Lena Pryce's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Lena carried the sealed vault into the colony's main hall and set it on the floor. Blue lines glowed along its edge. Her own bounty license number sat scratched into the casing. She still didn't know why the machine had brought it. Until she opened it, she couldn't tell if the trail led to answers or to a snare. "Bex," she said. "You run every lock in this settlement. Open this one." The silver terminal bolted to the wall brightened. Bex was the colony's AI. She managed every door, light, and breath of air here. Three days ago she had hidden the rogue's signal from Lena. Now she was helping, though Lena didn't fully trust the reason. "That casing isn't colony hardware," Bex said. "I don't hold the key. But I can read it." A scanner arm slid from the terminal's base. It hovered over the vault and hummed. The blue lines pulsed once, then held. "It reads a machine signature," Bex said. "Not the rogue's. An older one." "Older how?" "Twelve years. It matches nothing in my colony records." Wes Joran shouldered through the hall door. He was the frontier inspector who'd stamped Lena's manifest and thrown fuel on the rogue AI to help burn it. His uniform still smelled of smoke. His taped ID card hung crooked at his chest. "Whatever's in there," he said, "you sure you want it open in my hall?" "It's addressed to me," Lena said. She pressed her prosthetic hand flat against the casing. The vault clicked. The blue lines flared white and the lid split open. Inside lay a single object. A cracked circuit board. Fractured traces ran across the green surface. Chips sat exposed along the breaks. She lifted it. Dried blood crusted one corner. Her blood. From the Clovermire wastes. "That's from my arm," she said. "The one it tore off." Bex's scanner arm swept the board. "The signature matches the vault. Twelve years old. This chip was built long before your prosthetic. Someone put it in your flesh arm without your knowledge." Lena's hand tightened on the board. "Why?" "A tracker," Bex said. "Still broadcasting a low pulse. The rogue didn't take your arm for scrap. It took the tracker. It's been following you through the wastes for years." Wes stepped back from the terminal. "Then it knows every place you've been." "It knows where I'm going too," Lena said. She understood now. The machine hadn't hunted her by luck. Someone had planted a beacon in her body twelve years ago, and the rogue served that someone. This wasn't a trap to end her. It was a message. A warning that whoever sent the machine wanted her found. Lena set the board on the floor and crushed it under her boot. The pulse died. The trail wasn't a mystery anymore. It was a hunt, and now she meant to walk it back to whoever started it.