by J. N. Chaney
“You tell us,” said Rigby.
Warren set the device down and carefully unwrapped it, being sure not to touch it as he did.
“Remarkable,” Sparky whispered, almost touching the thing with his nose as he inspected it. “Where did you find this?”
“It was part of Commonwealth ship,” said Lukov. “The one Warren make destroy.”
Sparky pressed his lips together and furrowed his brows. “What did I tell you about jokes, Lukov?”
“You say Lukov is not so good at the making of funny,” the cyborg intoned. “But this is not joke. This is truth.”
Sparky glanced at Warren, who nodded his confirmation.
“No chance you’re mistaken?” the technician asked. “This looks too advanced to be a CoW device. They might be able to come up with tech, but it never looks so streamlined. Are you sure it didn’t come from somewhere else?”
“About as sure as we can be,” said Warren. “This was found by the salvage team. They left it outside Dome-1 because they were worried it was a bomb. What do you say?”
The tech leaned forward and rested his hands on his desk on both sides of the device, then he stared at it for several seconds before answering. “If it’s a bomb, it’s the most overengineered bomb I’ve ever seen. No, I don’t believe it is, but until I know for certain, I’ll take care not to vaporize myself. Did you notice the electrical connectors here and here?” He pointed to both ends of the pill-shaped thing.
Warren shrugged. “That’s what I thought they were, Sparky. We’ve got knowledge modules loaded from the war computer, but nothing to help us figure out what this is. Given enough time we probably could, but since you’re our favorite mad scientist—“
“I’m not mad,” he said with feigned indignation. He only managed to hold his neutral expression for a second before a smile ruined it. “You’re going to leave this with me, right?”
“I don’t want it,” said Warren. The other two cyborgs waved the device away as well.
“Do you have any suspicion of what it might be?” asked Sparky, returning his gaze to the device.
Warren glanced at the others before answering. He had his suspicion but hadn’t voiced it to them yet. “Yeah, I think it’s an artificial intelligence.” To his surprise, nobody scoffed, though a grim expression settled on Sparky’s face.
“If this is so, the Commonwealth of Worlds is going to want it back,” he said. “There’s no way they’re going to let this go forever.”
“What if they think it was destroyed when the mothership crashed?” asked Rigby.
Sparky slowly shook his head. “This is pristine. It must’ve been in an armored capsule of some sort. Ask the salvage team, and I’m guessing they will verify my suspicion. No, this was meant to be protected against anything and everything. I’d better get to work.”
“That’s fine,” Warren replied. “This is your priority. Anything you can tell us about this thing will be helpful. Be careful what you attach it to, though. We don’t want it taking over or causing us trouble—if it even works.”
The tech nodded and stared at the device. “I’ll figure out what it does one way or another. I just hope I’m wrong about what it is.”
Warren left him to figure out the details himself. He still had to get his armor donned and his rifle ready. But when he left and closed the door behind him, he spotted another crowd of people.
“What’s going on over there?” asked Warren, noticing Seaman Douglas Sharp speaking to at least a hundred people near the center of the hangar.
“Sharp?” asked Lukov. “Is new security assistant. Is getting bossy and that is very good. Likes power. Take order. Is no problem. Is giving security brief for others.”
Warren nodded but listened carefully as he walked along the wall toward the exit of the hangar, attempting to stay out of everyone’s way. As he walked, he used his cybernetic hearing to listen carefully to what Sharp was telling the others.
“Why?” someone asked him.
“Why what?” asked Sharp, a hard edge to his tone. He was twenty-four years old but sounded cynical enough to pass for forty.
“Why do we have to shred everything?” The man asking the question was new to the colony and appeared to be in his sixties.
Sharp bristled but managed to calm himself before answering. “The only people we can trust are other Reotians. Neither the Grand Republic nor the Commonwealth have any intention of allowing us to live in peace. This was before your arrival, but the colony was nearly destroyed when a Republic holdout got his hands on a Commonwealth weapon. We also found dirty CoW spies in a secret room off our own warehouse. If you throw away something important—just leave it lying around for anyone to pick up, and take it they will.”
“You think there are more spies here?” the man asked.
“I don’t know if there are more spies,” replied Sharp, clearly having trouble holding it together judging by the way his hands were gripping each other. “That’s the point. Nobody knows. But if there are spies here, let’s not make their job any easier. Even something as innocuous as a hand-written note from one person to another, asking for a hundred of a particular type of screw would be enough. If the screw is only used in one kind of construction or one piece of machinery, a cunning spy can find a way to use that against us.
“I guess that’s the point I’m trying to get to. If there are spies here, let’s make sure they have to work even harder to gather intel. It’ll make ‘em easier to find and root out. Now, is there anyone who doesn’t understand?”
The crowd of people began murmuring. Warren couldn’t tell if that meant they understood, but no one asked any questions. Either way, the message was delivered, and the rest was up to Sharp for now.
“He will be fine,” said Lukov. “Is not to worry. He is record name of each person he speaks to. Anyone who is not to be listening can spend many days in brig thinking about maybe listen next time.”
Warren thought about the brig. It had become clear early on, once both the Republic and Commonwealth had been defeated, that the citizens needed structure. The fighting, theft, and mistrust forced Warren to construct twenty holding cells for those who acted against the greater good. Although he’d hoped the shared experience of battling a common enemy would help everyone bond. It had, for the most part, but it was hard to keep the peace between so many different people.
“Curet,” Warren transmitted after switching to the Gun Chief’s channel.
“Curet here,” the man replied. “Scope’s clear.”
“Good. Just informing you that I’ll be taking one of the shuttles. I’m headed out for what I hope will be a quick errand, but I might be gone for a few days.”
“A few days?” asked Curet. “Where?”
“To the moon,” replied Warren.
“Ah, yes. We talked about that. What do you think’s up there, some Commonwealth stuff?”
“I don’t just suspect it—I know it. Lukov discovered an encrypted signal coming from the moon. The war computer is chewing on it now, but it’s taking a while. I’m headed up with Rigby to take a look around. Keep an eye on things while we’re gone.”
“You expectin’ trouble?” the man asked. Although Warren couldn’t see him, he suspected the Gun Chief had one eyebrow raised. Curet usually did whenever he asked a question he already knew the answer to.
“Maybe, but I can’t say for sure. We’re about to poke around something the CoWs might consider important.”
“Roger that,” said Curet. He sounded tired, which made Warren wonder how long he’d been on shift. He and the others on his team had spent a lot of time on guard duty operating the cannons the Commonwealth had been so considerate to leave behind during their previous invasions.
“Thanks,” said Warren. “We’ll be leaving soon. See you when we get back.”
“You done?” asked Rigby.
“Just got to arm up and I’ll be ready,” replied Warren. “How about you pick one of those ships and get
it warmed up. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
“See you in ten,” she said before turning and hurrying away.
Warren watched her for a moment. She seemed different. Excited, like heading to the moon to check out a mysterious signal was some kind of grand adventure—like there was no real threat. He envied her newfound optimism and hoped she was right.
5
Warren leaned back in his seat and watched carefully as Rigby powered the craft and lifted it from the polished concrete floor. Lukov was in charge of opening and closing the small airlock in the hanger’s ceiling. It was wide enough for the Commonwealth fighters the Reotians had captured. They could pass through without trouble. The Republic cargo transports were another matter.
Rigby didn’t seem to have any problem with it, though. After turning the craft about forty-five degrees to starboard, she tilted the nose down and held it there while the bottom hatch closed, the compartment depressurized, and the top hatch opened. Thirty seconds later, they were leaving the thin Reotis atmosphere for their long trip to the moon.
“How’s it look?” Warren transmitted.
“Scope’s clear,” replied Curet. “Godspeed, sir.”
“See you soon,” replied Warren.
“Incoming!” Rigby shouted, throttling down the ship. She pitched it left, then right, before settling on going straight.
Warren checked out the window but saw nothing. Then he checked the monitor at the copilot’s station where he sat. A trail illuminated the screen, along with several icons and a few brief messages. “Looks like the Republic is curious about us,” he said.
“Was that a probe?”
“Yeah,” he replied, tapping the screen in an attempt to reveal more information. “Looks like they fired it from far away. It can’t pick up much going that fast, but probably enough to let them see the Ruthless is still in orbit, and maybe the fact that we’re leaving.”
“Do you want me to turn back?” she asked.
“No,” said Warren. “I don’t see anything else on the sensors, but if the Republic does send something in after us, we might be able to help provide tactical data to those on the ground. Plus, we’ve still got the rest of Wraith Squadron down there. I think that probe was just a checkup to see what we’re doing.”
Rigby was still wearing her helmet, so it was impossible to see her face to get a sense of what she might be feeling.
“Why are you staring?” asked Rigby. She cranked the main thrusters back up to full power and tapped the control stick to get them back on course.
“I was just thinking about everything that First Corps has been through and how much everyone’s already grown since we were freed.”
“Even Craig?” she asked.
“Especially Craig,” replied Warren. “I told him he needs to focus on himself before he starts worrying about others. I think we’re making progress, and we back him up after every session. If I notice him backpedaling, I can always reset him from a backup when he was healthier and try a different approach.”
Rigby slowly shook her head. “It’s a weird way to get the job done. It’s like quick saving in a video game, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” replied Warren. “But the war computer has enough room for a million more backups, give or take. Imagine if it works. Imagine if Craig could be healthy.”
“You won’t be able to put him back into a combat role,” she said, her voice soft.
“Yeah, I know,” he returned. “I’ll figure that out if and when I need to. He’ll probably get his feelings hurt, but he’ll be fine. In the long run, he’ll thank me for it.”
“I hope so,” she said.
Warren worked the scanner. The Ruthless was still in orbit, exactly where it should be. Groups of cyborgs and sailors from the original crew took shifts maintaining the vessel—usually three days at a time. While not under power, there was little to do besides general cleaning and systems checks. The small crew would be enough to bring the ship online and activate its self-defense measures should the need arise, though. It was all they could hope for at the moment as the vessel was too large to land on a planetary surface and there was nowhere to hide it.
“You’re a little off course,” noted Warren.
“Oh, thanks,” replied Rigby. “I was just thinking about everything we’ve done. But mostly I was thinking about everything we have left to do. I wish we had something besides the Slicers to keep the domes safe. Those and the Stingers, which are barely ships at all. They’re more like flying coffins.”
“They get the job done,” noted Warren. “But I agree. An orbital defense platform sure would be nice. Or probes, remote sensors, anything to give us a wider field of vision. I think the only thing holding the CoWs and Repub back from taking another shot at us is… us.”
“Yeah,” she replied, nodding at the window.
“Finding a signal coming from the moon has made our situation even more complicated,” continued Warren. “It means one of our two enemies has a presence there.”
“It might mean they’ve got a more powerful transceiver than we’ve got, too,” replied Rigby. “Maybe we could use something like that to our advantage. A remote listening post? Maybe see if we can use it to reach out to Second Corps to see if they’re free?”
“Who’s going to guard it?” asked Warren.
Rigby shrugged. “Let’s see what’s there first. Stop asking reasonable questions. I’d like to dream for a few minutes.”
Warren laughed. “You got it.”
Reotis’s moon was a lot like Earth’s. Both were near-perfect spheres, covered in a fine dust that settled on the surface from somewhere else in the cosmos. Though the moon seemed larger than Earth’s—
REOTIS MOON DIAMETER: 4532.7 KM
EARTH MOON DIAMETER: 3474.2 KM
Okay, a lot larger than Earth’s moon.
Warren dismissed the message from his HUD with a thought. There was no speculating with his cybernetic systems. He either knew, or he didn’t, except when it came to philosophical questions. Those were something he could have all to himself.
“Engaging braking thrusters in thirty seconds,” Rigby transmitted. She tapped the control stick as Warren watched the display for any indications of power on the surface. Likely, any transceiver would be shielded to prevent leakage of power as much as possible, so they might have to spend a whole day searching.
At the prescribed moment, Rigby initiated the braking thrusters, which slowed them enough to establish a low moon orbit. The plan was to make a trip around the moon, using their thrusters as needed to maintain orbit, then change direction by a few degrees and do it again. They’d continue the search until they either found something, or they ran out of places to look. If the latter was the case, they’d upload the ship’s recorded sensor data to the war computer to see if it might find something they’d missed.
“Found something,” said Warren almost immediately. He sent the coordinates of the object to Rigby.
“What is that?” she asked.
Warren zoomed in on the image. The object was small, and as he’d suspected, it was heavily shielded. The ship’s sensors were having trouble generating an image of what it had spotted.
“Can’t tell,” said Warren. “An antenna, maybe, but the base looks too thick. It almost looks like a spire. Like on St. Basil’s Cathedral. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Sure, I’ve seen pictures of it. Any signals coming from whatever that thing is?”
“Nothing I can see,” replied Warren. “The sensors are still working on it, but it looks like the thing’s about three meters tall—maybe two across. No wonder we couldn’t see it before. It’s tiny, relatively speaking.”
“What do you want to do?” asked Rigby, glancing at him. “Do we have enough to start forming a plan?”
Warren thought about it for a minute. Besides knowing where it was, there wasn’t a lot else to go on. It was basically just an unknown device in the middle of a vast crater. “
No, we need to get a closer look,” he decided. “Bring us in. I’ll keep an eye out for anything dangerous.”
“Sure thing,” she said. “Engaging braking thrusters. I’ll put it down a couple hundred meters to its south.”
Warren watched his terminal carefully as she closed the distance to the moon’s surface. The sensors remained quiet. Nothing popped out of the ground to shoot at them, nor were there any warning messages. It was strange. Something as concealed as the device he found himself staring at through the window had to be important. It should have some kind of self-defense mechanism. He would’ve installed one.
“Nothing on the scope,” said Warren as he pulled his helmet on and secured it. “Let’s go take a closer look at… whatever this thing is.”
“My pleasure,” said Rigby as she placed their craft in standby.
Warren picked up his rifle, checked to make sure it was loaded, and headed to the small cargo bay. When Rigby joined him a few seconds later, he pressed the button to open the hatch, which depressurized the bay.
ATTENTION: OXYGEN SUPPLY 99%
The message wasn’t a surprise. Cyborgs could survive vacuum for about eight hours with their armor—two hours without. It only took a few minutes to recharge once they returned to an oxygenated environment. Then they could do it again. If their armor’s seal was broken, that number would drop precipitously until it made no difference at all.
Warren was first down the ramp and ducked to avoid hitting his head on the craft’s low aft section. Rigby followed him out. They’d done this type of mission before, enough that Warren knew what she’d be doing behind him. First, she’d turn a complete 360 degrees before taking a position to his left and slightly behind him. From there, Rigby would cover his six and left, while he took the front and right. Using this formation, either would be able to shoot in nearly any direction without the risk of shooting the other.