Tyger Burning

by T. C. McCarthy

  But Maung couldn’t shake the feeling—that it was important, like the message from the young monk, something that would one day matter. He stood and moved on, taking the lead and creeping forward toward the spot Nam showed him on the map, where a service elevator shaft led upward and into the massive chamber. All of them crawled on their stomachs. They inched over the dead in an attempt to evade Chinese sensors.

  Maung’s alarms went off. He hissed into his mic, the signal for everyone to freeze, and in less than a second his eyes portrayed the scene in multiple colors, each one coded to different threat levels. Everything was green except for a single sphere. It hung from the ceiling, adjacent to the service elevator entry, and once the semi-aware finished its work, it labeled the thing in red: sentrybot, Chinese origin—active threat.

  “We’re there,” said Maung. “But there’s a sentrybot at the access shaft we need to use.”

  “Did it see us?” Nang asked.

  “Doubtful. If that had happened, it would have opened fire since it probably has weaponry that can kill all of us in a second.”

  Maung clicked for the map again. He focused on their section. Assuming nothing had changed since he’d constructed it, there should have been a defensive position halfway up the shaft and then the bulk of Chinese forces concentrated in the chamber. Almost an hour had passed. If Nang’s Sunny Side contact wasn’t lying, then the Korean guards should now be inside the transport shaft, where the Chinese would hit them.

  Maung said, “Stay put. I’m disconnecting the coms cable and seeing if there are any workable heavy weapons back with those dead Americans. If there are, maybe we can use them.”

  Maung disconnected and backed away. He moved through his team slowly, sliding over them until his sensors showed the threat was out of range, and then he kicked off to move as fast as possible—back to the strangely marked bodies. His semi-aware was already plotting probabilities in terms of the history of rocket launchers, temperature, materials properties and elapsed time; the odds were horrible. Even if he found a workable heavy weapon, the ammunition would likely fail. If it weren’t for the half-life of tritium, he figured, the reactor and plasma conduit would have made a better weapon and given them something capable of frying their way up and into the main chamber.

  Maung scoured the area. After an hour he found a couple of launchers that appeared serviceable but no ammunition, and the battle that had raged there spread out over a vast area—too vast for him to search completely. He was about to give up when the semi-aware stopped him. In an open area ringed with ventilation pumps two bodies lay on the floor. One of them was human, the other Sommen. What struck Maung was that this time the Sommen was unarmored, its bare skin a deep black that was perfectly smooth except for what looked like long ridges and pockmarks near its shoulders and on both arms in asymmetric patterns.

  Scars, he realized. So many scars covered the thing that he marveled at the damage it had sustained in its lifetime, almost missing the fact that what finally killed it was still there—a spear, hand fashioned from wiring conduit, one end sharpened. The metal stuck out of the thing’s chest, pointing directly upward.

  His human opponent had done no better. The man must have been impressive in life since in death he looked at least six and a half feet tall, with muscles frozen solid at their peak—the body of a weightlifter or linebacker. Maung couldn’t tell what had lodged in the man’s neck. He tried to remove it but the thing was frozen in place and, he guessed, it was probably only a Sommen knife, which wasn’t of much use anyway. But there was something else. The Sommen had removed its armor and stacked it on the floor near the circle, where it now sat, frozen and ice covered; a rifle rested next to it. It was the same kind of Sommen rifle Maung examined so long ago, when he first arrived and went exploring with Than.

  Maung lifted it carefully, breaking the thin layer of ice that held it in place. His semi-aware churned. Details that weren’t visible at first now leaped out in infrared and as he flipped through the spectrum his mind mapped the rifle’s features, comparing them with how he and Than had seen the weapon held in the dead Sommen’s hands. Maung worried he might activate it; he needed more time. But a small part of his brain reminded him that Nang and the others must be in agony, and he couldn’t imagine having to stay in one position this long, but the weapon was important; evidence of the Sommen rifle’s damage potential was all around—molten ceramics and steel as if the sun itself had attacked the station.

  Then he got it. There were aspects of the rifle that his system couldn’t fathom but Maung had enough observations to a least help determine a probable way to fire the gun, and he had to decide: test it now and alert the Chinese, or try it in battle and risk having a weapon that failed.

  Once Maung returned, he plugged back into the coms cable.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Nam hissed.

  “I was busy.”

  “Busy? I’ve taken so many leaks now that my suit smells like a urinal, Maung. I don’t give a damn what we do as long as we move.”

  Maung told him to be quiet and slid the rifle into place one centimeter at a time, making sure that he didn’t trip the sentrybot’s motion detectors. Both hands shook. It was only a slight tremor, arising from the fact that neither he nor his companions had seen the weapon fire, and Maung had no idea how to aim or what kind of damage it caused. And there was no way to reload. A million questions barreled through his thoughts in a matter of only a few seconds, but one kept repeating: What if it ran out of ammunition?

  “Nobody move,” he said. “When I open fire, disconnect from the coms cable and move to the shaft as fast as you can. I’ll spray fire upward and take the lead, you all follow. From here on we’ll risk the radios. But remember our coms are being monitored and analyzed by living super-awares—like me. So don’t say too much, only what’s urgent.”

  “What is that thing?” Nang asked. “Some kind of rifle?”

  Maung took a deep breath. He guessed as to where the barrel was pointed because of its odd shape and because his faceplate made it difficult to aim down the gun’s long axis. But the sentrybot was close. When he thought he had it, he let his semi-aware take over to squeeze three fingers against a pressure membrane on the rifle’s underside. Nothing happened. His mind cycled through the various possibilities and while his fingers moved on autopilot, Maung did his best to keep the weapon aimed. One after another, he tried different combinations—none of them effective. Finally he wondered if you needed to wear the Sommen armor for the thing to work. He was about to ask Nam for an idea when the rifle erupted with fire, sending a searing bolt of energy in the sentrybot’s direction.

  At first Maung couldn’t see. The burst automatically triggered his faceplate to frost over as if he’d been looking into the sun, but it cleared within a second. He punched wildly on his forearm computer, disabling the faceplate and reminding himself to close his eyes every time he fired.

  “Move!” he shouted.

  The sentry was gone, along with portions of the rock to which it had clung. Maung glanced around for pieces but there was nothing. Once he got close enough Maung saw that the rock itself melted away, forming a perfect circle where the blast hit—a crater three centimeters deep.

  Movement, his semi-aware warned. Something was coming down the shaft, not bothering with stealth since it was broadcasting data in a wide enough beam that his body picked it up. Maung fired upward; he looked away so it wouldn’t blind him and a moment later something slammed into the rock floor to cast a slow moving puff of dust and ice crystals into the air. It looked like a spider. Maung’s semi-aware labeled it Chinese from the radio emissions, but it was a design that the wetware couldn’t identify and Maung stared in horrified fascination. He’d blasted away part of the thing’s steel shell. Inside something vaguely human squirmed at the same time a hint of vapor leaked from the massive hole, until finally the squirming stopped in a puff of ice.

  He blasted three more shots up the shaft and dove to
ward the ladder with Than on his heels.

  “Get on my shoulders,” Than shouted over the radio. “You keep firing upward and I’ll carry the both of us.”

  Spider-things covered the top of the shaft. Maung took aim and blasted them before they fired back, and noted that when they shot, the Chinese aimed wildly as if they couldn’t see, and his semi-aware concluded that the rifle fire was overloading their sensors. He jumped up and then drifted down onto Than’s shoulders.

  “They’re blinded,” he said. “When I fire it overloads their sensors so they can’t take aim.”

  “How do you know?” Than asked. Maung had trouble aiming while he swayed on Than’s shoulders, but it didn’t matter; the top was clear.

  “They’re chattering like crazy now—in the open. I hear everything.”

  Maung settled in. He divided his processing into two streams—one that operated the rifle and kept the rim clear while they climbed, and the other that prepared to dive into Chinese communications. Once ready, he broadcast. The closest signal was well above them, beyond the rim of the shaft, but the Chinese unit was piping signal almost continuously and Maung inserted without interrupting it, sliding through and into the waves until he was first inside the Chinese transmitter, then beyond and inside the enemy network. A few moments later, he owned one—a Chinese soldier. Part of Maung almost gave in to an urge to vomit at what this one had become, a thing barely human locked inside a robotic shell and wired into systems devoid of sympathy or empathy. It was all practical. The thing’s weaponry was part of it, as if Maung’s arms were rifles. Six robotic legs moved jerkily, but with practice Maung got the hang of moving and soon his mind encountered its memories, which leaked into his own consciousness no matter how hard he tried to block them. Images flashed of sharp legs piercing American and Myanmarese guards. The thing laughed when it killed. Maung realized almost nothing human remained in the creatures; these were as alien as the Sommen, machine-animals the Chinese created and bred for killing.

  Maung forced it to fire. It shot dual guns into its own kind and he mentally recoiled at the sensations the Chinese shared with him, the fact that now it drooled with joy at the sight of death and the pure glee inspired by the slaughter of its fellow soldiers. Killing fulfilled it. When another unit knocked out the one Maung occupied, he took another, and then another until finally the chamber was clear. There were no more transmissions in the area. Maung stepped off Than’s shoulders and climbed for himself, until finally they reached the top and dragged themselves over the edge of the shaft’s square hole. Maung dove behind the cover of a dead Chinese unit, exhausted.

  Nang joined him. “You did all this?”

  “Yeah.” Maung was crying. The visions shared by dozens of hijacked Chinese soldiers rattled around his brain, taunting him with their insanity. “But they deserved it.”

  “I thought this would be impossible; how do you do this?”

  “It should have been impossible. But this rifle messed with their systems and they dropped their guard for a second to try and deal with it; their super-awares never considered the possibility that we’d have this kind of firepower.”

  “Don’t cry, Maung,” she said, touching his shoulder. “You just saved a lot of people—the Sunny Side guards.”

  Nam settled in nearby. He scanned the area and then clicked in. “Maung, what now? Do you know where the rest of them went and where the Americans and Burmese are? Are any of them still alive?”

  “A drop ship.” Maung sifted through all the data collected during his occupation of the Chinese units, which to him seemed like an eternity ago but was only a few seconds. “They retreated to their drop ship—the landing zone just outside the port on the face of Karin. They have Burmese prisoners with them and some Sommen tech.”

  “We can’t let them off Karin,” Nam said.

  “I know.”

  “How are they moving so fast?” Than asked.

  The four of them kicked off walls and pulled themselves along a white corridor; it was once covered with bodies and frozen blood but now was empty, the corpses taken by the Chinese.

  “They fold their legs back,” he said, “and use gas jets to propel themselves. When that runs out they use their legs; with eight of them, they’re better in microgravity than we are.”

  Maung again took the lead. He moved as fast as he dared; around each curve there could be a trap, and he told Nam to bring up the rear, and watch for any doors that might open behind them. The movement was hypnotizing. He had to remind himself to focus, to pull his mind back into the present instead of memories of the Myanmar city, Pagan. Funny, he thought. Maung hadn’t thought of the place since he left his family and now memories of Pagan, with hundreds of royal monasteries that shone pink in the setting sun and reflected heat in shimmering waves off their spires, wouldn’t leave. Most of the monasteries were gone now, destroyed by the war. But he remembered them as they once were, the way he wanted them to be again and even on Karin the thought made him smile.

  Your daughter Maung; she and her children will save the world . . .

  An alarm blared in his mind at the same time his semi-aware sent the message multiple sentrybots. He shouted for the others to take cover. It was too late for him to maneuver into a doorway, and a field of bots coated every free surface in the corridor ahead. He fired. The rifle had no kick but the searing bolt, when released in a confined space with white reflective surfaces, forced Maung’s temperature sensors to spike and he smelled the melting plastic of his helmet; part of its circuitry sparked out, but the way ahead was clear.

  “I fried the right side of my helmet but nothing major is out.”

  Than said, “Hold on, Maung, you’re venting. Aren’t you getting a warning?”

  Maung checked his system again; there was no warning at first but when he banged his forearm computer against the wall, the red alarm flashed onto his heads-up. “Now I am. Shit.”

  “It’ll just take a second.” Than slid over and yanked out his sealant, working his way up the right side of Maung’s suit; a minute later, he finished.

  “How much farther to the crater wall?” Maung asked.

  “One more klick,” said Nam. “Then a climb to the top, and their landing site is just a few hundred meters beyond the rim—if the data you fed me is right.”

  “It’s right. I just don’t know if we’ll get there in time.”

  Nang clicked in. “Maung, I just hooked into a coms port. All remaining Sunny Side guards have been ordered to evacuate and move to Dark Side and arrange a defensive perimeter around the Sommen chamber we just cleared. Two of the three fighters that attacked the destroyers are gone. The third changed course and is now going after the same Chinese drop ship we’re headed for; the fighter has orders to destroy it before it launches, despite the presence of friendlies. We have to get there. Fast.”

  Maung scanned for signs of Chinese communications but found nothing. Whatever panic the new weapon had created was gone, he figured. Now an urgency took hold and he kicked off, hard, bouncing dangerously off the walls in an effort to propel himself faster down the corridor, keeping his receivers open for the smallest indication of Chinese EM leakage.

  “Faster,” Nam said, “If we don’t get there before the fighter does, all our brothers die.”

  Better than being taken alive, Maung thought.

  Five times they stopped to battle sentrybots or waiting soldiers, and Maung wondered where the Chinese semi-aware had gone. Something wasn’t right. By now there should have been some signature of his presence or work, and Maung figured it was still nearby in its craft. His mind calculated the different probabilities. With the destroyers still incoming, there was almost no chance that the Chinese super-aware gave up and left; since its forces failed to hold the Sommen site, the thing was likely regrouping—waiting and watching, gathering more data before it acted again.

  “That’s what I would do,” Maung whispered.

  Maung told the group to spread out as they climb
ed the outside of a building, one at the very edge of the port’s crater; it was the least probable route for them. Had they taken the same path the Chinese had, up the building’s elevator shaft, Maung projected that they would have had to fight their way through—a waste of time that would guarantee they’d arrive at the drop ship too late. He was about to reach the roof’s edge when Than screamed.

  Maung held on to a ledge with one hand and leaned out to look down. A Chinese unit pinned Than to the building with one leg, its sharp point driven through his shoulder and into the concrete wall so Than’s face pressed against the edifice.

  “Close your eyes, Than!” Maung said.

  “Don’t shoot that thing; you’ll fry my suit!”

  The Chinese raised another leg, this one slowly, pointing it at Than’s head as if to show Maung that he needed to watch what he did. Now Nang screamed. Three more spiders had emerged from empty windows below and scrambled up the face toward them.

  “We’ll patch it as soon as we can, Than. Hold on!”

  Maung fired. The spider holding Than vaporized and now instead of chasing Nang and Nam, the remaining four paused and zeroed on Maung, firing. He watched in horror. The fléchettes were virtually invisible until they struck something and he flinched when they tossed up pieces of concrete next to his head, and then several went through both Nam and Nang. She screamed. Now Maung’s system practically steamed as it tried to calculate shot angles and every targeting solution was the same: fire through his friends. Instead, Maung dove off the building. While he sailed into space, he twisted around, facing the building upside down until he passed Nang. Maung fried the four spiders once he was clear of her. The beam passed through them and into the building itself, leaving the things stuck to the concrete, their metallic legs motionless.

  “My suit’s venting,” Than said. “You melted the crap out of it!”