Chapter Thirteen: The Bunker

“Bru? Bru-ski, c’mon snap out of it, old friend…” Copetski was blinking back into consciousness with a hangover slowness, but without any of the rosy half-memories of a night on the town. Kevin Ragg’s unshaven face hovered over him, frowning.

“Maggie?” Bru whispered raggedly. “Papa?”

“They’re okay, I think: still breathing at least. After that leader hover-bot exploded, its companion got real compliant and started following me like a lamb. After I got you into the bunker, I sent him out to bring in the other two. Then I ordered him to power down. Hey, y’think you ought to be doing that so soon?”

Bru was struggling to get his elbows under him, propping up on the bunker floor. He winced with pain at the movement, but did his best to ignore it. “Any sign of those two ‘runners? Or of Goldie?” Ragg shook his head, stood, and offered him a hand up.

“My guess is that they had arrangements to make for more permanent digs elsewhere. Hopefully Papa can give us more info when he comes to.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe. Hey, relax, though. I checked around and by the look of things we just missed them by an hour or so. None of our gear seems to have been damaged, so when they come back, we can be ready for them.”

Bru turned and took in the room on unsteady legs. In a far corner past several shelves full of parts and tools a couple of cots were set up. Papa Poole lay on one and Maggie on the other, both of them unconscious. On the nearer side of the shelves was a low metal table with benches, and a sink and kitchen unit built into a wall adjoining them. Some food containers had been opened and left on the table along with eating utensils. On the floor near the end of one of the benches lay some lengths of cord along with a metal can lid. “Looks like Papa freed himself and got a hold of a breathing mask,” Bru said, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain.

“Yeah, I saw that, too,” Kevin said. “It was pretty brave of the old fellow but not very smart; he wouldn’t’ve gotten very far in that thin atmosphere out there, even with a breathing mask—not without more protection. While you were out, by the way, I did a three-sixty around this place just to be sure there weren’t more robots hiding out. Nobody but old Brainless powered down in his rear compartment where I left him. No sign of any fancy security gadgetry either. Like I said, thanks to that friend of yours, we must have caught up with them pretty early on—before they could take that many precautions.”

“They probably figured two hover-bots could keep an eye on one elderly barkeeper. I only hope to the stars they haven’t had time yet to mental-fix the girl.”

“Do you think there’s a chance your friend Grayson might have a fresh lead on where Parker and Jacques might be at the moment?”

“Possible. But we’d be taking a big chance trying to contacting him on an unshielded frequency. If the local police found out he’s been assisting off-world vigilantes like us, they’d be breathing down his neck like a mad ex-wife. I owe the old guy too much to get careless with his security.” Bru peered out the small bunker window ruefully.

Ragg thought a couple moments, then spoke. “Well, let’s at least be ready to tackle the two of them when they show: take up positions outside so we can disable their vehicle when it arrives. We could disarm them, seal them inside the halftrack or the bunker, leave with the hostages, then notify the authorities about them on our way back to your ship.”

“’Course, you realize we won’t get very far back toward Polkbridge without a crewbot to V-jump the tub for us…” Bru reminded him. “Plus, there’s Goldie to think about. What’s our plan if they decide to use her as a shield?”

“Sounds like you two gentlemen could use some female input for this strategy of yours,” Maggie Poole’s voice drifted weakly over to them from the corner.

The two men’s heads turned toward the voice in unison. “Hey, lady! Didn’t expect to hear from you for another couple of hours, the way you got thrown around by that blast outside,” Bru said, hurrying over to her side. He attempted to keep her from rising from the cot, but she did her best to push him away in mild protest and got into a sitting position.

“No, Brucie, please. Let me up—there’s a lot I have to tell the two of you. Papa recognized me outside after I ran to him, before the—the—hovering thing grabbed me…” Maggie’s eyes looked unfocused and watery, but she was struggling to get a grip and make herself understood now that she was awake. “He—he spoke to me, just a few words, before he passed out.” Bru and Kevin were both beside her now, their attention completely trained on what she had to say.

“I heard what you two were saying and…and it’s no good. Goldie is…poor Goldie. She’s been through that—that—mental thing. That mental-fixing. At least that’s what it sounded like. Papa said something a couple of times: ‘Not to me,’ he said. ‘They won’t do it—not to me. Not what they did to her—not to me.’ They had drugged him or something, Bru. His eyes were kind of wild. But I know he recognized me. He…he wanted us to know that they’d done it to her.” Her voice became stronger and more passionate as she went on, and she was now on the verge of losing control. Instinctively, Bru put his arms around her shoulders and cradled the woman’s head.

Maggie’s face tilted up toward his, her tears welling up fast. “The Lieutenant…Kevin…he told me some about the mental-fixing, Bru, while we were waiting for you. Told me it changes you into a different person, that you forget everything and everyone! We’re too late, Brucie…too late!”

Just then, a com box of some kind began to chirp to life on the wall next to the bunker door. A deep growl entered the room from the built-in speaker. “You in the bunker! We know you’re in there, Captain Copetski. You and your friends’ve stepped in some deep crap, Mr. Hero. You got sixty seconds to come out of there unarmed, hands in the air. After that, we start bombing your tails off. Sixty seconds! You hear me, Copetski?”

Bru had heard Parker’s voice in his sleep ever since he’d tried to filet him with his ugly knife in Papa’s tavern. Swiftly he switched on the power to his collar and the bluish halo of the force helmet crackled to life around his head. He motioned to the others, who were following suit, to hang back while he peeked out a corner of the window. He didn’t see anything in the blackness, but jumped back from the hole when a blaster burst glanced against the sill just outside, thankfully leaving the window glass intact. “No peeking, there, Captain! You turkeys are running outa time! Leave your weapons and walk out of there, one at a time,” Parker’s voice insisted.

By now all three companions had their radios working and pulse blasters in their hands. “I’m the better shot,” Ragg whispered quickly. “You two get Papa ready to run outside and I’ll cover you from the window. That blaster bolt came from the left quadrant, so when you get into the open, make your dash to the right.” Maggie and Bru were nodding grimly as they raised Papa as gently to his feet as they could. Speedily they checked gauges on their air tanks and Papa’s breathing mask. The bunker door had a crash bar, and Bru was readying his leg to kick it so the door would swing wide as soon as Kevin smashed the window.

Kevin began to count down. “Five…four…three…”

But he never finished it. Outside, they beheld what appeared to be some sort of multi-colored fireworks display that erupted all at once and from a number of different angles. Shocked and preparing for the worst, the three rescuers dropped to the cement floor in a protective pile, expecting some kind of unearthly bombardment to descend upon their heads. But the bursts going on outside lasted for about fifteen seconds, well past Parker’s deadline—and finally fell silent. Before the team could find their legs again, there was a rather timid knock at the door.

None of them ventured toward the door handle to open it, but the knocker obviously found some way of releasing the catch and the portal swung wide.

“Ah! I am pleased to find the three—ah!—the four of you, together and unharmed,” Bacchus told them.

Bru, Maggie and Kevin all goggled in disbelief at the spider-limbed robot. Then Bru’s companions were both staring at him as he stumbled to his feet and crossed to his mechanical copilot, befuddlement and joyful relief mixed on his features. “Obviously…” he told Bacchus, his head shaking back and forth, “I’m glad to see you—for once.”

This quip seemed to break the startled mood and all the humans in the room, Papa Poole included, began laughing along with the release of tension. “But tell me, matey: where in space did you disappear to and how did you end up here? Not to mention, what the blazes just happened out there?”

“There does seem to be much that requires explanation, Captain Copetski.” Bacchus gestured calmly as he spoke, offering his explanation in his evenly modulated tones. Bru noticed that his bionic mannerisms had returned to their state previous to the argument they’d had in front of Central several hours before. “But to put it succinctly, I was able, with a bit of effort and alacrity, as well as some ‘luck,’ to bring help—in the form of your former colleague, Mr. Grayson, and others.”

“The devil you say! Bogie is with you?” Bru could hardly believe his ears.

“Yes. When your name appeared on a local newscast, Mr. Grayson—‘Bogie’ as you call him—began assembling a team of compatriots in the event you, Miss Poole and the Lieutenant needed assistance. It occurred to him that the mention of your name in connection with the Central building explosion might conceivably ‘tip off’ the two men you were pursuing. When I finally located him, he was already conducting some kind of global network scan of this area, and had just monitored a sizable explosion. Naturally I encouraged him to mobilize his ad hoc strike team at once and…”

Just at that moment the door swung open again and the great bear-like form of Bogie “The Gullet” Grayson stood on the threshold. He looked both comical and formidable in an old-style environment suit and was wielding an ancient-looking turbolaser that would have weighed some forty pounds under normal gravity conditions.

“Sorry to crash yer party like this, B.C., but your robot nanny here purty much insisted, ye might say!” The sixty-something space dog popped open the face plate of his helmet and launched a jauntily aimed missile of spit at a vacant corner of the floor. Again, it was time for gawking all around for Bru and company, who never would have imagined such a sight entering the room moments before. Maggie Poole was the first to move toward the former SPAID-er as the others looked on, smiling broadly.

Not one given to speechlessness at all, Grayson was almost astounded for a moment when he found Maggie’s trembling arms wrapped around his mammoth stomach, her head buried in his chest. Awkwardly he cleared his throat as she finished her hug and looked up at his slightly blushing face with a hand on his arm, mouthing the words “Thank you!”—her eyes brimming with tears.

“I take it, then,” Bru said, rescuing his friend from the need to say something, “that you and your pals have dealt with Parker and Jacques appropriately?” With Maggs still gripping his elbow, Bogie lumbered over to a chair and sat as he explained.

“Ahem…Aye, puppy, that we have. Six of me friends were keeping watch from the rocks nearby and we figgered the S.O.B.s would be arriving in a maintenance vehicle from the look of them tracks yonder. We’d already scanned the bunker here and your mate Bacchus ID-ed yer bio signs, so we knew ye’d be awaiting their return.”

“Was…was Goldie Fretz with them?” Maggie asked with fear in her voice.

“Aye, lass, she was. Under the influence of some drug or other I shouldn’t wonder. One of me partners is a physician of sorts and is examining yer friend. One of the vehicles we came in is equipped with some medical necessities. So…I take it this would be yer father, then, lassie?”

“Yes, he is. He hasn’t been very talkative—maybe from the effects of the same drug they gave Goldie. But he did seem to recognize me and the others,” Maggie said.
Bogie patted her shoulder as he spoke into his wrist com link. “Grayson here, Chillio. The place is secure. We need the med scanner in here along with some water and rations. What have ye got from those two bilge rodents?” He nodded several times as his comrade’s reply sounded in his implants.

Giving Maggie’s hand a squeeze, he told her, “We’ll soon have yer father righted, lassie. My mate is bringing yer friend with him when he comes—says she’s showing signs of coming out of it.” Then he raised a hand in Bru and Ragg’s direction. “They found a beacon locator in the rodents’ vehicle—no doubt ye’ll be curious to see the insides of their ship?”

Ragg and Bru looked at each other, then nodded at Grayson. “Have your friends gotten any information out of them?” Kevin asked.

“Nay, not yet, not yet, Lieutenant. ‘Course, ye might want to have a go at them as well, but so far they’re clammed and clammed good.”

“Did they find any illegal drugs or weapons on them or in the halftrack?” Bru said.

“Nay, no drugs. Plenty of weaponry, o’course, including some hefty charges that could’ve purty well leveled this building—probably on hand from past excavation teams as may’ve used this here bunker. Only thing illegal ‘bout any of it might be the way the two bums came to possess it. And, speaking of explosive charges, what was it that caused the big blast I monitored afore, that caused your mate Bacchus such fits?”

“Well, when we approached the bunker, we were met by two armed hover-bots who were guarding the place,” said Bru. “Our own ‘Private Poole’ there set a blaster cartridge to overload and lodged the thing in one of their armpits.”

“Ye don’t say?” Bogie exclaimed with a guttural laugh. He gave Maggie a good-natured shove and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “And yet, here she still is to tell the tale! Nice to know there beats the heart of a lioness ‘neath that curvaceous exterior, eh?”

“I…I can hardly even remember doing it. Papa was in trouble and I…I just…” Maggie was staring down at the floor, for once in her life completely embarrassed.

“Sir,” Bogie said as he smartly saluted in Papa Poole’s direction, “ye be a lucky man to’ve fathered such a daughter, and me hat’s off to ye—that is, if’n I had one!”

Papa smiled groggily, but widely, toward Maggie and announced in an unsteady whisper, “…Very…proud.”

“If one may ask,” chimed in Bacchus, causing all the eyes in the room to turn his way, “what became of the second robot? Was it also destroyed in the blast?”

“The second one was only a drone, apparently,” supplied Kevin. “When its leader was blown up, it stopped its battle program and began following me. I used it to move Maggie and her father inside, then ordered it to storage in the rear of the bunker. There’s a separate storage shed back there. I checked it out but didn’t see any other supplies or contraband—not in plain view, anyway.”

“Chillio,” Grayson called into his com link, “has anyone found a shed around back housing a hover-bot? It’s likely powered down, but don’t take chances; the thing be armed, I’m told. No? Alright, then, have someone take a look see. Thanks.”

As Bogie spoke to his partner, Bru watched out the window as a vehicle was backing toward the bunker entrance. It was a large, angular van with huge, all-terrain tires. The roll-up rear hatch opened to reveal two enviroment-suited men—considerably smaller in stature and girth than ‘The Gullet’—accompanied by an even smaller figure whom they were propping up, one on each side, and who was wrapped in a makeshift plastic coverall and a breathing mask. “Somebody get the door,” Bru said.

Goldie Fretz entered the bunker—under her own steam, but just barely—when Bacchus opened the door, admitting her and her two supporters. Kevin Ragg pulled a chair out from the table and the suited men sat her down and began freeing her from her plastic cocoon. Even in her disheveled state, Goldie was strikingly pretty with curly blonde ringlets, a graceful neck, roundish face and gold-flecked green eyes. Maggie was at her side, gently hugging her shoulders and whispering to her softly. Goldie’s head was lolling slightly from side to side and she blinked sporadically but purposefully, trying her best to focus on her surroundings.

The two men had popped open their helmet visors and one of them was explaining, “We did a blood test on her and found traces of a powerful sedative. We also administered a mild stimulant to help counteract it, but I expect it to take a few more minutes for her to be fully responsive. Go ahead and talk to her; that ought to help.”

“Much obliged, Vic, much obliged,” said Bogie. “And this older gent is also in need of yer ministrations, if you’d be so kind,” he added, nodding at Papa Poole.

“We’ll get to work on him right away. Joe, let’s use that cot over there; bring the scanner.” Gently, they helped Papa to his feet and guided him to the cot. As they were powering up the med scanner, Bogie received an update in his audio implants, listened briefly, acknowledged the message, then reported to the others.

“Good news and bad, I’m afraid: the perimeter has been secured and Mssrs. Parker and Jacques are being held for safekeeping in their own vehicle. We disabled it and sealed them inside with some water and provisions. All ye’ll need do is report their whereabouts to the locals when ye make yer complaint.”

“And the bad news?” Bru asked.

“That hover-bot isn’t where the lieutenant left it. The shed is empty and there’s no sign of the thing anywhere in the vicinity. My guess is that it’s equipped with a homing program to return it to their ship. Hopefully the beacon scanner out of their halftrack will point you to where they docked the Saint Angelo. You’ll want to search it yerselves, or at least give the scanner to the police so they get all the evidence against the pair that they can.”

“Mr. Grayson…” Maggie began.

“Bogie, please, lassie.”

“…Okay, Bogie, my father said some things to me when we found him—things about Goldie being…possibly being…”

“Talk to her, sweetheart—‘tis the surest way of knowing whether she’s been mental-fixed or no. Frankly, though, I doubt it. As wanted men, those two would’ve been taking too big a risk to spend much time in the Dome. And the Dome’s got the only power sources large enough to ensure safe nanite manufacture, sterile environment, all the rest. Their latest trip in was most likely to make a quick contact with local help and then leave.”

“But if they weren’t taking her to be mental-fixed,” Maggie said insistently, “then why did they need to sedate her? Why knock her out?”

“I—I—f-fought back…”

Everyone’s eyes fastened on Goldie, who had spoken in a halting, gurgling whisper. Her eyes were still unfocused, seemingly, but it appeared she had been hearing at least some of the conversation and comprehending it. Maggie stroked her curls and pulled her closer.

“That’s good, Darling. Good. It was good of you to fight back. And it’s so good to have you back again, you and my Papa.” Maggie began shedding tears of relief and sympathy, and, with one arm, Goldie was responding by patting her shoulder ever so weakly. Maggie smiled at Bru through her tears. “I guess Papa was wrong,” she said.

Bru smiled back, feeling thankful that Maggs’s reunions with both her friend and her dad were going so well. “Bogie, can your medic friend give us a guess as to how soon Mr. Poole and Ms. Fretz can travel? Are they gonna need ongoing care of some kind?”

“Not if’n the sedatives wear off, I wouldn’t think, B.C. But as to traveling…I’m afraid…” Bogie’s eyebrows were knitting together in a pained expression.

“What is it?” Bru asked.

“I’m afraid, m’friend, that you and your company are in for a prolonged visit here on this lovely little planet of ours. The word came through on the newscasts just ‘afore we left to meet you here: the Generaton governor and the militia have declared an emergency situation. Until further notice, no ships will be leaving orbit, and no shuttles leaving the surface.”

Bru and Kevin both stared at Bogie Grayson wide-eyed.

”Your name, B.C., came up on the news when a government shuttlecraft exploded inside the Dome—a shuttle that had been stolen from the satellite where your ship is docked! My contact in the militia intelligence corps said that your vessel is the last one that arrived just before a security-bot detail was blasted to bits and the shuttle went missing.”

“That danged paper-pusher at Central ratted me out!” Bru muttered savagely. He glared at his first mate. “And all because I was trying to find out what happened to you—a blasted robot!” Bacchus cocked his head slightly, but said nothing in reply. Bru said to Grayson, “So I suppose the authorities are assuming we’re involved somehow with the Central explosion, as well as their precious shuttlecraft?”

“It wouldn’t be far off the mark, methinks. At this point, me bucko, I imagine ye’d do well to turn yerselves in for questioning, seeing as you have yer loved ones back safe and sound, as well as two wanted fugitives in the bag to commend yerselves to the local cops. The sooner ye help clear up this nasty situation, the sooner ye’ll be getting yer friends home, and getting yerself back on the SPAID circuit. Agreed?”

“SPAID pilots have lost their licenses for less than stuff like this,” Bru said. “What if they fail to catch whoever caused those explosions? They might try and make scapegoats out of us.”

“Wouldn’t it look better, though, Brucie, to turn ourselves in like he says?” Maggie urged him. “Better than getting caught hiding out or trying to escape?”

Bru nodded. But his heart wasn’t in it; he could somehow feel his independence slipping away. What if they grounded him? Confiscated his ship? All because of his failure to listen to his head instead of his heart and stay out of this whole infernal mess. Who was it that said, long ago, “No good deed ever goes unpunished”?

Finally he shifted back to Grayson and said, “Well, Bogie, can you or one of your cohorts recommend a decent place to stay on this rock? I feel like a good, long sleep before I let the authorities get their hands on me.”

-------------------

Nyota gathered a thin blanket around her as she tried in vain to chase the memories of the Voice out of her mind. The Voice that had made no sound, but had shaken her to her soul. The Voice that had shattered Siggy into a million mental fragments.

Her flight had been the very last one to leave Generaton before the flight blackout began; her timing had been impeccable, as always. Of course, before the first vortexial leap on the way to Polkbridge, there was always the danger that word would reach the pilots to turn back. But fears like that were old companions to her. They would soon grow weary of plaguing her and would move on.

She snuggled down into her seat, shrinking into a tight self-hugging position. She waited for the stars on the overhead viewplates to smear and slip by in their cosmic dance. She wondered how much what she’d experienced would be worth to a certain fat fool who expected her to bring back a man of metal, not a possible hallucination story. She had been warned to be careful whom she told; but she’d have to tell him something.

The V-jump came. The worries wandered off. And Nyota slept.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...