Cronus, wearing his immersion goggles and controller glove, searched through Innovation’s systems. There were hundreds of receiving channels and even more transmitting channels. But getting a signal through one and out the other with the same Corporation encryption…that was the difficult part. It was like trying to pass a message telephone-style through a room of a hundred people who spoke dozens of languages and trying to make sure the language going in was the same as the one coming out.
But he found it. He could patch through an emergency back-channel system, through satellite communications and relay them through drone transponders.
He clenched his fist, finalizing the final connection and said, “Isra, there is a path. Prepare to—”
He stopped as he saw the signal strength drop to nothing. He moved the connection protocol aside and opened the satellite operating system and examined the code.
“Cronus,” said Isra’s voice in his ear, “Talk to me, tell me what is going on?”
Cronus turned his head left and right, watching the numbers swirl around him. They were different from the last time he was here and changing even as he watched them.
“Isra. I think Laban’s people are onto me. Somebody severed the connection and blocked the path.”
“Get out of there. We are out of time. Viekko and Althea are coming for you.”
Cronus clapped his hands together and the numbers disappeared. He reached up and touched an icon for Innovation’s core systems. He waved his hand, moving icons that represented the ship’s computer systems, as fast as he could see and understand them. As he cycled through another series of pathways, he heard a faint banging on the metal door. At first, Cronus wasn’t sure he heard anything at all. But it soon became more insistent.
But he could ignore it. Althea locked the door. Sealed it. There was no way anyone could get in. He was alone. Alone with the servers and the precious, precious data. More banging on the door. This time it did sound like someone could break it down. He forced himself to focus on the numbers and the code. He had to find another patch before it was too late.
Then he found an opening. He could reroute the signal through the atmosphere monitoring system. It was perfect; it was always on and it was wired through the entire ship. He touched the icon and sliced into the code.
More banging and more shouting.
Cronus shook his head. They can’t get through. Viekko saw to that. He was safe—no matter how hard they banged on the door, they would not get through.
He focused his attention on the numbers floating and swirling around him. The banging got even louder. Now it could be heard clearly and could nearly be felt through the floors of the pyramid. This wasn’t somebody just pounding or kicking the door, this was someone on the other end using a ram to try and knock it out of the walls.
Cronus activated the radio. “Isra. Get ready. I have found a way to route the signal but their technicians will try to stop me again. So get ready to transmit on my mark.”
“One more try, then you need to leave,” said Isra in a resigned tone.
Cronus opened his hand and a blinking blue icon appeared. The numbers swirled around it as if they were caught in its gravitational field.
“Stand by,” said Cronus.
He reached up to touch the icon but as he did, it flashed red and disappeared.
“This…there is no way…”
“Cronus, what happened?” asked Isra.
Cronus clenched his teeth. “They are tailing my signal. I’ll have to find a way to hide my signature…”
“Ain’t gonna happen kid,” said Viekko’s voice in between gasps for air as if he were running. “We’re out of time. The Houston’s got every soldier he has surrounding the pyramid. We need to get you out of there.”
Cronus waved his arms and went back to the ship’s core systems. “No. This can work, I just need a little more—”
There was a high-pitched whine and a sound like a cork from a bottle. An instant later, the ceiling and the sloping sides all around him shattered. Cronus fell under the supercomputer’s console as steel, plastic, and concrete rained down on him, smashed against the console and fell onto the servers below.
Viekko grabbed Althea and dove behind a crumbling brick wall to avoid the spray of rock and dust that shot from the top of the pyramid. One moment he was sprinting toward the gleaming golden structure and the next the apex of the monument was gone. Just… gone. He didn’t have time to do anything but rely on instinct to protect himself and Althea.
“Where the hell did that shot come from?” he asked peeking over the wall.
Althea pulled herself out from under him and poked her head just above the wall, “That had to have been the rail gun. Halifaco must be close.”
Viekko checked his rifle and peeked over the wall again. The hundreds of soldiers in the courtyard took off running leaving only a handful.
“The good news,” said Viekko sitting with his back against the wall and setting the rifle in his lap, “Looks like most of them folk suddenly found themselves with more pressing problems than Cronus. Bad news, them that are still there are armed and I ain’t talkin' sticks and stones.”
Althea spun around and sat next to him. She leaned back banging her head lightly on the wall and took several deep breaths. She was never trained for combat and was not as accustomed to its stresses as Viekko. Still, she held it together remarkably well, Viekko thought.
Once she had taken a moment, she fixed her bright green eyes on him that were, for the moment, as hard a steel and said, “So what do we do?”
Viekko handed her the assault rifle. “Take this and move a few hundred meters away. Find a spot behind that rubble. Stay low and just fire a few shots. No need to raise hell, just draw their attention.”
Althea took the weapon. “And you?”
Viekko peeked over the wall and drew one of his handguns. “I hope to be relievin’ one of them nice people of one of theirs, but we’ll work the specifics later. Go! Now!”
Althea peeked up again to make sure her way was clear and then ran. While she was on the move, Viekko watched the men clustered around the pyramid door. Until the railgun took off the top of the building, they appeared to be trying to bust their way in with a makeshift wooden ram. Viekko doubted whether they could break into a sophisticated old-Earth colony complex with a bit of lumber, but the remaining soldiers looked to have their mind set on that idea.
Althea moved from rubble pile to trash heap, staying low and mostly out of sight to anyone not paying attention. She moved with a timing and grace that someone working behind a computer or, in her case, in a hospital couldn’t muster. Viekko had to laugh to himself. If Isra was mad about the triple-T, just wait until she found out what Althea did in her spare time. Or at least, what she used to do.
The medic reached a spot behind the remains of another stone wall. She ducked behind it for a moment, then raised up and let loose a burst of fire in the general direction of the group of soldiers. She didn’t hit anything but air, but it got the soldier’s attention in a big hurry.
While they were looking around for the source of the gunfire, Viekko rose up and fired three precise shots. One hit a soldier in the neck. The other two hit another in the lower spine and the back of the head. Both of them crumpled to the ground.
Althea rose and fired again. There still was not an ounce of precision to it but, all the same, the soldiers in the middle of the killing became unhinged. Those with guns fired them in all directions unsure of where the attack was coming from. Others found cover any place they could, even behind each other.
This was about the best chance he had. There were maybe ten soldiers left and they didn’t know which way was up. He’d need to be quick, precise, and above all, lucky.
“Althea, I’m going in!” Viekko yelled over the radio, “I’ll take down who I can. After that, it’s up to you. Get Cronus out and get outta here.”
Althea paused and ducked behind the wall to reply. Viekko
took the opportunity to fire a few more shots while Althea called back, “Viekko, what about you?”
Viekko ducked back down and reloaded his guns, “You and Cronus get to safety. I’ll find my own way. Count to three in your head and then hit ‘em with everything you got.”
Viekko turned off his radio and counted slow. On three he jumped and sprinted toward the soldiers. At the same time Althea started firing at full automatic. Bullets whizzed above and around him but they didn’t hit any of the soldiers. Still, she hadn’t accidentally shot him either, so that was a plus.
He was only a few meters away when one of the soldiers, unarmed and lying prone on the ground, saw Viekko coming. He jumped to his feet to stop the martian but he didn’t even break his stride. Viekko plowed through the man like he wasn’t even there.
Another soldier saw him coming and this one had a rifle taken from the marines. He raised the gun but Viekko slid past, ripped it from the man’s grasp and shoved the butt of it in the soldier’s face before he even had a chance to react.
There was another. This one appeared out of nowhere. He swung a club and connected with Viekko’s temple. Viekko raised the gun and fired a few shots blind. The bullets didn’t faze the soldier who brought his club smashing against Viekko’s gun and again across his head. The blow caused lights to go off behind the martian’s eyes and his vision got blurry.
Viekko swung the butt of the gun around but, again, didn’t hit anything. Then there was a sharp, crushing pain in his side.
Another soldier was on him. He grabbed the gun in Viekko’s hand and tried to wrestle it away. Another clubbed Viekko in the back of the head. Soon, he couldn’t tell one blow from another. In the frenzy, he might as well have been fighting a thousand people. Everything was just clubs, boots and fists banging at every corner of his body. He pressed forward, trying to propel himself through the crowd.
Finally, his body gave out. The pain was too great even for the triple-T to mask. The shrapnel wound in his side flared up. The exhaustion was even worse. The last group of muscles keeping him upright and fighting gave out and he collapsed face first to the ground.
In a feeling that was becoming far too familiar, a soldier pulled his hands behind him and tied his wrists.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Even as the Corporation consolidated control of the entire planet, something more destructive than anything ever seen gained strength. Records only hint about a growing problem somewhere in the heart of the Corporation in the form of destabilizing economic trends, supply shortages, and massive inflation. The root cause of all of this is a mystery. All records that might contain that information have been either redacted or destroyed.
For the historian, this is where evidence ends and pure speculation takes over. What event could have been big enough to deliver the death blow to a civilization that existed since before the ancient World Wars? Theories are as wild as they are varied and few can be discounted out of hand.
-from The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe.
More gunfire, more screams, this time closer than ever. It was all just beyond the door, somewhere in that clearing around the pyramid. Then as fast as it started, silence.
Cronus poked his head out from under the control console. The first rays of the sun emerged from behind Saturn and shone through a gaping hole at the top of the pyramid. All around him, metal, glass, concrete and assorted polycarbonate alloys scattered on the catwalk. Above, the wind blew shards of glass and bits of plastic loose that fell and clattered on the floor below.
A fear gripped him as he slid out from under the desk and creeped to the edge of the catwalk to see the rows and rows of servers.
To his relief, the damage was minimal. The worst of it was a metal beam about twice as long as a man that fell across several rows of servers, crushing at least three or four individual units. In the vast storage capacity of a Markee 8700 with its hundreds of units, three or four servers meant less than one percent of the total storage capacity.
But for Cronus, looking at the smoking mess below, he felt a sorrow that he’d never encountered before. It was like the death of a close friend. No, it was something worse than that. It was the death of a person he’d never met but who possessed a wealth of knowledge that he would never have access to. Knowledge that, because it was gone forever, was more valuable than anything Cronus could conceive of.
A whistle of air drew Cronus's attention back to the hole in the top of the pyramid. The orange clouds swirled faster. The sides of the walls, now unsupported by the strength of a completed pyramid, swayed just enough for Cronus to perceive the movement. They would never be repaired. Not before they collapsed. Not before the whole structure came down and the last server units to survive would be exposed to the Titanian environment. Petabytes. Maybe even exabytes of data. Messages from an ancient golden age before the Fall would be gone forever.
Someone outside banged on the door again. More people trying to get through. More people who would destroy everything.
He pulled up his sleeve and tested the radio. Nobody responded. Not Viekko. Not Althea. Not even Isra.
More banging. The impacts came once every few seconds and they were strong enough to rattle the floors and walls.
He was alone now. He was alone and, like the data he came to save, he was going to die.
He grabbed his equipment that he managed to get under the console with him and pulled it onto his back. He was going to die and so would most of the data. But he could still save some of it within the computers aboard Innovation. He would save something even if it wasn’t himself.
He followed the catwalk to the opposite end of the pyramid where two metal ladders allowed him to descend into the spaces between the rows of servers. The space where the acolytes in their white robes once tended to them for a thousand years.
Once on the ground, he darted from server to server looking for something very particular. To get as much data as he could, he needed a central location. Somewhere where he could connect to the most available units. A place where he could access more data. He also needed a newer unit. Something they may have replaced more recently with the right ports. And he needed it as fast as possible.
He ran along the rows with his hand outstretched letting the tips of his fingers brush against panels. His fingers traced the shapes faster than any human eye, the entire history of computer connectors passed under his touch. He stopped at a server panel underneath the catwalk when he touched a connection from the mid-twenty-first-century. He slipped the controller glove over his right hand and lowered his immersion goggles. He selected a flat, hexagon-shaped, silver device from his bag -a portable microwave transmitter- and set it on the floor just beyond the catwalk where it had a clear view of the sky. The six panels opened to form a dish as wide as a serving platter.
One last thing, he had to find a physical data port on the machine itself. This one was newer than some of the others, but the connections were still archaic. It took some modification with his equipment, it always did with ancient connections, but he found a way to plug in.
The immersion goggles flickered on and his world was filled with billions of little yellow dots. They swirled around him like a galaxy of stars. He could reach out and touch any one of them and see the data they contained, and he longed to. He wanted to see the data with his own eyes before it was all gone. Old voice messages and texts. Spreadsheets and covert love letters. Company memos and family news. Corporate training holograms and small video files of children taking their first steps off a transport ship and onto an alien world.
He pushed it all away with a wave of his hand. He would never live to see any of it, but if he worked fast, maybe a tiny section would survive for someone else.
He accessed the long range transmitter, sliced into Innovation’s system and used the security codes that Laban gave him earlier. The same codes that allowed him to unknowingly betray Isra and her mission.
He ha
d to put that thought out of his head. He did what he did, and he couldn’t change that. Maybe Isra would forgive him someday, maybe not. Either way, he wouldn’t be around to notice.
Inside the information centers of the ship, he found an unused sector. It was part of the auxiliary nav system. Not something most ship engineers would notice, not without a complete system scan and, if they ever performed such a process on the ship, it wouldn’t happen until they were docked in Earth orbit.
He established a connection and waved the galaxy of lights back. The uplink was live. Now it was just a matter of deciding which of the little stars of information to send.
While he looked at the points of yellow light, he noticed something. There were people outside the pyramid. Lots of them. But there was no pounding, no yelling, no gunfire; just a lot of frenzied discussion and then an expectant silence.
And, finally, a high-pitched whine just on the edge of hearing.
Cronus fell to the floor as the railgun fired again. This time the projectile hit the metal door, ripped it out of place and sent it screaming across the room and into the opposite wall above. The whole structure groaned and more pieces rained down. Several more crashes followed by an electric hiss signaled the death of more server units. Cronus lay face down on the ground and watched as thousands of little lights winked out of existence forever.
Pieces continued to fall. They slammed on the catwalk overhead but, by some luck, the steel structure held. Cronus crawled through the shower of debris through the rows of whirring servers. Around him, metal cases collapsed under the weight of steel and concrete, electrical systems shorted out and showered him with sparks, and more yellow dots winked out of existence. He crawled until he came to the edge where there was a metal door cracked open. Odd that he had not noticed it before, but it was tucked deep within the server room underneath the catwalk.
Saturnius Mons (Ruins of Empire Book 1) Page 33