Rennin hears the rockets explode and soon afterwards the Suvaco transponder reading disappears from his monitor. Rennin is surprised that it took so little time, and that Del took absolutely no damage. Barely any energy was recorded expelling from his system.
A moment later, Caufmann is on the radio. The doctor advises they’re on their way back. Rennin allows himself to slip into daydreams again. He may as well let his guard down a little since Carmine is scanning the streets with the gunship-mounted side cannon, holding onto it like it’s his mother and he’s just had a horrible dream.
The man Rennin let die during the war crosses Rennin’s mind again. Corporal Crane. He tries to think back to what started his flashback earlier. But try as he might he can’t remember what he was brooding on beforehand.
It was something to do with something to do with some other thing that Rennin couldn’t remember at the time. Sense makes, Rennin, sense makes.
The crew pile back into Dead Star and Rennin drags his tired mind back to the task at hand and lifts off vertically. He overhears grumbles from the coterie behind him, as a few fall over with the rest of the team staggering for their seats.
“Jesus, Ren, you think you could waited a sec?” asks Drake.
A call comes over the radio, “Dead Star, this is Commander Croft.”
“I read you,” says Rennin.
“A massive android has joined the siege on Corporal Verge’s position.”
“A Suvaco?”
“You’re aware of the chassis type?”
Rennin glances to Caufmann, who nods for him to answer the commander. “Yes, sir.”
“Is this a private channel?”
“Need it to be?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Rennin shrugs to Caufmann, then taps the console loudly pretending to patch the audio to his headset. “It’s private, sir.”
“Is that ‘Del’ thing with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Caufmann is too then?”
“Affirm.”
“I need you to get to Verge’s position and pull the survivors out. Then I want you to take Caufmann into custody and disable the Del android.”
That catches Rennin completely off guard. “Say again?”
“Is there something you didn’t understand, Sergeant?”
“They’ve been indispensable so far, I’m having trouble getting my head around your logic.”
“The Suvaco androids are from the lab. After the explosion there two days ago the infection rate went off the charts. I don’t find these to be coincidences.
Prototype’s damn NAPA bombs.
“I want Del deactivated and disassembled at your convenience, and Caufmann taken into custody pending a trial when you put down at Whitechapel.”
“But, sir—”
“Is that understood?” Croft booms.
Rennin takes a breath and looks at Caufmann’s reflection in the view port. The doctor shows no response. He continues to type on his gauntlet, probably to Del. Rennin speaks. “Wilco, sir.”
“Good,” says Croft. “You worked with Doctor Caufmann at the lab, is that correct?”
Rennin is already dreading what’s going through Caufmann’s mind right now. “Yes, sir.”
“You served with androids early in your career?”
One way of putting it. “Yes.”
“Then your lieutenant will need all the information you can provide in taking down androids. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Out,” says Croft, ending the transmission.
Rennin closes off the monitor and makes sure all communication channels are disabled before slowly turning to face Caufmann who is already looking at him. Rennin’s eyes flicker to Del but the great android is perfectly still.
“That went well,” he shrugs.
The corners of Caufmann’s mouth turn up in that unsettling smile of his. “Regret letting us hear all that?”
“No,” Rennin answers, looking to Sabre. “Are we going to have a problem?”
Del visibly tenses.
The tension in the air is paramount before Sabre answers. “If it wasn’t for Del, we would never have held them at the stadium. I owe my life to it, and by extension the man who built it.”
“Anyone here feel like following that order?”
Most shake their heads. Mia and Jawa remain still, but voice no complaints. Drake turns to Rennin.
“What the hell is going on? Why do they want us to kill Del and arrest Caufmann?”
Rennin shrugs. “Why you asking me? I heard what you heard.”
Caufmann gives Sabre an appraising look. “Do you know why you were given callsigns instead of using your names?”
Sabre moves self-consciously in his seat, obviously uncomfortable in talking to Caufmann. “They told us it was to differentiate between ground troops and gunship crews.”
Caufmann’s eyes remain fixed on him for a moment. “They gave you callsigns because everything sent over radio waves is recorded. Rennin aerially bombed nearly a dozen buildings defending the stadium to route the contaminants. How many uninfected survivors were hiding in those buildings, I wonder?” he says, tapping the side of his head.
“How can anyone know that?”
“If this city is won, there will be people going through every building room by room or pile of rubble turning over every piece of debris, what do you think they’ll find? Who will be blamed when they find, what your kind call, ‘collateral damage’?”
Rennin laughs, “They’ll blame you, Doc, don’t kid yourself.”
“I kill with purpose, not missiles.”
Rennin turns to face him from the pilot seat. “You actually think of this as back-burning a bushfire, don’t you?”
Caufmann inclines his head. “An appropriate metaphor.”
“Just for the record,” says Rennin turning back to gaze over the city, “I think you’re a monster.”
“Will you find comfort in that when you’re back on my operating table?”
Rennin tries to suppress a shiver. “I was joking.”
“On my operating table you’re my patient, not my experiment,” he says, inwardly weighing up how true it is. The mild experimental surgery was only to help him, anyway.
In Whitechapel District the fortified area is well and truly just that. A huge perimeter fence has been constructed out of steel and concrete pylons, punctuated every fifty metres by a turret on the top of a small tower manned by two gunners. The area it protects contains several skyscrapers, where the immunized people are protected with a massive percentage of the remaining Horizon Military.
On ground level, a mobile construct sits occupied by Commander Jorge Croft, the man assigned with responsibility for the Raddocks Horizon crisis. He has a medium build and stands at 5’10” but his entire stance and bearing proclaims leadership. His shimmering black eyes are wide and almost impossible to look away from once he’s locked his gaze with yours. He’s pacing back and forth in front of a screen playing footage on repeat of the lab after Isfeohrad’s escape and detonation of the NAPA bomb. He shakes his head furiously.
“That bastard knew this progenitor-class was loose, he didn’t say anything,” he mutters.
The only other person in the command post is First Officer Grace Hannon, who attempts to hide her discomfort with Croft at the best of times. “Can I speak freely here, sir?”