by Thomas Stone
“The other ship is stationary. Its shields are down. They must know we’re approaching by now. Our shields are activated and I am switching to stealth mode.”
“Activity at the location?”
“There are a few moving ground blips mostly about the entrance. They appear to be mechano-enhanced suits.”
“Simulcons?” asked Bobbi.
Fagen shook his head. “No. They’re Tec’Lissir. I’d bet on it.”
“What are they after? Why didn’t they go to the Crevah where we were?”
“I don’t know,” Fagen answered. “Maybe the kitzloc damping field hid us. We wouldn’t have found it without Harry’s help.”
“Uh-oh,” said Bart.
“What is it?”
“The new consciousness, our new AI.”
“What?”
“She’s opened up a comm channel to the Tec’Lissir ship.”
“Why?”
“How should I know?”
“Arai,” said Fagen, “ask her why she’s doing that.”
“I did,” he answered. “She’s not speaking to me yet. She’s like a new-born. She hasn’t developed enough to speak.”
“Well, apparently she’s developed enough to communicate with the enemy!”
Bart waved a hand in the air. “There’s a high-speed data flow going out over the comm channel. We’re uploading data to the AI aboard the other ship.”
Fagen ran a hand through his graying, close-cropped hair. “What kind of data?”
Bart shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s encrypted.”
“Break off the channel. Shut it down.”
Bart shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “She’s got us locked out.”
“Arai,” said Fagen, “can you do something?”
Arai twitched his tail in the negative. “No. I’ve still got control of all ship functions but I can’t terminate that comm channel.”
“Holy shit,” Fagen murmured.
“Ah-ha,” exclaimed Arai, “I think I’ve go it.”
Fagen perked up. “You terminated the channel?”
“No, I can’t do that, but I know what she’s uploading.”
“Well, what is it?”
“She’s accessed the Crevah simulator code. It looks like she’s uploading all the source code to the Tec’Lissir ship.”
*
Jennings crouched beside the wheel of his own truck wondering how he had gotten himself into such a mess. The din from the firefight filled the garage. Flashes of light from an assortment of weapons lit the space like a malfunctioning disco strobe. Jennings struggled to remain calm. Think, he told himself.
The complex was under attack, that much was obvious. Jennings peeped around the wheel and saw at least half dozen of the creatures firing at the few remaining soldiers on the dock. They had to be the True Ones, or whatever their other name was -- Jennings couldn’t remember. What were they doing here? From what Fagen and Irons had told him, it was useless to consider their motives. But still, they had to be here for a reason. And then it dawned on Jennings: they wanted inside the complex. They wanted something inside the complex. Jennings looked around the side of the great tire he crouched behind. The soldiers were withdrawing back inside the complex. If they managed to retreat and lock up the airlock, how long would it take the attackers to gain entry? Considering their firepower and the advanced technology they possessed, Jennings didn’t think it would take long. And then what? Kill or capture everyone inside while they looked for whatever it was they wanted in the first place. It was simple reasoning but from their actions thus far, it was probably a fair guess.
Jennings leaned against the wheel and took a breath. Chances were, he wasn’t going to make it out of the garage alive. He’d been lucky to survive the initial attack. Without a miracle, eventually, they’d find him. He looked at the truck looming above him. Inside offered shelter, a place to hide -- he moved to the access ladder, shimmied up, punched the access code into the security pad and the side hatch popped open. He climbed inside and pulled the hatch shut. Switching on the interior lights, he wished he had some way to see what was going on in the garage without starting up all the systems. Other than a small rounded port on the door, there were no windows and engaging power to the truck’s systems would give away his location. There was, however, enough food and water to last for days. If he was quiet, perhaps the invaders would overlook him; perhaps he could just wait it out. He sat at one of the two simulcon control positions and considered his chances. Who was he kidding? After the creatures secured the complex, they would find him. They would find everybody.
Outside the truck, the firefight died down. Jennings guessed that the soldiers had retreated inside the complex, locking the airlock doors against the intruders. As he pondered his next move, his eyes rested on the two simulcons suspended in their cradles by chains and pulleys. An idea occurred to him. There was something he could do.
*
Satisfied all the soldiers above ground were dead, the aliens left the field, some dragging bodies away -- for what purpose, Ramey could not imagine. Some returned to their ship while others disappeared down the open ramp. The sounds of the battle below ground had ceased. Ramey wondered if everyone was dead or if it was only a pause in the action. The troopers would never give up. They were professionals and would fight to the last man.
All noble indeed, but what was Ramey to do? He didn’t especially want to be a sole survivor. What he wanted was to get some payback for the lives of his companions. Without a weapon, he couldn’t do much damage, so the first item was to find a way to put a world of hurt on those floating tin cans.
He looked out over the field between himself and the entrance to the complex. Aliens moved from their hovering ship to the garage, carrying what Ramey imagined to be munitions down into the complex. The distance to the garage entrance was under a hundred meters, a path Ramey could make even crawling along with a wrenched back. The command position had been twenty meters outside the garage. Perhaps there were weapons in the bottom of the foxhole there, explosives if he was really lucky. If he could make it across the field without being seen, find a few thermo-grenades, maybe, just maybe, he could toss one or two up the open ramp to the alien ship. If he could get close enough. If he found grenades.
Ramey sighed. Well, what are you gonna do? he asked himself. Want to live forever? With that, he pushed out from under the metal scrap and began crawling across the sandy field under the cover of darkness.
*
The highest ranking surviving trooper was a wild-eyed corporal whose name Luther didn’t catch. After the corporal had personally sealed the airlock, he ordered the other five remaining soldiers to take up firing positions along the main corridor. They ducked into open doorways and threw pieces of furniture into the hallway, hoping it would slow the invading force once they gained entry. A cursory check of munitions shocked the corporal even further: other than a handful of thermo-grenades, a half-dozen frags, and a box of flechette clips, there was nothing. Upon completion of the ammo distribution, the corporal faced Luther, who was trying to decide where to hide.
“Is there another way out of here?”
“Nope.” Luther replied.
“Where are your friends?”
“Jennings, the tall guy, was in the garage. He’s dead.”
“Where are the others? The old man and the orange guy? They’re no longer in the conference room.”
Luther shook his head. “I don’t know. Things have been kinda tense, you know? I didn’t know I was supposed to watch ‘em.”
The corporal stepped closer to Luther. Even though the colonist towered over him, the soldier felt no pity toward the civilian. “I don’t have time to hold your hand. Why don’t you make yourself useful?”
“Gimme a gun and I will.”
“There aren’t any spares. Take up a position with one of the other troopers -- maybe somebody will let you have a back-up weapon. When they break in, help as much as you can.” The corporal tu
rned away and went back up the corridor.
“Give me your back-up,” Luther said to the corporal’s back. The corporal didn’t bother to answer.
The first muffled bang came from the airlock. Luther jumped at the sound and backed down the corridor in the opposite direction.
*
Halfway across the open field, the ominous sound of jetted air gave Ramey pause. Figures passed between the spaceship and the entrance to the complex, but the sound Ramey heard came from behind. He turned for a look. A single floating automaton floated directly toward him. Another puff of air and a beam of light leapt from its oval body, capturing Ramey in a tight spotlight.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Ramey reached to his thigh and pulled his combat knife from its scabbard. As the being came closer, Ramey held out the knife, pointed end toward the creature in what he knew was a futile attempt at self-defense. “Come on, you bastard. I never liked the idea of being a sole survivor anyway.”
Sensing the soldier offered little in the way of resistance, the creature glided to a halt two meters from Ramey. Instinctively, Ramey pushed his feet against the sand to put more distance between him and it but the floating contraption merely moved closer. Now, Ramey could see that it was not an automaton. It was, rather, a full mechanical enclosure made from a blackened ceramic substance. Several long arms extruded from its sides with double elbows, each with a full range of movement. Mechanical legs were folded beneath the pod. When it wasn’t moving, it floated silently on the air. When it did move, jets of air were expelled from a number of tiny nozzles placed proportionately along the axis of its body. The thing wore a utility belt with assorted instruments and what Ramey took as weapons hanging from closed hooks and holders.
Near the top of the oval was an opaque plate that Ramey imagined was the view port for the creature inside. It hovered before him as if deciding what to do. Then, one of its mechanical hands went to the utility belt and selected a thick rod. It held the half-meter length of pipe aloft and it suddenly extended from both ends to a length of over two meters. Both ends had a nasty-looking barbed point.
Ramey’s life did not flash before his eyes as he’d often heard when your number was up. Rather, he noted that he was to die on a foreign battlefield by evisceration. As a last act of defiance, Ramey flipped the knife in his hand so that he held it by the blade. With a smooth, quick motion, he cocked his arm and threw the blade directly at the creature’s faceplate where it bounced off ineffectively beyond his reach.
Still prone, Ramey pulled himself up on his elbows, hands at his sides, and smiled through gritted teeth. The alien lifted the spear and was suddenly enveloped in light. The light shimmered all along its surface and seemed to freeze the creature. There was a moment when it vibrated, as if from the onset of a grand mal, before it dropped the staff. Then, like the air was being sucked from it, it began to implode like a crushed aluminum can. Sounds of escaping gases came from cracks that appeared along the sides of its body. The faceplate popped out and, for an instant, Ramey saw large, red eyes peering through the open space before they too shrank back. The entire ceramic-metal enclosure fell to the ground at Ramey’s feet and it moved no more. Wisps of smoke rose in the air from the crumpled mass but there was no sound from the occupant.
The light that had surrounded the creature blinked off. As Ramey’s eyes re-adjusted to the night, he saw an enormous, wavering, translucent shape in the sky denoting a ship in stealth mode. He had no idea who it was, but he was grateful all the same. Somehow, they had spotted the drama unfolding on the ground and come to his aid.
Ramey crawled to his knife, his wrenched back sending a spasm of pain to his brain, and returned it to its scabbard. Then he pulled himself to where the alien had dropped the spear. Ramey grabbed the lance by its middle, noted how light it was, and used it to help himself to his feet.
Ramey watched the distorted field above move silently in the direction of the complex entrance and the other ship. As it moved, it emerged from its invisible field and Ramey saw it was an exact copy of the ship still hovering atop the sandy dune. Those gathered at the garage entrance had stopped moving and were now focused on the new ship.
*
Everyone on Minerva’s bridge sat at a console. Bart was plugged in via his VR jack and Arai, without an implanted neural jack, wore goggles and helmet. The others stared at their monitors as they conversed.
“What just happened?” asked Fagen.
“It appears,” said Bart, “the ship took it upon herself to help out that soldier on the ground.”
“I gathered that much, but how did she do it? We don’t have any onboard weapons that can do that.”
Arai cleared his throat. “We apparently do now. It was a type of sonic disruptor. Min apparently put it together while she was working on her language facilities.”
“Who’s Min?” Bobbi asked.
“Oh. That’s what she calls herself. Well, not Min precisely. Min’s short for Animus of Minutor.”
“Say what?”
“From the Latin,” Bart interjected. “Soul of Minerva.”
“Minnie, for short,” added Arai. “She, uh, sort of sees herself as Minerva’s younger sister.”
“How do you know all this?” Fagen asked.
“Her consciousness is growing at an exponential rate now...”
“Then tell her to stop uploading data to the enemy.”
“The upload ceased five minutes ago.”
Fagen frowned. “Well, I’d like to know just what...”
Fagen was suddenly interrupted by a loud thump which sent trembles through the ship.
“What was that?”
Bart swiveled in his seat to face Fagen. “We are now officially under attack. The Tec’Lissir ship just sent a blast at our bow. The shields caught it.”
“It was a warning shot,” said Minerva. “They could have utilized any number of other weapons to make us more uncomfortable than a little shaking.”
“Shall we return in kind?” asked Arai.
“No.” Fagen shook his head. “But we need to do something to help those inside the complex.”
“If any are still alive,” added Bobbi.
“Scans show numerous life forms in the complex,” said Arai. “There are a considerable number of bio-mechanoid units in the garage.”
“That’ll be the Tec’Lissir force,” said Fagen.
“What do they want?”
Fagen answered, “The same thing Braithwaite wants. To a certain degree, the same thing we want.”
“What’s that?”
“The kitzloc’s secrets.” Fagen got up from his position and went to Arai. “This new consciousness...”
“Minnie?”
“Whatever. Will she help us?”
“She seems to hold no overt malice towards us. She, uh, she seems to rather like me in particular.”
“Will you ask her to help us?”
“How?”
“Ask her if she can access the Tec’Lissir’s AI. Can she disable their defenses?”
Arai paused for a handful of seconds before answering. “She can access the other AI, but she refuses to disable their defenses.”
“Why?”
“Because we would destroy them and she says...”
“Yes, what?”
“That would be counter-productive.”
“Counter-productive? To what?”
Arai shrugged.
“All right,” said Fagen, “let’s get some space between us and the other ship. Just enough to show them we’re willing to play along. Put a couple of dunes between us and them, enough to make visual observation a problem.”
“We are on the move,” answered Arai.
“Is that all we’re going to do?” asked Bart.
“Not at all. You, Bobbi, and I are going out -- with weapons.”
*
With the arrival of Minerva, the six Tec’Lissir that remained above ground split into two groups. One group of
three returned to their ship. The covering shield went down and they took up positions at the bottom of the entry ramp. The shield shimmered as it re-appeared. The other group of three descended into the garage to reinforce the others. Shortly afterward, the final assault began.
Ramey crouched low and nearly stumbled into a foxhole. A dead trooper lay at the bottom. The man’s injuries prevented Ramey from identifying him even though Ramey was acquainted with every soldier in the group. Stepping down, Ramey felt for the corpse’s dog tags but they had been blown away by the initial explosion. He felt under the body for a weapon, but found nothing. As he stepped to the side, his boot dislodged a portion of sand uncovering a regulation-issue carry-all. Ramey found the strap and pulled the bag free of the remaining sand. Inside were three warm-smoke grenades, fletchette cartridges, and two shiny fragmentation grenades. Ramey held the frags, kissed them both, and hung them on his vest.
He worked his way to the left until the slight rise that hid his movements gave out to flat ground. The wreckage of the command vehicle lay sixty meters away. Another hundred meters beyond that was the hovering ship with the shimmering force field. The only aliens in sight lingered under their ship, behind the force field, standing as sentinels in its shadow. Ramey could not continue without exposing himself. Making up his mind, he reversed direction, re-traced his steps, and picked his way around until he crouched at the base of the dune where the alien ship floated. The garage entrance was steps away but he could not access it without showing himself. With no other course of action available, he settled down to wait.
*
In the interior of his truck, Jennings sat at one of the two simulcon control consoles. He had quietly prepared one of the robots and donned the VR interface helmet. Ready to power up the systems, he paused, knowing that by activating the systems he would likely alert the enemy to his presence. His hand hovered over the power switch.
As he was about to depress the button, an explosion rocked the truck. In reflex, he ducked, thinking the aliens had found him. But it was not the case. The explosion had come from the loading dock where the aliens had blasted the exterior airlock door. In moments, another explosion issued forth: the interior door had been breached. The aliens had gained access to the complex.