Terminal Uprising

by Jim C. Hines

  With a sound like thunder, the waste pipe jumped, knocking Mops backward. Sand and muck turned the water opaque. Mops switched off her compressor by feel.

  “That ought to get their attention,” said Monroe. “Scared the shit out of those ferals, too. They’re running back toward land.”

  By the time Rubin rejoined Mops, the water had begun to clear. Mops swept a bit of dirt over the holes in the pipe to hide her sabotage. She gestured to catch Rubin’s attention and pointed back in the direction from which they’d come.

  They pulled back about twenty meters, where a wall of brown seaweed provided additional concealment.

  “What happens now?”

  “If I was working this job, the first thing I’d do is check the damage from inside the building. Probably send a cleaner snake into the pipe. The snake will find the blockage, which should be caked in Krakau crap by now. The snake’s not strong enough to get through hull sealant, so the next step is for them to come out and deal with it in person. Hopefully before we freeze to death.”

  * * *

  Forty minutes later—forty minutes of breathing through a foul-tasting tube while listening to Doc count down her body temperature a tenth of a degree at a time—Monroe alerted them to activity from one of the buildings.

  “Looks like a Krakau hovercar,” said Monroe. “I’m transmitting the visual to your monocle.”

  The hovercar resembled a large, flattened bubble of mucus, with a series of smaller mucus bubbles on the back. It passed through a gate in the fence and circled down to the beach.

  Mops flexed her limbs to restore the circulation. She touched Rubin’s arm to get her attention. Rubin acknowledged with a nod.

  The hovercar floated onto the water. From her hiding spot in the seaweed, Mops could see the skinlike undersurface seeming to mold itself to the waves. It came about to stop a short distance from the damaged pipe.

  A hole appeared in the side of the main bubble, and a green-skinned Krakau peered out. A loaded equipment sleeve encased her body, and she held a scanner in one tentacle. She stood on the edge of the hovercar, staring down into the water.

  Mops could imagine what was going through her primary brain. When I find whoever clogged this thing, I’ll flush them through the pipe.

  The Krakau slid into the water. She spasmed once, reacting to the cold. One tentacle adjusted a setting on her equipment sleeve, probably increasing the temperature of the built-in heating lines.

  “30.1 degrees,” said Doc. “When you strike, expect to experience clumsiness and confusion.”

  Mops waited, hand on her pistol. At this distance, with their uniforms darkened to blend with the ocean bottom, the Krakau hadn’t yet noticed them. But Krakau vision was attuned to movement. As soon as Mops and Rubin started in, they’d give themselves away.

  The Krakau shot through the water to the end of the pipe, her many limbs moving in unison to propel her forward. She switched on a conical tool with a wrinkled, oyster-shell handle. A jet of water from the narrow end quickly cleaned the pipe’s surface. She then manipulated the flap valves on the end, propping them open. Another tool shone a beam of blue-tinged light into the pipe.

  Mops gestured to Rubin and kicked herself forward while the Krakau was distracted. Her left hand kept her air hose pointed up above the water. Her right pointed the barrel of her pistol at the Krakau. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, since she couldn’t feel her fingers.

  Had their prey been human, it might have worked. But Mops had forgotten Krakau had secondary eye slits all around their body. The Krakau spotted Mops and Rubin when they were still ten meters away. Abandoning her tools, she shot through the water toward her hovercar.

  A streak of bubbles and steam in front of the Krakau brought her to a sudden halt. She spun to stare at Rubin, who had abandoned her air hose and held her rifle ready for another shot.

  The Krakau darkened and shrank to half her size, but didn’t move. Mops swam up and tried to remove the Krakau’s communications cuff and equipment sleeve, but her hands were shivering too hard. Pulling back in disgust, she pantomimed throwing her belongings to the seabed.

  The Krakau cooperated, one primary eye watching Mops, the other on Rubin.

  “She can’t hold her breath much longer,” Doc warned.

  The instant the last of the Krakau’s gear dropped away, Mops grabbed the closest tentacle and swam upward. They surfaced on the far side of the hovercar. Rubin joined them moments later, gasping for breath.

  Doc translated the Krakau’s panicked clicks and whistles into Human.

  “—hate this job. Everything’s always falling apart. Shoddy, second-rate garbage kludged onto primitive human construction. All I wanted was to finish out this rotation and get back home to Dobranok, and now I’m going to be killed and eaten by fucking humans.”

  “We won’t hurt you, as long as you cooperate.” Mops hoped Doc eliminated the chattering of her teeth when he translated her words. “Do you have a Human name?”

  She clicked no.

  Doc pulled up a list of suggestions. Mops picked the first name on the list. “All right, for the moment, you’re Greensleeves. How many other Krakau are at Armstrong right now?”

  “Armstrong? Oh, you mean Medlab Five. There’s seventeen of us, total. The rest were called away. Some sort of military drill, I guess.”

  “How long have you been stationed here?”

  Greensleeves twitched a tentacle. “Just over one Earth month.”

  “You’re not the one who installed that water pipe, then?”

  She swelled with anger. “By the depths, no! If I ever get my tentacles around the lazy bottom-feeder who did that job, I’ll haul them into one of your deserts to desiccate in the sun!”

  Mops chuckled. “That pipe should have been buried a lot deeper, and in this climate, you need an additional layer of insulation.”

  Greensleeves studied Mops for several seconds. “You know plumbing?”

  “Enough to know that if the rest of this place is built to the same standards, they’re not paying you half of what you deserve.”

  “The warriors are the worst,” said Greensleeves. “One attempted to flush cocklefish shells down the biowaste line. Another had a damaged airflow vent in her quarters but neglected to report it until the walls were covered in Earth mold.”

  “How many sanibombs did that take?” asked Mops.

  “Bombs are on backorder. I had to tear down the walls to get that place properly cleaned and sanitized.”

  “I’d been on the Pufferfish for two months when Infantry Team 4 got hold of two bottles of Prodryan honey wine,” said Mops. “They snuck into the combat bridge and spent the night celebrating. To jump to the end, three of them wound up in medical getting their stomachs purged, and I was stuck cleaning puke off the terminals. I didn’t realize one clever bastard had popped a panel and vomited inside the wall. I guess he thought he was being sneaky, keeping the mess out of sight?”

  “Oh, no,” said Greensleeves.

  “Combat bridges are closed off when they’re not in use. It was three weeks later before we got into another fight. Battle Captain Cervantes’ team had to wear full quarantine gear just to keep from passing out. Afterward, I had to use a chisel on that mess.”

  “Your captain should have made the infantry bastard clean her own oral waste matter,” Greensleeves said indignantly.

  “And your supervisor should’ve ordered that warrior to clean the cocklefish shells out of biowaste with her bare tentacles.” Mops clicked her tongue, a sound most Krakau found reassuring. “We don’t want to hurt you, Greensleeves. But I have to know what Sage’s people are doing here.”

  The Krakau sagged. “Biological research. I don’t know the details. I just clean and sanitize where they tell me.”

  “Are there any areas you’re not allowed to clean?” asked Rubin.


  “The hangars,” Greensleeves said promptly. “They’re off-limits to the maintenance staff.”

  “Thanks.” Mops gave Rubin a nod of appreciation. “Here’s what’s going to happen next, Greensleeves. You’re going to smuggle me and my friend into Armstrong—into Medlab Five. Get us to the central maintenance hub. From there, I should be able to use the environmental controls to secure the other sixteen Krakau. If you cooperate and everything goes well, we all come through this alive. If not . . .”

  “I understand,” said Greensleeves, her voice jumping an octave. She opened a portal in the back of her hovercar. Tools, hoses, and chemical supplies were clamped into place on shelves along the walls. Shovels, mops, and other equipment, all designed for Krakau tentacles, lay in a jumble on the floor.

  Rubin crawled in first, clearing a cramped nest beside a set of uncoiled plumbing snakes. She immediately pulled off her boots and poured out the excess water.

  “Get your communications cuff,” said Mops. “Tell them you’ve found hairline cracks and will need to replace an entire section of pipe. You’re coming inside to get additional supplies.”

  “Yes, of course.” Greensleeves shot through the water and returned an instant later, comm clutched in one tentacle.

  “Keep in mind, we’ll be listening, and these guns can fire through the walls of your hovercar.” Mops squeezed in next to Rubin. “I like you, Greensleeves. I’m just a janitor trying to clean up someone else’s mess. I would love to get through the day without shooting anyone.”

  “I want that, too.” Greensleeves sealed the compartment and hurried around to the front.

  The air inside was thick and humid, but breathable. After sucking air through a tube, Mops wasn’t about to complain. More importantly, it was warm.

  As the hovercar vibrated to life, she searched until she found the lever that opened the compartment from the inside. If things fell apart, she wanted to be able to get out in a hurry.

  “Status, Captain?” Monroe whispered.

  “A bit squished, but otherwise all right. There are sixteen additional Krakau inside. Everyone else is off hunting librarians.”

  They stopped briefly at the gate. Greensleeves spoke to someone over the comm about the damaged pipe. If she tried to warn anyone about her passengers, she did so too subtly for Mops to pick up.

  The hovercar lurched forward again. Doc pulled up a rough map of Armstrong Space Center, noting their location as they drove past landing pad one and the three hangars toward the back of the office complex.

  Mops waited for the car to stop and the engine to power down, then yanked the lever to open the compartment.

  They were in a large garage, parked beside two other hovercars. The air smelled of brine and oil. Several centimeters of water covered the floor, typical for Krakau buildings.

  Mops jumped out and almost fell on her face. She clutched the car with one hand until the strength returned to her legs, then hobbled toward the front. She kept her gun ready in case Greensleeves tried to run, but the Krakau appeared thoroughly cowed. She slunk from the cockpit and waited.

  Once Rubin was out, Mops started toward the only other door, which presumably led inside. She gestured for Greensleeves to open it.

  Greensleeves extended a tentacle, then curled it back. “I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta ask. Are you working for the Prodryans?”

  “No.” There was a difference between for and with, after all.

  Greensleeves turned to focus one large eye on her. “So, who’s steering your current?”

  “Nobody’s giving us orders,” said Mops. “We’re on our own.”

  “I’m sorry, I assumed . . .”

  “You assumed humans weren’t intelligent enough to operate independently.” Mops sighed. “You’re not the first.”

  “How far to the environmental station?” asked Rubin.

  “That’s in building two,” said Greensleeves. “They’re all attached. At this time of day, we shouldn’t run into anyone else. It’s a straight stretch of hallway, a quick swim through the basement tunnel, then a right turn past conference cove three.”

  “A quick swim?” Mops repeated.

  “Figure of speech, don’t worry. Human buildings don’t hold water worth a damn.” Greensleeves pressed the pad of her tentacle to the panel. The door swung open.

  Greensleeves’ high-pitched whistle of shock sounded genuine, suggesting she hadn’t expected the eight armed Krakau waiting on the other side.

  “Marion Adamopoulos,” said one of the Krakau, her A-gun cuff pointed at Mops. “Who is the second human?”

  Eight Krakau. This was half the remaining population of the base. From the way they were fidgeting, most were uncomfortable with their weapons. These weren’t trained soldiers. “Her name is Vera Rubin. Out of curiosity, when did the two of us lose the element of surprise?”

  “Fleet Admiral Sage warned us to be wary of any plumbing-related malfunctions,” said the Krakau. “You’ve become predictable, Marion Adamopoulos. Remove your weapons and equipment, and present your extremities for bondage.”

  Mops let that translation glitch pass without comment. The Krakau hadn’t twitched at Mops’ reference to “the two of us,” suggesting she wasn’t aware of Monroe and Bev’s presence. “I should have known a couple of humans couldn’t outsmart a Krakau. I assume Sage wants us questioned about the Pufferfish and the rest of my crew?”

  “And the fugitive humans here on Earth, yes.”

  Which meant Sage had ordered them to be captured alive. Mops nodded while she whispered to Doc. “Tag the four on the right for me. Light the rest up on Rubin’s visor.” Green crosshairs appeared on her monocle, and four of the Krakau brightened. Mops dropped to one knee and bared her teeth at Greensleeves. “You miserable, sand-sucking, traitorous little anal wart.”

  Greensleeves started to protest, but Mops shoved her away with her free hand. Not hard enough to cause injury—just enough to move her out of the crossfire.

  In that moment, Rubin stepped in front of Mops and opened fire. A-gun slugs spat from her rifle, and the first Krakau went down, whistling and clutching her abdomen.

  Mops followed suit a half-second later, cursing under her breath. She’d intended to put herself out front, using her body to shield Rubin.

  Rubin shot a second Krakau in the lower limbs before a series of energy blasts crackled over her body, causing her muscles to seize up.

  Mops shifted her pistol from one target to the next, squeezing the trigger the instant the crosshairs lit up. A distant part of her mind noted that Doc was highlighting nonlethal targets, trying to avoid vital organs. She got four by the time Rubin finished falling, giving the Krakau a clear shot at her.

  Mops toppled onto her back, electricity locking her body. Six down. Ten to go.

  “What the depths is this?” Greensleeves carefully extended a tentacle into the end of the water pipe, feeling the hard, coral-like texture of whatever Adamopoulos had used to seal it. She angled her light and was rewarded with a glimpse of bright orange.

  She clicked a Nusuran obscenity that would have gotten her reprimanded and/or propositioned if anyone had overheard. “Hull sealant? How in the sulfurous abyss am I supposed to clear this shit?”

  None of her solvents would do a drowned thing. She’d have to go back for hardened drill heads. All she really wanted was to curl up in the sand and sleep.

  Greensleeves hadn’t been shot, but the shock toxins coursing through her body would take most of the day to disperse. Her lower limbs twitched, instinctively trying to dig to safety as she recalled the pop and sizzle of gunfire, and the whistles of her fellow Krakau.

  None of the humans’ shots had been fatal. Was that good fortune, or had Adamopoulos and Rubin deliberately avoided killing anyone?

  Greensleeves tried to focus on the work in front of her. Adamopoulos had
been right about the microfractures. Forget clearing the hull sealant, this section would have to be cut away and replaced. But only after she finished removing the flap valve, which should be salvageable.

  She began a list of additional tools and supplies she’d need to restore everything to working order. She should also inspect the valve on the other end of the pipe, not to mention the inside facilities. It would be her hide stretched out to dry if her superiors found themselves swimming in sewage backwash.

  This was a minimum of three days’ work. She offered a weary salute to Adamopoulos, wherever she’d been taken. Leave it to another janitor to know how to truly clog up the works.

  Her cuff chimed with a new work order alert. Ocean water had begun seeping from storage tank two. Probably a cracked seal. Naturally, she was expected to repair it before the end of the day.

  “Hello there.”

  Greensleeves whirled. For a moment, she thought she was experiencing a memory flash. Two humans waited in the water behind her. Her tentacles curled into spirals against her body.

  “My name’s Monroe,” said the closer human. “You’re the one who took my captain and my crewmate inside?”

  A low, guttural click escaped Greensleeves’ beak.

  “Let me guess. Admiral Sage knew we were coming? The plumbing malfunction was too obvious?”

  Another click of assent.

  “Mops was afraid of that. How many Krakau did she and Rubin take out?”

  “Six,” said Greensleeves.

  “And the rest are probably busy talking to command, or else trying to get answers out of Mops and Rubin.” Monroe bared his teeth. “Meaning it should be all clear for you to sneak us in. I’m afraid your work here will have to wait.”

  Greensleeves looked from the humans to the water pipe and back, then dropped her tools. “Thank the ancestors.”

  * * *