Terminal Uprising

by Jim C. Hines

  “Doc. That’s your AI? Wolf mentioned it.”

  “Him,” Mops corrected absently.

  “Sorry.” Junior peered into Mops’ monocle. “He’s in there, right? What’s he like?”

  “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “He’s a combination of friend and partner. He’s very smart, and only occasionally a pain in my ass.”

  “Hey, that’s— Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

  “Do you dream?”

  “Sometimes, yes. Especially when we’ve been working too hard. The nightmares I had my first year after the waste recycling system on Stepping Stone melted down . . .” She gave a mock shudder.

  They stopped at a narrow door near pillar L16. “Mom’s inside with the Board.” Junior started to knock, but her fist stopped before making contact. “What do you think the Alliance will do to us?”

  Study your genetics, then kill you to keep your existence secret. Use what they learned to improve their process for creating EMC soldiers. Send more of us to die in the escalating war with the Prodryans.

  “I won’t let it come to that.” Mops reached past her and pushed open the door.

  Eliza Gleason sat at a rectangular table with nine other librarians, all of whom stopped speaking when Mops entered. Junior followed a moment later.

  Eliza jabbed a marker at Mops. “You’re early.”

  The table’s surface was a glossy white material, covered in illegible writing and hastily-sketched diagrams of LockLand and the surrounding hillside. Junior stepped out from behind Mops to read some of the notes. She spun and pointed an accusing finger at her mother. “You’re surrendering? Surrendering sucks!”

  Eliza raised a hand, and Junior bit back whatever else she had been about to say. “We’re considering all options. Our primary mission is to preserve and protect knowledge. If surrendering to the Krakau accomplishes that—”

  “It won’t,” said Mops. “They’ll bury all of this. People like Sage can’t risk anyone learning what really happened to the Earth.”

  A stout woman with a wide, vivid red mohawk slammed the table. A series of flat round piercings or implants adorned the backs of her hands. “You see? Even the kid and the gun know surrender isn’t an option.”

  “That’s Nancy,” whispered Junior. “She specializes in restoration, preservation, and being an asshole.”

  She spoke just loudly enough for the closest librarians to hear. One developed a sudden coughing fit, while the other turned away, covering his mouth with his hand.

  “If you’d let me finish, I’m not proposing total surrender.” Eliza pointed to one of the drawings of Lockland that showed all nine sublevels, like Glacidae ice pucks stacked one atop the next. She drew a red line between five and six. “The Alliance doesn’t know how many of us are here. I’ll take a small group of librarians to sublevel five, then we seal off everything below. That allows the rest of you to remain safely hidden, along with our collections.”

  She offered an apologetic look to Mops. “They know about you and your team. Otherwise, I’d suggest you hide with the rest of the librarians.”

  “How would you close off access to the lower levels?” asked Mops.

  Eliza pointed to a black-haired woman with pale blue-gray eyes and a series of gold rings through both eyebrows. “That’s Jessamyn’s job.”

  Jessamyn’s smile lowered the temperature at least five degrees. “I built my first bomb when I was eleven. As part of LockLand’s contingency plans, I’ve stockpiled enough explosive to take out half this mountain.” She took Eliza’s marker and began marking Xs on the map. “If we detonate small charges in the stairwells, elevator shafts, and air vents, it should be enough to stop the Alliance from probing any deeper.”

  “And we’ll all be trapped,” finished Junior. Her eyes shone with barely-restrained emotion. “Left to starve or suffocate after the rest of you die. Nancy’s right. This is bullshit, Mother.”

  “You’ll have the tools and equipment to reopen one of the evacuation routes,” Eliza said firmly. “You’ll need to wait for the Alliance to turn their attention elsewhere, but this place was designed for long-term survival. Even cut off, any given level should have enough supplies to sustain you for at least a year.”

  Mops touched Junior’s shoulder before she could launch into an angry response. “I might have an alternative.”

  Eliza sat back in her chair. “We’re listening.”

  “Your fight isn’t against the Alliance. It’s not even against the Krakau. It’s against Admiral Sage and a small group of her loyalists here on the surface.”

  “Those loyalists have advanced warships and energy weapons,” said Nancy. “We have knives and shotguns.”

  “And bombs,” added Jessamyn.

  Eliza raised a hand, and the others fell silent. “What are you proposing, Captain?”

  “LockLand is tough,” she said. “Sage will have to divert most of her forces here. That leaves her facility vulnerable. I can take a team to infiltrate it.”

  “Even if you could,” said Nancy, “you’d never be able to hold it.”

  “We don’t have to.” Mops placed both hands on the edge of the table. “Whatever Sage is doing, she wants it kept secret. If we get in, seize control of their communications systems, we can use that secret as leverage against her.”

  “And where is this secret laboratory?” asked Nancy.

  Mops removed her monocle and held it over a blank section of the table. Doc projected a crude, small map of the coast with a green X. “According to the intelligence Cate provided, it’s about forty kilometers east of here.”

  Junior pointed. “Remember when we saw all those ships coming down from the station two months back? That must have been where they were going.”

  “An entire planet to choose from, and they picked a spot within spitting distance of us?” asked Nancy. “That’s suspicious as hell.”

  Another librarian spoke up, a slender man with a fringe of brown hair. “Siyali Ranganathan,” he said, with a polite nod to Mops. “It’s not such a coincidence, really. This Krakau, Sage, would have wanted a relatively undamaged chunk of human real estate. Easier to take over an existing facility than to build one from the ground up, especially if she’s worried about secrecy. A hundred and fifty years ago, this was one of the fastest-growing regions on the planet.”

  He pointed to the green X. “That was the epicenter.”

  Mops raised the monocle, expanding the map. “What was this place?”

  “Armstrong Space Center,” said Junior. “It’s where they sent up the first lunar colonists, ten years before the plague.”

  “That was the start of the second space age.” Ranganathan studied the map. “There were plans for an entire lunar nation, and for the terraforming of Mars. Armstrong Space Center was supposed to be the beginning of a new age for humankind. The idea of a Krakau turning it into a secret military facility . . .”

  “All the more reason to kick Sage out of there,” said Mops.

  “It’s forty kilometers,” said Jessamyn. “No way the captain and her team would make it without a guide.”

  “Can we trust them?” asked Nancy. “No offense, Captain Adamopoulos, but you were EMC. We have only your word you’re not working for the Krakau.”

  “We were EMC,” Mops agreed. “We’re also human. This is our world, too. I was born here. I grew up here, a feral like Cindy and the others Melvil’s been trying to help. None of us in the EMC ever knew who we were or where we came from. All we had were the lies the Krakau taught, and each other.”

  Her throat tightened. She slowed her breathing and swallowed. “You’re family. This place is our history. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything happen to it, or to you.”

  Eliza opened her hands to the other librarians, a silent invitation.

  “What makes you thi
nk you and your people are capable of taking Armstrong Base?” asked Jessamyn. “By your own admission, you aren’t soldiers. You’re janitors.”

  Mops wanted to tell them she had full confidence in her team’s abilities. She also wanted to be honest. “We’ve kept ahead of the Alliance for four months. We’ve fought Prodryan fighters and Nusuran smugglers and EMC cruisers and survived. I believe we’ve got a shot at this, with your help.”

  Eliza raised her right hand, fingers splayed. The rest of the librarians moved their hands in response, gesturing with thumbs and index fingers.

  “They’re voting,” Junior whispered.

  After a quick scan, Eliza turned back to Mops. “The Board will support your plan. I agree with Jessamyn about the need for a guide.”

  Junior’s eyes lit up. She leaned forward, mouth open to speak. Without pausing, Eliza said, “Not you, Junior.”

  “The Alliance will be watching this place,” said Mops. “We’ll need to cross forty kilometers quickly, without being seen.”

  Eliza’s smile made Mops nervous. “I think we can help you there.”

  * * *

  Mops grimaced at the too-sweet wad of gum in her mouth. Monroe had passed out the cubes of caffeinated gum to compensate for their lack of sleep. It helped, but it coated her tongue with a thick, syrupy taste.

  “Watch your heads,” said Bev, ducking into a large drainage pipe. This was one of the emergency evacuation routes the librarians had prepared. It was normally closed off by a series of doors and grates to prevent wildlife from entering LockLand’s lower levels.

  After ten minutes of hunched hiking through the cramped, frost-slick metal, Mops saw sunlight through the shadows of the pine trees the librarians had planted to obscure the pipe. An outcropping of rock and dirt further hid it from view.

  A pale, beefy man waited for them. According to Bev, this was Marcel Duchamp, and he’d be arranging their transportation. His gray hair and beard were all trimmed to half a centimeter, giving his head a frosted appearance. He sat on a half-bale of hay, smoking a carved pipe. He gestured toward four sand-colored bundles on the ground. “You’ll be wanting to put those on.”

  Mops picked one up. Monroe, Rubin, and Bev did the same. A loop of twine secured the scratchy wool. Mops tugged it free and shook out a large, heavy poncho.

  Wolf and Cate would be staying behind, on Mops’ orders. Wolf was too high-strung for sneaking around, and Mops preferred to see for herself what Sage was up to at Armstrong before sharing that information with a Prodryan spy.

  Duchamp removed the pipe from his mouth, brought a copper whistle to his mouth, and blew two long blasts. He scattered hay around the entrance, then repeated the call.

  Mops tugged the poncho over her head. The hood scratched her ears, making her wish she hadn’t lost her infantry helmet.

  “Here they come.” Duchamp beamed and tossed a handful of hay into the snow.

  Mops looked out, and her monocle immediately focused on a group of eight large, shaggy animals. She didn’t have much experience with Earth fauna, but these things seemed poorly constructed. Four thin legs supported an enormous, wooly torso. Two large humps swelled from the back like giant tumors. Thick fur from the chin to the shoulders hung like a poorly-tended beard.

  “What are they?” Rubin asked.

  “Wild Bactrian camels.” Duchamp made a clicking sound as the camels neared. The animals shifted nervously, then one of the larger ones came closer and began nibbling at the hay. The rest soon followed.

  Mops watched them eat. “Everything I’ve read suggested camels lived in the desert.”

  “You should read more.” Duchamp’s smile took any sting from the words. “Camels are built to survive a range of extremes. We’ve tended this herd for close to a century. They used to be endangered. When humans fell, camels were one of many species to experience a comeback.”

  “The robes are camel wool,” said Bev. “From a distance, you’ll look like part of the animal. It’s one of the ways we travel without being discovered. We ought to reach Armstrong in a single day.”

  “How exactly are we supposed to ride these things?” asked Monroe.

  “Carefully.” Duchamp laughed again. “Getting on and off is the trickiest part. Bev knows the commands.”

  Bev spoke a two-syllable word, and one of the camels stepped over, then knelt in the snow and gravel. She approached and lifted one leg over the camel’s back, between the humps. “Lean back as the camel stands up, or else you’ll tumble right over the head. It will take a bit to get used to the gait, but you’ll learn to adjust your balance.”

  Monroe grimaced, but said nothing. If he thought he could handle it, Mops wasn’t going to argue.

  “They’re beautiful.” Rubin was feeding handfuls of hay to the two closest camels.

  “Glad you think so.” Duchamp offered one a chunk of dried fruit. “I hope you still feel that way after a day on their backs.”

  Kumar studied the map of Earth on the main viewscreen. Two locations were tagged in green. According to the Pufferfish sensors, the first was the site of an Alliance bombing run. The second was where a troop transport had landed, followed shortly by small arms fire.

  “You humans certainly leave a convenient trail of destruction,” said Azure.

  “It looks like the captain was heading north,” said Kumar. “I’ve got another troop transport coming in from the coast. The two paths intersect here in the hills. It looks like an old subterranean town.”

  Grom pointed a limb at the screen. “If Sage is sending out more ships, it means our people are still alive.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Azure. “It could be that only some of them survived the shuttle explosion. Or the fighters might be searching for the rogue human from Cate’s surveillance footage. Or they could be on an unrelated mission.”

  “Shut up,” Grom chittered. They pointed to Kumar.

  “Right,” said Azure. “My apologies, Kumar. I’m sure Rubin and the others are fine, despite our lack of evidence or confirmation.”

  Kumar lifted the pendant around his neck, holding it to the light to watch the tiny pink worms wriggling about. Vera had left them with him, trusting him to look after them until she returned. “We should keep watching those underground ruins. Set up an alert if the sensors detect any sign of human activity.”

  “Agreed,” said Grom. “How do we do that?”

  “Doc?” asked Kumar.

  “I’ll pull up the tutorials.”

  Kumar tucked the pendant back into his uniform and stared at the screen. “Even if we find them, we can’t communicate with them.”

  “Not with them, no,” said Azure. “What about Admiral Pachelbel?”

  Grom clicked at her. “You don’t see a problem with us signaling Stepping Stone? We might as well paint a target on the Pufferfish and park directly in front of the station’s primary weapons pod.”

  “Captain Adamopoulos has communicated with the admiral in the past,” Azure pointed out. “They arranged our meeting with Cate in the Tixateq system. Presumably the captain has the means to make contact without being discovered.”

  “That would be a lot more helpful if the captain was here,” snapped Grom. “Or our communications officer, for that matter.”

  “Grom, work with Doc. See if the two of you can figure out how the captain was talking to Admiral Pachelbel. Azure, go through those sensor tutorials. Make sure we’re watching everything as closely as possible.” Kumar stood to leave. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “What will you be doing?” asked Azure.

  “I have to go feed Vera’s pet slug.”

  * * *

  WOLF SPRAYED A THICK copper-colored mist over the steps of stairway 17B.

  “What is that revolting fluid?” asked Cate.

  “Industrial lubricant.”

&nbs
p; “I see.” Cate leaned closer. “The Krakau will lose their grip and fall, suffering serious injury and humiliation in the process.”

  “That’s the idea.” Wolf slid the spray wand back into her harness and surveyed her work. The trick was to apply even coverage so there was no visual discoloration to give the trap away. She crouched to check the steps from another angle, then nodded to herself.

  To her right, a sealed blast door blocked the way into the ruins of LockLand level one. Wolf stepped down onto the next set of stairs and checked the notes the librarians had given her.

  The electronic controls for the emergency doors, designed to separate and isolate each floor in the stairwell, had given out decades ago. Wolf pried open a rectangular panel on the wall, revealing a series of wires, circuitry, and a flat metal lever with a red handle. An old rodent nest of fur and insulation sat snugly cradled by the wires to the left.

  Wolf gripped the lever with both hands and pulled.

  A heavy door slammed to the ground hard enough that small chunks of concrete broke away from the wall. “That should slow them down even more.”

  “Perhaps this time we can weld sharpened spikes onto the landing. When the Krakau fall on your lubricating fluid, they’ll impale themselves.”

  “Not bad.” Wolf had been less than thrilled at having to babysit the Prodryan, but the idea of setting traps for the Krakau had brought out a new, slightly less obnoxious side to Cate’s personality. “If these door controls still worked, we could probably rig a tripwire to bring one down on the first Krakau through.”

  “A trick almost worthy of a Prodryan,” said Cate.

  Wolf stopped halfway down the stairs and activated her cutting torch, setting a narrow three-centimeter flame. She cut at an angle through the handrail, just past the top bracket holding it to the wall.

  “Improvised spikes!” Cate’s antennae rose, and he leaned closer. “Excellent!”