Tyger Burning

by T. C. McCarthy

  “This wasn’t decompression,” Nam said. “And it wasn’t a nano attack; the bodies have all their flesh.”

  They hauled themselves through a barracks, which was now a mausoleum, a massive warehouse-like space with row after row of bunk beds that each contained a corpse. The bodies were twisted. Whatever killed them had been painful, he figured, because the vacuum froze the expressions on their faces along with streams of mucous that ran from their noses and glittered in his headlamp.

  “A poison?” asked Than. “Maybe a gas or biological? None of them had time to go for emergency suits, which they would have—even if it was explosive decompression.”

  “What kind of gas works so fast?” Maung asked.

  “Nothing we have,” said Nam. “Nothing I want to ever encounter. And some biologicals can survive in a vacuum when frozen, so make sure we don’t get any suit rips.”

  The thought of yet another invisible enemy made Maung cringe. So many ghosts. The dead surrounded them on all sides and he prayed again for his ancestors to protect them from the spirits, ghosts of those who died so quickly that they had no chance of preparing for the next life—the pain so great that their spirits must be furious with having had their lives cut short.

  They reached the barracks entrance—a series of sliding portals adjacent to each other, doors which had long since lost power connections; one was open. A thin layer of ice sealed the other two shut. Nam was about to move to the open one when Maung noticed something on the floor.

  “Freeze!”

  Nam stopped, barely catching himself on the last bunk.

  “Look at those things,” said Maung. “What are they?”

  Small green objects littered the floor. When they focused their headlamps on them, the green material pulsated and Maung stepped back with the realization that whatever they were, they came from the Sommen. One end looked like a drill bit embedded in the rock and the other end like a pod, the leaves of which had blossomed open to release what they once held. Than pointed to the ceiling. Above them were a row of holes, as if something had bored through from above.

  “These things killed them. They drilled through the rock and landed here, then discharged something.”

  “Yeah,” said Nam. “So let’s get out of here.”

  Maung was about to move when Than’s headlamp flashed on one of the objects; it moved. The drill tip rotated silently in the vacuum and Maung watched in horror when its petals slowly opened, followed by a puff of dust that jetted out and continued to grow, enveloping all of them in a pink mist. Maung’s suit alarm went off.

  “Holy shit,” Than said. He launched toward the door and their coms chord went taught, which yanked Nam’s hand off the bunk and sent him skidding through the Sommen devices. He kicked one; the thing sprang to life and shot thin spikes from its sides, latching onto Nam’s boot.

  “Than, stop! This damn thing is climbing up my leg; if it gets to the suit fabric, it’s going to puncture!”

  Maung moved. “Stay still.” He drifted toward Nam, kicking up off the floor gently so he could hover over the things, unslinging his coil gun at the same time. Now he understood what Nam was talking about. The Sommen device had transformed its drill bit into thin spiky legs to claw its way upward, and in a moment it would be close enough to the top of Nam’s boots to pierce his suit with its legs. Maung swung. The butt of his rifle slammed into the thing, which clung to it, and Maung let go, sending both into the darkness, out of range of their headlamps.

  Nam sounded out of breath. “Thanks, Maung.”

  “Let’s just keep moving. There’s no sign the pink stuff can get through our suits, so we can decontaminate later.”

  Maung figured they must have been at the very bottom of one of the dark side’s structures. In places the floor changed from the white materials he’d seen in so many places, to bare rock that glistened in their lamplight despite the fact that it was almost totally black. Tiny minerals sparkled. If it weren’t for all the dead, he figured, it would have been an interesting place to explore.

  Ahead they found an elevator shaft and Nam motioned for everyone to stop while he checked schematics. “Maybe this one. We take this all the way up and it might land us somewhere in section seven, one the drifters finished clearing last year. From there it’s a quick walk.”

  Maung stopped at the entrance. Than peered over his shoulder, down into the shaft, and then inhaled sharply. He whispered something that Maung couldn’t make out, but he turned and looked down to see the body of a Sommen, impaled on a sharp metal girder at the bottom.

  “It’s dead,” Maung said.

  Nam pushed past to look. “It must have fallen far to have gained this much momentum—enough to pierce its armor. From what you said, nothing can get through that stuff.”

  “Or maybe its armor was defective or weakened.”

  Maung ignored the chill he got from seeing the creature. He reached for the nearest ladder rung, pulling himself upward a short distance where he waited for the others to ensure their coms chord stayed untangled.

  “You still haven’t told us what you found out about the Phobos stuff, Maung,” Than said. “What did you learn?”

  Nam came next, following close behind Maung. “Yeah. Come on.”

  “Not much about the program. It looks like all drifters are coded with knowing that they have a choice on how to serve out their life term and can switch to this second option any time. Whatever the program on Phobos is, it’s a death sentence.

  “But they also have a need for guards with security clearances. Lots of them. And from what I could gather there’s a separate guard unit that is highly trained—more like special forces than prison guards. So whatever is there, it must be something dangerous, and it has national security written all over it.”

  Now they had a steady rhythm. Maung worked his way upward, ignoring the ache in his arms since he was fully accustomed to navigating the prison and wreckage, an old hand at climbing Karin’s elevator shafts.

  “When do we leave?” asked Nam.

  “Tomorrow. I found out there’s a bunch of drifters heading out on a transport that’s due to arrive tomorrow, and our assignments should come through tonight.”

  “That doesn’t leave us any time!” Nam said. “I don’t even know if I want to go. And how the hell do we even make our way to Sunny Side and to the port? Even with fake identification, most people over there know me.”

  Maung sighed. “I know. We have to plan. I’ll risk turning on my semi-aware soon to try and figure it out, but trust me: It’s the only chance we’ve got. If you don’t want to go you can appeal the transfer and stay. Listen. The Chinese want me, so as long as I stay here, I’m putting all Myanmarese at risk; I have to go.”

  They passed the rest of the time in silence, moving steadily up the elevator shaft. His family was one of two things that concerned Maung—the other was Nang. He had no idea how she’d react and there was no telling if she’d go. But what other option was there? It wasn’t like he could stay there, on Karin, since he was the one putting everyone in danger and Maung guessed she’d understand; she had to say yes.

  An hour later they reached the surface, exhausted. By the time they finished decontamination and made it to their racks, Maung was already half asleep.

  He almost missed his signal to wake up but Maung was ready because all he needed was his suit, which he slept in, and he raced through the tunnels. It made him dizzy. Maung barely remembered making the decision to place their identities in the transfer system and normally he wouldn’t have dared make that kind of decision, but for his semi-aware the calculus had been simple; there was little risk in the short term. Eventually someone would discover the error but there was no way for them to attribute it to Maung without first discovering that he was a Dream Warrior, in which case breaking into the system and forging a transfer would be the least of his problems. Mars, he thought. For the first time since his arrival, he allowed himself a feeling of hope—that maybe someday he
’d see his son again.

  Maung arrived with only a few minutes to spare; Nam and Than were already waiting.

  Nam poked Maung in the chest. “Old Man sent a message to me while I was asleep; I just got it. He’s mad, Pa. Got word already that we’ve been gobbled up by some super-secret outfit to be sent to Mars.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He’s going to find the bastard that made this decision and make him or her pay.”

  “He can’t find out,” said Maung. “And if he does, he’ll go after me, not you.”

  Than smiled. “I’m more curious to know what you’re going to tell that girl of yours; how do you explain all this?”

  “For now I don’t. And you two stay quiet about it since I don’t know how she’ll take it either.”

  Nam was crying. At first Maung didn’t notice because he looked in the other direction, but when the old man turned back he saw wet tracks on his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You don’t get it,” said Nam. “Nothing is wrong. I never thought I’d leave this place. This is the best day of my life, Pa. Thank you. Maybe I won’t make it to Earth, but it’s a lot closer than Karin; it’ll be nice to see the sun again.”

  By the time the elevator arrived to take them to the Sunny Side port and then to their escape, Nam smiled. Then all of them grinned.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Halfway to Sunny Side an alarm went off. Maung grabbed his helmet; within moments of donning it the reports streamed across his heads-up display and Maung almost stopped upon seeing the news—wondering if at any moment they could be arrested. Everyone was being called to their duty stations and all prisoners were to be returned to their cells so that Karin could lock down. He looked at Nam and Than, who were white faced, and Nam shrugged and smiled as if to say It was a nice dream but this is our home, and it will never let us go.

  “Are you getting any news that’s different from what I see?” Maung asked.

  Nam tapped his head. “Same as you, Pa. Lockdown. Nothing more than that.”

  “And do lockdowns happen all the time?”

  “I’ve never seen one since I’ve been working here. Twenty years.”

  Maung yanked his helmet off and threw it across the transport, wishing it could punch a hole in the thing and decompress them out of their misery.

  Maung and the others debarked and barely found handholds when a team of American soldiers barreled through and into the transport, shutting the doors behind them. Than looked stunned. Maung waited for someone to arrest them and expected another group of Americans to appear at any minute when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He recognized the smell of her perfume.

  “Hi Maung,” Nang said.

  Maung wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, ignoring the fact that men streamed by on either side, pushing them against the wall and ceiling.

  “Pa,” Than said. “Maybe this isn’t the place?”

  Maung let go of her. “I missed you.”

  “Me too,” Nang said. “I’m surprised to see you here because I have bad news. There wasn’t any time to come in person.”

  “You’re leaving for Mars. For Phobos.”

  Nang’s jaw dropped. She was about to say something when Nam cut in. “We’re heading there too. We only got the orders this morning and we’re supposed to hook up with a hydrogen ship in the next couple of hours.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Where did this come from?”

  Maung hated lying. He tried not to talk and wished that he could have told her sooner, but decided he couldn’t—not yet. “We don’t know. Maybe the Old Man in Charleston. But I don’t think we’re going anywhere if Karin is in lockdown. Do you know what happened?”

  Nang put a finger to her lips and motioned for them to follow. She led them through the tunnels where the four did their best to dodge hordes of personnel moving quickly in the other direction, until finally they entered the female guards’ unit; she led them into her cube where they squeezed in as best they could, their legs dangling out into the hall.

  “They’re coming, Maung. It must be because of Europa.”

  “Who’s coming and what happened on Europa?” Nam asked.

  “The Chinese,” she said. “Four of their destroyers just appeared out of nowhere and must have been making their way to us for weeks under minimal power. None of our sensors picked them up.”

  Maung was about to respond—relieved that the uproar wasn’t about his hacking into the data networks—when the lights flickered. A deep rumble followed.

  “I think they’re already here,” Than whispered.

  “Where can we get weapons?” Maung asked. They were moving out of the barracks now and into the confused throng of prison guards. He fumbled to seal his helmet. The rock vibrated again and the suit’s audio pickups relayed the sound of a distant boom, one that Maung knew had to be big since it filled the tube with a cloud of dust shortly afterward.

  Nang slung her coil gun across her back and said, “I’ll take you to the armory; why didn’t you bring yours?”

  “Because we were supposed to get off this rock!”

  She led them through the maze of tunnels until they reached the armory, where a long line of guards waited for body armor. Every instinct in Maung said to get out. He guessed by the looks on their faces that even though most of them had seen at least some combat, none were ready for what they were about to experience—a Chinese assault involving everything from attack ships to their own, newer versions of Maung. He knew it; the one who sent the message when he’d first arrived, the one who’d called Maung brother, was out there.

  When it was their turn Nang explained everything to one of the girls manning the armory desk. “They need coil guns at least. Armor if you’ve got it.”

  “We can give them guns but no armor—that’s not for Burmese.”

  Maung saw that Nang was about to argue; he put his hand on hers and squeezed. “No need, Nang; riot armor won’t help anyway. The coil guns are enough.” He turned to the girl then. “Do you know what’s going on? Are we under attack?”

  She passed three coil guns over the desk; Maung took one and handed the others to Than and Nam. “The Chinese took out an incoming hydrogen ship and now they’re hitting Dark Side. The main transport elevator is gone too. They overran the site where the Americans were working and an Allied fleet is on the way but we’re talking at least a week out.”

  “Any casualty reports for Burmese guards?” Nam asked. His hands gripped the coil gun so hard that it shook.

  “Sorry, no. All coms with Dark Side are gone.”

  Maung made his decision in an instant and kicked toward the exit portal. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Nang asked.

  “The prisoner transport elevator; we’re going back to Dark Side.”

  “Maung, you can’t do that! Only one person at a time can fit in that thing and it’s probably locked down anyway.”

  Nang sounded scared and he wanted to hide her somewhere, but even without his semi-aware he’d concluded there was no point in hiding; eventually the Chinese would make their way in and track down each living thing. He couldn’t just let them die. Those were men from Myanmar dying on Dark Side, he decided, and they’d do the same thing for him.

  “We have to go, Nang. And we won’t be using the elevator—just the shaft.”

  “We’re Myanmarese,” Than added. “We’re used to getting the shaft.”

  Nang clung to his hand. They were at the prisoner transport portal and Maung inspected the panel to read its status, but then he reached out to touch her faceplate; the suit made it almost impossible to feel anything. He let go, worked to pry the panel off the wall, and wedged part of his gun between it and the rock. Nam helped. A few minutes later, it dangled from the wall, hanging off a forest of wires and cables.

  “Nam, there’s a data port right here,” Maung said, pointing. “I can get a read on everything that’s going on, lock down the elevator
so they can’t activate it while we’re in the shaft, and maybe probe the Chinese.”

  “What do you know about data feeds?” Nang asked.

  Nam gestured for her to be quiet. “Do it, Pa. Link up and get us to Dark Side.”

  “Nang . . .” Maung said, but the words wouldn’t come. Part of him hurt from the way she looked at him, incredulous that a villager thought he could access Karin’s data feeds, and then there was another part—terrified by the thought of how she’d react when she found out he could. He should have told her before, Maung thought. In sick bay or maybe on the Singapore Sun. Now there was no time to explain everything and he wanted to do it when she wasn’t in a suit so he could hold and smell her one last time before she left.

  “I’m not what you think I am,” he said, and then activated his semi-aware, handing the cable to Nam. “Link me.”

  Brother . . .

  The data feed shocked him into awareness. As soon as Nam connected him, Maung’s semi-aware heated with its effort to ward off thousands of simultaneous attacks. Copies and copies, Maung thought. He sensed in the code his adversary from the Singapore Sun and at the same time understood it wasn’t him, but rather cloned versions, shadows of the Chinese super-aware’s intellect that now orchestrated a coordinated assault using an almost infinite number of methods. It had been waiting for him. Maung shunted part of his effort—the fraction of a percent of his semi-aware that wasn’t engaged in active defense—into building his plan. He used the attacks to learn; with each probe Maung gathered fragments that gave clues as to how his adversary thought, his weaknesses, and, most importantly, where he hid and how his forces had been arrayed. Finally he gathered all he needed. The old Maung would have been stunned to find that the Chinese Dream Warrior was off planet, in a small craft that hid itself by appearing like a fragment of rock drifting along with Karin, but the new one wasn’t. Maung’s mind was infinite; the power of his semi-aware and the resources he conscripted from Karin’s servers allowed him to rule with logic and he calculated that the Chinese moves made sense, even if flawed. It was a subtle strategy—one that relied on surprise. Now Maung assessed they’d been there for weeks. Studying. Sending out probes. And he wondered how the Americans could have been so stupid that they never detected the Chinese landing party infiltrate Dark Side near the Sommen site days ago, in preparation for this moment. All of the Americans over there, Maung judged, were already dead.