Devana Files: Chapter 25
Separation Anxiety
This is Part II. The Twenty-fifth. chapter. You may find earlier chapters here:
Space 2074: The lunar colony is the new Wild West. Sheriff Kate Devana goes off-colony to wrangle a fugitive con artist who bilked retirees for billions and is escaping for Mars on a deep space supply shuttle. But back home, robots are glitching, killing people, and she is the target of a corrupt Federal Agent looking to avenge the death of his former partner. Bodies are piling up faster than she can get home to stop the killer.
On the moon, Kate Devana is the law.
While this is the 3rd novel in the series, each is designed to be read independently.
For accessibility, there is a voiceover for each chapter.
APRIL 10, 2074
NYS VEGA, TRANSLUNAR ORBIT
Lebofield was going to make her pull the trigger, and she was going to regret it. Her rifle light danced over the right android’s face and then the left. She didn’t know what his play was, commandeering them like this. They were antiques, at least fifty years old, and in great condition. No simu-flesh. With coarse black nylon hair sewn into the head, like an old doll. Their silicone had yellowed and hardened in spots, maybe from the heat of being in a spotlight, but there were no cracks or scars. Their flaws were only palpable under her harsh rifle light.
The droids were identical. A collectible pair. Maybe even sequential serial numbers off the same assembly line. Worth a fortune if their circuits were original, which probably explained why they were here. Stolen from one rich person and smuggled to another.
The only difference: Lebofield puppeted the right one. Not the left.
Was he attacking her? Delaying her? Or just too cowardly to come out of his space RV? She pictured Lebofield inside his comfy shipping container-turned-studio apartment less than fifty meters away. Probably sitting at his desk, wearing a headset, with the droids on speed buttons.
A shame. No matter how much these droids were worth, she couldn’t take chances. His slimy, dark soul defiled them. Now she’d need to exorcise him with a metal slug.
Her rifle dot was on the right android. He could switch instantly, so she kept an eye on the left.
Hud diagnostics reported six minutes and eleven seconds remaining to MECO, or main engine cut-off. After that, zero-g. Vega’s velocity was eighty-eight percent of cruising speed, so she had options. Theoretically, she could shut the Hanabishi engines off now, although it would delay her return forty-five minutes. She originally planned to conserve fuel, remaining in zero-g for the balance of the trip, but now with at least one container full of live animals, she’d be forced to spin the ship to generate centrifugal gravity. The thought of a donkycorn and alpinka floating around in zero-g made her giggle a little too much. It was probably safe for the animals. Probably. Either way, some poor robot would be tasked with cleaning donkycorn and alpinka shit off the ceiling when they landed. Maybe she’d make Lebofield do it. Manual labor might do him some good.
“You don’t belong here, Devana.” Lebofield’s voice crackled from a speaker in the back of the android’s throat, like an old amateur radio broadcast. The droid’s eyes jittered over the barrel of her rifle, unblinking, and its faded red lips barely moved. They say a dog looks like its owner. Lebofield operated the droid like an anxious ventriloquist dummy.
“Can you make that thing spit?”
“Can I what?”
“Make it spit. Say, ‘You don’t belong here, Devana,’ louder, like a Marine drill sergeant, with a shower of spittle.”
“Umm…no?”
“Shame.”
She pulled the trigger. Click. Boom. Her coilgun’s capacitors discharged, firing a metal slug into the android’s face at thirteen hundred meters per second. Its head vaporized. Yellow silicone globs and circuit board slivers flew in all directions. The bullet ricocheted, showering sparks off the container wall, and then pink cleaning solution sprayed everywhere when the slug landed in a maidbot.
Decapitated, the droid collapsed, torn metal and wires jutting from its neck. A coilgun was not as satisfying as a 12 gauge. Instead of the intimidating thunk of a cycling bolt, its capacitors whined, recharging. No sulfurous burnt gunpowder smell, either. Still, smoldering silicone did make her smile.
She sighed. That was probably six million dollars of paperwork on the floor.
The left android shifted. She swung her rifle, putting the red dot sight center mass. “Frank F. Lebofield, you are under arrest.”
“You can’t make me.”
What are we, five? “You have the right to remain silent.”
“You can’t arrest me.”
“Can. Did. Done. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“You highjacked this ship. You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“You highjacked these droids.”
“I am defending myself. This is self-defense.”
“The crew took your money and ran. So, welcome to Devana Cruise Lines. You have the right to an attorney, plus free handcuffs and locktails. Watch out for the jailhouse buffet, you wont poop for a week.”
“This is an illegal arrest. I will sue you for wrongful arrest, wrongful imprisonment, and malicious prosecution. I’ll take every nickel you have.”
Click. Boom. Boring conversation. Flames erupted from the gaping hole in the android’s chest. She’d hit the power bank. It crumpled to the ground in a fog of oily black smoke, landing face up on the first android.
She shook her head at the carnage and sighed. “I don’t think you understood. You have the right to remain silent.”
She pivoted to the exit. Five minutes and thirteen seconds to MECO. The five mechanicbots between her and the doorway resembled pony-sized metal scorpions, with long aluminum legs and six cranes for pincers and tails. They were crouched in a zig-zag pattern, blocking her path. The two maidbots were against the walls, out of her way, one on each side. Pink and blue chemicals splattered the left wall like a fountain above the maidbot.
Two pincer-like crane-arms lifted on the front mechanicbot. Each had a drill, with whirring tungsten carbide stingers that could punch through her armor like a spade through donkeycorn shit.
The other four cranes didn’t rise. Nor did any of the other robots activate. That was good news. He could only coordinate one robot at a time and only two arms at that. He planned this, but he wasn’t skilled. He didn’t have software to make them swarm, either.
Still, there was no way she could get through the exit without those drills poking a big hole in her suit. She could shoot them all. But as much fun as it would be to blow them up, she’d rather save them for later to clean and repair the ship.
“Back off,” Lebofield said through the mechanicbot’s staticky speakerphone.
“This is a lawful arrest. Your warrant has been signed by the U.S. Attorney General, a Supreme Court Justice, and the Governor of the great State of Texas. The crew abandoned ship and left you here. There is nowhere to go. So put away the dolls and strap yourself in before this turns into resisting arrest.”
“I want to make a deal. I can explain everything.”
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed, who will be happy to make a deal. Do you understand your rights?”
What was his play here? She still didn’t see it. Lebofield was slowing her down. Did he really think he could escape? He was in a space container on a ship traveling about nine hundred kilometers a minute, towards the moon, in translunar space.
“I know my rights.”
Click. Boom. The mechanicbot flipped and skidded away in a fountain of green sparks.
Another spidery mechanicbot activated, rolling between her and the container door. Its crane-arms rose like an oncoming two-tailed scorpion, drills brrrring.
Click. Boom. It toppled, showering blue and red flames like spin-top fireworks. She took three steps forward, kicking the wreckage out of her way.
Two down, but Lebofield was already in the third mechanicbot, rolling in front of her and blocking her path. Damn, he was quick.
“My father and mother are my attorneys. Will you stop shooting for a second and listen?”
“Bad news about that. They are under indictment as co-conspirators, so they can’t represent you.”
“I want to make a deal.”
“You said that. I am not here to make a deal.”
“I have the money, I just need time.”
“All your assets belong to the Feds now. It’s out of my hands. Plus, I don’t negotiate through speakerphone.”
Click. Boom. The third bot froze, but nothing else happened. No fireworks. Disappointed, she kicked it aside and advanced halfway to the door before the fourth mechanic bot powered up, waving its arms.
“Listen to me and stop shooting.”
“My advice is to keep your mouth shut and put the toys away before you earn yourself resisting arrest and assault on a police officer. I don’t make deals, and I left all my fucks at home. Strap in. When we get back, you will get a nice lawyerbot and robojudge.”
While she talked, she inched towards the door. Shadows moved outside the container. She swiped through Vega’s security camera feeds and then those from her two chameleon drones buzzing around the outer corridor. Nothing. Something moved, but she couldn't see it.
“I want a human lawyer and a human judge. I want my trial in person.”
Financial fraudsters always thought they had the charisma to hypnotize the detectives, the prosecutors, and the jury. “It’s your funeral.”
“What does that mean?”
The Federal prosecutor wanted him held in her colony jail until the new lunar prison facility was finished, maybe in six or seven months. He wanted the trial on the colony, too. A big spectacle, and dangerous in her mind. Federal marshals with an acute case of low-gravity sickness would have to shuttle Lebofield back and forth in a thin-walled vehicle under constant threat of space decompression.
But this was the crime of the century. Or at least the microsecond. A megawatt trial required a megawatt locale, the colony. The prosecutor was probably getting dental implants and whitening his teeth right now, in preparation, because a megawatt trial needed a megawatt smile. She wasn’t sure whose ego was bigger, Lebofield’s or the prosecutor’s, or whether the colony’s environmental system could handle all the hot air. Colony engineers would probably need to build a whole new power plant dedicated to generating the electrons for the media posts.
She needed the publicity like she needed those whirring tungsten drill bits to puncture her lungs. The only upside, the pissed-off Federal judge, who’d end up traveling four hundred thousand kilometers to suffer gravity sickness and Lebofield’s whiny excuses, would probably tack on an extra five years out of sheer irritation.
“It means, it’s your right to have a trial by a human judge and jury.”
“Let me go, now. I can make a trade. ”
“Was that your gold I saw in the next container over?”
“Not mine, I swear.”
A shame. If the heap of gold had been his, there’d be hope that his victims would get their money back.
Click. Boom. The fourth mechanicbot tumbled in a geyser of sparks.
He activated a maidbot next. Maybe because it was the closest to her. It rolled to the center of the container, a claw holding a wide black broom with red bristles. Scary stuff.
She put her red dot sight on the claw holding the broom and squeezed the trigger gently. Click. Boom. The claw severed in a spray of shrapnel. The broom fell and knocked over the top tray of chemicals, splashing purple cleaning solution on the floor.
The maidbot swiveled and jerked until it got stuck in a heap of wreckage, spinning back and forth as Lebofield tried to free it.
He gave up. It halted, and the fifth mechanicbot pivoted into the doorway. She raised her rifle.
“I know about the black cubes. Stop shooting and listen to me.”
The scorpion-like robot didn’t have eyes, or even a face, so she couldn’t know whether he was bluffing. She thought back, was her visor down when she talked to Rae about the cubes? There could be a microphone or intercom on the door to his quarters. Could he have overheard the conversation?
She couldn’t remember. But he was a financial fraudster, hardwired to lie.
Her red dot sight was on the bot’s power supply. It would rocket out of the threshold on a wave of flames. “Let me guess, you’re innocent. Not interested.”
“They have been after me since day one. I am too successful. But I know where the lightning cubes are coming from.”
There was a groan outside, the shriek of metal on metal. Three minutes and forty-five seconds to MECO and zero-g. Was he trying to jettison his container with the emergency system?
Fraudsters always thought one more lie would set them free. She stepped towards the door. The mechanicbot stood in her way, drills spinning.
“You overheard our conversation. Good bluff.”
“I am not bluffing. The crew left one. They thought they could use it on you. I told them it wouldn’t work. You let me go, I’ll tell you where the rest are.”
The passageway turned red and a klaxon sounded. Instinctively, she ran diagnostics on her suit. Ninety-nine percent oxygen. Good volts. Seventy-eight percent power. Enough for six hours and change. Three minutes and seven seconds to MECO. If he jettisoned before MECO, the engines would tear him up. Maybe the ship, and her with it.
Chameleon drone number two caught a robot moving outside. A little butlerbot, like a tray table with an arm and wheels. It tossed something into the container.
Dread filled her. More than when she saw Rae’s files. There was no doubt what it was. A black cube bounced inside the threshold and rolled to her feet.
“There are more. A lot more. You let me go, and I’ll split it with you.”
Six had shown up on the colony. There weren’t supposed to be any at all. She thought they were all destroyed. At her feet, number seven.
She saw it now. The malware pinging her suit. This was the source. A ship this old should not have a neuroface controller, but Vega did, maybe on a side circuit, hidden in a container. Someone brought lightning cubes aboard and set it to ping her neuroface.
Her mech suit cybersecurity blocked it. If not, her brain would be a hard-boiled egg. She got lucky. The crew assumed she’d show up wearing a cowboy hat and riding a horse. They couldn’t know she’d bargained for the latest defense technology.
Two minutes and thirty seconds to MECO. Her hud flashed a yellow warning. Zero-g imminent.
“You have nowhere to go, Lebofield. This ship is traveling at almost fifty-five thousand kilometers per hour, under thrust.”
“We both know the thrust is ending in a few minutes. When it does, you are dropping me off.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. Cornered fugitives sometimes became desperate and suicidal. Over the last four years, she’d had two fugitives off themselves rather than go to jail. The last one did a bird impersonation off a Dallas skyscraper and pancaked on a flatbed in traffic.
“The emergency thrusters on that container of yours don’t have enough oomph to slow you down. You are headed for a crash landing, on the surface of the moon.”
“Someone will pick me up.”
She checked her telemetry. No one within fifty thousand klicks of Vega. His plan was nothing but hope and prayer. He would suffocate slowly when his container ran out of air.
But it was worse than that. Her suit was recording everything. Lebofield knew about the cubes. He might foolishly try to make a deal with the Feds. Goodbye country club prison. Hello black site prison.
She could let him go. That was an option. He’d stolen billions. Save the taxpayers the cost of a trial. She’d avoid the publicity of the megawatt media.
“If they are on this ship Lebofield, I will find them.”
“They aren’t on the ship. Except the one at your feet, of course.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, I know what it is. It didn’t take me long. The crew of course didn’t know what they had. It killed three of their crew trying to use it. Superstitious idiots. They thought it was cursed.”
They weren’t wrong.
It didn’t matter if there were more on the ship, or just the one. The mere fact that Lebofield knew about them was an excuse for the Feds to lobotomize him.
She needed to get to Vega’s crew before their escape capsule landed.
Goddammit, decisions. “If you know what it is, you know I can’t let you take any of them.”
“It’s not my fault, you know.”
A criminal’s monologue was bad, practically a war crime as far as she was concerned. One delivered through a crackly speakerphone was torture. But the klaxons were sounding on the supply deck. It was decompressing, and there was less than two minutes to MECO. She needed to keep him talking.
“You used all your client money to buy worthless asteroid mining claims at inflated values, then fraudulently used their deeds as collateral to borrow money, which you then deposited in your own account. How was that not your fault?”
She realized she also needed to be out of this container when the thrust ended, or she’d be floating in zero-g with a lot of sharp metal objects.
One minute and thirty seconds to MECO. She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Let’s take this conversation outside.”
Click. Boom. The fifth mechanicbot erupted in a geyser of fireworks and fell out of the threshold. She kicked the smoking robots away and picked up the black cube on the floor as she marched to the door.
On the supply deck, the red sirens and alarms warned her the air pressure had dropped below fifty percent. She locked the container door behind her.
Lebofield peered through his container window, wearing a headset over his trademark big bushy black hair, like a criminal’s tiara. Her phone rang inside her hud and she answered it.
He said, “The loans were supposed to be used to develop land that would soon be worth ten times what we paid for it. If the Feds hadn’t come in and fucked us over, my clients would be richer than their wildest dreams.”
While he talked, she looked for a way to disable the emergency jettison. The red box was way up the wall, and open, with a droid reaching in. Too far to climb in the little time she had. If she shot the droid, she might hit the box, jettisoning the container anyway. She needed to keep Lebofield talking.
“There is a lot of gold in one of these containers. Are you sure it isn’t yours?”
“On my life. I’d know if I had gold.”
“We could split it.”
“You would never let me have it.”
“So, you didn’t know about the deeds being used as collateral?”
“Nobody told me until later.”
Fifty-three seconds to MECO. She looked for a handrail, grabbed it, and tethered herself.
“I should have been a better CEO. I was financially available while not being emotionally available to support my staff when they needed me.”
She didn’t know what that meant. But as long as he kept talking, he wasn’t dying. The animals in the container across the supply deck were making a lot of noise. Maybe they sensed that zero-g was imminent. The supply deck air pressure was down to forty percent. If the container separated before the deck decompressed, the air pressure alone would blow him into space.
“You said there are more of the cubes. Where?”
“Marley was the one who went to the Feds. She blamed me after I broke it off. We just weren’t right for each other, and she couldn’t be professional. I hate to use coarse language, but she became a vindictive bitch.”
Who was Marley? He was rambling, but at least he was talking. Thirty-three seconds to MECO. “I said the same thing to Rae. I was in a situationship with a superior officer a few years ago. I thought we’d get married, the works.”
“What happened?”
Bonding with a fugitive to keep him alive. Don’t ever say she didn’t take her job seriously. “I was just a trophy to her. Her little Pomeranian to show off at D.C. parties. She only loved me because she thought I’d help her climb the D.C. ladder.”
“What a bitch. Just like Marley—”
The ship’s rumbling and dull roar ended. MECO. She exhaled hard, blowing steam onto her visor. She was weightless. Lebofield floated away from his window.
Decisions. Decisions. There was no way to rescue him if he blew himself into space. She couldn’t let him talk to the Feds, either.
She raised her rifle and rapid-fired two slugs into Lebofield’s window. It cracked, the spiderweb grew, and then his container’s internal air pressure exploded the glass outward onto the supply deck.
Between the air inside his container and the air remaining on the deck, he had about a minute before he passed out.
The rush of air pulled his black blinds through the window, and then papers. His head appeared in the window frame, eyes wide, trademark bushy black hair sticking out in zero-g like he’d been zapped with static electricity. “Fucking insane bitch, you shot my window out!”
“Leave the ship, you’ll die. The oxygen in your little space RV will last about sixty seconds in open space. No one will pick up a container full of corpses. That’s my deal.”
“Fuck you and your deal.”
“One-time final offer. You don’t know it, but I am saving your life.”
He turned and squealed something, probably to his parents. She couldn’t hear it over the rush of air, but the deck’s ceiling vents creaked open. The deck’s red siren switched to yellow. The air pressure was rising rapidly.
“Hey, you wanted an in-person trial to clear your name. I aim to deliver.”
She ended her mech suit video recording and started swimming back to the bridge in zero-g, leaving her drones to watch him.
“You are such a cunt. I want a lawyer.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said so far.” She didn’t know who he’d already told about the cubes, but she couldn’t risk him talking to anyone else. “I am revoking your social media privileges, too.”
“Where are you going?” He was holding onto the window frame with one hand, stretched out and floating like a scuba diver. Brown and black droplets drifted through the opening. Probably coffee and tea.
“I am going to the bridge to spin the ship and give us a little gravity. I enjoyed our chat. I will be back.”
“I am not telling you anything.”
She climbed away. They had two hours and fifty-three minutes before the landing sequence. She’d let him cool off and then come back to interrogate him. She needed to know what he knew, in tremendous detail. He would talk. They always did. Fraudsters like Lebofield couldn’t stop themselves.
