Jolo noticed something different in the synth, but couldn’t place it. And then Jolo’s headache got worse and he started to sway a little. His vision got dark around the edges, the darkness closing in until there was one tiny point of light. He came to again in his room and wondered if it’d been a dream. George was there.
“How’d I get back here?” said Jolo.
“I carried you,” said George.
“How? You’ve only got one—” and then he saw it: George had two arms. He smiled.
“A gift from Merthon. And you got a gift from the old frog, too.”
“What?”
“A tranquilizer shot.”
Jolo reached up to touch George’s new arm, warm and muscular. “Very human,” said Jolo.
“I know,” he said, grinning.
“I don’t feel like I got shot,” said Jolo, and then the drug took effect and he slid off to sleep.
A few days later Jolo was feeling better so everyone got together to hammer out a plan. It was nearly dark and there was a cool breeze so everyone met topside and sat down on the orange earth in a circle, the light of the portable holo display in the center illuminating their faces, the stars above just starting to show in the sky.
George stood up, holding his data screen. “I’ll start with the good news: we’re much better at tower tippin’. That’s what we’re callin it. We’re taking out more and more each day. Three days ago:49, yesterday: 52, today so far: 54. Everyone is excited. But… Numbers aren’t good. The math says we still aren’t gonna make it.”
“So can we start the evacuation?” said Jolo.
“How far off are we?” said Barth, sipping on one of Merthon’s green energy drinks.
“It’s close. We only have about three weeks left. The BG haven’t bothered us in a few days and Jolo and Katy’s tower busting method has spread to most sectors,” said George.
“There is time to see if Captain Barthelme can bring the military to our side,” said Marco.
“Okay. If we do this,” said Jolo, “it’s got to be done now. There’s no time to waste.”
“Why don’t we talk to the President?” said George.
“I don’t trust him,” said Jolo. “He gives the BG too much. We should target someone high enough up in the military to make a difference, but no too high up.”
“Filcher?” said Barth. “He was with us on the Jessica,” he said to Jolo.
“Can you find him?” said Jolo.
“Yeah, unless they’ve relocated all my friends to BG work planets.” Jolo started to laugh, but then realized that might be exactly what had happened.
“Okay,” said Jolo, “we go for Filcher. He was under me on the Jessica and he knows Barth. He’s moved up the chain so he’s got influence.”
“How you gonna get close to him?” said Katy. “If you run up to a fleet of Fed ships and they know its us, they may shoot first.”
“We need a clean, Fed military comms channel,” said Barth. “Jolo, can you steal a Fed ship? Maybe something small?”
“I got a better idea,” said Jolo. “Marco, you still got the junkyard down in the basement?”
“Yep. Ain’t got no Fed ships, though.”
“Don’t need a whole ship, just the comms module.”
“Ahh. That I may have.”
That night Jolo went down to the lower levels to search for a Fed comms module in Marco’s junk pile. Marco was a tinkerer at heart and was always on the lookout for the raw materials to bring his creations to life. The Argossy, which he considered to be one of his greatest creations, was restored using components from a dozen other ships: the thrusters came off two Michiban Xlite space runners, the logic array was from a Fed privateer ship no longer made, the kicker he’d scavenged off a moth-balled Argossy from a fellow trader on Tichel. And on it went.
Jolo walked through Merthon’s lab to make it down to the lowest level where the junk pile was. The old frog wasn’t there and the water tanks cast a blue glow on the walls, the sealed jars, and the glassware in the lab. Near the stairs he noticed a light on in a storage room. The door was bolt locked and reinforced with steel. He peered into the room and there on the floor was a blond girl. A Jaylen.
He reached for his gun, but he didn’t have it with him. Then realized there was a five centimeter thick steel door between them. What could that skinny-armed synth do to him? he thought. And then he took a deep breath and pain shot through him, and suddenly he could feel every bruise. He touched the eighteen black stitches from his temple to his jaw line, the gash that burned and itched and wouldn’t let him sleep.
The room was bare. Just a concrete floor and a water bowl. Like a dog, thought Jolo. She had on rags like they wore in the poor settlements. She looked up at him, at first angry and defiant. “I said I’m not eating your shite food,” she screamed. And then her face changed and she took a few steps toward the door. Jolo could see her chest rise and fall with each deep breath. They came more rapidly and her face turned red and her eyes began to water.
Finally she took another step towards the door. “It’s you. I thought it was a dream.”
“It was a dream,” said Jolo. “You were all synthetics.”
“No. No! Not me! Can’t you see that?” she yelled. Her hair was
