Terminal Uprising

by Jim C. Hines

  “What a horrific fate for a computer,” said Doc.

  “The Krakau know about the broadcasts, of course,” said Bev. “They pick up all the old junk signals. But they don’t know shit about human sports, so they have no idea we piggyback messages onto these broadcasts.”

  Gleason removed her communications bracelet and flattened it into a long rectangular ribbon, which she placed onto the top of the cube. A second green light flashed twice. “That’s how our personal comm units work,” she said. “Simple messages are sent as dialogue between the athletes. For more complex conversations, you need a broadcasting unit.”

  A flickering red keyboard grid appeared on top of the cube. “We use an encryption system based on errors manually edited into the athletes’ stats. Suddenly Ali’s right hook is three points weaker, and his weight jumps six kilos. I’m setting up a three-on-three basketball game. That should give all five members of the Board their own voice.”

  “What happens if the vote goes against us?” asked Mops.

  “Don’t worry. Nancy trusts me, and I’ve got leverage on Jessamyn. That means I’ll be able to get a majority vote. We won’t leave you to be shot by Krakau or eaten by wild humans.”

  “I appreciate that,” Mops said dryly.

  Gleason stopped typing. “You lot might be janitors, but you’re the closest thing we’ve got to trained soldiers. You can show your appreciation by helping me keep my people alive.”

  [Load config.basketball.3x3.173.12] Initializing . . .

  [Verify credit override] /usr/adm/umich/lib/admin.*

  [Load characters] Initializing . . .

  ErrorType: Checksum

  @broadcast.node loadfail

  module.dialogue.1-6 alpha-channel

  load dialogue.beta.1-6

  loadsuccess

  Three-on-three virtual basketball commencing soon!

  You have one minute to place your bets!

  Gleason: Situation summary sent in alpha channel. Please confirm.

  Pearl: Summary received. Are you all right, Eliza?

  Gleason: Fine for the moment. Need a vote.

  West: If the Alliance finds LockLand, we’re done. It’s too big a risk.

  McCook: Point of order. You can’t jump to a vote without a motion.

  Gleason: Fine. I move for a vote on allowing Captain Adamopoulos and her people access to LockLand.

  Naudé: Seconded.

  McCook: Point of information. Does the Head Librarian’s motion consider “people” to include the Prodryan?

  Gleason: Yes, I’m including the damned Prodryan. As for the Alliance finding LockLand, have someone contact Duchamp about a distraction. Keep their attention on the library.

  Pearl: I’ll talk to Duchamp.

  McCook: Point of order. The proposed distraction is a separate motion.

  Gleason: I swear to Alexandria, if we don’t speed things up, I’ll—

  West: Even with a distraction, the Prodryans will be watching. We can’t take the chance. Humanity’s legacy depends on us.

  Gleason: What happens to our humanity if we leave these people behind to die?

  * * *

  DESPITE MOPS’ FEARS, THE vote went in their favor, just as Gleason had predicted. After five minutes, Gleason powered down the computer cube and sat back. “How would you and your team like to see the real library?”

  “I can think of nothing I’d like more,” said Mops.

  Bev sniffed. “Then you lack imagination.”

  “I’ve arranged for a distraction to keep the Alliance looking elsewhere.” Gleason looked Mops up and down. “I wish we had winter camo for you and your people. Those black uniforms don’t exactly blend with the snow and ice.”

  “No need,” said Mops. “Doc, would you mind?”

  “Already analyzing and coding the pattern.”

  A moment later, the smart fabric of Mops’ uniform was a match for the white-and-gray camouflage pattern of Gleason’s. Doc had also removed their insignia.

  “Hey, who changed my clothes?” Wolf demanded from outside the office.

  “That’s convenient.” Gleason closed the safe and led the way out of the office.

  Mops double-checked her people. The only flaw in their camo was a section of Wolf’s sleeve where the feral had bitten her. Cindy must have chewed through some of the fibers. As a result, a series of thin black stripes broke up the pattern from Wolf’s wrist to shoulder.

  Cindy and Cate were a bigger problem. The feral’s fur might let her pass for an animal from a distance, but Mops had no idea how to conceal the Prodryan and his brightly-colored armor.

  “Try this.” Khatami pulled a worn moss-green blanket from their pack and offered it to Cate. The Prodryan grudgingly wrapped it around his body.

  “Closest access to the surface is about half a kilometer north of here, through one of the old sewage lines,” said Gleason. “If we had more time, I’d pass out the nets and teach you to fish for sewer carp.”

  “You eat fish from your own sewage?” asked Cate.

  “There hasn’t been sewage in these tunnels for more than a century,” said Khatami. “My parents used to take my sister and me fishing a little ways from here. I was so proud of that first fish I caught. Barely ten centimeters long, bright as a fresh-picked carrot. I fried it up myself that night.”

  They climbed down a broken metal ladder into a round passageway, flooded with knee-deep cold water. For several minutes they waded in silence

  Gleason checked her wrist comm. “We need to pick up the pace. Our distraction should be arriving at the library—what’s left of it—soon.”

  “You’re sure this will keep the Alliance occupied?” asked Mops.

  Gleason’s answering grin held no humor. “A herd of charging bison is very distracting. Bison may look clumsy, but they can run more than sixty kilometers per hour, and those horns aren’t just for show.”

  “How did you get them to stampede?” asked Rubin.

  “One of my librarians who looks after the herd. He’s a large-animal specialist.”

  Mops thought back to the cathedral, and her sense of being watched. “This librarian, was he at the cathedral?”

  “He gave us the heads-up someone or something was tramping about in the woods,” Gleason confirmed.

  “What happens when the Krakau start shooting at the animals?” asked Rubin.

  “The herd will flee.” Gleason stretched her back and started toward the rusted ladder leading to the surface. “I don’t like it either, but they’re tough beasts. Most of them should survive. With any luck, they’ll trample a few of those Krakau vultures.”

  Up ahead, sunlight drew a thick, angular line through the air from a half-meter hole. Gleason checked her wrist and started climbing up cracks and holes in the wall. “This is our stop. We’re gonna be threading some dangerous territory, so keep your eyes open and your guns cocked.”

  * * *

  “Your sun is unacceptably bright,” complained Cate.

  Mops grunted in response, her attention on the trees alongside the narrow river. Half the group was watching the woods, while the other half kept an eye on the ruined suburbs on the other side of the water.

  “Not only is it blinding, it reflects from the snow, assaulting your eyes from above and below.”

  “I’ll be sure to submit a complaint,” Mops assured him. She slowed her pace until she was alongside Monroe. He’d cut down a thick branch to use as a walking staff. “How’s your head?”

  “I’m all right.”

  She waited, the only sound the crunch of boots in the snow.

  “All right, my balance is still shit,” he admitted. “Even with the stick, this is as fast as I can go without falling on my ass.”

  “Cate’s not doing much better,” Mops pointed out. “And Wolf and Melvi
l have their hands full keeping Cindy on track. You’re not slowing us down.”

  “Hey, what’s that thing?” Wolf pointed to a bulbous framework of rusted metal in a clearing near the remains of a bridge.

  “It used to be a museum,” said Khatami. “Not a large one. More of a sideshow attraction, really. Late twenty-first century. It was built in the shape of a peanut and billed as the world’s biggest legume. It honored an inventor named George Washington Carver.”

  “This Carver invented peanuts?” asked Wolf.

  Bev snorted. “Don’t the Krakau teach you people anything?”

  “Hold up.” Monroe stopped walking, his attention fixed on the sky. Without moving his head, he raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  “What is it?” Mops followed his gaze. “Doc?”

  “That man has good eyes, for a biological. I’d have spotted it myself if you’d been looking in the right direction, but—”

  “Doc!” Her vision zoomed in on a small fishlike shape swimming through the clouds. “That’s a Krakau surveillance drone.”

  “Too high and quick for a clean shot.” Monroe continued to follow the drone with his weapon.

  “You think they spotted us?” asked Wolf.

  “Probably.” Monroe lowered his gun.

  “That doesn’t mean they identified us,” Melvil said hopefully. “Maybe they thought we were ferals trudging through the snow.”

  “And maybe Prodryans will abandon war and take up finger-painting,” said Wolf.

  Cate bristled and raised one arm. “Our claws are superior to your soft, fleshy fingers, for painting or any other purpose. Yet another reason humanity will fall to the Prodryans.”

  “How far?” Mops called to the librarians.

  “About four and a half kilometers,” said Gleason.

  “How fast can your people run?”

  She shook her head. “My librarians are as tough as any soldier, but slogging through the snow? We’ve got close to an hour ahead of us.”

  If the drone had spotted them, the Alliance would be here within minutes, not hours.

  “The rest of you should seek cover,” said Rubin. “I can remain in the open to draw their attention. I’ll try to buy you enough time to escape.”

  “Right idea, wrong implementation.” Mops turned to Gleason. “Unless you have a better plan, my team will hold back while you make for the library.”

  A bulky ship rushed overhead, engines whistling as it turned in a tight curve. Two large doors slid open while it was still in the air, revealing Krakau warriors.

  “Troop carrier,” said Monroe. “Built to carry thirty-six, and every one of them will be better armed and armored than us.”

  Mops drew her pistol. “Run.”

  Instead, Gleason moved closer. “Those speakers in your comm units. How loud can they broadcast?”

  “If Doc overrides the safety protocols? Pretty damned loud.”

  Gleason pointed to Cindy. “Broadcast her.”

  The librarians knew this territory. Mops didn’t. She deferred to Gleason and tugged off her helmet.

  “Easy,” said Melvil, holding Cindy’s right hand in his. “You’re all right.”

  The feral snarled as Mops brought the helmet toward her head. Wolf took Cindy’s other arm.

  “You’re giving away your armor to protect a feral?” Cate chittered in disgust.

  Bev grasped the base of Cindy’s head from behind. Her jaws snapped, and her snarls grew louder.

  Mops slipped the helmet into place. Cindy’s head moved to and fro. She was probably confused by the visor display.

  “What now?” demanded Cate.

  “Plug your ears.” Mops pressed her monocle into place, then pressed her hands to her own ears.

  The sound, when it came, was deafening. The speakers in Mops’ collar amplified Cindy’s vocalizations. Every groan was loud as a gunshot, echoing through the nearby trees. After a moment, Mops realized Doc had linked into the others’ comms as well.

  The noise seemed to frighten Cindy further. She squirmed and struggled, her moans becoming frantic.

  “How long do we have to do this to her?” Melvil shouted.

  “I’ve recorded enough to loop the sounds and continue playing.” Doc’s words scrolled across her monocle.

  Mops tugged the helmet free. Instantly, Melvil held a square cracker to Cindy’s mouth, but she was too upset to eat. He tossed it aside and began combing his fingers through her hair, whispering and singing.

  The troop carrier passed overhead again, dropping toward an old, partially-paved clearing. Krakau began jumping from the ship when it was still several meters in the air. They hit the ground and started running, their limbs whipping up snow behind them.

  Krakau rarely saw in-person combat, preferring to leave that to their human soldiers, but they could fight when they had to. These troops wore light battle armor with thick, rubberized sleeves for the lower limbs, providing traction while protecting them against the cold. The upper part of the uniform was more flexible, with removable “gloves” at the ends of each of the three tentacles. A personal respiration adjuster sprayed nutrient-rich mist into their mouths as needed.

  The sleeves were fitted with fully automatic A-guns, the kind that could mow through every human here—along with every tree and most of the ruins on the far side of the river—within seconds.

  The Krakau spread into two curved lines, like pincers preparing to snap shut and crush Mops and the others. A Krakau with the yellow stripes of a field commander slashing her sleeves scooted forward and pointed a tentacle at Mops. Her beak moved, but whatever she said was lost to the amplified moans thundering through the air.

  Mops cupped a hand to her ear. “What?”

  Another Krakau pointed at Mops, then extended her tentacle and dropped her A-gun cuff into the snow, presumably to demonstrate.

  The field commander whirled, shouting something unintelligible and jabbing her tentacle at the A-gun cuff.

  Shrinking sheepishly, the Krakau retrieved her weapon and replaced it on her tentacle.

  “Doc, tell the team to drop their weapons.” Trusting Doc to pick up her vocalizations, Mops dropped her helmet and pistol, then removed her combat baton. One by one, the others followed suit.

  With a shriek of static, their comm speakers died, presumably jammed or overridden. The resulting silence felt like physical pressure against Mops’ eardrums.

  By now, more troops had emerged from the transport ship. One pointed a tentacle at Cindy. “Is that thing feral?”

  Instantly, most of the guns moved to target Cindy. Melvil stepped in front of her, trying to shield the girl with his body. Wolf did the same.

  “Stand aside,” said Cate, rustling his wings and striding forward. “I am the legal advocate for these humans. Per Alliance law, I insist you provide proof of your authority to—”

  A low-power energy beam crackled over Cate’s body. Sparks danced from the implants in his wings. He toppled backward without another word.

  “I’m Field Commander Königgrätzer Marsch,” said the Krakau who’d fired on Cate. “I will not hesitate to shoot every last one of you sand-sucking traitors.”

  “I believe you,” said Mops. “Listen, I don’t know what Command told you, but these people aren’t—”

  “No talking.” Marsch pointed two of her three tentacles at Mops. One held the A-gun, the other the energy weapon. “Give me an excuse, Adamopoulos.”

  A small, brown-furred animal burst from the trees, running between the Krakau in its haste. Several Krakau jumped back. One fired an A-gun after the creature. It ignored them all, scampering to the river and veering right to flee along the shoreline.

  “Cottontail rabbit, I believe,” said Doc.

  Another animal bounded past, this one smaller, with a tail like a pipe-scrubber. Mop
s’ brow wrinkled. They’d broadcast Cindy’s moans. Shouldn’t that have made these creatures run away instead of scampering right past them? She turned to Gleason, who stood stone-faced, her mouth a tight line. She caught Mops’ attention and nodded ever so slightly.

  “We have potential hostiles incoming,” shouted one of the Krakau. “They’re huge!”

  Marsch glared at Mops before snapping off orders. “Second line, intercept formation.”

  Nine of the Krakau split away, taking up position in groups of three.

  Mops’ eyes widened as she spied the first of the beasts exploding from the woods and trampling toward them. Her first thought was of bison, but while this animal shared the bison’s brown fur, it was both leaner and taller. Mops’ head would come only to its shoulder. The animal lowered its long head and charged.

  “And if I’m not mistaken, those are moose.”

  More moose followed the first. None of these were quite as large, but even the smallest more than outmassed the Krakau.

  Three Krakau fired almost simultaneously, and the lead moose stumbled. Then it spun and lashed out with one hoof. A Krakau flew backward to land in the snow. She didn’t get up.

  Rubin started toward the injured moose, but Khatami caught her arm and held her back.

  The rest of the moose veered away, running downriver. The injured one limped after. Slowly, the shaken Krakau began to reform their lines.

  Mops turned toward Gleason.

  “Wait for it.” Gleason’s breathing was quick and shallow. Her attention was focused not on the moose or the Krakau, but the trees beyond.

  “Doc, send a note to the others.” Mops subvocalized so only the AI would hear. “Tell them to be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”