Hey everyone! I'm back; sorry I didn't get a chance to do any writing while I was at the convention. The good news is that I don't have any plans to go anywhere for the next several months, so let's get down to writing!

I have a couple of friends/family who read my stories, and one of them made the comment that this AO book is having a "pretty slow start." I agree -- it is slow, but we're only on chapter 13 of 50 or so, and I think we're handling a lot of business/character development and BREATHING ROOM that I sometimes forget to include when I'm really pursuing a plot. I still have a lot I want to accomplish in Book 3, and I think it'll get pretty exciting here for a few chapters... :)

Hmm, one more thing: Hector makes a decision in this chapter that I know a lot of you are going to be annoyed about, but when I was putting myself in Hector's head, this felt like the absolute right move; this is what he would do, and he wouldn't care about the logic of it. More importantly (to me), is that it sets up some fun little interactions and plot devices for down the road.

Anyway, thanks for your patience with me, and please enjoy the chapter!

-Plum

13 – Not for Me

Hector stood with Gladia and Freddy on the bridge, watching the viewscreen. It was augmented by his optics to display a three-dimensional image. On it, he could see the near edge of the asteroid field and Maidensong “falling” toward it. The ship’s little drive plume flared brightly as it slowly approached the drifting asteroids. Two of the asteroids were highlighted in a faint yellow glow; Gladia’s strategists suspected the pirates were hiding behind those mountain-sized boulders.

“Any minute now,” Gladia said.

Hector grunted. He was no expert on spaceship ambushes. In his old life, he’d have been sitting in a gel-lined crash seat waiting to be launched at the enemy vessel. This part, the planning and watching and waiting, would have been handled by the tribunes and legates.

The viewscreen, just a few meters wide, made everything look urgent, but he knew they still had time—an hour or more before they were close enough to the field that combat would be imminent. The pirates would show themselves soon, though; they were just waiting for Maidensong to get close enough that flight would be impossible—close enough for mass drivers and quick interceptors to pose enough of a threat that Gladia would have to bargain.

“Still not sure they won’t just punch us full of holes and call it done.” Hector grimaced; he hadn’t meant to voice the thought aloud.

Gladia looked at him sharply. “Freddy and I are more valuable to them as hostages.”

“They’ll want the ship, too—I’m sure that was part of their payment,” Freddy added.

Hector looked at the kid. His new body was, as far as he could tell, identical to the old one, which said a lot for his genetics. Usually, when one of the elite traded out their skin, they’d throw in some upgrades—a little taller, better hair, more exotic coloring, maybe. He grabbed Freddy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, jostling him. “Hope you’re right.” He smiled wryly and added, “If not, it was nice knowing you.”

“Don’t be macabre,” Gladia snapped. Her patience had deteriorated over the last twenty-four hours, especially when it came to jokes about her son dying.

“There!” one of the crew members said, and a flashing red dot appeared near one of the highlighted asteroids.

“I’m getting a positive identification,” another crew member said. “It’s her, ma’am—Grendel.”

“They’re hailing us,” the first crew member said.

Gladia frowned and turned to pace.

“Ma’am?”

Hector didn’t envy the young man; the smart fabric of his House Ventress uniform was probably working overtime to wick away his sweat.

“A moment, Hess,” Gladia said. “Let them wonder.”

“Do I alter our—” the woman at the navigation desk started to ask, but Gladia cut her off.

“Alter nothing.” She inhaled deeply, then nodded to Hess. “Put them through—just me. Filter the bridge away.” She squared herself to the display, and as a window appeared containing a woman’s face, she snapped, “What’s this about?”

“Gladia Ventress, I presume?” The woman—middle-aged, with jet-black, marble-like eyes, a shaved skull, and an intricate spider’s web tattoo covering most of her face—had a smooth, almost beautiful voice.

“And you are?” Gladia asked, playing dumb; they all knew she was Molly Lavoie, leader of the pirate group, Molly’s Mercantile.

“To you? I’m ‘yes, ma’am.’ If you want to write in your journal about who got the better of you, then put me down as Mad Molly, Queen of the Free Mercantile.”

“Ma’am,” Hess said, “we’ve identified two more ships—a corvette and a heavy barge. It looks modified to carry interceptors.”

Hector looked at the display to the left of Molly’s face and saw the two new red triangles emerge from around another large asteroid.

“So?” Gladia asked the viewscreen. “What’s your game? You want me to pay a toll?”

Molly smiled crookedly, clicking her tongue. “We can start with that. I also want your ship, and you.”

Gladia feigned boredom, sighing and flicking her fingers dismissively. “You know who I am; let’s be realistic. Do you want the entire weight of House Ventress to come down on you? Would you like my brother to come calling with his fleet? Perhaps your mercantile has operated beneath notice until now, but I think you might be trying to bite off a bit more than a mouthful.”

“I’ve bad news for you, Lady Ventress,” Molly said, shaking her head. “We’ve backing of our own. Now, are you going to play nice, or will things have to get messy?”

Gladia stiffened, frowning as though she’d just learned something troubling. After a moment, she said, “Maidensong isn’t helpless. We’ll make you pay dearly for her, and I’ll be sure you’re left with nothing but salvage!”

“Try to run, try to fight, and we’ll destroy you,” Molly replied, voice cool. “I’ve got mass-driver installations already trained on your signature. There’s no running from this. I get paid if I destroy you, but I’d rather take you alive—I wouldn’t mind that ship, either.”

Gladia glanced at Hector, and though Molly couldn’t see him, she probably wondered who Gladia was looking at. He locked eyes with her and nodded. Smiling grimly, Gladia turned back to Molly and said, “Come and try to take us.” Then she made a chopping motion with her hand, and Hess cut the connection. When the comm window disappeared, Gladia turned back to Hector. “You’re going to have to capture her. We’ll need her to issue an order to stand down.”

“We don’t know if she’s bluffing. They may not have any installations on the asteroids,” Freddy said. “If Hector took out Grendel, the pirates may just fold.”

“Maybe,” Hector agreed, “but we don’t know. If they do have mass drivers aimed at you, and Grendel falls, they might start shooting.”

“So, you still think you can do it?” Gladia asked.

Hector shrugged. “I’ll try.”

Gladia stepped a little closer, shaking her head. “I wish you’d take Flint with you.”

“He’s not right for this; besides, you’re going to want him here to help repel boarders. The longer you hold out, the better my chances.” He glanced at the viewscreen. “I should get ready.”

Gladia flexed her fingers, and her lips parted as though she might say something more, but she didn’t. She strode to the door, stepping into the hallway ahead of him. When Freddy tried to follow, she shook her head and said, “Monitor the bridge for me.”

He frowned, glancing at Hector almost suspiciously, but then he turned and walked back to the command console. When the door closed, Hector looked at Gladia expectantly.

“I know you don’t want to outline the specifics of your plan, but we’re really wagering an awful lot on you.”

“Do you have another option?”

Her brows drew together, but her tone wasn’t angry when she said, “Flint. He could fight his way to the bridge.”

“He’ll be noisy and Molly would get nervous—maybe nervous enough to punch a hole through Maidensong to make a point and get him to back off. That won’t work with me.”

Gladia’s eyes narrowed, and he knew she was thinking his words over, wondering if he were being serious. Wondering if he’d really ignore threats against Maidensong and press on until he’d gotten to Molly. Her words ignored the implication, though. “You really think you can get through that ship, all the way to wherever Molly’s holed up, without setting off alarms?”

“Not sure, but I bet I’ll get closer than Flint could.”

Gladia nodded. “Well, I trust you, Hector. I hope you know that by now.”

He glanced at the door to the bridge pointedly. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that her son was alive because of him. He didn’t rub it in. “In this case, you should. The people I care about are on this ship, and I doubt anything good would happen if Molly captures it.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Don’t get captured until I’m done.” He looked down the corridor to the elevator. “Have Freddy meet me at airlock C in fifteen with the suit.”

Gladia opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. To his surprise, she held out her hand. He tilted his head, trying not to look amused as he took it and returned her firm grip. “Good luck, Hector.”

“Just keep my people safe.”

She smiled wryly as she released his hand. “Lemon and Kit will be with me.”

Hector didn’t let the words bait him into further conversation; he turned and walked to the elevator. A few minutes later, he was in his quarters, opening the shielded case where he kept his most valuable possessions. He lifted out the gravity mantle and turned it in his fingers, weighing the pros and cons of using it for himself.

The device was powerful—an artifact prized by the elite for its ability to save them from almost certain harm. Its tiny gravity generator or manipulator—Hector wasn’t sure of the best way to describe it—was beyond current gravity tech, unless the ever-present rumors were true about the Empire hoarding technological know-how. It could stop bullets and shrapnel, could protect its wearer from falls or impacts, and could even turn aside blades or needles. It made killing the wearer a lot trickier—for normal people.

The thing was, Hector wasn’t normal anymore, nor would the people who threatened him be. The mantle could soak up a lot of damage, converting force to heat and radiating it from the housing, but it had its limits. He figured the one in his hands could stop ten or twenty bullets, or a small explosion, but then it would need to cool down and recharge. It couldn’t stop aura constructs; he’d proven that when he’d killed Tacitianus.

Hector, with Praetorian-grade vitality and the ability to regenerate far beyond even his old capabilities, was already resistant to the sorts of damage the mantle could protect him from.

Is it worth pairing this damn thing to me?

He’d asked the question a hundred times over the last few days, but the answer still eluded him. The truth was that the mantle might make the difference in a close fight. It might stop a bullet that he didn’t see coming—one aimed for his skull. On the other hand, it might prove wholly redundant to him, while it could very easily save Lemon or Sass from a hundred kinds of death.

When he closed his eyes and he thought about why he was fighting, why he wanted to seek out the people who’d betrayed him and killed the Contis, things weren’t as clear as they’d once been. He still had that smoldering rage in his chest, but he also remembered the Conti kids; he remembered laughing and chatting with Drake—a man who’d been more than an employer. And when he saw those faces, they weren’t alone; Lemon, Sass, and even Freddy—Royal though he was—were there too.

He’d cared about the Contis, and that was what stung the most about being blamed for their slaughter. They weren’t alone, though; no matter how he might deny it, Hector knew there were people in this new life he cared about, too.

He held the mantle in his palm, then flipped it up and snatched it out of the air. “This thing isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference when I’m fighting people like Lucien or Alistair.”

//True.//

You’re not going to argue? Evie’s immediate agreement surprised him. He still clutched the metal band in his hand as he exited his quarters and started down the corridor.

//No…//

He could tell Evie was holding back her thoughts, so he stopped mid-stride and pressed. “Out with it.”

//I believe your relationships with Lemon and the others are healthy. I believe that if you nurture them, you might ultimately attempt to avoid self-destruction. Therefore…//

You think I should protect Lemon.

Evie didn’t reply, so he started walking again. He wasn’t stupid, though; he knew what was going on in the AI’s mind. She was playing out the odds; she thought it was less likely that the device would save him than it might save Lemon, and she knew that if Lemon were killed, Hector’s lust for self-destruction would be renewed. The tough part about that chain of logic was that he couldn’t argue with it.

//You’re not being fair. I like Lemon and the others, too; it’s not purely a self-preservation calculation!//

He clutched the cool, silvery band. I screwed up by getting so damn attached, but maybe this can help with the fallout.

//Caring about others is never a mistake.//

He touched the call button on Lemon’s door. I cared about the Contis and they’re dead. I messed something up.

//You don’t know—//

Lemon’s door opened, and she stood there, Kit close behind her. They both wore backpacks. “We’re on our way!”

He nodded. “Not here to hurry you. Here, give me your hand.” He held out his empty palm, and Lemon’s eyes widened with surprise as she hesitantly lifted her left hand toward his. “Wait,” he said, considering. He held up his other hand, displaying the silvery band. “I’m going to put this on you, and you can’t really take it off. Which arm do you want it on?”

“What?” She tilted her head, looking at the device. “I mean, it’s pretty, and I appreciate it, but why can’t I take it off?”

“It’s not jewelry.”

“Oh—” Her lips twisted in an awkward little frown, then she glanced at Kit, perhaps to distract herself from the embarrassment.

“It’s better,” Hector added, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing mind; he had to get moving. “Listen, Lemon, this thing will protect you. It’s something Royals would wear, but there just aren’t very many of them. Treat it like jewelry, tell people it’s jewelry, okay? Now, which arm?”

Lemon hesitated for a moment, her pale gray eyes wide as she searched his face for something more. When he reached for her left wrist again, she extended it to him, nodding. “That one.”

“This might sting, but I doubt it—it’s advanced tech.” He opened the invisible seam and put it around her wrist. Before he could think twice about it, he closed it. The band made a soft clicking sound as it sealed and then glowed briefly as it shrank to the perfect size, hugging her flesh. Lemon gasped softly as it beeped, and then it was done—a plain silvery band around her wrist.

“I felt something move—a tingling in my skin. What does it do, Hector?”

“As I said, it’s a defensive device. It’ll protect you from some things—a bullet or if someone tries to strike you with something. Don’t count on it, though, and don’t tell anyone about it; otherwise, it’ll just make you a bigger target.”

She held up her wrist, turning her arm left and right. “It’s so light. I hardly feel it.” She locked her eyes with his again. “It’s beautiful, too. This was expensive, wasn’t it?”

Hector smiled crookedly. “Not for me.” He glanced toward the elevator. “I have to go. Get yourself—” He looked down at Kit and smiled. “—and that little runt up to the bridge.”

Lemon knew about the pirates, but not much else; they’d been training in “ship defense” for days, so it wasn’t a surprise when she said, “Just be careful. I know you have to protect the ship, but…” She trailed off, shrugging.

“I’ll be careful.” He smiled, more warmly than before, and then strode toward the elevator. He was feeling lighter inside—better. Some part of him knew he’d done the right thing, giving the gravity mantle to Lemon. Of course, another part of him wondered why he’d chosen her from all the people he supposedly cared about. Why not Sass or Kit?

He didn’t have a good answer. Logically, he could say Lemon would take care of Kit, so she needed protection for herself. He could say Sass was a fighter and tough and needed it less—she had a neurodeck now, didn’t she? Of course, there were plenty of arguments going the other way, so he just pushed the question out of his mind. He’d done what he’d wanted to do, and sometimes that kind of thing didn’t result in the most logical outcome.

When he reached the airlock he and Freddy had earlier agreed upon, the kid was already there, waiting. It was a maintenance airlock, buried deep in the engineering section of the ship, down near the drives. The engineering crew members were at their ready stations, so the corridors were empty. Gladia had made it clear that there would be combat, there would be damage to the ship, so not all crew were afforded the luxury of holing up in the more secure, central locations.

It was a tricky game to play, what Gladia was doing with the pirates. She had point-defense weapons and could probably take out boarding shuttles and even high-speed breaching pods. If she did that too much, though, the bigger ships surrounding them would open fire, trying to take out the gun and rocket installations. That sounded fine on paper, but when it came to high-speed explosive projectiles, sometimes more got destroyed than intended, and the whole ship could go up.

Gladia’s plan was to allow enough pirate boarders through to keep their big guns from firing, while still reducing their numbers enough that the defenders could keep them at bay. Hector was glad he wasn’t in charge of all that; his job was straightforward: sneak aboard Grendel, get to Molly, and force her to call off her pirates.

“You ready?” Freddy asked, nodding to the black suit hanging from a peg near the airlock. It wasn’t a standard EVA suit; it had an extra lining that would actively shield Hector from scanners, and the outer layer was entirely non-reflective. The air pack had maneuvering jets that should get him from Maidensong over to Grendel—so long as he didn’t do anything stupid. As long as he got close, though, the suit was equipped with a hundred-meter adhesive-tipped tether.

“I guess so.”

Freddy looked him over. “No guns?”

“Nah. Just more equipment to juggle. Rather have my hands free. Besides, they’ll make noise and the pirates’ scanners might spot them.” Even the suit’s air pack was shielded; Hector would have to put any other equipment, like guns, into a similarly shielded bag.

“And you’re sure you can breach the hull?” The kid’s tone held an unspoken question: How?

Hector smiled. “As long as the schematics your people pulled up are correct.” He’d found what he wanted on the Grendel’s spec sheet: viewports built into the cargo bay loading doors. If he could see inside, he’d be good.

He held out his hand, and Freddy shook it. His grip was firm and steady. “I’m glad you finished your time in the tank. I need you strong for this. Don’t let our people get killed by some damn pirates.”

Freddy grinned. “Not a chance.” As Hector turned to start pulling the suit on over his close-fitting black combat jumpsuit, the kid surprised him by asking, “Do you ever think about what those people say? The ones who think we lose our souls when we transfer through a neurodeck? Like, am I really me?”

Hector looked at him sharply. “Fates, Freddy. You’re going to ask me that now?”

He shrugged, but he didn’t smile. His face was dead serious. “It’s been bothering me.”

Hector shook his head. “I think that’s all bullshit.” He sat on the metal bench to force his legs into the gel-lined bottom half of the suit. “Once you have a neurodeck, the synthetic neural fibers tie into your human meat. All of your thoughts and memories and synapses are mapped onto your neurodeck; it’s all a continuous electrical tangle. That’s how they explained it to us. When your neurodeck is removed and the synthetic fibers retract, the engram goes with the deck; your meat doesn’t have a thought left in it.”

“I know what they say: that our soul travels with the synapses—the electric mind. What do you think, though?”

Hector stood to pull the suit up around his waist. As he stuffed his arms into the sleeves, he said, “I believe the only thing that keeps me sane, kid. I’m me.”

Freddy stared into his eyes, perhaps searching for a hint as to Hector’s seriousness. After a moment, he nodded and smiled. “Right.”

As Evie activated the suit’s sealing mechanism and the seam began to close, Hector nodded to the helmet hanging on the wall. “Now put that on me. It’s time for us to kill some pirates.”