Didi and the Gunslinger

Chapter 3: Cyborg Crypt

"Didi," Pip whispers as she turns, back to the closed portal while the squealing outside goes on. It's pained squealing, and though it disgusts her, she can't help but flick her finger at the still twitching tip of the queen's snout. It thuds to the ground at her touch, severed from its owner, rolling softly to one side, leaving a smear of red behind.

"That'll hurt, I reckon," Didi says.

"Didi." Pip's voice is choked, stuttering. She bats at him as he flops on her shoulder.

"Heard you the first time," she mutters before spinning to look where they've found themselves. And stops, frozen and stunned, as the crow has been for the last minute or so. Now she understands why.

Dim light illuminates the interior of the tube of metal, eerie and cold. They line the walls, their metal bodies upright, seated in rows on both sides of the interior. Some kind of carrier, she figures, three metal stairs leading down into the main chamber where the silent, still forms wait, staring into nothing with their empty eyes.

"Gunslingers." Didi breathes the word out, one boot ringing on the metal steps, the second's deflector setting off a soft buzzing, her feet carrying her down without her knowledge. She's too caught up in the sight before her, stretching out twenty feet wide, over fifty feet in depth. So many silent cyborgs all in a row.

Pip lifts off, settles on the head of one. Didi hisses at him, the disrespect of his act making her wince. Sure, these are still and empty now. But once their massive metal bodies strode the galaxy dispensing justice, or fighting wars to keep softies safe. Pip taps the gunslinger's temple with his beak before squawking and flying to her again, settling on Didi's absently raised arm.

"They're dead," he says.

"Weren't alive to begin with." Didi drifts forward, though she corrects herself. "Least, their metal parts. Been what, fifty years or so since the gunslingers were decommed?" She hesitates next to the seated form of the closest gunslinger, a woman by the shape they've given her. The temptation to open the face guard is so tempting Didi has to wipe her palms on her thighs to eliminate the slick of sweat raised there.

"At least," Pip murmurs. Like he'd know personally, though she's downloaded the history of the galaxy into his cyborg brain. Beats having to call up deets on her system. "What do you think they are doing down here?"

"Beyond me." Didi exhales and skims her fingertips over the surface of the female gunslinger's shoulder. The body is silent and the metal cold, long since shut down. Feeling braver, she leans forward, examines the propped open front panel hovering about heart height on her chest. The center slot is empty, the place for a power chip now vacant. "Wouldn't think gunslingers were trash."

Pip tuts softly, sadly. "We're all trash in the end, Deeds."

"Got that right, I suppose." She straightens, pushing her hair back, using her goggles to hold her bangs out of the way. She doesn't need them to see, and from what the lenses showed her, the only power in this place is the tube itself, barely there, shielded from the outside. Just a curiosity. Though, she could take advantage of this bounty, couldn't she? Spare parts were hard to come by and gunslinger tech, outdated or not, could give her some fun toys to play with.

Feels too wrong to contemplate. Not with them looking so abandoned. Like no one cares they used to be people.

"We need to get home." Pip tugs at her hair with his beak, the heat of his cyborg eye warming her cheek. "This place creeps me to my bones."

Didi doesn't respond, moving deeper into the cargo hold. That's what this has to be, some kind of shipping section of a ship. At least, the design feels right, the rounded walls, the markings for decontamination and life support. It's been stripped down, the faint lighting in the ceiling tucked beneath a fine veil of plasglass, just enough to cast an eerie glow over everything. "Just need a bit of time alone down here," she says. "This is a gold mine, Pip." But not to strip, oh no. As she wanders the quiet cargo hold, her mind turns to a larger plan than she's ever considered.

A gunslinger. Of her very own. Imagine.

Pip shakes, feathers fluffing, claws digging in. "You listen to me, Divinity Solace Duke," he says in his best attempt at bossiness. She almost giggles, though it's out of character for her. If only he knew how comical he was when he tried to make her do what he wanted. "You don't even think for a moment you should be messing about with gunslinger tech." Pip's voice dropped in volume as she slowed to a halt near the end of the cargo bay, near a circular chamber, the door partially pried open. More light, but from the floor this time, shining outward from the c***k. Looks to her like someone tried to get inside, only to meet with the kind of resistance that makes quitters walk away.

But Didi is no quitter, not in this lifetime.

"Gunslingers were decommed for a reason, you silly girl." Pip's beak chatters. "Near the end, they had issues." Like he knew what he was talking about. Issues. "Their cyborg brains couldn't handle the pressure, you recall?" She seemed to remember something like that in the history archive. How the gunslingers were created to keep the peace only to be redesigned to fight the wars of the Galactic Conjunction. Their poor human brains couldn't take the reversion back to peacekeeping. Made them crazy. Didi planted one booted toe inside the c***k of the door and peeked inside.

"Well," she whispered at the sight, heart pounding, skin tingling in fresh excitement. "Hello there, handsome." He is, too, a perfectly preserved specimen, from what she can tell, still shiny, unlike his counterparts in the cargo bay. Even the seat he occupies looks like something special, a throne or a captain's chair meant for a leader. Is that it? Was he their leader?

"Didi!" Pip nips her ear. "You listening?"

She smacks him, softly but with irritation. He squeals at her, settles into place. "Not until you stop yammering at me," she says. "Considering you're a cyborg, little crow, you might want to be a mite more understanding of your bigger, stronger and, dare I say, smarter kin." She grins at him while he chatters his unhappiness. "What you think his thing was?" She jabs at the gap. Pip hops forward, takes his own look, cyborg eye whirling.

"No good," he mutters. "Sad to see them here, but that's as far as I'll go." He settles his wings like the conversation is over. Well, let it be. Not like she needs him around to harvest parts, combine them in a specimen she might be able to resurrect. This one looks like an excellent candidate, she reckons.

First, she needs to figure out just what this gunslinger's about. She'll take Pip home, get him settled, herself fed and Dad looked after. Then, tomorrow, she'll set Pip up for a diagnostic before returning to do some unhindered exploring.

"Weird," Didi says to herself, "how there's power down here." If the gunslingers are trash, why leave them with auxiliary backup systems in place?

"Stupid, you ask me," the crow mutters. "Boles and such wandering about, looking for electric systems to feed them." It's part of the reason everything with power is shielded, from her house to the bottoms of her boots. She shivers at the thought of one of the giant undertrash creatures coming to sniff out a snack. But, the hum in her one working boot tells her the shields are intact around this cargo bay. Have to be, or the gunslinger's home would be long ago trashed and drained. Feels like, from the piles around it, it's been here a space. Makes her wonder about the clear channel to the door, though.

Someone's been here before her, right? She registered that truth already. So, someone else thinks these gunslingers have importance. It only takes her a second to connect the territory she's encroaching with its owner, enough to chill her and cool off her enthusiasm.

"Can we go now?" Pip's pathetic whining can be endearing. Sometimes. "Please?"

Didi shrugs, grins at him so he won't see her worry. The last thing she needs is to run into the squatter, Ives Jackus. He's threatened her in the past, but worse, looks at her lately like she's tasty. Gives her the stomach curls. "Surely," she says. "Ready to fight the trash rats?"

He groans. "We're trapped!" One wing rises to cover his face. "We're doomed!"

"Cork it, corbie," she says, pointing to the hatch at this end, leading outward. And no, she has no proof it opens into safety, but at least it will shut his trap. Never mind she just spotted it herself, feeling a bit panicked at the thought until her gaze made the connection.

Pip shivers, leans into her. "I don't like this place," he whispers. "They're staring, Didi."

She looks around at the gunslingers, feels a shiver of her own. The stale air makes her nose tingle, and for the first time she thinks about the vibration of the power core keeping this place alive and humming under her feet. She could use that core, if she can access it. Not like the dead gunslingers need it anymore. Nothing to attract bole attacks if the core is gone.

That thought is enough to drive away her heebies.

But, Pip is right, it's time to go. She'll be back with tools. As she accesses the panel to the exit and Pip lets out a whoop of relief at the wash of fresher air that pours over them, Didi looks back once more.

A gunslinger of her very own. Wouldn't that be just the best thing ever.

***

He's been alone for so long, with only brief moments of contact, contact he is unable to respond to, he almost doubts his dimmed senses. The endless darkness he thought he could handle has devoured some of his control. He's waited so long for the light to come back, for it to burn around the edges of his vision, just enough to cast shadows, to make him wonder if he is being reactivated.

He shouldn't care. He needs to remain steadfast and loyal, as always. But, it's difficult, partially awake, aware, dim but alive. All alone.

She feels different to him, the girl with the soft voice he's not sure exists. Hope he's never thought possible within the boundaries of his programming almost drives him into the vortex of darkness. Subroutines kick in and save him, pulling him to calm, but he isn't sure how much longer his deprived mind can last. Perhaps, were he still human, he would be saddened by that truth. And yet, she felt real, as real as anything he is able to experience in this state. As much as the man who came first, the one he can't bring himself to trust.

There is something about the she-Didi, the second voice called her-who has made the most recent examination of his resting place. Unusual. And gone again, leaving him alone once more.

He must not hope. He will not give in to such fantasy. He is a gunslinger and his purpose is to serve, no matter how long he must wait. To be ready the moment he is needed.

He sinks back into the dark as far as he can and returns to the mental exercises allowing him to retain his sanity during long periods of segregation in the silent tomb of his people.

Even as that dreaded and needed hope forms a warm, soft ball of longing in his damaged brain.

***