Chapter 2
Greetings
DATE:
7088.03.05,
RECON
ERA
GRANTHAM’S SECURITY EMPORIUM
Lotomi Colony, Planet Kelara, Gryanke System
I pushed
the door open. A small bell’s tingle reverberated through my skull
like a sharp knife. Making
me wince, covering my
ears as I stepped up to the counter. Tenderness and fatigue plagued
anything lower than my navel. My legs felt like they belonged to a
fawn. The smell of
cheap motor oil and battery acid, things that I usually found
comforting, assaulted my senses.
Feeling
green, I almost
collapsed against the
counter, so my upper
torso could be
supported
and give my
legs a break. I barely glanced at the displayed drones or humanoid
bots along the wall. A
glimpse in the display case showed a bird’s nest of hair,
leather jacket hanging lopsided on my shoulders. I
slipped off my heavy knapsack, it’s weight making it land with
a dull thud on the
ground, the objects inside noisily banging against each other.
I'd rushed
out of my ship, barely making sure my flight pants and long-sleeved
shirt were clean. One of my boots wasn’t
even moulded on properly, something interfering with the automatic
lace up. I was surprised I hadn’t lost it yet.
Taking
painkillers to kill the
pounding headache I
woke up with told me exactly what kind of day I was going to have.
Lolling my head across the display case, not caring if I left skin
impressions, I noticed a counter
bell. Bracing myself
for the sound, I rang it with
a half-hearted slap.
I bit my
thumbnail, a blush creeping over my cheeks. On top of all that,
had left before sunrise. I absentmindedly scratched at
an itch on my neck, readjusting the jacket’s collar so my neck
wasn’t exposed to the air. Machine gods, did I want him to be in my
bed again.
I moaned
pathetically, burying my face into my arms on the counter. The
definition of a one-night stand meant one-night. As in never again. I
didn’t know his name, hardly knew what he looked like, and didn’t
even know if he was a local.
Hearing
some sounds upstairs, I looked up and blew away a stray strand of
hair that fell in my face.
"Ah!
My favourite customer!" A portly man appeared from a stairwell,
arms wide with a saccharine smile on his face. Grantham was a
long-time acquaintance, eager to always offload any stagnating goods
to me.
I rolled my
eyes at him, my fist
digging into my cheek.
I did not have the patience today for his insufferable good mood. His
voice aggravated my headache, and I had a goddamn ache in my loins
that shouldn't have been there after last night. I absentmindedly
rubbed my thighs together.
"You
say that to all your customers, you sleaze." I
didn’t care if I sounded rude. He was only interested in whether or
not I had CoreBits to spend.
"So?
It's the truth! All my customers are my favourite people in the
world." He leaned against the counter, his arms wide. "Now,
my grumpy guts, what can I do for you today? Where are you off to? On
your next dive for ancient tech? Seeking to plunder the graves of our
forebears?"
I grimaced,
"I don’t rob graves; I excavate robots and ruins.” I
automatically went on the defensive. I sighed wearily. “I'm going
out to Loupgaro System, a planet named Graphi. The
Uni
won't let me go until I get a security bot. Better than the last one.
Insurance something,
something."
My hand spun in the air before I landed my chin
back into it.
"Oh!"
His eyes lit up. "All the way out to Ross
508,
huh? A bigger budget today then?! CoreBits
or CredShards?"
I gave
him a saccharine smile,
letting honey drip into my voice.
budget for
sure, what you get
depends on the model.”
I let the smile melt off my face, having no energy to keep it fixed.
“The older the model, the better. Prioritise Ron tech, blah, blah,
you know the drill."
Grantham's
smile didn't fall, but his eyes did narrow. "I know what you
like." He gestured to a panel in the wall. "No Ron units,
but I have the next best specimen for you today. Just got traded in
day before yesterday,
as a matter of fact." He snapped his fingers.
The panel
slid open, revealing an imposing figure. A humanoid android covered
head to toe in jet-black interlocking armour. An opaque glass panel
covered its face, the sleek design melding into the rest of the
helmet plates. The
limbs were true to human proportions.
It stepped forward, coming to a stop in the middle of the show space.
I noticed it falter slightly with one of its steps.
The armour
seemed scratched, dented, and chipped in places. It
looked .
Now,
might just distract me from
aches, pains and regrets. I came forward to inspect it, looking
around it for a model number or brand. Inspecting
every inch of its interlocking plates, knowing that some models had
their designation in tiny writing. I
lifted my arm to touch the surface, my
hair shifting to release a
whiff of corn whiskey, and
worn leather.
His firm
tongue
tracing the veins along
my neck.
I violently
shook my head and scrunched my eyes tight. I slapped both cheeks
simultaneously, the sting jolting me back into Grantham’s shop.
"Are
you alright?" A hesitating voice sounded behind me.
"Yeah,
just had a rough night." I stood before the robot, where it
stood head and shoulders taller than me, and its head subtly followed
my movements. "This
seems to be Severance Era tech. Do you know where
it came
from?"
"The
guy didn't know. Said he found it in some storage locker, owned by
his grandparents."
I was
walking around it with my appraising eye, inspecting all the seams of
the interlocking plates in the armour. Running
my hands over the joints and plating. I
rapped my knuckles against the chest plate. It didn't ring hollow; it
was a solid block of composite density. I
tilted my head at it. It didn’t flinch or shy away.
I noted the
thick mesh protecting its inner joints. Its head followed me for a
bit before subtly facing forward again, the
movements too fluid to be human. I leaned closer to investigate its
fully articulated hands, the fingers long and thick.
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His
hands migrating down my body.
His lips
kissing the
back of my knee.
Rubbing my
tired eyes, I schooled my expression and then ducked my head around
the back of the sentinel, raising my eyebrow, trying
to stay .
"Seemed
a bit shaky in its steps; is it faulty?"
"Oh
please." Grantham
answered my question with an eye roll, dramatically grasping his
chest in mock hurt.
"Faulty? You know my reputation. I would never sell or rent
anything that I even think might harm my customers. How would I do
business otherwise?"
"So,
you ran a full diagnostic and have it ready to go with the manual?"
"Yes,
of ,
I did.” Grantham
chuckled a little before continuing. “Full
diagnostic, certified, sealed, and signed. But you wouldn't trust a
scoundrel like me, would you? Why don't you give it a little test
yourself?”
I
clutched
my
forehead with a moan, my
migraine pounding.
‘
“I really should.
Where’s the input port?” I
walked over to my knapsack, pulling out my heavy-duty, damaged SlabDeck, spooling a cable from one of the side-pockets.
“There are two,
one either side of the back of the neck. One for charging and one for
data transfer. Careful
with the transfer. Firewall is a little aggressive.
It’s a little spicy.” Grantham complained,
showing an inert tablet, with the input port singed on one end.
I barely
spared a glance at him, humming distractedly in response. Looking up
the wide back of the sentinel and tracing the spine to the head just
reminded me of something I might have seen last night.
His rock hard
body pressing up against mine.
Blushing
furiously, I pinched my nose hard. Trying to focus on the task at
hand, I zeroed in on searching for the ports in question. I ran my
fingers over the spine, coming to a stop at the base of the neck and
seeing the faint circles of the ports. I pressed lightly on both
circles, and they popped open, each with a symbol on the lid
indicating which was which. I traced the data port, polished
smooth around the rim. This unit had been plugged in countless times.
Standard military combat cycling would have seen it wiped multiple
times.
My fingers
traced along a deep
gouge that stretched
across its neck, devolving into a faint scratch across its chest.
"I
can't see a brand name or model number on it. Is
it off-brand? Or
are some of the plates not original?" I
leaned over to look at Grantham as I plugged in my cable. It was
rated for surge protection, so I wasn’t too concerned about any
‘spicy’ voltage spikes.
DIAGNOSTIC TOOL v4.2 // CASEment-OS
CONNECTING...
The handshake icon spun for a fraction of a
second. Just a breath of hesitation before the connection snapped
into place.
I pursed my lips. A modern operating system would
have been instantaneous, but this was Severance architecture. The
signal probably had to route through a dozen archaic logic gates
before it woke up. I tapped the screen, dismissing the lag as
age-related latency.
"All
I know is that it’s unmarked, unbranded. Right up your alley!” He
pumped his arm. “If
your curiosity
has been sufficiently piqued,
just sign the contract, pay and be on your way. Graphi, yes?"
Grantham
glanced at the bot quickly before pushing his
own bulky
SlabDeck towards me.
"If you don't like it, you can always bring it back. Deposit
guaranteed, of course, as long as it's not damaged."
"It's
already damaged, across
the neck here. You're
not going to pin that one on me when I return it, are you?" I
pointed to the offending scratch; holding
my heavy tablet awkwardly in one hand.
Grantham
sniffed. "Look, missy, if you're going to kick up a stink about
it, I can throw in a repair kit.” He pointed a firm finger at me
before I could get a word in. “No discount."
I clicked
my tongue, annoyed. I
looked down to the reports that popped up on the screen.
I frowned
at the ‘Unknown’ errors, tapping the screen to reveal more
information. The dialogue boxes were empty.
“Only,
Class-2 Combat Protocols?” I asked out loud. “The way it walked
and lack of obvious weapons made me think it was Class-3.”
“Ah…”
Grantham hesitated, looking the unit up and down before turning back
to me. “Well, it only has… limited combat abilities. But
put a gun in its hand and it’ll do its job. It just… didn’t
come with any.”
I raised my
eyebrows, the Sentinel’s body blocking Grantham’s view of my
face.
The program
on my tablet froze.
“By the
lag…” I cursed under my breath, pulling out the cable and
rebooting the device. As
I stepped away, the ports closed.
"Well
at least I don’t have to worry about it shooting me by accident.”
I hesitated, it was a bit beat up and the Firewall Class got me
curious. I shrugged, “Fine,
you got a deal. You've got my debit details still."
I pressed
my thumbprint on the
form, the headache
blinded me to the fine print.
Silently lamenting my
missing Slate, I tapped my
Slab against
Grantham’s device to
grab the documents. I
noted the wide smile that spread across the salesman’s face.
"Is
the manual included with the report? It looks a little light." I
ran my fingers over my device, quickly reading the information.
Grantham
laughed, pulling out and depositing a thick,
A5 book from under the
counter. "Nope, it’s all analogue. I knew, of all people,
you'd appreciate this one."
A broad
grin spread across my face. I grabbed the manual and repair kit,
stuffing them
in the knapsack at my
hip. “Always a
pleasure doing business with you, my dear Grantham. Now if we can
hurry this along, I have places to be.”
“That’s
fine! Now, just stand there in front of it, and we’ll assign you as
the client.” Grantham went around the counter, coming to a stop
next to me.
“Don’t
I need my Slim-Slate
and then have it scan my face?” I stood where he indicated, getting
slightly impatient and worried with the process, crossing
my arms tightly across my chest.
“Because, just so you know, I don’t have it on me. I’ve lost
it.”
“Hmm?”
Grantham looked innocently at me. “Sweet cheeks, don't you fret
about a thing. The new ones need all that fuss, but this little
gem—it's old school. It has a much more... personal touch.” He
patted my arm, a little too familiar. “Just say your name, and
it'll get to know you right away.”
I cast a
sidelong glance at Grantham but did as he instructed. “Melissa
Cabot.” I said my name fluidly. I always, instinctively, say last
name with a bit of an accent, leaving the ‘t’ silent.
There was
no visual indication that it was scanning, but soon twin white lights
blinked behind the visor, and a monotone, authoritative male voice
rang out.
“Forty-Five-Responsive-Nought-Neuraliser
activated. Client assigned...Melissa Cabot.”
He
flawlessly said my name just as I said it, dropping the ‘t’.
I tilted my
head to the side. He
certainly sounded robotic and simple. But there was something off
that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
It was
strange that he needed
to advertise that he
was activated. Was he
not already?
“Right.”
I spoke softly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well, Forty-Five.
Nice to meet you. Let’s get going.”
“Greetings.
Miss Cabot. Client-Protection
Protocol active.”
