Hues got out of his jeep at the base of the tower and looked back towards the mammoth aircraft. He could barely make out the mechanics as they loaded fuel rods into the ports and supply crates into the cargo hold. If all went well, another ten minutes or so would see the Rear Admiral on his way and Hues would similarly be on his way to packing. Just a little further and this hellhole would be just another bad memory. But the good feelings died as Hues was confronted by the flight controller mere feet from his jeep. The controller had just run down the seven flights of stairs and was breathing heavily and obviously alarmed. It took the man a long moment to catch his breath before he could speak.
“Sir, I have Military HQ on the line. They want to talk to you, and they say it’s urgent.” Hues started to get a suspicion; a tiny voice in the back of his head, and it was saying bad things. Not acknowledging the controller and ignoring a sudden facial tick, he merely started up the stairs; slowly at first and then after the first flight, as fast as his long legs could scale the metal steps.
Hues gained the control room and scooped up the headset in a single broad step. He took a single moment to still his breathing and then spoke into the mouthpiece. “Commanding Officer Major Hues reporting.”
“Major Hues is it? This is Colonel Davenport. Son, do you have a mother-of-all-aircraft sitting on your tarmac?”
“Uh, that’s an affirmative, sir. Just landed a little less then ten minutes ago.”
“And what in the name of Hell’s Flame are you doing with it?”
“Fueling it, Sir. It was the Rear Admiral’s request.”
“Which Rear Admiral, son?”
“Rear Admiral Donaldson, sir.”
“Son, Rear Admiral Donaldson died two months ago in the Mativa riots.” Oh shit. “You have any security forces there?”
“Sir! No sir! This is a small airfield with no combat forces, sir. Ah, sir, his clearance checked out, sir. I’m afraid to say I don’t know what’s going on, sir.” Hues, not even realizing it, had gone straight as a board and cold sweat was running down his spine. His mind was blank except for one thought: he was never, ever, leaving Duckett’s Field, unless he was going to an Arctic Zone posting.
“Well sit tight son, I have three full Cav squads hauling ass to deal with your visitor. Your orders are to not allow that plane to leave, at any cost, and keep your lips sealed on this matter. You get me, son? And for God’s sake, stop fueling it.”
“Yes Sir! It will in no way get off my tarmac, sir!”
“It sure as hell better not, son,” and the Colonel clicked off the line.
“Son of a bitch. What are you going to do, Major?” the flight controller asked breathlessly having caught up to the Major a few moments before.
“Exactly as ordered, numbskull. Get me the Chief.”
Several miles away, a lone purple spiral was trailing across the sky. Inside the mech’s cockpit a fuel warning light clicked on and Kella swore. She had about ten minutes flight time left. She looked nervously down at her map display again and checked her equations for the seventh time. Once again, they matched the computer display; Duckett’s Landing was just under five minutes away. She had followed the Praetorian’s course after she had mopped up the last military Cav, but the fight had drained her Scythe of most of its fuel reserves, and all of its expendable ammunition. Her only weapons were an assortment of mono-blades and an over-sized beam rifle. She needed a place to set down and fuel up before finding her trophy, and Duckett’s Landing was the closest place on the map.
Kella was still fuming over being left behind. She had screamed till she was hoarse, but the Praetorian just kept on flying. With all the engines that behemoth boasted, there was no way she had been able to keep pace. Especially since one of the military Cavs had nicked a control surface. She’d been struggling to maintain altitude the whole way. Hopefully, Duckett’s wouldn’t have any military presence and she could buy the parts she needed. A small trifle compared to the treasure waiting at the end of this trip. Assuming she gets it to the end after all the problems that have cropped up.
Kella was about to check her map display for the eighth time when a warning warble sounded over her headset. She flipped up the radar screen and pulled up the warning with a few practiced taps. The three echelons of enemy Cavs made her gulp. They were coming in from behind her on the same heading, and they were all headed to Duckett’s. Three full squadrons of mechs and a command carrier couldn’t be all for her. No, her prize had to be at that tiny landing field. There was no other reason for that much firepower to be headed there. All she had to do now was keep ahead of the military and hope she didn’t run out of fuel before she got there. She swore again as she goosed the throttle.
Inside the Praetorian, Gavin’s remote sat in the commander’s chair gazing at the main holodisplay. The display actually spanned several sections and illuminated most of the forward bridge windows. On a side panel, status bars increased steadily as the crew from Duckett’s Landing loaded the supplies.
On his trip into Duckett’s, Gavin had taken the time to do some exploring. It had been a little awkward at first considering that the Praetorian was now, in essence, his body. However, he had been pleasantly surprised to discover, among other things, that his databanks had been filled with classified Military data and personnel records. With that info, it had been easy to find the code clearance for a highly placed Admiral. After that, duping the ground controller had been cake. He had enough fuel cells loaded now to last months, but he wasn’t sure where he was going after this, and wanted to make sure he had enough supplies to last. It had been an afterthought, but to maintain the illusion of a human crew, Gavin had thrown in a typical laundry list of foodstuffs and other supplies.
Gavin’s priority, however, was getting what was left of his physical body – if there was anything left - separated from the aircraft. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if there was anyone outside of the military that could accomplish the feat. Gavin wasn’t even sure how he’d come to be the Praetorian’s brain in the first place. He remembered working on the AI that should have gone into the plane. He remembered programming all the remotes and all the VI interfaces so the AI could operate the plane. But there was a huge spanning chasm between those memories, and him waking up inside the Praetorian as the AI.
Sub-computer VI, evidently slaved to his conscious, fed him all sorts of random information when he woke up. Like what time he was installed, how many times he was brought online, how many systems he controlled and their varied statuses. Not one piece in his entire Exabyte library really answered his one burning question. How the hell’d I get here? Gavin knew several geniuses on the Military’s payroll that could have put him in the plane and had even worked with most of them on the Sentinel project, but they were all useless to him. If there was anyone else, where would he look for them? There were rumors, of course and he didn’t like the idea at all. But to get there, he’d have to fly out to the Outer Territories. Less Military presence, but in its absence were the crime syndicates and the mercenary troupes. He might just find someone, but he’d probably find more trouble than it was worth.
A shrill beep pulled him from his thoughts, and the remote trembled slightly mimicking his mental response. The Praetorian’s passive radar was picking up several incoming blips. They were far out, but were closing in fast. Out in front of what was obviously three groups of Military machines was a lone blip. Gavin didn’t really need to guess who that singular blip was. She’d better haul ass if she wanted to join the party. Gavin sighed and the remote let out a slight hiss doing it’s best to mimic the human reaction. He’d have to leave sooner than planned.
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