The Patchwork Soldier part VI
#5 of The Patchwork Soldier
Continued... I had 25 minutes left before the pack detonated. Once it went off, it would blow a neat hole through the main reactor's cooling lines and turn the entire mining rig into an impromptu fusion bomb...with me on it! I was tough, but even I couldn't withstand a 50 megaton blast. I needed a ship. NOW. Unfortunately, the Conglomerate ships guarding the rig were stationed at least 15 kilometers away, hopelessly out of reach. Once, I'd been thankful that they hadn't moved from their positions. Now I wished they'd come at me guns blazing. "A ship, a ship, my kingdom for a ship" I muttered to myself. There had to be SOMETHING I could use as a getaway vehicle! I didn't care if it was a light cruiser or a rusted maintenance drone. As long as it flew! "Thump!" A light thump reverberated through the rig's hull. It was too soft to be an impact; something had landed on the mining rig. Could it be a ship? Only one way to find out. I placed my paws on the titanium hull and bit a bite-switch in my helmet. Clunk! The suit's glove magnets activated, softly anchoring my paws to the hull. Another bite deactivated my boot magnets, leaving my feet-paws unsupported. Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! I "crawled" toward the source of the "thump", moving far more quickly than I could with my feet-paws. For some reason, a song popped into my head: a theme song from an ancient TV show Floyd was always watching. "Spiderman, Spiderman. Does whatever a spider a can...." I shook my head; now was NOT the time to get a song stuck in my head! I needed to concentrate! Besides, I was more of a "Spiderfox" than a "spiderman". I was in luck: the "Thump" I'd felt turned out to be a Conglomerate transport attatching its umbilical to the rig's airlock. "Must be carrying the rig supervisor's replacement": while the rig was automated, there still had to be a human present while it worked. The last thing the Conglomerate wanted was for a 15,000,000 credit machine that didn't work properly. Needless to say, it was considered one of the Conglomerate's less interesting positions; six months of babysitting what was essentially a million-ton robot. If I'd had a choice, I wouldn't have taken a transport. The thing was basically a titanium drum with a fusion rocket bolted on. Designed to carry personnel and small amounts of cargo for long distances, its sluggish controls earned Conglomerate transports the nick name "Flying Bricks" by its pilots. However, with no other ships available, and about 15 minutes left before the mining rig blew itself to glowing shrapnel, I couldn't afford to be picky. I clambered over to the transport's docking umbilical, whipped out my multi-tool's knife Blade, and plunged it into the transparent tube. "hssssssss..." A puckered hole appeared in the umbilical's smartplastic hide. The pressure-sensitive material began automatically contracting, trying to seal the breach. Fighting the hurricane of air escaping from the umbilical, I shoved myself face-first into the tear. Thankfully, the transport's crew was busy elsewhere; a spacesuited figure trying to wriggle his way into the umbilical would arouse more than a little suspicion. I'd just managed to squeeze myself half-way in when... "SHUP!" The smartplastic closed itself around my waist. "Not good" I tried wriggling myself free. It was no use; the plastic had an iron grip on my waist. I was stuck!
- * Once again, my situation had gone completely FUBAR. I was stuck head-first in a hole in a plastic umbilical that was attached to a mining rig that was going to blow itself to bits in about ten minutes. I was having a really bad day. I wrapped an arm around a memory-alloy rib and pulled. Perhaps the leverage it gave would be enough to pull me loose. It was worth a try "RRRRRRRRRRRRGH!" My enhanced muscles contracted like titanium springs. The smart plastic bulged inward, but refused to loosen its grip.I pulled myself farther along memory-alloy rib. The lip of the hole slid a few fractions of an inch. "C'mon, C'mon..." I felt something "pop" inside of me. The plastic slid a few more inches Just a lit...tle...more... POP! The smartplastic slid off my waist, snapping back into its original shape like a giant rubber band. Safe and secure inside the umbilical, I let go of the rib. A spike of pain shot up my torso; the effort of pulling myself in had popped both my legs out of their sockets. I'd have to pop them back in before I did anything else. I fumbled around for my suit's release tab. I'd need to get the clumsy thing off before... "FREEZE!" I whipped around; standing in front of the mining rig's airlock was a Conglomerate employee aiming a magpistol at my head.
- * The employee waved his sidearm with one hand. "Put your hands in the air!" I rolled my eyes. New Instructor would've outright murdered this guy: not only was he holding his weapon with only one hand, but he was aiming at my head, the hardest part of the body to hit...and was that a drop of nervous sweat trickling down his brow? I took a closer look: yes it was. No doubt about it, this guy, probably the rig's current supervisor, was as combat-trained as a tank of algae. The magnetic boots he was wearing were the only thing he'd gotten right. That way, his poorly-aimed shot wouldn't send him flying backwards. Not that I expected him to actually fire. "I said put your hands in the air NOW!!!" The employee shouted I climbed over to the employee, using the umbilical's memory-alloy ribs as a horizontal "ladder" The supervisor continued: "You are in violation of Conglomerate Handbook regulation uh, 57-62 subsection 5 paragraph 2: "Un..." I rudely cut him off, keeping my voice as cool as possible. "Buddy, right now you've got much bigger problems than a few broken rules." The employee ignored me: "...Cat Industries Automated Mining Facilities are restricted to authorized supervisors only. Unauthorized entry is..." He droned on, citing the endless rules and regulations that made up the backbone of the Conglomerate. I didn't think it was possible for an organization to have so many rules. "...Furthermore, you were witnessed damaging company property, uh, punishable by a fine of 20,000 credits and five years incarceration." I‘d had enough of this. I reached for my helmet clasps.... "You will now put your hands on your head and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!!" I tossed my helmet aside. "My friend, I am a genetically engineered being with superhuman strength and canine DNA. Do you really want to escort me to a holding cell, or would you rather join me aboard the transport before this rig self-destructs?" The supervisor just stood there, his face as white as a ghost. "I'm Waaaaaiting." That seemed to shake the supervisor out of his stupor. He clomped over to me and handed over his sidearm. "A wise decision; keep that up and you'll make manager in no time." It was a good thing I was able to hide my emotions so well. A panicky, anxious appearance would scare him even more than he already was "Now, disengage your boot magnets. The supervisor complied. "Good boy." I quipped, patting the employee's head (I couldn't resist) I waved the magpistol towards the transport's airlock "Now let's get out of here before this rig blows."
- * The interior of the transport was just as crude as its exterior. Everything, from the refresher station to the crew quarters, seemed to have been tacked on as an afterthought. The corridors were a claustrophobe's nightmare- I measured a mere 5'4 and even I found it cramped. The plastic lining of the halls were streaked by the rubbing of countless bodies. The whole craft reeked of sweat and unchanged air filters. Still, it was better than nothing. I floated along the transport's main corridor until I reached a hatch marked "Cockpit". I rapped on the bare titanium alloy. "Whaddayah want now, Peterson?" drawled a bored-sounding voice. I gripped a convenient handhold and gave the hatch a solid punch. WHAM! The titanium hatch was too thick for me to punch through, but it was enough to make a sizable dent. "What the...?" The hatch hissed open. A heavily-built pilot poked his head out. "Peterson what the hell have you been...?" I put a paw over his mouth. "There'll be plenty of time for questions later. Right now, we have only a couple minutes left to get away from this rig before it blows" "Say no more." Before I could finish, the pilot pulled himself into the small command seat. He didn't seem to be afraid of me at all. I heard the distinct rumble of a fusion rocket warming up "We're going hot in 30 seconds! Get yourself strapped in!" I turned to the trembling supervisor, supposedly the "Peterson" the pilot had mentioned. "You heard him, get strapped in." Peterson obeyed without question. Once he was strapped in, I pulled down an emergency acceleration couch from a nearby bulkhead. "Goin' hot in 3...2...1..." The pilot tapped an icon. A dull "roar" filled the tiny cockpit, and the transport shot off into space. A giant hand was pressing against my chest, squeezing my diaphragm. The G-meter on the main viewscreen slowly climbed upward. 5 G's 6G's 7G's The hand pressed harder with every G. My lungs seemed to be made out of cast iron. My heart beat like a jackhammer, trying in vain to force blood into my brain. The world seemed to elongate into a narrow tunnel. A black spot grew in the center of my vision. I couldn't...take...much...more... Just as I was about to black out, the engine's roar slowed to a gentle rumble. Miniature balloons sprung throughout my body as the G-meter slowly counted down "4.5 G's" "4.3 G's" "4.2G's" By the time it finally reached 1 G, I felt as light as memory foam. I waited for the seat to readjust itself; the transport's engines were thrumming at a comfortable 1 G acceleration, giving the craft a sort of "artificial gravity". What was once a vertical bulkhead had become a horizontal "floor". I unbuckled my restraint belt and checked on Peterson and the pilot. "Everyone ok?" "m'alright." replied the pilot "A little woozy but I'm allright." "Good." I looked at Peterson; he was out cold. The pilot looked him over "Gees musta been too much for him." "Will he recover?" I asked, my voice carrying a hint of concern. "Eh don't worry. He'll come out of it in a few hours. Probably get a nasty headache though" Just then I remembered something. Those high Gees I'd endured; had they damaged my dislocated legs? My bones might have been nearly unbreakable, but they were still subject to inertia. The sheer force of acceleration might have made the dislocation even worse! Panicked, I ran my hands along my torso, trying to assess the damage by touch. To my amazement, they were back in their sockets! The intense G-forces must've pushed ‘em back in! "No that can't be it.". Simply pushing on my legs wouldn't be enough to pop them back in. The bones would've have to have been gently maneuvered back into place during the burn, but who? The only ones in the cockpit were me, Peterson, and the pilot, and we were all pinned down in our seats the entire time! A scent wafted across my nose; like milk mixed with honey. I smiled. Of course: who else could it have been? "Hey buddy, you ok?" I snapped to attention; why wasn't this guy afraid of me? "Yes, yes I'm ok." "Good"An awkward silence filled the cockpit. Neither of us really knew what to say. Finally, the pilot spoke up. "So...I take it them rumors are true?" "What rumors?" I asked. I didn't know I was so popular "They say you're some kinda prototype supersoldier, made from a human embryo injected with wolf DNA. Supposedly, you've got weapons built into yer body, a supercomputer for a brain, and claws that can cut through anything." I chuckled. "I'm afraid that's not entirely accurate. For one thing, I'm much more than a human/wolf hybrid." "Whadd'ya mean?" "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The pilot crossed his arms. "Buddy, I'm talking to something that looks like a biologist's nightmare. You could tell me there's a mermaid in the coolant tanks and I'd still believe it." Ok... "Would you believe that I'm a combination of Wolf, Fox, Human, and Octopus DNA?" The pilot's eyes widened. "I told you you wouldn't believe it." "Oh I believe it all right. I just wanta know why they made you part octopus? You don't have any tentacles sprouting out of you or anything, so what's the point" I shifted my fur to a lovely shade of orange "Camouflage: Octopi can change color at will. Lets them blend into their surroundings." "The Conglomerate wanted me to do the same." "Guess it makes sense; It'd be pretty handy in combat, being able t' change color like that. "It is." I said. "I decided to change the subject: "So, what was that you said about weapons?" "Your weapons? Oh yeah; ‘parently, you got a small arsenal hidden in your body: las cannons, flame projectors, nanosprayers; pretty much everything the techies could cram into your body. Is it true?" "I wish: while I've been trained to use virtually every kind of weaponry the closest thing I have to a built-in armory are these." I extended my Pem panels. "What are they?" "Programmable matter panels, capable of turning into any material imaginable" "Heard of it before, but how could they be used as a weapon?" "I'll show you" I shaped one of the panels into an impervium blade. "Do you have anything tough, like a steel rod or something?" The pilot rummaged through his coveralls and pulled out a piece of blackened metal. "Here, souvenir from my first ship." He said, crossing himself. "Ouch." I took the metallic chuck and held it over the blade. "Watch." I dropped the piece of scrap metal; the atom-thin edge of the impervium blade cut through the titanium alloy like synth-butter. Two metal shards clattered to the "floor". The pilot was impressed "Wow..." "I know, but enough about me. What about you?" "What about me" "Well, why aren't you afraid of me? Peterson over there was downright terrified when he saw my face." The pilot smiled. "Buddy, I've been piloting for about 15 years now. I've seen things that are LOT scarier than you" "Such as...?" "Micrometee-yor showers, hull breaches, explosive decompressions, radstorms, coolant leaks, and..." He added with a shudder, "...my ex-wife" I chuckled: I was really starting to warm up to this guy. "Hey, you wanna see your handiwork" My handiwork? Oh yes, the rig. "Sure" The pilot tapped a few panels on his chair, accessing data from the transport's aft cameras. The image was a little blurry, but I could still make out the outlines of the Mining Rig. "Three, Two, One" A small flash appeared on the rig's side as the demopack went off. A cloud of evaporated coolant leaked into space. A few minutes later, the rig off like the solar system's largest flashbulb. No mushroom cloud, no earth-shaking roar, just a split-second flash of star-hot fury. "How long ago was this taken?" "About six minutes. We barely got away in time." I remembered something "Wait, what about the rig's supervisor?" "What about him?" "Was he aboard the rig when I showed up?" "No, he's in his bunk right now, taking a nap. He probably slept right through the burn. "Wait, he was...?" "Don't worry, those bunks are designed to reposition themselves during a burn. Basically turn themselves into temporary acceleration couches." I breathed a mental sigh of relief: no noncombatants had been killed by my actions. I'd sleep well tonight. "So buddy, where we headin?'" I punched in the coordinates of the closest UCAB base on the main screen. "Right there" The pilot checked the coordinates on his command chair. "Waitaminute, that's a UCAB base!" The pilot looked at me "You're a Cabbie aren't you?" I nodded my head."Is there anything wrong with that?" "No, not really. In fact, I kinda sympathize with the Cabbies. Who doesn't hate Connie taxes?" "Glad to hear it. Did you ever consider joining?" "Well not really. Sure I hated the Connies, but they were the ones who authorized my paytransfer." "If that's the case, you can just drop me off when we reach the base. You can tell your supervisors that I threatened to tear your heart out if you didn't comply." The pilot chuckled. "That's might nice of' ya, but if I know the Connies, the instant I dock at one of their bases they'll confiscate my ship and throw me in the Hole." "Why? You didn't do anything wrong." He snorted "I was an accomplice to an enemy agent." "How so?" "I drove the getaway vehicle" "But it was against your will! I forced you to take off." "Yes, but I could've resisted. "How could you? No offense, but you're hardly a soldier." "Tell that to the Connie rule book." He pulled a Conglomerate regulation book out of his coveralls: "Regulation 25-72:' Should a hostile agent attempt to take over a Conglomerate-owned vessel , the crew MUST attempt to resist his efforts. Failure to comply is punishable by five years in the L-5 Correctional Facility and a fine of 25,000 credits." He put the regulation book back into his pocket and sighed "Bottom line, I've got nowhere to go. The Cabbies are the only one's who'll take me in." Great: I'd just inadvertently conscripted someone into the UCAB. "I'm sorry." "Don't worry ‘bout it. As long as I can pilot something, I'll be just fine." The pilot said with a sigh. He pulled a squeeze flask out of his coveralls. "Care for a swig?" Well, I was kinda thirsty from all that talking. "Sure, why not" The pilot handed the flask to me. I sniffed it: the liquid inside it had a strange smell, like...like...well, nothing I'd ever smelled before. I squirted a few cc's of the liquid into my mouth and swallowed. Not bad, kind of a smoky sweetish taste. A miniature supernova erupted in my throat. I started coughing like a sputtering engine. "What (cough) is this (cough) stuff (cough)?!" "Genuine Tennessee whiskey." He replied, pronouncing "Genuine' as "Gen-Yoo-Ine" "Fermented in a maple barrel" "You like it?" "Not (cough) really." I sputtered, feeling like I'd just swallowed a cup of liquid oxygen. "Not (cough) sure (cough) how you can (cough) tolerate it (cough)" "Burns a little don't it?" "Just wait a minute for it to kick in." Kick in? A fuzzy warmth spread through my body. Ah, so this "whiskey" was alcoholic. I knew about the effects of alcohol on the nervous system, but had never experienced it myself, and you know what, I kinda liked it. It was like someone was giving me a constant scratch behind the ears.. The pilot smiled "Whadd'ya think now?" "Not bad.... not bad at all." "Glad to hear it. Care for another swig?" "Why not?" I said, taking a large gulp from the flask. The pilot looked at me: "Ya know, I never did introduce myself. Mighty rude of me. He held out a meaty hand. "Name's Greg. Greg Bearford.Yours?" Good question. What WAS my name? All my life I was just "Doggie". Time I gave myself a better name I took his hand in mine. "Just call me Fox." Present day A gentle rumble rocked the Nautilus. I pried open a leaden eyelid. It wasn't anything serious; probably just a small missile, easily dealt with by the Nautilus' screens. I let out a toothy yawn, curling my tail around my waist. My eyelids dropped like blast doors, and I fell back into deep asleep. I was usually a pretty light sleeper. I could switch from a contented sleep to full alertness faster than one could blink. One crew member once joked that a falling synth-mallow could wake me up. He wasn't that far from the truth. This time was different. This sleep was deep; almost coma-like. A missile could've struck the bridge and I'd still be in dreamland. Dangerous, yes, but YOU try spending two whole night-shifts planning a massive battle. As I slept, my subconscious decided to skip ahead a few years. Why? Maybe it was bored. Maybe it just wanted to get to the exciting parts of my life. I don't know.Whatever the reason, my dream-self was transported forward in time to exactly four years, six months, and three days after my first mission. The day the metaphorical tide began to turn... Six years later... I padded into my office, exhausted from yet another strategy session with the UCAB generals. As usual, it hadn't been positive. Ever since I was promoted to Commander, the UCAB armed forces had expanded from a group of disgruntled miners and a few modified mining craft, to about 57 modern warships and a small army of competently-trained soldiers. The UCAB politicians, who once branded me as a monster, now considered me the best thing that had ever happened to them. Even so, the newly dubbed "Rock War" was, at best, a stalemate. I plopped down behind my antique real-wood desk. The problem was three-fold: distance, communications, and resources: Contrary to how it was depicted in the holoflicks, the Belt was actually pretty empty; even in its densest regions , each asteroid was separated by at least several million miles of empty space. If an outpost came under attack, it could take weeks for reinforcements to arrive. Given the fast pace of modern warfare, that might as well be an eternity. Communications were even worse. A message could take anywhere from ten minutes to 40 minutes to reach its recipient, and because the Conglomerate had listening stations scattered throughout the solar system, we were limited to long-range com lasers. While virtually impossible to intercept, the lasers had to have a clear line of sight. If a planet happened to get in the way, a base could be rendered incommunicado for weeks. Resources were nearly as bad. It's not that we were hurting for lack of raw materials. The Belt was packed with useful materials: iron, carbon, titanium, gold, molybdenum, and other goodies. Water wasn't a problem either; Ceres was literally made of the stuff. No, the problem was food. As Napoleon Bonaparte once said : "An army runs on its stomach": while the food situation wasn't nearly as bad as it was when I'd first arrived, our current supplies weren't enough to feed the large army we'd need to fight the Conglomerate on even terms. Hell, we could barely our 500 man army. Then, of course, there was manpower; even if we had the food supplies for a large army, were would we get the manpower? Our troops were mostly conscripted miners and a few defectors from the Conglomerate armed forces, so replacements were few and far between. More than that, we needed skilled shipyard workers. While the shipyards at Ceres and Hector were mostly automated, the machines that built shipyards weren't. Without men, we couldn't build more shipyards. Without more shipyards, we couldn't build more ships. Without more ships, we couldn't really take the fight to the Conglomerate. I plopped down on a memory-foam couch. Right now, our best bet was to stick to hit and run tactics: take out as many Conglomerate ships as we could. Hopefully, we could maintain the current 3 to 1 attrition rate until the Connies agreed to a favorable truce. Knowing the Conglomerate's stubbornness, I seriously doubted it'd work. I rubbed a claw over my lucky coin. . The little trinket had helped me out several times during the War, but its luck seemed to have run out. Unless it summoned a miracle soon, there was no way we could win this war. This was too depressing. I needed a drink. I opened a drawer on my real-wood desk. Inside was my secret vice; a flask of whiskey stolen from a Conglomerate cargo ship. Since I took command of the UCAB armed forces, I'd been under a lot of pressure. Most of it I could deal with, but sometimes a little alcohol was necessary. I took a swig of whiskey. The amber liquid gave me a slight buzz, but I was still pretty stressed. Alcohol alone wouldn't' cut it. I rummaged through my desk for my old drawing tablet. It'd been a while since I'd last drawn something. Maybe a little sketching would take my mind off the War... My personal thinscreen gave off a "beep": my computerized secretary, Mercedes. I sighed; guess my drawing tablet would have to wait. "You have a visitor sir." Mercedes purred. I rolled my eyes: why did a computer program need a feminine voice? It didn't serve any useful purpose, or relieve stress. It just made my thinscreen sound like a porn star. Its programmer must have been very lonely "Who is it?" "Visitor identified as Jonathon Hendrick of DOUBLETHINK. He requests an audience with you." My ears drooped. My fur turned dull gray. "Figures it'd have to be one of them." * * *
DOUBLETHINK was one of the few aces the UCAB had up its collective sleeve: an elite group of former Conglomerate R&D eggheads who'd been fired for "unprofessional behavior". For once, I actually sympathized with the Conglomerate: DOUBLETHINK team members were some of the most repulsive individuals in the entire Solar System. Their idea of a "shower" was to spray themselves with aerosol deodorant for a few seconds, giving them the of an unwashed sock sprayed with antiseptic. Their coveralls were often coated in Their personalities weren't any better: to them, anyone who couldn't recite pi to at least 2000 places and wasn't authorizing their pay transfers wasn't worthy of their respect. But I had to give them credit; for all their imperfections, they were without a doubt the most brilliant minds I'd ever seen, cobbling together engineering marvels from what little tech we could scavenge or steal. Already, they'd given the UCAB two wonderful inventions: a magnetic "shield" that blunted magcannon and missile hits, and short-range plasma torpedoes capable of melting through the thickest armor. While their cause-to make "s-loads" of money when the war was over- wasn't the most honorable of callings, I was somewhat glad to have them with us. Emphasis on "somewhat"
- * * "Alright, let him in." The main hatch irised open Jonathon Hendrick swaggered in. A typical DOUBLETHINK team member: little to no attention to personal hygiene. Regulation coveralls were covered in food and synth-coffee stains. Hair like greasy and tangled. skin waxy and pale, the result of too many skipped sunlamp sessions. If he hadn't technically been a civilian, I would've had him decked years ago. among other things. I put on my "polite" face. This was going to stretch my acting talents to their limit. "Researcher Hendrick, what a pleasant surprise." "Space the ersatz, fleabag. I know what you think of us." He whipped out a synth-paper printout: "If I may quote your personal diary, you think we're a bunch of ‘crude, boorish, hooligans whose only goal in life is to make our lives miserable.'." My jaw dropped. That journal was locked with a level-ten encryption key (I really valued my privacy). Not even my closest generals knew the access code. "How did...How did..?" Hendrick smiled, exposing teeth stained blue from chew-stims. "We DOUBLETHINKers have a saying: ‘every lock has a key. Don't worry, the entries on your favorite twentieth century children's programs are hardly ‘war critical' ". My claws dug into my realwood desk. Usually, I tried to avoid violence (ironic, isn't it?), but even I had my limits. I was only a few millimeters away from ripping Hendrick to pieces. "Just a few slashes to the abdomen and..." I took a deep breath: tempting as it was, ripping open Hendrick's stomach and force-feeding him his own intestines would cause more problems than it solved. "Why are you here, Hendrick?" I groaned. "I'll show you" He pulled a small package out of his coverall pocket. "Happy birthday boss." He said, putting the parcel in my hand "It's my birthday?" How did he find out? Not even I knew the exact day I was born. I decided not to ask questions; I didn't want to make this meeting any longer than it already was. I unsheathed a claw and gently cut through the parcel's plastic wrapping. My "birthday present" was a dull gray object about the size of an old-fashioned brick. It's nonreflective surface was covered by a network of hair thin, silvery wires. I turned the little brick around in my paw: what was this thing? I couldn't find any switch or touch panels, on its side. There were no controls or thinscreens, nothing in the way of controls, just a universal plug attached to a thin cable. The only sign of activity on the "brick" was a single red light, no label, no obvious function. "All right Hendrick, I give up. What is it?" Hendrick gave a typical DOUBLETHINK answer. "Well, me and the guys wanted to give you something nice for your birthday. We couldn't find any doggy treats or chewbones...." "Get to the point Hendrick." Naturally, he ignored me. "...so we decided to give you something a little more ‘useful'" He pointed at the device. "Behold the answer to all your prayers: The Quantum-Entanglement Communications relay!"
Quantum Entanglement was a strange loophole in the laws of physics. Basically, if you separated two electrons, then changed the spin of one of them, its partner would instantly follow suit. The effect's influence was virtually infinite: the two particles could be several hundred lightyears apart and they'd act as though they'd never been separated. In a way, it was kind of like love. The implications of Quantum Entanglement were incredible: a comm relay utilizing the effect wouldn't be restrained by the time lags that plagued interplanetary communications. It would be to com lasers what the telephone was to smoke signals. Unfortunately, all attempts to harness the strange phenomena were too bulky and too limited to be useful. So much so that even the Conglomerate, with its kilometer-long superships and its antimatter grenades, had deemed them "impractical" And Hendrick had just given me a brick-sized version of one for my birthday. With that in hindsight, I had good reason to be skeptical. * * * "Does it work?" I asked Hendrick frowned "Is that how a genetic nightmare says ‘Thank you'? I sighed. "Hendrick, the Conglomerate has been around for nearly a century. During that time, they've had access to the resources of virtually the entire Solar System, and even they couldn't perfect the Quantum Comm. "So...?" "So, your team claims to have built a device that is lightyears ahead of our current comm. technology in a few months, on a nano-string budget, using outdated and improvised equipment." Hendrick was unfazed. "Yeah, that's what we always do." "True, but there's a big difference between a plasma torpedo, something your team was already working on before you defected, and a technology the Conglomerate gave up on almost half a century ago!" Hendrick yawned "...And your point would be?" I took another deep breath: "Back at the Lunar Station, one of the things I was taught was that if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is." "Was that before or after they taught you to roll over?" My claws left furrows in the realwood desk. "Hendrick, you have ten seconds to prove to me this thing works." "Or else?" I grabbed Hendrick by the neck. "Or else I personally have you thrown out the nearest airlock." "Point...taken" Hendrick choked out. "Just...put me...down and I'll...show you." I released my grip on his throat. Hendrick picked himself up. "Plug the QC...into your personal...thinscreen." I plugged the brick-like device into my thinscreen. A new icon popped up on the paper-thin monitor. I tapped it. The screen went completely dark. "What just happened?!" I demanded. "Give it a sec, it's installing itself." The screen stayed dark. Had the device completely wiped my thinscreen?If so, Hendrick was so acquiring a new one for me; preferably a model without a feminine voice. "Any second now." A text box appeared onscreen: "INSTALLATION COMPLETE. CONNECTING WITH SISTER UNIT." A red loading icon popped onscreen, slowly filling with green. "CONNECTION COMPLETE: DISPLAYING VID FEED" A symbol appeared on the screen: a shield with two crossed swords, flanked one each sides by a ferocious lion. At first glance, it looked quite noble: like something from the standard of some ancient king. Unfortunately, this was the DOUBLETHINK insignia. The shield was not polished steel or gold, but dull gray titanium. The "swords" were not swords at all, but two middle fingers stretched to ridiculous lengths. And the lions were not lions at all, but two lab-coat clad scientists- both pantsless: "Great, another one of them." I groaned silently A face appeared onscreen; a Hispanic female with subtle Eurasian features. Just like Hendrick, she was scraggly, dirty, and downright condescending. Aside from gender and race, they were almost like twins. Hendrick pressed my thinscreen's "talk" icon. "Hey Maria. What's operatin' down at Pallas?" Pallas? That was currently on the other side of the Solar System. It'd take at least 40 minutes for a res.. "Just fine."How's the furball liking his birthday present?" "Not too much. He's not entirely convinced that it's the real thing." My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. It worked! This brick-like device actually worked! "I think he is now. Look at him; he looks like he just saw his first bitch." Something beeped in the background "Gotta go. Need to check on my experiment" The screen went dark. "So, what do you think of the QC now. I couldn't hold my emotions back all; I jumped up on Hendrick and wagging my tail like an excited puppy. "IT'S INCREDIBLEMIRACULOUSSUPERB...!" I went on, listing every superlative in my vocabulary. "..FANTASTIC,STUPENDOUSMAGNIFICENT, and..." I said a little more soberly, "it's good." Hendrick smiled "Glad to hear that. You'll also be happy to know my team's already begun mass production of QC units. You should receive the first shipment in about a few dayshifts." A few dayshifts! At that rate we'd have the entire fleet equipped with these things in about a month. I put a furry arm around Hendrick's shoulders. "My friend" I said, using a voice I rarely used with DOUBLETHINK members "you and your team may have just saved the UCAB" "This calls for a celebration!" I dug a bottle and two cups out of my desk. "Genuine Terran whiskey, my own private stash. Care for a drink?" "Love one." I poured a little amber liquid into each cup. "Call this my ‘thank you' card.'" * * * Hendrick was hardly exaggerating The QC was the answer to every one of my exactly 127 prayers. With the device, I could instantly communicate with every UCAB base in the Solar System. Tactical data was no longer rendered useless by time lags, making long-range tactical recon feasible. Aside from instantaneous communication, QC "transmissions" didn't rely on easily- intercepted carrier waves or easily blocked com lasers, just a mass of electrons instantly changing spin. We didn't even bother coding the messages. Once the entire QC fleet was QC-capable, I decided it was time the UCAB took the fight TO the Conglomerate. Using the QC to coordinate our small fleet, I started out with small-scale offensives against Conglomerate outposts, slowly pushing them away from our borders. Over time, our modest offensives grew into a full-scale invasion. We sliced into Conglomerate territory, attacking shipyards, factories, bases, anything that was part of the Conglomerate war machine. The Connies sent massive battlegroups out to stop us, sometimes massing as many as 1000 ships. While our own task force was barely a quarter that size, we were usually able to repel them. Thanks to DOUBLETHINK's toys, our ships were more than a match for anything the Conglomerate had. The tide was turning rapidly. As the Rock Wars turned in our favor, a few disgruntled Conglomerate-owned companies began supplying the UCAB with financial aid, hoping to score brownie points with the obvious victors. The UCAB became very, very rich. It's private NewSwiss bank account alone could buy a small country. The UCAB used most of that money on massive amounts of food, smuggled in by sympathetic freighter captains. The rest was used for a more..."tactical" purpose. DOUBLETHINK team members began hacking into Conglomerate military networks and flooding them them with "job offers". Simply put, we offered to pay Connie troops double what they were getting, plus benefits. At first, I didn't put much faith in the idea; surely the troops fought for other reasons than money. Boy was I wrong. Turns out, it's hard to feel any real loyalty to a faceless megacorporation when all you're fighting for is a steady paytransfer. Connies began defecting by the frieghterload. Troops, ships, even entire bases would join our cause. As her troops defected in droves, the Conglomerate armed forces melted like ice on a hot heat exchanger. Soon, all the Connies had left were about 100 ships, and a small group of personnel who either hadn't heard our offer, or who felt a strange loyalty to their employers. These miniscule remnants were stationed at the only real base the Conglomerate had left: their corporate headquarters on Luna... "Sir, sir you ok?" I peeled an eyelid open. One of my lieutenants was gently shaking me. "Are you ok sir?" "Fine...just fine...". I yawned. "How long was I out?" "One minute" The lieutenant checked his antique wristwatch. "You were asleep about three-quarters of a day-unit, sir." A squirt of adrenalin surged through my body.Three-quarters of a day unit! There's no telling what could have happened in that time! Panic began to slip past my emotional controls. "Whass our situation?!" I said, my lisp reappearing for the first time in years. "Great sir. Most of the Conglomerate fleet has been destroyed and the survivors are fleeing at full acceleration." I breathed a sigh of relief. The Conglomerate hadn't pulled any tricks out of their metaphorical hat while I was out. I could rest easy now. The Comms officer spoke up."Sir, incoming message from Admiral Knight, Second Fleet." "Put him on." "Aye sir." Said the Comms officer. He tapped his thinscreen a few times. "Patching it through to your command chair." My chair's speakers crackled to life. "Admiral, this is Admiral Knight. Requesting permission to mop up Conglomerate stragglers." "Negative Commander. They pose no threat to us. Form up around Luna. Prepare for lunar bombardment." "Aye sir..." The Commander replied grudgingly. I turned to the comms officer. "Open a channel to the Conglomerate base. Long-range radio, all frequencies." "Aye sir" The comms officer tapped his thinscreen a few times. "Channel open sir." I tapped the chair's "Talk" icon: "Attention Conglomerate Security Force. This is Commander Fox of the UCAB armed forces. As leader of the United Colonies of the Asteroid Belt's armed forces, I formally request that you surrender." I paused for a few seconds to let my words sink in. "The Conglomerate has lost. Her armed forces have been all but annihilated. There is no point in continuing this horrible war". "If you surrender now, I guarantee, no, I PROMISE that you and your men will be treated fairly. You shall be treated not as criminals, or as prisoners, but as fellow human beings." I shifted to a lighter tone of voice. "Please, tell your remaining forces to stand down. I've got enough blood on my hands." "End transmission." The Comm officer closed the com channel. "Sir, now what?" "Now, we wait... A full day-unit passed. Still no response to my offer. I turned to the Commstation "Anything?" The Comms officer tapped his thinscreen "Nothing sir." I rubbed my lucky coin between two claws. What was taking them so long? Surely they would have come to a decision by now! I had the feeling they were just stalling for time, keeping us off their backs while they hauled some prototype superweapon from their R&D departments It was unlikely, but you never knew what the Conglomerate might have up their sleeves. Maybe I should play it safe and... "Sir, incoming message!" Adrenalin surged through my body. I turned to the Comm officer. "Who's it from? " "It's from the Conglomerate HQ!" "Put it on speakers, quickly!" My chair's speakers crackled to life. "Admiral Fox, this is CSF General Yousef. On behalf of the Conglomerate, I surrender all of my remaining forces. Congratulations Cabbies, you win." The bridge erupted in cheers.I just slumped back in my command chair, too choked up for words. The Rock Wars were finally over. We'd won. * * * "All right people settle down, settle down." The bridge calmed down a little. I pressed my chair's "talk" icon. "General Yousef, I gladly accept your surrender. Rendezvous with my command ship at..." Just as I was about to finish my sentence... WHAM!! __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________