Marque of Caine

by Charles E Gannon

  “A complete account of everything that you did, saw, or spoke about during your visit to Issqliin.”

  Riordan frowned. “I’ll comply as best I can, but I’m not sure I’ll remember everything that you—”

  “I do not trust recollections. They are intrinsically distorted by subjectivity. Rather, I shall record your memories.”

  Record my—? Riordan looked at Alnduul, whose eyes seemed to droop as their lids cycled once, very slowly: the equivalent of a resigned shrug. Caine looked back at Oduosslun. “Do I have your word that you will record only the memories from Issqliin?”

  The muscular Dornaani’s mouth twisted around its axis once again. Again, her “smile” was marked by a sardonic ripple. “If you wish.”

  Riordan nodded, kept his face as expressionless as he could. “Then I accept.”

  Oduosslun’s tilted mouth remained as it was. “Of course you do. Make haste. I am on a temporary hiatus from my research. Before long, I shall regain access to the ‘special research equipment’ I require.” Her mouth wrinkled ruefully after the euphemism had slipped from her. “If you are not here by then, I will be unavailable for several months. Of course, if that occurs, you are welcome to sightsee in our extensive junkyards while you wait.”

  “Understood. I will—”

  “On your journey,” Oduosslun interrupted, “be sure to note the corpses of miracles scattered along your route. A visitor should see them, even if the visitor is only a human.”

  Before Riordan could suppress his indignation enough to inquire what Oduosslun meant by the corpses of miracles, her face and holographic connection dissolved.

  * * *

  Olsloov’s shuttle had been out of the bay less than a minute when port authority warned Irzhresht that she was deviating from the planetfall flight corridor designated for Aozhoodn’s equatorial downport. In the shuttle’s small holoplot, a tube marked by bright white guidons flashed into existence. A tiny holographic image of the shuttle appeared on top of one of the boundary guidons. It flashed orange.

  Correcting course, Irzhresht’s handling of the controls was more brusque than usual. “Oduosslun might have warned us that we cannot travel directly to the coordinates she provided. They are far outside the landing corridor.”

  Alnduul, seated in the passenger and cargo section with Caine, agreed in an almost soothing tone. “Most inconvenient. I will request a flight path from the downport to Oduosslun’s coordinates as soon as we—”

  Irzhresht flung a hand at the deck without turning around. “Not possible. Only preauthorized or official vehicles are allowed beneath forty kilometers altitude. And the downport’s dedicated airspace is only ten kilometers in diameter at its widest, and highest, point.”

  “And below that?” Riordan asked.

  “It collapses down to a ground zero diameter of three kilometers, centered on the terminal.” Irzhresht checked the rapidly scrolling data next to her. “However, there is an automated application for free access. Or we can submit specific flight plans for approval.”

  Alnduul spoke toward the ceiling. “Computer, access port authority data feed. Submit my credentials and operator authorization to request direct access to Oduosslun’s coordinates.”

  There was a much longer silence before the port authority answered. “Cannot comply at this time. Special requests are backlogged.”

  “How long is the estimated wait time?”

  “Approximately eighty-five weeks.”

  Alnduul’s eyes closed, his mouth scissoring in irritation.

  Riordan sighed. So, no direct air access to Oduosslun’s coordinates. He checked the planetary map holo. “Computer, measure distance between equatorial downport and coordinates provided by Oduosslun.”

  “Six hundred forty-two kilometers.”

  “And a walking route?”

  “Eight hundred and twelve kilometers. Warning: overland route intersects several significant terrain obstacles.”

  Alnduul’s eyes had reopened. “You plan to walk there?”

  “Not exactly.” Riordan glanced at a screen showing Olsloov’s keel view: towers and domes were racing up at them. “There seems to be a lot of junk just beyond the city’s perimeter.”

  Although Riordan hadn’t intended it as a question, the computer answered. “Confirmed. Debris field ringing the city ranges from one hundred to three hundred meters in width.”

  Interesting. “Size of individual debris objects?”

  “Largest is 1591 cubic meters. The majority are too small to measure accurately at this range.”

  “Condition of the debris?”

  “Inquiry too general. Please narrow parameters.”

  “Scan for active electronics in debris.”

  “Multiple results. Primarily sub-utile power levels.”

  “Huh?”

  Alnduul interceded. “That usually indicates a device in what you call ‘sleep mode.’” Alnduul’s large eyes fixed upon Caine’s. “What is your interest in this?”

  Riordan barely heard the question. “Irzhresht, are there any restrictions on using Olsloov’s sensors?”

  “You mean, to examine the surface from orbit?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are no restrictions.”

  “So if you surveyed that debris from orbit, what level of detail would you be able to acquire?”

  “Despite the power of Olsloov’s arrays, detail would be limited. At best.”

  Riordan thought some more. “Then what about the shuttle’s sensors, if it was hovering at an altitude of one kilometer?”

  Irzhresht turned a questioning gaze upon Alnduul, whose mouth twisted as he answered. “At that range, it is likely we could resolve each item’s serial number. What is your plan, Caine Riordan?”

  “It’s still a work in progress. I’ll figure out the rest on the way down.”

  * * *

  As Caine emerged into Aozhoodn’s intensely humid air, a garishly painted proxrov approached to confirm his identity. As if there is any other human within two dozen light-years, Riordan reflected while responding to the robot’s various queries.

  Satisfied, Oduosslun’s fuchsia-and-lime automaton handed him a headset and marched away from the downport’s landing pads. Riordan called after it. It didn’t stop. Catching up and jogging alongside, he asked about the planet, about accommodations, and about food.

  No reply. The proxrov continued marching away.

  Riordan set aside his annoyance. Best to find a live Dornaani, anyhow, someone who could direct him to lodgings before the shuttle returned to Olsloov.

  However, as he wandered the uncomfortably warm streets, he encountered even fewer Dornaani than he had on Glamqoozht. Worse yet, the first two only stared when he asked for directions to a government office or visitor’s bureau. Riordan was fairly certain that it wasn’t his atrocious pidgin Dornaani that had startled them. Rather, they seemed convinced that he was a malfunctioning, freakish bioproxy. He pressed on, deeper into the city’s cluster of spheres, domes, and glass-sided parabolas.

  Unfortunately, when Caine finally discovered a building complex with a steady stream of Dornaani foot traffic, he could neither understand the locals’ clipped replies nor decipher the holographic signage near the entrance. So, feeling vaguely like an eight-year-old who had run way from home, Riordan contacted Alnduul, whose shuttle was still dirtside, waiting his turn to lift.

  His friend arrived at the building complex shortly thereafter, explained who Riordan was and what he needed. Surprisingly, they treated Alnduul little better than they had Caine, but provided directions to what sounded like a visitor’s hostel. It was close enough that the pair decided to walk.

  The building turned out to be a small, worn dome, its concierge system slow to awaken. Once inside, they understood the immense lag: the hostel had not been used in years, perhaps decades. Despite small, automated caretaking robots, the ceilings and higher reaches of the walls were dim with layers of dust. At first, the water dispensers
spat only stale air and a grit-clotted slurry. And in one room, they came upon the shriveled remains of a single, indeterminate creature: a bioproxy, judging from the control device still embedded in its desiccated neck. Alnduul expressed no surprise, no anger, no indignation at the state of the facilities, merely resignation tinged by embarrassment.

  As the sky began darkening toward dusk, he offered Caine a ride back up to Olsloov. Riordan demurred, explaining that in addition to getting used to life on Aozhoodn, he had a plan that required that Alnduul be standing by in low planetary orbit from tomorrow morning onward.

  When Alnduul’s departing shuttle had dwindled to a bright-tailed speck, Caine took off the outsized and outdated headset provided by Oduosslun. He replaced it with the circlet he’d been issued from Olsloov’s stores. That, along with food, was all that Custodial protocols allowed him to take from the ship. He began heading toward the outskirts of the city.

  Riordan was approaching the sharply demarcated urban boundary when the circlet emitted two rapid tones: Alnduul’s comm link. He activated the plasma HUD; the Dornaani’s face appeared, concerned. “Do you not intend to stay overnight in the hostel, Caine Riordan?”

  “Yes, but I figured I’d start scouting the junk at the edge of the city.”

  Alnduul’s eyes became grave. “The preliminary scans conducted during landing show that much of the debris is machinery that may still be functional and could self-activate if you approach. Depending upon the device, that could put you in considerable danger.”

  “Alnduul, I’m not going to approach. I’m just surveying. Nothing else.” Riordan paused, smiled. “Until you bring the shuttle back down tomorrow.”

  Alnduul was silent for several moments. “So that is why you inquired about the accuracy of the shuttle’s sensors from one kilometer. So that we may provide you with precision imaging, information, and instructions during your activities near the downport.”

  “Including tomorrow’s salvage operations,” Riordan agreed.

  “Salvage operations?” Alnduul echoed.

  “Of course,” Caine replied. “You don’t think I’m going to walk eight hundred and twelve kilometers, do you? See you tomorrow morning. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  JUNE 2124

  AOZHOODN, SIGMA 2 URSA MAJORIS 2 B

  “Caine Riordan, I must once again advise caution. You have inserted the new relay module correctly, but until you activate it, we have no way of knowing if the octobot’s onboard computing is corrupted. It could become erratic. Dangerous.”

  Wiping his brow, Riordan stepped away from the inert, spiderlike machine, glanced a kilometer behind him. Olsloov’s shuttle hung motionless over Aozhoodn’s main downport, its vertijet exhausts glowing a faint blue. “Have you tried the remote activation signal?”

  “We have, but the unit is protected by user-defined access codes. The only alternative is to bypass the robot’s processor and activate it manually. However, it may have a security protocol to attack anything that attempts unauthorized manual access.”

  Riordan reconsidered the strange device. More than four meters across, its visual invocation of a spider was decidedly imperfect, primarily because the legs were spaced evenly around its round cargo bed. On the underside of that disk was a cluster of the small and phenomenally efficient Dornaani batteries that Caine had encountered frequently during his three days of crawling through the junkyard. Alnduul was obligated to remain silent about their engineering specifics. Which was fine, since Caine barely understood the underlying physics. A tiny field effect generator pulled subparticles from antiprotons, that were themselves extracted from a microscopic but almost infinite supply of what sounded a lot like antideuterium, but apparently wasn’t. The annihilation of each antisubparticle was contained by that same field effect generator just long enough for the energy to be transferred to a capacitor that seemed to defy several rules of physics. Bottom line: a single reaction was enough to power the big bot for a day of moderate use.

  After assessing, removing, and reconnecting several of the robot’s batteries by following Alnduul’s instructions and schematics displayed on his HUD, Riordan circled around to the machine’s rear access panel. A similar panel, the site of the control relay he had already replaced, was open at the front. But whereas that one held a checkerboard matrix of receptacles for logic elements, the rear panel revealed a snaky morass of Dornaani “wiring” that recalled fiber-optic cables. Caine let his right hand follow along with the diagram being superimposed upon his HUD’s view of the actual wiring. “Alnduul, please confirm: depressing this toggle will connect the batteries directly to the processor core.”

  “Yes, as well as to all other primary systems. But if the new control relay is not recognized, you will not be able to control the machine through your circlet. Manual deactivation would be the only option and could prove hazardous. I strongly recommend you do not attempt to repair this device.”

  “It’s the only one we’ve found that might get me to Oduosslun’s coordinates in time.”

  “Caine Riordan, that will not matter if you are not alive to make the journey. I counsel—”

  Yeah, I know what you counsel. “Please monitor and keep transmitting control codes. Manually connecting the battery…now.”

  The instant Caine pushed the toggle, the fiber-optic wires flared into multicolored life. The octobot jerked forward, as if flinching away from Riordan’s hand. Probably just a residual command being finished. But still…“Alnduul, are the control codes—?”

  “Not recognized!”

  The octobot’s two rear legs were already closing toward Caine.

  Riordan grabbed the rim of the rear panel, yanked himself into a forward leap that ended atop the cargo bed. The octobot’s rear legs crashed together where he had been standing, then hovered a moment as if surprised to find nothing between them.

  Riordan reasoned he had maybe half a second to decide what to do next.

  The biggest problem was the structure of the legs themselves. Each was a jointed sequence of eight rugged spheres that could twist and turn in any direction. And the front two legs were already beginning to arc back toward him. He couldn’t stay where he was, but if he jumped clear, there’d be no way to reaccess the octobot’s control loop…

  Wait, that’s it! The control loop. When he replaced the faulty relay, there hadn’t been any power in the system. But what if the relay couldn’t initialize, couldn’t reactivate the controls, unless the system already had power in it?

  As the front legs grabbed for Riordan, he slid under them and off the front edge of the octobot. He spun, grabbed for the new control relay. It popped free.

  The front legs were already reversing their spin, their terminal spheres swinging back at him.

  Riordan wrestled the relay back into place, pushed down hard.

  It engaged with a click and illuminated.

  The front legs abruptly froze in mid crush. Lights began to chase each other around the gridwork of modular logic elements.

  Riordan slipped out from between the legs, stood back from the octobot. “Alnduul, is it—?”

  “I recommend you try the HUD controls now, Caine Riordan.”

  Caine called up the remote operation interface, which autodetected the configuration of the octobot. Riordan, feeling dampness under each arm, marveled at just how much sweat the human body could produce in a few seconds. “Legs to default position.”

  The octobot’s front and rear legs reconfigured themselves to match the other four. The machine was now a symmetrical eight-pointed star, the cargo platform perfectly level. Riordan exhaled, blowing out a case of the shakes. As he started walking toward the next piece of salvage, he ordered, “Unit. Follow user.”

  Legs cycling with a smoothness that belied their long disuse, the octobot trailed after Riordan.

  Who, for the first few minutes, felt an atavistic reflex to keep that nightmare shape further back than its default follow mod
e dictated.

  * * *

  Once online, Anansi (because who could keep calling the mechanical beast “octobot”?) gathered the remaining salvage in just two hours.

  Riordan was pleased with the haul: a handheld broad-spectrum scanner from a medical diagnostic system; an animal suppression weapon analogous to a carbine-sized coil gun; a remote control actuator that worked as both trigger and safety when slaved to the carbine; batteries of various types and sizes; a four-hundred-liter cargo container coated in molecular-level velcro that allowed it to be fastened anywhere; a mesh that could emit and absorb high levels of infrared; a dozen working lights; four working speakers; a remote-operated industrial turntable; and last but certainly not least, a holographic viewfinder that was the functional equivalent of a multispectrum, range-finding scope.

  Once Anansi was loaded, Riordan led it back toward the downport. The rusted bones and warped bodies of the discarded machines through which they moved evinced two noteworthy properties. They varied wildly in form and style, which imparted the impression that this was the junkyard of several species, not just one. Yet they all had identical interfaces for data and electricity.

  Caine’s circlet emitted a now-familiar double tone. “Connect,” he instructed the device. “Hello, Alnduul.”

  “Caine Riordan, I see you are returning. I recommend you alter your current heading thirty degrees left.”

  “Why? Another pack of the bug-eyed borzois who were shadowing me yesterday?” Which, as a descriptor, really didn’t do justice to how shockingly weird the creatures looked.

  “Yes. They have chased wounded prey into the dense debris just ahead. If you approach any closer, they are likely to detect your scent and investigate.”