“Went well,” Targon said. “I made a little money. Not as much as I was hoping, which explains why I’m still in the cargo hauling business. But it was decent. Enough to pay off a few of me monthly loan installments, anyway.”
“Good,” she said.
“So, when are we going to have our first game?” the merchant pressed.
“Later,” she said. “Let me get settled.”
“How about seven o’clock?” Targon asked. “Assuming we haven’t been reboarded by then.”
“We won’t be,” she replied. “And seven is fine.”
“Seven it is.”
“Excuse me,” Renaldo said, raising a tentative hand. “I don’t play VR games.”
“You’re going to play Robot Wars and like it, me boy!” Targon said. He nodded at Will. “Just ask Dirty Hair here.”
Will scowled. “Don’t call me Dirty Hair.”
Targon surveyed the Wardenites. “The entire bloody lot of ye are going to play. And if ye don’t, I’m spacing ye all.” With that, he jetted from the hold and the hatch closed.
“Is he always so… grumpy?” Renaldo asked.
“Only when he nearly loses his ship to customs,” she replied.
When he was gone, she removed her gloves again, and this time the arm assemblies of her suit as well, letting them float in front of her. Then she compared her bare forearms.
“What are you doing?” Will asked.
“Checking something.” She held her arms toward him. “Do you notice how my right forearm is slightly smaller, compared to the left? That’s because its material was used to create the nano machines that entered the robots.”
“Do the nano machines you gave up count toward your iteration limit?” Will asked. “As in, can you make more to replace them, along with the lost material in your forearm?”
“I believe the nano machines permanently integrated themselves with the robots’ AI cores,” she answered. “And thus destroyed themselves in the process. So in theory, those I gave up no longer count toward the iteration limit. But let’s find out.”
She tested the hypothesis by resting a hand on the bulkhead beside her and willing the nano machines to emerge. They did so and began collecting materials. Her forearm enlarged as nano machines returned with those materials, and the limb slowly returned to its previous girth. When her right forearm was the same size as the left, the nano machines abruptly ceased harvesting and retreated inside the vents in her metal skin.
She withdrew the hand, leaving behind a shallow imprint in the bulkhead.
“Theory proved,” she said.
“Your merchant friend isn’t going to be too happy when he sees you’ve left a handprint in his wall,” Will said.
“It’s not very deep,” Brinks said. “I’m sure the merchant won’t mind. He seems fond of the Warden.”
Rhea shrugged, then unstrapped herself from the deck. She repositioned a pile of crates in the zero G, securing them instead in front of the affected bulkhead so that the handprint was hidden from view.
She turned toward Will and smiled. “He can’t be angry about what he can’t see.”
8
Rhea got in trouble the next time Targon visited.
“Why are me crates moved?” the merchant asked. He promptly set about moving them back and discovered the handprint. “What’s this? Are ye eating up my hull with those metal insects of yours?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I wanted to check something.”
“Well, check it when ye are off me ship, please!” Targon said. “I’m granting ye a free ride, and yet ye go about disrespecting the very vessel that carries ye! Insufferable!”
“I’ll play you in Robot Wars now,” she said.
He opened mouth as if to continue to harangue, then his expression softened as the words registered. “Really? Ye intend to play now?”
“I do,” she said. “Let’s start it up!”
He clapped his hands together excitedly. “I’ll get it ready! Thank ye kindly, Warden.”
“We’re good then?” she asked.
“What?” Targon was already on the way out and paused to look over his shoulder at her. “Oh! Yes, yes, it’s just a tiny scratch. Easily repairable. I’m not too fussed about it.”
“You certainly seemed fussed a moment ago,” Miles commented.
Targon ignored him and jetted excitedly from the hold.
Rhea glanced at Will, who shrugged. “Don’t expect me to join you.”
“Come on, you can’t let me face him alone, not in the first game,” she said.
“Actually, I can,” Will said.
“Horatio, will you join me?” she pleaded.
“Of course I will,” Horatio said. “I’ve been pondering my defeat at his hands since our last voyage, and there are several new strategies I’d like to test.”
“Great!” Rhea said. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll give this game of yours a try,” Brinks said.
“I’ll have to pass,” Miles commented.
“Me too,” Renaldo told her. “Like I said, not a big VR gamer. I’m sure the merchant will force me to play eventually, but I’d rather delay that moment for as long as possible.”
“All right,” Rhea said.
And so she played Targon. The merchant teamed with Brinks, while Rhea paired with Horatio. It was one of the best games of her life, with a brilliant stratagem employed midway through by Horatio, but she still lost. It served as a bitter reminder that no matter how well-equipped she thought she might be, when she finally faced Khrusos, there was still a chance she might lose.
And so the days passed. She continued to play Robot Wars with Targon to make him happy. The others began to join in, finally caving under the constant goading of the merchant.
“You really think he’ll space me if I don’t play?” Renaldo asked.
“Doubt it,” Will replied. “But then again, you never really know with these merchant types. We’re in interplanetary space, after all. A lawless place. He could get away with it scot free.” Will was being sarcastic, but Renaldo seemed to take him literally, because the Wardenite joined in when Targon started the very next game.
While her days were devoted to the game, at least she had the nights to herself. Often, she couldn’t sleep, and simply stared at the ceiling. The game was partly responsible—it often put her in a hyperactive state—but nerves played a bigger role: what awaited her
