wrong. Doing my job, where people didn''t even have genes anymore, just made it even more ludicrously obvious."


    "This actually brings us to what we''re really out here for." He chuckled. "The job offer. Right now, you''re about eighty percent trusted; which is more than most of the folks we hire. We''ve heard from Cricket what you''re offering in terms of skills. The equipment you''d need, we can get right here in Tybalt. We''ll need to provided new equipment and training to our people, and divert those brain-chips we collect here, rather than to the UW....or, ideally, to a different world... if you''re willing."


    She nodded. "I like this world... but I haven''t grown attached. Mind if I ask why? It only took a couple of days to get here, so it wouldn''t be a bad spot, and its not that friendly to the Alliance..."


    Proxima shrugged. "Any brain-chips brought here have to be brought in under the table, hidden. If discovered, they get interrogated, and... for Alliance people... we''d be charged with kidnapping, and the chips would be sent home. They''re unlikely to actually check; they like us much more than the Alliance; but the risk goes to zero if we relocate to the Sunrise Coalition. Any willing participants in the Alliance military or slavery operations are considered criminals there and arrested immediately if found. Amusingly enough, the law only applies to un-augmented humans; by default, anyone augmented is assumed to have worked under duress. Which means, not only will they absolutely not stop us from having an office there interrogating Alliance brain-chips, they''ll also arrest any Alliance operatives that come sneaking around, and maybe even help us with more prisoners... they have regular conflicts with mercenary groups paid by the Alliance."


    Sunrise coalition. She''d... never heard of them. "...Who, exactly, are the Sunrise Coalition?"


    "..... Its a bit complicated. Do you know how ownership law works, of new star systems?"


    "Of course! Lets see. Any colony with at least a thousand people, and either self-sustaining or producing a regular export that more than funds their existence, can pay a fee and apply to the International Survey Corps for recognition. Once they get it, any part of their star system not already settled by someone else becomes theirs, legally, and they can make agreements with the other nations. The Alliance Colonial Core always has a few of those requests in."


    He studied her for a moment, and nodded. "Surprisingly concise and accurate. So. We don''t want the Alliance to grow. So we and our friends setup colonies in surrounding systems... which then make mutual defense pacts with the United Worlds as soon as they get legally recognized. The Sunrise Coalition is a group of like... thirty of those worlds, plus a few that the Alliance tried to setup with slave labor... that we instigated slave revolts on, so when the Survey Corps showed up, they registered a new colony... under the control of the former slaves."


    "...Isn''t it... risky to move there? Won''t the Alliance be trying to take them over?"


    "Not... officially. They send pirates to raid and cause problems... but if any actual Alliance military shows up, thats it. End of the whole shebang; the dubs and the Empire show up and wipe the slate clean, and nobody shows up to help the Alliance, cause they started it."


    She nodded. "So... a bit dangerous, but not too bad."


    "Exactly. On the dangerous part, however... it''ll be a few months to get setup. We''ll want a good, secure base, somewhere the Alliance doesn''t know about, the whole nine yards. If you''d like, you can take a vacation. You''ve got the money, you could stay here and relax, or you could head out to the Coalition and figure out where you might want to settle down. Or.... it wouldn''t be a bad idea for you to get some combat training. Learn to fly a ship, defend yourself. No matter where you end up... if you''re working against the Alliance, there might come a day you need to fight your way out in a hurry, and aren''t able to get a pilot. We can definitely get you on the next flight out to Ash... and you''ll be even more anonymous when you come back out to the frontier, just another random merc from Ash out to make her way in the wider galaxy."

 Revival-Interrogation Department 22: Alternatives

    A low chuckle. "Don''t get me wrong. A trip to Ash sounds like fun, and I am aware of the possibilities there. But.... exactly what kind of training can I do there that I can''t do right here, or really anywhere? I always figured most of the point was for people to actually pretty much put merc companies together on the spot.. find people they mesh with and get out there."


    Proxima sighed... "Look. They put people through extensive training in whatever categories they want. Drones. Firearms. Starship training. And then have both sims that they can make people think are real... and then actual life-fire exercises. By the time these people leave, they have better training than most actual troops from any given independent system, or even the Republic, or the Directorate. You can be one of them... and mixed in with all the other trainees, get you another new ID, and then they won''t even know you ever came to this region before."


    Erica gave a slow nod as he spoke... but just smiled. "I''m already anonymous. New ID, new genes, immigrant from Sirius... extra layers would just be pointless, maybe even make it clear I''ve got something to hide. And while I hadn''t been planning on doing that sort of training before... I can easily do it now. In my... former career... I had basic marksmanship and self defense training; I''m not helpless, just... didn''t really keep up with the training, since I had a desk job. I can take refresher courses on that, mostly focus on some piloting classes for the next month. Then... There''s at least twelve different sims that convince you they''re real before you go in; if I''m willing to pay for it I could get the equivalent of a month''s worth of what I think is an actual extended combat campaign."


    "Fine, fine. Its not the same as what they''d have at Ash, and we aren''t looking to hire you as a soldier, so it''ll be alright. I''ll have the job offer sent over to you from one of our shell companies; or if you like, we can get you someone to help you start a consulting company, and we can contract it out."


    A slow shake of the head. "No... I''m fine working for you people. I could retire with what I''ve already got. I want to get paid, but getting paid isn''t the reason I''m doing this."


    Proxima studied her for a minute, clearly thinking. "Well then. You''re a competent adult, and the skills we really need, you''ve already got. Whatever you want to do, you go right ahead. ASU ships regularly stop by here, for all sorts of reasons. We''ll start digging out an underground base, escape tunnels, the whole nine yards, and installing equipment. Your new facility should be ready within ninety days. We need to setup a series of code responses, so that you know its really an ASU member on the other side... and vice versa. So. There''s general codes the whole Anti-Slave-Union uses, and ones specific to people. Lets take a few minutes, hash things out... so that you can know anyone who says the right code-phrase is either me in disguise, or someone I consider trustworthy."


    He grimaced. "We... will also want to install a suicide implant. And, considering your career... one that you can activate without having to physically touch it. We can do that on the ship out, though."


    ***


    As she landed at ''The Warzone'' the next day; a training facility that was highly rated, and recommended by a variety of people at the convention; she could hear the distant sound of gunshots as she entered the building... both from indoor shooting ranges, and from the much larger range outside; the complex was enormous, dozens of miles of varied terrain surrounding the central building... and when she entered.. the receptionist, sitting behind a counter with a panel of armored glass seperating her from the rest of the lobby, glanced up at her with a smile.


    "Welcome to the Warzone! How can we sharpen you into the blade you want to become today?"


    Erica blinked. "Is that... they make you say that to everyone who comes in?"


    The young woman; pretty, blond, wearing a classic secretarial outfit clearly meant to attract the male gaze rather than for practicality; gave a brief nod. "They have a variety of lines, but yes. Its all about improving you into the person you want to be."


    She chuckled. "Well. I''ve got some basic combat and unarmed training. And while I don''t plan on doing anything risky... I want to be ready if the worst happens. I''ve heard you do both flight sims and basic combat training?"


    "Of course! As you know, the most important parts of training are twofold; first, muscle memory. Getting your body to react the right way when prompted. Second, of course, is the ability to handle fire, not to freeze under pressure. The former is best handled with repeated training; constant target practice, constant piloting practice, until you can hit a mark in your sleep. For the latter..."


    She glanced behind her. "We have sims that can make it feel real, even fool you into thinking it is. We assemble a team, put you through one of a few select packages, and you come out of it knowing exactly how you''ll react when it feels real. The training can help with that; repeated exposure can get you to a point that, when it happens, its just... there. You do it. But..."


    She turned back to Erica. "The downside is that it feels real. And for people who can''t handle it, they come out of it with PTSD, and we have to send them for therapy. The former, we do every day. The latter you have to book in advance, and sign a waver. We''ve got full-day programs which are okay and give you an idea of what you can handle, week-long programs which are highly rated and usually get the job done, but might give you PTSD, and month-long programs that will either turn you into a hardened, effective soldier, or break you."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "...I don''t really fancy being broken. But if the shit hits the fan, I want to be able to get out of dodge, load up on a shuttle, and escape, fighting my way out if I need to."


    The secretary frowned. "So. You want flight training, combat training, and a sim that features both?"


    "....Flight training, definitely. I''ve already got some combat training, but it couldn''t hurt."


    "Well then. How about we talk about pricing plans and schedules, I''ll get out the waiver, and I''ll have an instructor come on by to give you a talk!"


    ***


    The chamber looked.... strange. There was a long row of simple spheres, each a few meters across, with some sort of odd plates attached... many of which were actively moving, rolling in place, emitting loud buzzing noises as they did.


    As she entered, a man wearing a simple black vacuum suit; a military uniform with all the insignia cleaned off; stepped up to Erica. She wasn''t familiar with what sort of augment he was; his skin was a dull grey, his eyes a vibrant blue without any whites whatsoever; and of course it was impossible to judge his age. He certainly was fit, though.


    He studied her for a moment. "So. Erica Grayson. Looking for the whole package, gonna sign up for the sim in a couple of weeks, the whole flight under fire bit?"


    "Yes sir."


    He chuckled. "I''m Chase Walkins, formerly of the Tybaltan Navy. While we''re in flight training, you can call me Ostrich. These simulators here work with magnets and an adjustable inner frame... and magnets you wear on your body... to get you used to a variety of G forces and situations you might encounter; let you feel what its like to try flying an aircraft and being squeezed into a pancake while undergoing ten Gs."


    "I''m a heavy, sir. Sounds like a relaxing stroll."


    He blinked, looking her over for a moment. "Huh. Not familiar with the type. Aren''t you a bit big for a heavy?"


    "Bones hard as diamond but damn light as well, Ostrich. Makes it hard to throw a punch, but makes lifting weights a good bit easier. I just... never really bothered trying to get into shape til I left home."


    He nodded, and glanced at the machine. "Alright. Well. That works alright. How many Gs are you adapted for?"


    Erica thought back to the fact sheet of her new biology, and of Anvil. "Eight is my norm, sir. I''m wearing weighted clothing right now, usually do on lighter places like this."


    "Excellent. The weights magnetic?"


    "Oh.... Yessir."


    "Then you don''t need one of our suits. Good. Hop in, and we''ll get you started. If we want you ready for the sim in two weeks, you''ll need to be putting plenty of hours in."


    ***


    The catalog of possible cockpit options was vast; and the inside could configure, to a certain extent, to mimic hundreds of control schemes. Buttons would recede into the panel, joysticks emerge; and so long as she was wearing the helmet, it would look real.


    Of course, in the sim, they''d be able to make it even more real, even fool her into thinking she was in a life or death situation... but the level of detail this false cockpit produced was admirable.


    ~Alright, Grayson. For the next eight hours, you''re going to be practicing taking off, and landing, starting with a Sparrow-class shuttle, and working our way through a variety of light fighters and gunships. Most pilots will take a single spacecraft and fly it, over and over, getting hundreds of hours of time in the same one. Unless you plan on buying your own, its best to get a feel for a bunch of them; and then pick one to focus on. Some skills cross all of them. Others, are only for a single one. Lets start it up.~


    One moment, the screens were black. The next... she was sitting on a wide open concrete platform; nothing but clear sky above and grass in any given direction.


    ~You''ve seen the basics in the video. What are you going to do?~


    "Lets see. I''m assuming that I''ve already performed the safety checks, made sure she''s got fuel, power, no attachments, so forth?"


    ~Good question. Yes, we''ll start with that assumption, just remember that you''ll need to check that yourself with the real deal. Now what?~


    She closed her eyes... and then looked at the controls. Her memory was perfect, like most people with implants. She could see exactly the sequence to launch the shuttle... and followed it. Tapping this button, here, to engage pre-flight diagnostics. That lever over there would override pre-flight and jump straight to ignition.


    Diagnostics were running. The panel would show what the computer thought was going on, and what it recommended checking; one of the lights came up yellow. "Its giving a ''probably'' okay on the fuel tank. I''d want to step outside and use a hand-scanner. Check the lines from tank to thruster, and if I can, physically knock on the tank to make sure the hydrogen is in there. There''s a sound it makes if its full, and I want to hear it."


    ~Excellent. I don''t expect you to be a flight engineer; but every pilot should be able to do the bare minimum.~ The light flickered from yellow to green. She inhaled deeply.


    "Now, if it were an emergency, I''d apply power and pull up. If not, I''d have the computer contact the tower, and get an assigned lane."


    ~Do so. But don''t use the auto-pilot. Manually control it, and try your best to follow the lane.~


    She nodded... and after getting a clearance to take-off, ignited the thrusters... and started to lift off... feeling the gentle pressure of the magnets against her body simulating G-forces, watching the lane. Adjusting the angle. Feeding a bit more fuel into the right bank... then the bottom... then...


    She must''ve done something wrong. One moment, it was all clear. The next... she felt the whole thing shake as the shuttle slammed into something. She made adjustments. And again... but didn''t regain control, slamming into the concrete.


    It was fake. She knew it was. But it still felt like she was shaking apart. "Ohhhhh fuck. That was... weird. What did I do wrong?"


    ~What do you think you did wrong?~


    ".... I didn''t even have the scanners on, did I? Was there another craft going out of its lane?"


    ~How about you try again and find out. The big red button on the floor below you resets the sim.~


    She nodded... and stepped on the button, the whole thing shifting; she was back on the ground, looking out at an open field, a clear blue sky. She needed to do it again... and again... however many times... until she could get this right.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 23: False Narrative

    Sitting in the lobby, she realized that these people did almost exactly what she herself did; just for different reasons. She''d answered a long list of questions, alongside a group of others... and now a few techs were taking all that data and putting together a sim that would convince a group of people it was real... with the idea of subjecting them to what they would think were genuine, life-or-death situations.


    She reached the back of her head, touching the tiny sliver they''d had her put in a week ago; when she entered the sim, she wouldn''t remember answering these questions, until the sim was over. Unfortunately for her own purposes, it didn''t work on existing memories; but they could essentially make a temporary form of amnesia. When she woke up in the sim, she''d think she was still doing her daily flight training, just building muscle memory and instincts that would help fly... and they''d create a believable narrative that would lead to the problems.


    What would the narrative be? How would it work? She was excited to find out... but a touch worried. She''d told them about the tattoo. She wasn''t the only one to do it, but they came in different varieties, and patterns... and after this sim, she''d need to find a different one to use. She could never use it to determine reality again. She glanced down at it. The ink and the pattern it were formed in would make the wrong picture show on any tattoo. So.... when she saw the real thing inside the sim...


    ***


    The tiny sliver they''d inserted for the test was confusing. They claimed they were testing her compatibility for the sim; and she was reasonably certain they were going to use a direct connection, rather than a headset or anything of the sort... but no. They''d put it away as soon as they inserted it, and the technician who''d been testing her had frowned. "Well then. That''s... unfortunate."


    He looked at his wrist, then at her. "We should get to the nearest shelter. There''s an attack coming."


    Erica blinked. "An... attack?"


    "Yup. Some pirates... probably just some thinly disguised Alliance troops... just entered the system. I''m sure we''ll be fine, but with the sheer number of them, it might take some time...."


    The distant sound of sirens. A deep fear ran through Erica. Even if they had no idea who she was, simply being an augment would make for a terrible fate if the Alliance somehow got hold of Tybalt... but that was impossible... right?


    "Okay. Where do we go?"


    "Every train station has an underground bunker, with beds, supplies, and its own power. We just need to get there, and we''ll be fine." He glanced at her. "You know how to use a weapon?"


    She shrugged. "I did the training here with rifles, and before I showed up, I did training with handguns." She thought of her years playing as a ranger in the sims. "And blades; solid, machete sort, not knives."


    He blinked. "Well, I don''t think they have those, mostly just guns. There''s a protocol for this. If you want, you can head to the armory. We''ll be loaning out guns and swapping the training loads for lethal; we''ll expect them back once this is all over, but just in case...."


    "Couldn''t hurt to be ready. Of course. Better to die fighting when they try to take the bunker than end up as slaves." She knew exactly where the armory was. She''d been there every day she did the rifle training; and headed out into the hallway at a jog; joining the other people here for training, as well as the staff, converging on the armory...


    She''d seen the armorer in the cage at least a dozen times over the past couple weeks, and never remembered his name; just that he was a tall, thin man, probably some sort of space augment, and every time she''d come up to the armor-plated entrance he''d been cleaning and disassembling a weapon, or putting one back together.


    Right now.... he was simply grabbing weapons, slapping magazines or batteries into them, and setting them on the counter... and calling out. "These guns are live! Put your comm on the counter to register who got it, and head for the bunker! This is not a drill! Grab one spare magazine or battery if you aren''t taking a needler! If everything goes well we''ll be wanting these back!"


    The counter was only six feet wide; and the place was crowded. Handguns, rifles, being snapped up, people she''d seen in training or just walking through the halls crowding in... and a steady trail of armed trainees heading for the bunker.


    After she picked up her own rifle; it was one of the nicer laser ones, could swap between a steady beam and a pulse-rifle setting; she followed the rest of the crowd, streaming towards the building... and like most of the others, stopped when a sudden loud boom sounded in the air.


    As she glanced up, she could recognize.... something that shouldn''t be there.


    A single aircraft was falling from the sky, the boom must''ve been something striking it... and she could see it. A squadron, at least, of Mars-class fighters. Which... didn''t make any sense. The only people who used those anymore were those who didn''t give a damn about the survival of their crews. They might''ve been advanced... three or four hundred years ago... but the tiny fighters couldn''t even get back out of an atmosphere without help, had no shields...they''d been briefly used with AI pilots, before the second galactic war, but lately they were, at most, drones, remotely controlled...


    Wait. Some of the absolute biggest pirates that worked for the Alliance... threw together tons of those things, and put poorly-trained slaves in them... tortured or threatened into compliance. They disobey, they get tortured, alongside their friends, their families. The problem... the only ones big enough and organized enough to do that... were the ones that were so big they could actually take a world.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    This... might not be a raid. They might be here to conquer Tybalt on behalf of the Alliance.


    As the groups of trainees approached the bunker, the fighting in the sky intensified. They were moving too fast, and too low, to get more than brief glimpses of them as they flew overhead...she could see the doors ahead, and resisted the urge to sprint; if everyone crowded it, it''d take forever to get them all in.


    Suddenly, there was a loud whistle overhead... and an audible crack.


    A brilliant flash of blinding light.. and darkness.


    ***


    When she awoke, out of habit, she checked her tattoo; clear. Exactly as marked. She probably wasn''t in a sim. She grumbled... and pulled to her feet, checking herself over. No apparent injuries. Everything moved properly.


    Simple grey cargo pants with all sorts of nonsense in them. Loose-fitting white shirt, long-sleeved, covering the weights on her arms. Weighted gloves. Weighted boots. A dull, constant ringing sound... she''d been too close to an explosion. If she were still a normal human, just the pressure might have killed her. Instead... she''d be almost deaf for a while.


    She searched around herself... some people were still lying there, unconscious, seemingly unharmed. Others had blood leaking from their ears, and were shifting, moving... and others completely limp... possibly dead.


    She grimaced.. and grabbed the rifle, looping the strap over her head.. and blinked Her head felt too light. Ahh, yeah. She had a headband she wore to help her neck muscles. Damnit, where.... Ahh.


    Erica set the simple weighted grey fabric on her head, and inhaled. Hopefully this wouldn''t be the sort of day where she''d toss that aside. There was... a train. Not five hundred meters away.....


    One of the men from the training facility; David, maybe; looked at her. "Hey.... Miss Grayson, is it? If you''re feeling okay, mind grabbing someone and hauling them to the train? The bunker door got sealed by that blast, and under normal circumstances we''d want to leave them where they lay until a medic arrived, but..."


    She looked at the people, conscious, unconscious... there were a few men hefting folks and carrying them towards the train. She... was a heavy-grav augment. She smiled. Time to make that choice worth something.


    "Can we get something to lay them on, so I can drag a few of them?"


    ***


    As she slowly marched, step by step, grunting with the weight, she got a few appreciative glances from the others carrying people to the train; as she kept dragging the glider forwards. The ultralight aircraft was sturdy enough to survive the crash; and to support the seventeen people they were able to fit on it before Erica started hauling it off to the train; as well as the weights she''d taken off to dump on. She could feel it; it was an effort. A struggle. But she could''ve pulled more, if the thing was larger.


    She saw another pair; much shorter than herself, but clearly even stronger; doing the same thing with another glider, moving ahead of her... and smiled. This would work out just fine. They''d clear those pirates out, the whole situation would be over by the end of the day. She could get back to her training, and...


    She blinked. As they reached the train, she could hear engines... and people shouting. Screams. Someone pointing at the sky.


    As Erica stopped at the train, and people started grabbing her inert cargo, tossing people on... she could see an assault shuttle dropping from the sky, with a jet black hull splattered with orange and yellow; whoever these pirates were, some of them had just arrived.


    She looked back at the train.... it was almost full. And even if she wanted to...


    It started to move, heading back for the city, even before the doors shut; one of them even trying and failing to close a few times, an unconscious limb drooping out, before someone dragged it in.


    She grimaced. No time to put the weights back on, as if she''d want them. She grabbed the rifle, and looked around... there were at least another dozen people from the facility, trainees and employees both, gathered there. One of them looked at the shuttle, and at the others; a tall, fit man with a tattoo of a target reticle on his face, and a vaguely asian look about his eyes; he wasn''t Japanese. Perhaps Han?


    He looked around at them for a moment. "Well. This is a bit of an unpleasant situation, folks. You can call me Bob... I used to be Directorate infantry, and I... appear to be the only unaugmented person here. If someone''s going to get captured, it''d be best if it was me. Anybody else with real military experience?"


    The group was fairly silent. Hearing someone with real experience was here made them all a bit more comfortable; it definitely did Erica. She checked her rifle, making sure it was working properly; and after a second thought, grabbed the armored vest; it doubled as armor, after all; and started slipping it over her shirt. The shuttle had landed less than a kilometer away, taking cover behind the rubble of a building.


    Bob watched her, and chuckled. "Well then. That shuttle can hold over a hundred troops. Its pirates.. god knows how many it''ll have on there, but since backup is already on the way, and they can''t just conquer this planet in the next two hours, they''ll be here to capture people and sell them to the Alliance, then run before a fleet shows up to wipe them out. My best recommendation... kill as many of them as you can. And if you think they''re going to take you? I''d recommend putting the gun to your heart and pulling the trigger. They won''t bother to haul a corpse back with them just to peel the implant out, and its better to wake up in a sim than as a slave."


    One of the others frowned. "But... don''t they sell implants as slaves, too?"


    "Sure. But then they need to authenticate the source to sell it in the Alliance. Which means hauling a rotting corpse at least sixty light-years. Alliance doesn''t take them unless they can prove its from an aug."


    The others slowly nodded, as Bob glanced back... and inhaled deeply. "Alright. They''re gonna be mostly using stunners, and hopefully not expecting much resistance. So...." He looked around for a moment... and nodded. "Head for the restaurants. Get behind a booth and play dead unless you hear shooting; if they stick together, I''ll fire first, and you can support me.. And if so.... they shouldn''t be using needlers, so stick behind cover. Anything can make good cover against a laser. If you hear the needlers come out... don''t bother with cover. Just keep moving."


    She nodded... and looked at a chicken place she''d eaten at not a week ago; currently empty; and sprinted for the door, followed by a few others; as the group split between a few buildings. She could feel the sweat running down her back, and wished that she was absolutely anywhere else; especially the city, with its police, and the dome... and anti-air defenses... preventing anyone like these pirates from landing.


    They didn''t have much time at all before she might have to kill someone.... on purpose, this time.

 Revival-Interrogation Department 24: Two Hours

    She''d sat here, in this very spot, to eat dinner not two weeks ago. Now... she was hiding under a table. Waiting for the sound of gunshots... and peeking at the reflections now and again in paranoia.... just in case.


    The tactics made sense. The enemy would undoubtedly come investigate the train tracks, where they''d spotted people from the air, as well as the bunker; and if they were lucky, the locals might be able to ambush them. It looked to be working better than she''d hoped; she could see, in the reflection, a group of pirates; mostly wearing a yellow and black uniform, though they didn''t seem nearly as strict about it as the Alliance; which seemed pretty obvious.


    All of them were baseline humans; no obvious  augmented traits, aside from cybernetics; at least three of them had pairs of glowing red eyes. They all wore black and yellow striped ceramic chestplates, and some sort of lightly armored skinsuit underneath it in those colors, but otherwise...


    Not just stunners. Lasers. Needlers. One even had a plasma rifle. And more importantly... they''d started launching drones.


    It had started with a loud, audible pop; and a strange, tingling sensation. Undoubtedly, some sort of area-of-effect stunner, that was being used indiscriminately; anyone who wasn''t behind solid cover or inside some large metal structure would undoubtedly be unconscious. Hopefully not including Bob; before the pirates drones arrived... followed closely by the men themselves.


    Even as she saw the group come into the open; over a dozen pirates; she could hear the buzz of drones flying... and see them enter one of the nearby buildings. Another. Any second now, they were going to find someone.


    Bob didn''t seem inclined to wait for that, and had clearly made it through the stunner. There was an audible whining sound; the high pitch of a Needle rifle primed and ready to fire; combined with the much softer sounds of launching, and the ''pops'' of tiny projectiles breaking the sound barrier.


    As the group all turned to focus on the source of the fire, the one with the plasma rifle went down; at least a dozen tiny holes through his body; and Erica rose to her knees, aiming the rifle right through the window; and with an audible pop of shattering glass, nailed one of the pirates in the left shoulder... twice, in rapid succession.


    She could see it, amidst all the gunfire. First, a sort of fog, that area of the suit abruptly changing color, the pirate visibly cringing and starting to back up; likely a painful burn, and an ablative layer fried off. Then.... a puff of red and yellow, as the flesh beneath the suit was flash-vaporized with the second shot... and the pirate dropped to the ground, screaming...


    She turned, nailing a drone with her second shot; even as the other pirates were firing back, blasting trees, buildings... at least one of the other trainees.... but it was over in seconds. All of the pirates down... and Bob leaning against the tree, with several holes in him, blood oozing down his own armor; red dripping across grey to the floor in a slow, steady path.


    Some of the others started to emerge from cover; Erica shook her head. There were more of them. They''d undoubtedly be coming. She kept looking around... and snapped off a shot at another drone that was emerging from a building; only to miss, leaving a scorch mark on the building behind it.


    It alerted the others, however; and several of them fired at once; a needle impacting it moments before the sweep of a laser on a beam setting engulfed it; it was already starting to fall when it got melted into slag.


    Bob... didn''t look in the best of shape. He''d clearly been hit by a few needle rounds through the torso and one arm. If he really wasn''t augmented... either his armor had something to keep him going, or he was a dead man walking.


    There was another pulse. That tingling feeling again.


    Bob simply flopped onto the ground... alongside a few of the others who''d left cover. She didn''t know how many people were still there, waiting to shoot... but this time, she switched the rifle over to the continuous beam setting... and the moment a drone popped into view, she fired... watching the thing partially melt and hit the dirt.


    As other drones flew into view, more shots were fired; several going down, and one simply immediately retreating.. before the sound of engines filled the area. After a few seconds, the dropship that had carried the pirates in came flying in low; a pair of heavy turrets, meant for anti-fighter work, sweeping across the buildings... she ducked low, and alongside a few others, rand into the back of the building... and even as the roof started to collapse, one of the others beckoned her forward... into a freezer. He shot the freezing mechanism with a needle rifle before shutting the door behind them...


    They could feel it. The building shaking apart around them, the sound of high-caliber weapons fire whistling through the air... then, after several minutes... silence. She and a few other trainees, none of whom she knew, were trapped there, in the darkness.


    ***


    At first, there was panic. The freezer was a relatively durable construct; and killing the cooling system while the door was still open had been a good call, ensuring they didn''t freeze to death. The room was even a great choice if someone was sweeping the area with thermal sensors; it was a bit cool, and insulated, and would mean any hostile detection would be useless.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    It also meant that friendly detection would be useless; nobody, friend or foe, was going to find them anytime soon.


    One of them; a man who was a bit slender but otherwise normal-looking, had his comm-unit raised, using it as an improvised flashlight; until another clicked a dial; and a flashlight attached to a needle rifle snapped on, filling the tiny room with light.


    It was still quite cool; boxes of frozen chicken and potato products lined the walls; but slowly growing warmer just from their body heat. The man who''d tried to use his comm as a light looked at the others. "Okay. So.... we''re trapped here. In a crushed building. Inside a freezer. We''ve got guns. Food we can''t eat without cooking it... anything else to speak of?"


    Erica glanced at the door. "Well, probably not trapped. It might take time, but I can get us out of here.. especially if we use that needler a few times and break some of the rubble into smaller pieces. Only real problem would be the dust."


    He blinked. "Ohhhh. Yeah, you''re that weird heavy-aug who was dragging all the folks on the glider. You look really tall for one."


    "One of the older, more classic types, from Anvil. Name''s Erica, by the way." She smiled at him... and looked at the others. "Heavy-grav augment, though not the strongest variety. I''ve taken the flying and the shooting courses, but if we wait a few hours before we get out, hopefully we won''t need any of that. Got my laser rifle here, and know how to use it."


    The thinner man gave a quick nod. "James. And... I agree, mostly. Though... if this is the real deal, and the pirates have enough people to take over... it''d probably be best for us to get out quick. I... well, my augment isn''t anything useful, here. We were made to accept cybernetics easily. I''ve got a laser, too, but I was here taking flying courses... so...."


    She blinked. That... was a terrible reminder. The Alliance had, back before implants were as cheap as they had become over the decades, deliberately engineered a breed of slave that could have control and interface implants installed to let them handle various technical tasks; and as implant tech got better, cheaper, and it became less needed, started culling them over the years.


    One of the other two chuckled; a woman quite a bit taller... and paler... than Erica patted her own needle rifle. She had long, dark, hair, and seemed... almost like a classic amazon from the movies. "Janice. Combat augment, but never really trained in fighting until recently. Redundant organs, bit stronger and faster than normal... not even close to a heavy, but I can probably handle myself. I can use the needler alright. Better than I would have thought I could."


    The last; the man whose own needle rifle was currently providing them with light; was leaning back against the boxes of chickens, and, up til now, was still wearing a helmet... which he carefully popped off, to reveal solid grey-black skin. "I''m still new with the rifle, myself. And of course, my augment is nothing useful here. Classic cold and heat resistance. I wouldn''t have minded if the freezer stayed running, but I suspected you lot would, so..."


    Janice nodded, and smiled at him. "Thanks. Getting the cold air out before shutting the door probably helped quite a bit. Quick thinking."


    Erica looked at the door, then the others. "So. getting out... we can probably do. Between a needler and my strength... it would be easy. Maybe slow, but easy. And while this might be a full-scale invasion... it probably isn''t. If we get out right now, in the next few seconds, we might be able to help stop them from being captured... or get captured ourselves. I.... don''t think we can get out fast enough to help."


    The grey-skinned man sighed. "Yup. Bob''s probably dead, the rest are getting dragged onto that dropship as we speak, or left for dead. They aren''t gonna want to be here when backup arrives... I figure if we wait... an hour, maybe two, we''ll be safe to start breaking out."


    Janice grimaced. "I really wanted to kill a few pirates. I''ve played so many sims of doing it, and kinda wanted to do it for real someday.... but yeah. We should wait.... two hours?"


    Erica nodded. "Two hours, then we break out."


    They all gave a nod, seemingly having settled on the most logical course of action. Erica glanced at James. "...So. A tech augment. Is that a long story, or..."


    The man chuckled... and lifted up his hair; revealing that, rather than the single tiny spot for a link most implants had, the back of his skull was mostly metal. "Not too long. They stuck a computer and interface in my brain when I was a kid, so I wasn''t compatible with a normal implant. Sixty years later, smaller, better implants were commonplace, and someone whose skull was deliberately engineered to be able to insert an implant easily was... less advantageous. A merchant bought me for a handful of credits, and pretended I died during a visit to Karth."


    Janice blinked. "Pretended you died? Why not just set you free?"


    Erica coughed. "...If you free a slave, you''re added to a blacklist, and can never buy one again. Its also a crime, even if you do it outside Alliance space. A merchant who deliberately frees a slave... ends up in jail the moment he shows up there."


    The woman shook her head. "Well, that''s some bullshit. I guess if it weren''t that way the ASU would just be buying slaves by the boatload and shipping them off."


    The only people Erica could think of who bought that many slaves at once were BSE; and they tended to just be dropping them off on some uninhabited world to form a colony, and then sell it as soon as they could claim legal ownership; and didn''t care whether it was the Alliance or anyone who bought said colony. Still. It was possible, but unlikely, they would show up, buy every single slave at a market... and the whole lot be free a few years later. Just... living on some terrible hellhole of a colony world in the middle of nowhere.


    "Yeah. The Alliance just sucks in general in that regard, whatever positive traits it might have."


    The amazon shook her head. "Positive traits my ass. Those people are the biggest sponsors of terrorists and pirates in the galaxy. We''d all be better off it they just died."


    Erica decided not to mention that the Alliance considered the dubs to be the biggest sponsors of terrorists and pirates... and the ASU to be a terrorist group. It wouldn''t be helpful, especially since she''d be joining them soon. "...Well. Maybe we should be quiet, for now... just in case they''re looking over the wreckage?" No amount of insulation could protect them from some drone just hearing them, after all.


    James nodded in acceptance... and then whispered. "Fine. I''ll set a two-hour timer. When its up... we break the hell out of here."