Nellie and the Nanites - Bk3 - Ch.15

Chapter 15

Industrious

“The first thing we need to do is build more shuttles,” Salem stated, consulting her now-packed clipboard of notes. It was strange that the synth insisted on using it, given how much easier it would have been to use a pad, especially one of the new, improved models using the scavenged I.E.S. tech. Still, there was something about actual paper that seemed to soothe the uptight woman. 

“I think it would be wiser to concentrate on another ship capable of defense,” Remy countered, his voice tinged with urgency. “The Last Chances is not likely to behave itself for long, not to mention the possibility of the I.E.S. or even someone from the sectors coming along to ruin the party.”

“I assume you intend these ships to be unmanned, considering we have no crew to put in them?” Lucy asked him, “Perhaps a focus on increasing the skill of our current crew would be wise.”

“About that,” Paren finally perked up as the conversation finally got around to something she was interested in. “I was wondering if I could get a few of the spare synthetic cores to examine?”

“Why?” Nellie asked immediately.

"I want to see if we can make more,” she said with a determined tone. “More people, more crews, more workers, more ships. It just makes sense.”

“It won’t work,” Salem shook her head.

“How sure are you?” Paren asked.

“It’s the lockout design,” Lucy explained. “Each and every core has a unique imprint, and if you use it for a replacement, fine, but if you try and copy it… the detailed internals are quantum effects. There is just no way to reproduce that, not even with nanites.”

“It’s why our parent company was able to ask whatever it wanted for synths,” Salem added. “They are the only ones capable of doing it, and they had to harness a binary star just to power the calculations.” 

“So the cores we have, they are all we will ever have?” Nellie asked. 

“Unless we find an alternative to the current cores? Yes,” Salem nodded. “There were thousands lost in the attack on the factory, probably more. Each one of those is permanently gone. The quantum signatures inside are irreplaceable.”

“Sort of like a synthetic’s genetic code?” Paren asked, thinking aloud.

“A good analogy,” Salem confirmed. “The start-up of our AI consciousness is changed and molded by the core’s signature. It makes us all unique. We could run those same AI routines on another core, but without that effect, you just get clones, generalized copies of a program.”

“So I need to try and create a core that would influence each program in addition to hosting the AI?” Paren asked.

“Yes,” Lucy confirmed. “But for now, we have enough for you to do.”

“I need something to do while I rest,” Paren rolled her eyes. 

That was the thing about a teen genius. She was still a teenager. 

“None of this matters until we actually have the materials,” Nellie said, firmly putting this staff meeting back on track before it vanished off on another tangent. 

“I will have the Pre-Fabs loaded on the Resurgence within five minutes,” Salem said with a satisfied smile. “Their construction went much smoother than expected; the civilian crew outdid themselves.”

“Speaking of that?” Very finally spoke, having spent the last hour merely watching proceedings. “Could I ask a question?”

“Of course, Vey,” Lucy smiled at him.

“I was wondering if I could maybe start some training sessions with some of them?” Vey looked anxious, shifting in his seat. “I have training proficiency in several ship systems as part of the security suite I was programmed with.”

“What systems?” Salem asked, pen hovering over a fresh sheet of paper like a hawk hovering over fresh prey.

“Security systems, engineering, hydroponics, zero-g repairs, basic flight and navigation, and engine maintenance,” Vey looked proud as Salem beamed. “I can also offer training in weapons, combat, shipboard weapons maintenance, and other combat-related roles, but I have no certification.”

“Permission to transfer Vey to my command?” Salem asked with a predatory smile.

“Denied,” Nellie laughed. “You already have Dar, Remy, and Banjo over there.”

“You can have Banjo back,” Salem offered with faux generosity.

“Nice try,” Nellie laughed. “That said… Vey, can you offer this training on the Bly?”

“I can,” Vey looked like a rabbit in headlights as his eyes darted between them.

“Then I officially appoint you as the Training Officer for the Bly and the Rest.” Nellie beamed. “Congratulations, Vey.”

“Thanks?” Vey would have been sweating if that was a thing Synths could do. 

Nellie sent a quick message to Lucy via their interior comms, telling her she might want to give the terrified man a pep talk after the meeting.

Lucy nodded minutely when she received it. 

They quickly ran over the plan for the trip to the nearby volcanic planet, and then Nellie hurried off to check out the Resurgence while Lucy smiled kindly at Vey and took him aside to soothe the synth’s near panic at his idea being accepted. 

Some habits die hard, and Nellie found herself unconsciously stopping to check that the load was strapped down and properly organized as she made her way through the Resurgence’s cargo bay. 

She grumbled slightly when she entered the flight deck and saw Baz already in place, running through the same checks that she had planned to do. It wasn’t that she resented his professional attitude or his skills. It was just that there were only so many opportunities to fly and two people who loved to do it. 

Also, the man had more free time than she did.

While she was in meetings or working on the latest diplomatic issue, it was his job to fly the shuttle or the Bly, depending on which was needed. It was just an adjustment Nellie needed to make. 

Being a Captain of a real ship meant her crew did a lot more of the day-to-day stuff, which she missed. The first few runs to and from Mog-Fiver and especially Fig-7 were a blast, and they had awoken something in her that she simply could not give up so easily.

Nellie was definitely a hands-on kind of girl. 

“I’m green-lighting the extra shuttles,” Nellie said as she slid into the command chair. “So, we’ll have more shuttles in need of pilots soon.”

“Cool,” Baz grinned. “Who gets to train them?” 

“Funny you should ask,” Nellie chuckled. “Vey is starting a training program. I think you should think about adding flight training to that.” She was more than capable of ordering him to do it, just like she could order him out of that chair, but she wouldn’t. Something she had learned back on the Hub was that being in charge meant a lot less getting what she wanted than Nellie had expected. 

Sure, she was Captain, and her word was law… but that just meant Nellie was forced to be reasonable. All. The. Time.

“Pre-checks done!” Baz grinned as he hopped out of the pilot seat. “Controls transferred to the command chair. Have a great flight, Cap!”

“Thanks, Baz,” Nellie didn’t even try to hide her enthusiasm, especially from Bazil. The canny synth shared her love of flying, so there was simply no need to pretend or put on airs. 

Given his almost pathologically relaxed nature, he gave the closest thing to a salute he could manage and hurried off, crossing paths with the crew headed for the planet. 

On the first run, the crew would be small and modified Centrum units would take up most of the space. She did see three of the basic model synthetics take the spare jump seats, which was the first time she had seen them since the Bly first took off. 

They had been given new limbs and several other upgrades by the look of it, but their glances were still the empty ones she remembered. Nellie made a mental note to get Lucy to look into upgrading their programming. Given how limited they were in cores, every one of the synths needed to be given every advantage they could give them.

Finally, Lucy stepped onboard, and the Resurgence launched into the void, heading for the large, angry planet they had been looking at for weeks.

===<<<>>>===

Bil-Tor woke Crush in the early hours of the morning, his normally happy face locked into one of grim determination.

“What’s happened?” Crush asked, long years of training and reflexes bringing him awake in a second.

“Fight over at the supply yard,” Bil said angrily. “The Last Chances crew thought Brix’s people were being too stingy with their supplies.”

“Injuries?” Crush asked as he pulled on his gear and pinned his shiny new tin badge onto his shoulder. 

“Four injured, two dead,” Bil said, holding the door open for Crush as they headed out into the pre-dawn chill. “If it was just that, I would have let you sleep.”

They hurried through the dark streets, and Crush saw the problem the moment they turned onto the main drag down to the supply yard. 

Someone had nailed one of the supply guards to the doors, his throat cut. 

“I think they wanted to send a message,” Bil-Tor said with anger in every syllable. 

“Well, I think they sent it,” Crush said, feeling that familiar coldness seep into his mind. It washed away the anger and left him with an icy calm that many of his enemies had learned to dread, albeit briefly. 

“We have witnesses,” Bil-Tor said quietly. “They are hesitant to talk.”

“No shit,” Crush said as he examined the wound, carefully examining the directionality of the cut to the throat. It suggested the killer was left-handed, which was rare enough in the Last Chances crew, given the Fed’s tendency to be right-handed. So, they had a lefty killer who was apparently a practiced murderer. Crush had seen cuts by amateurs and professionals, and when it was smooth, it meant they had done it without a second of hesitation.

That meant they had killed often enough to become immune to it. 

“Well?” Bil-Tor asked.

“Left-handed, military training,” He pointed out how the knife was angled at precisely the right angle to cause maximum damage, “But they aren’t a sadist or get off on killing. This was smooth, clinical.”

“That matters?” Bil-Tor simmered, waiting for someone to explode on, but Crush was methodical. 

“Look,” Crush pointed out the three stab marks on the second victim, who was lying at the feet of the other. “This one has three wounds: one in the thigh, one in the chest, and one under the arm. See how only the one under his arm bled much?”

“I see it,” Bil nodded tensely. “What’s it mean.”

“It suggests he was already dead when the other two wounds were inflicted.” Crush shook his head. “They are trying to make a surgical strike look like a brawl, but they aren’t very good at it.”

“Why?” Bil-Tor frowned. 

“Good question,” Crush said. “Let’s get these two on ice, yeah?”

“We don’t need holos or something?” Bil-Tor asked.

“No, we saw what we saw,” Crush grinned. “This is frontier justice, we know. That’s enough.”

“The council might not see it that way,” Bil-Tor grumbled as he gently removed the man from the door and put the body over his shoulder.

“Don’t plan to ask their opinion on it,” Crush said as he hefted the other and led Bil-Tor back to the Marshall’s office.

Two hours later, Crush walked up to the little enclave of the Last Chances crew and knocked on the door. No one opened it.

He knocked louder and then waited again. 

“Next knock is with a round from my pistol,” Crush called with a grin. “Let’s not play silly games, shall we?”

The door opened, and Crush was surprised to see the 3rd Officer of the ship behind it. He had assumed all the main crew had left with the ship.

“What do you want, little Marshall?” Olga Marsh grinned down at him.

“Just here to take the murderers into custody,” Crush responded calmly as he looked up at the musclebound collection of bad habits and anger issues that Brenda had chosen as the third officer for her ship. “Did you decide who they will be yet?”

“What?” Olga Marsh frowned down at him, puffing up her seven-foot frame as if he would give a shit. 

Crush had been threatened, beaten, and shot by the best; she didn’t even move the needle. 

“That whole brawl was bullshit,” Crush sighed. “Honestly, did you think that shit would get past a drunk toddler, let alone a professional?”

“We did nothing,” she tried to sneer, but she was losing her confidence too fast to do so convincingly.

“It was staged, a poor attempt to piss me off and have someone do something stupid,” Crush said with a faked yawn. “Now, you know I need to take someone, so I’ll take whoever you say did it. I’ll deal with the real culprits later, of course.”

“No, you won’t!” She got in his face, and Crush blinked calmly, “You’ll back off and do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

“I’m waiting,” Crush smiled, “But I won’t wait long.”

Olga drew back a fist but got no further before she heard the whine of a blaster powering up. Looking down, she saw one pointed up at her heart from waist level. She smiled and dropped her fist. 

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Olda chuckled merrily. “This might be fun after all.”

“Let’s ensure it isn’t,” Crush said with a smile of his own. “Let’s just make it short.”

“Ooh,” Olga shook her head. “I don’t think you would like that.”

“Try me,” Crush said simply. 

Olga frowned at him again, then simply whistled into the compound behind her. 

Two men were marched out, bound, gagged, and beaten. Both had copious amounts of blood on their uniforms, but neither uniform really seemed to fit.

“Here they are, Marshall,” Olga said with a wave. “All ready to be executed.”

“Oh, I think we will have a little chat with them first,” Crush gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Good luck with that,” Olga said, slamming the door and leaving Crush with his two new charges. 

Crush thought for a moment before moving off, loudly calling for everyone to get back, murder suspects being brought through the street.

Every window and door opened as people naturally came to see the thing they had been loudly warned to stay away from. Brackta nature was surprisingly similar to human nature; both races were rubberneckers from birth. 

While it certainly pissed off a lot of people who liked to actually sleep in the morning, it did ensure that there were plenty of witnesses to Crush gently leading the two men down the center of the street, loudly complaining about the way they had been handed over ‘beaten half to death’ by their comrades. 

It never hurts to advertise, and gossip and rumor would ensure everyone knew what happened here in an hour, long before anyone could try to spread a false story.

A wise brackta once said that a lie can run around the world before the truth has put on its boots, but Crush liked to skip all that and get the truth off at a sprint before the lie had even woken up.

Failing to be enraged by the actions of the Last Chances crew had apparently thrown a spanner in whatever the crew was planning, but they were at least competent enough to have had a backup plan. 

Which was a pity, Crush thought as he had Cara and And-Aran pull a large table and three chairs out into the middle of the square. He set the two prisoners into two of the chairs and secured them before removing the over-the-top nonsense the Last Chances crew had used.  

Quite a crowd had gathered in the early morning light as Crush sat down opposite them and pointedly placed a pad in front of him before clearing his throat.

“Shall we begin?” He smiled.

The two men scowled and kept their mouths tightly shut.

“I see,” Crush nodded to Cara, who started a holo recorder. “In that case, I will inform you of your charges and the reason for your arrest.”

One of the men spat on the table, the phlegm pink with blood.

“The charges are the willful murder of two members of the Colony Security and Supply division, including the defiling of one body by nailing it to a wall,” Crush went on, ignoring the growing crowd. “I arrested you after you were handed over to me by one Olga Marsh, Third Officer of the Last Chances, who informed me you were responsible and had been handed over for execution.”

The two men’s eyes widened noticeably, and they both seemed to try and speak, but their mouths wouldn’t move.

“One moment, Cara?” Crush moved around the desk and pulled the men’s lips back. “For the record,” Crush spoke loudly. “Their jaws seem to have been wired shut before they were handed over for questioning. We will now remove the wires with the assistance of the nearest medical personnel.”

Crush then sat back down, hands clearly visible while they waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long.

Both men went into convulsions within a couple of minutes, and Crush sat calmly while they were examined; the summoned medic reported to the camera and the crowd that the men had died of poisoning. 

He spent another three minutes reporting ‘to the camera’ that the uniforms clearly did not belong to the men and that they had no bruised knuckles or other indicators of being in a fight, as opposed to being beaten, tied up, and framed for the crime. 

“What was the point of that?” Cara asked as they moved the table back into the office. 

“They handed them over to die,” Crush said simply. “I made sure they did it in public, where no one could accuse us of killing them. This way, everyone knows what happened.”

“But what was the point?” Cara huffed. “We still don’t know who did it.”

“Of course we do,” Crush grinned. “We have their uniforms. I doubt this ham-fisted attempt to make us look bad included cleaning the uniforms of anything that could identify their original owners.”

“And when we find them?” Cara asked with a smile.

“We shoot them in the head,” Crush winked. “After all, they made a point, so now I get to make mine.”