by Rexx Deane
Chapter 10
Sebastian’s ribs hit the edge of the passage as he fell, knocking the wind out of him. He scrabbled at the ground, but his weight was too much and he slid backwards. If he lost his grip now, he’d plunge into the inky blackness of the planetoid’s core – or die on a protruding rock. The déjà vu returned, his fear mounted, and his helmet steamed up with the sweat from his exertions, making it impossible to see.
He clawed at the loose rubble and his fingers found purchase on a ridge in the rock, halting his backward slide at chest height. He swung his right leg up, catching the edge with his heel and, with a last exhausted, desperate heave, dragged himself over and onto his back.
He lay in the passage for several minutes, breathing heavily, while he waited for the condensers in the suit to soak up the moisture.
That was too close, and if he never saw another tunnel again, it would be too soon.
***
Aryx hated being on his own so far from home. The ship seemed so lonely – even listening to news transmissions hadn’t banished the emptiness. He had worked for two hours, and the wiring of the melted plastic lump was almost finished. It had been difficult work: his hands ached with cramp, his eyes were sore from focusing on tiny components, and he desperately needed to sleep.
The airlock entry alarm went off and he dropped the lump and its delicate wires on the console. ‘For crying out loud, don’t do that!’ he shouted, and wheeled to the lift.
When he got to the bottom, he found Sebastian taking off the pressure suit.
‘Did you manage to plant the nanobots?’ Aryx asked.
Sebastian nodded. ‘I found a deposit and put the whole lot on it. The miners were on their way back to work as I left. I nearly killed myself doing it – those shafts are dangerous.’ He wiped the dust off the infoslate and handed it over.
‘For Christ’s sake, I told you to be careful! Look at the state of that frigging suit.’
‘I was careful, but I couldn’t carry the infoslate all the way down.’
Aryx’s head pounded. ‘You utter dick. Why didn’t you hook it on the belt?’
Sebastian looked down. ‘I didn’t … Oh, I never noticed that. Anyway, how’s the wiring going?’
Typical for him to change the subject when he was in the wrong. Aryx blinked slowly and rubbed a thumb on his temple. ‘I’m almost done, but I’m worn out and have a terrible headache. And worrying about you hasn’t helped – you’ve been hours!’
Sebastian stared at the floor. ‘I hadn’t expected to take so long. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll pilot the ship back to the station.’
‘Okay, I’ll finish the last few wires and then take a nap.’ Aryx turned to the lift. ‘Oh, and I was listening to a news feed earlier. Apparently, there have been more sightings of that Flying Dutchman ship.’
‘Sounds like a load of superstition if you ask me. I didn’t believe it when I read it in the papers the other day. Nobody would be streaking around the galaxy at those speeds, not when we’ve got the nodes.’
‘Well, I’m open-minded about it – you never know what’s out there.’ He activated the lift and Sebastian mumbled something derogatory as it took him out of earshot.
Sitting at the console, Aryx finished off the remaining connections to the plastic lump. But what should they be connected to? The frame in the evidence crate was of no use; the remnants of wiring attached to it simply dangled free. Scans of the structure had shown traces of DNA, but that could have been deposited by Alvarez if he’d handled the wires connected to it. A systematic approach would be the only way of deciphering the object’s purpose. He connected the bundle of wires to a plug-in patch module and dropped it into a port on the console.
The assembly sat on the workbench like an electronic parasite, connected by hundreds of fine tendrils, and he stared at it blankly. Where the heck was he supposed to start?
‘Seb, what are you doing down there? How should I analyse this thing now that I’ve connected it up?’
‘I’m putting the suit away,’ Sebastian shouted. ‘Get the computer to probe the connections in a binary sequence – that way you’ll be able to map them all. If it’s got a processor, something should cause a response, so get it to try known standard protocols first.’
‘Computer, did you hear that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then run the sequence.’ He hated the thought of it listening to their conversation all the time.
‘Acknowledged.’ Lights started to flash around the connection port. ‘Mapping and protocol testing will take approximately three hours.’
‘Great. Seb! Where can I get some sleep on this ship?’
‘There are some cargo nets down here that drop down. It looks like they double as hammocks.’
Aryx sighed. ‘That’ll have to do,’ he said, and made his way down.
Sebastian had already opened out the net and placed some boxes next to it. Aryx clamped down his chair and shuffled himself up over the stack onto the hammock. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was better than nothing.
‘I managed to get a fresh sample of carbyne, too.’ Sebastian held up the sample tube. The rubber stopper had sucked halfway down inside it with the air pressure.
Aryx blinked slowly. It was hard to keep his eyes open. ‘Good. We can analyse it when we get back to the station.’
Sebastian made his way to the ladder. ‘Have a nice nap, and I’ll see you shortly.’
Within moments, Aryx had settled into a dreamless sleep.
***
Sebastian turned the sample tube in his hands while the ship followed the course he’d plotted back to Tenebrae. How could a mineral as innocuous as talcum powder be related to the explosion? What did people want the stuff for? Was there some secret formula that could be used to produce a massive explosion? There were too many questions, and events in the tunnels had disturbed him too much for him to concentrate properly.
He’d never been in mortal danger before and he hoped it wasn’t something he’d ever have reason to get used to. As he went over the experience, he recalled the nightmare of falling … That was what had caused his sensation of panic in the tunnels! In retrospect, the dream had been strangely prophetic – not that he believed in such things. While his grandfather had followed the Ásatrú religion, he had always taught Sebastian to follow logic and observation, in line with the religion’s pragmatic principles. According to the stories, the god Odin had learned of the universe through the runes and, even though he didn’t take the stories literally, Sebastian yearned for that holistic understanding of things. Perhaps he had subconsciously picked up on some clue that had prompted the dream, or made him put himself in that predicament. After all, everything was ultimately predictable. Everything had a logical cause and outcome.
So, maybe the subconscious computer of his own mind had calculated the outcome of his actions and pre-warned him, but how that was possible, he had no idea. Cause, or effect? It was exactly the sort of conundrum that had drawn him into a career as a programmer; his love for unpicking the rules of the universe had driven him to write programs that simulated physics and natural order. Yes, it had been done many times before by others, but you only truly understood the wheel if you reinvented it yourself. If it wasn’t for terrorist intervention, his life might have gone in a completely different direction and he could have carried on that work. He could still remember in vivid detail the day everything changed.
Green and ochre forests had slipped beneath the monomag while Sebastian sat staring out of its curved sky-panorama windows. The near-silent hoops of the Dyson thrusters propelled the train at a deceptively high speed, and before he knew it the city was in sight with its tall, gleaming spires projecting far above the rumpled autumn canopy. It was nothing like Iceland. Yes, the trees there had come back, but they were uptight pines, unlike the deciduous trees of Britain that could relax in the temperate climate. Even the cold Britannic winters offered a balmy relief from Reykjavik’s
biting wind, but still he missed the place.
‘Excuse me, can I get you a drink Sir?’
He looked up at the waitress standing in the doorway to his cabin. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
She nodded. ‘If you need anything, just use the comms. The buffet car is open at the far end.’ She pressed the door control and continued down the carriage without waiting for the glass screen to close. A young, slim woman with wavy blonde hair slipped through before it shut and sat on the seat opposite
‘Hey, Jen,’ he said and turned back to looking out of the window.
Her reflection smoothed out its shiny black coat. ‘You okay?’
‘Just a bit homesick, I suppose. Did you finish your thesis?’
‘I did, and I’m glad I kept a backup off the system.’
He turned to face her. ‘Why? Did your infoslate break?’
‘No, I couldn’t connect to Manchester Uni’s servers this morning, and when I checked the news, it turned out they’d been hacked. They think it might not be the only attack.’
‘Oh Gods! I’d better check mine.’ He pulled his infoslate out of the antique canvas backpack his grandfather had given him and connected to Hereford University.
He authenticated his login with his thumb print. ‘I’m in.’
‘That’s a relief,’ Jen said. ‘I thought you were going to say—’
‘Oh no!’
‘What is it?’
A cold sensation filled the pit of his stomach and he turned the infoslate around to show her.
‘No files found? What does that mean?’
‘Exactly what it says. The system has none of my files on it. They’ve all gone! My thesis. All those years of work, gone!’ If his work wasn’t on there anymore, he might as well kiss goodbye to his doctorate.
She sat next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Well it can’t all be gone—there will be overnight backups in the Bristol datacentre, surely.’
He tapped the Restore backup button.
Connection unavailable.
‘It-It won’t connect.’
‘Try logging in to the datacentre directly.’
He switched the connection, but instead of a login screen, a temporary holding page appeared.
The Bristol datacentre has been removed from service.
‘No,’ he yelled, ‘I can’t accept this!’ He tapped frantically at the screen, bypassing the security in moments.
‘What are you trying to do?’
‘They wouldn’t take the system offline for no reason. There’s got to be something in a log somewhere.’ The system records scrolled up the screen. ‘There! That’s it – a break in the log times.’
‘What does that mean?’ Jen’s voice crackled with tension.
‘If there’s no data in the logs, it probably means something has physically happened to the building. I have to contact my brother.’ He tapped a few commands and a uniformed police officer with cropped, dark brown hair and square jaw appeared on-screen.
‘Hey Seb, what can I do you for?’
‘I need a favour, Mike. A datacentre in Bristol went offline at 07.21 this morning and there’s no data in the logs, which is strange. I think something’s happened to the site. Were there any police reports?’
‘What do— Never mind, I’ll check.’ Mikkael turned away from the screen and tapped at a terminal. When he turned back, his expression was dark. ‘There haven’t been any reports, but a satellite feed of the area shows smoke. I’ll go down and investigate. You look a bit pale – are you okay?’
‘No, I’m not … I’ve got to go.’ Sebastian closed the connection. He wanted to cry.
Jen squeezed his shoulder. ‘Oh, Seb. I’m so sorry.’
‘I should never have trusted the damned stupid system! All those years of simulations and research, gone! What am I going to do? My father’s inheritance will run out soon if I’m not getting student allowance. There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to get a job.’
Jen drew in a sharp breath. ‘I know the perfect thing for you!’
He rolled his eyes.
‘No, honestly. There’s a security coder job going on Tenebrae station. I saw the advert yesterday. You’d be great at it, given how quickly you got into those records.’
‘Me? A job on a space station?’ He shuddered at the thought of leaving Earth. ‘It’s a bit … adventurous.’
‘Oh, go on, I’m sure you could do it. Isn’t that why you carry that old thing?’ His backpack gave a metallic clunk as she nudged it with her toe.
He turned away and stared out of the window.
The burnt-cauliflower bumps of the forest burst from between grey slabs of fragmented tarmac. Large pines grew through the long-caved-in roofs of terraced houses, penned in by walls. The windscreens of the occasional 21st century car glinted in their rusting frames. So much junk left behind. So much nature had reclaimed.
The monomag cleared the old, swallowed suburbs and the forests peeled back as the gleaming white spires of Manchester loomed up, surrounding the train.
Jen stood as the monomag decelerated. ‘This is my stop. Keep your chin up.’
Sebastian’s stomach lurched at the motion, and he forced a smile.
She smiled back and closed the glass doors behind her.
A minute later the train was on its way to Birmingham, and he gazed out across the leafy horizon, dreading the thought of what would happen when he arrived at the university. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could stop things like this happening to others. He could almost hear his father gloating from beyond the grave. I told you, you should have followed the family and joined the ’force along with your brother – then you wouldn’t have had this problem.
He’d show him.
And indeed he probably would have, now he was a member of SpecOps – but it was a shame that he and Mikkael weren’t around anymore to be proven wrong.
***
Aryx woke refreshed; despite his initial impressions, the netting bunk had been surprisingly comfortable. He rubbed his eyes and checked his wristcom. Tuesday, 07.32. He’d been asleep for nearly ten hours! He lugged himself out of the hammock and back into his chair.
When he arrived in the cockpit, Sebastian was sitting in the pilot’s seat, unmoving.
‘Seb?’
There was no response.
He wheeled up behind Sebastian and shook his shoulder. ‘Seb!’
‘Wha—!’ Sebastian flailed out with his arms and flicked him in the eye with the back of his hand.
‘Ouch!’ Aryx rubbed his eye. ‘You fell asleep with the ship on autopilot, you idiot! But why have we stopped?’
‘Oh crap.’ Sebastian’s hands flitted from one panel on the console to the next. ‘We’re one jump from home. It looks like it took us longer to get back than when we went and the autopilot didn’t like the journey length. We’ve been sitting in open space for a couple of hours … I didn’t realise I was so tired.’ Even though he’d just woken up, he looked worn out.
‘You should get some sleep when we get back to the station,’ Aryx said. ‘The nanobots will take a while to form the tracker and there’s nothing else to follow up on, so you might as well get some rest.’
‘You’re right. The last few days have taken it out of me.’
Aryx checked the diagnostic console. According to the readout, the blob’s wire probing was complete. Several of the connections exhibited input and output signatures, while others drained power, or provided variable resistance as though they might be sensor inputs. He entered several standard Logynix commands into the computer and sent them to the connections.
After each command, pages of random galcode spewed up the display. None of the commands yielded readable results, but it was responding to input even though what came back was unintelligible.
‘Code soup.’
Sebastian leaned over to look at the screen. ‘Computer, scan for known data structures, lexical types and file formats.’
‘Searching
.’
Aryx sat for nearly half an hour, gazing out of the cockpit window at the elongated stars streaming by, before the computer interrupted his daydreaming.
‘Search complete. No known data structures, lexical data, or file types found.’
‘Bugger it!’ he shouted, and hit the console with his fist. ‘The data on this piece of crap is totally useless.’ He began to sweat; he’d never been so bloody frustrated with a piece of technology.
Sebastian came over and leaned on the console. ‘It’s not wasted effort,’ he said, peering at the display.
Aryx heaved a sigh. ‘I know. At least we know that it’s some kind of data thingy, but I’ve no idea if it’s a complete unit or part of some larger assembly.’
‘I’m sure we’ll work it out, given time. Any idea what the frame was for?’
‘Would I be saying this if I knew? I had a brief look at it, but the wires connected to it didn’t seem to serve a purpose. This thing could be a recording device that monitored sensor inputs from something installed in the frame, but without context, I can’t even guess.’
‘It’s a shame we don’t know what was being researched in the lab,’ Sebastian said.
Aryx folded his arms. Talk about stating the obvious. ‘It looks like another dead end, then. Let’s hope the trackers turn up something.’
***
Sebastian monitored the ship’s flight for the rest of the journey while Aryx worked at the diagnostic console. Whenever he glanced back, he was still staring at the screens of jumbled data. Sebastian had never seen him so depressed.
The information had to make sense – all they needed was context. The data could even have been software code, but without knowing what system it ran on … locating a needle in a whole planet full of haystacks was more appealing.
The ship dropped out of superphase several thousand kilometres from Tenebrae station. The bright, glinting wheel was a welcome sight.
He aimed the ship at the central hub and allowed the computer to synchronise rotation. The ship glided in, drifting in the magnetic currents, down through the spokes of the station until it eventually arrived at the repair hangar where the docking crane lifted it from the transit rings into the repair bay.