As they grew closer, he could make out more details on the surface of the moon, pitted and broken. Hathor’s worldlet had been smooth, almost featureless, the work of friction burning away any craters on its surface. That of the AI was different, and it only belatedly occurred to him why that might be. It had been attacked before, at some point in the past, an assault perhaps of a hundred missiles raining down upon its surface.
And it had survived, doubtless to wreak bloody vengeance on its attackers. He was attempting to bring down the AI with a rifle, a hundred rounds of ammunition, and a pair of smoke grenades. Finally he managed to bring a smile to his face, the sheer arrogance of their plan at last clear in his mind. He ought to be bringing Alamo itself up here, unleashing its primary armament on the target, hurling missiles and point-defense rounds to tear it into a million pieces.
He thought of his ship, and grimaced. His crew were still waiting on him to work a miracle, to find a way home, and he felt no closer to completing that task. The AI might have the secret he was seeking, but they had no realistic way to unlock it, not that he could think of. Destroying it, perhaps. And if that was the best they could do, they’d do it, and work out the consequences later. The Sphere was large enough for the solution to the puzzle to be found elsewhere, even if he was destined to spend the rest of his life searching for it.
Finally, at least a modicum of safety, as they moved to hover over the surface of the enemy moonlet, the jetpack fading away, it’s work completed. Hathor, red-faced with exertion, dragged the two of them to their goal, before finally collapsing on the ground, his last energy spent. Salazar quickly released the strap, then looked around, rifle in hand, expecting at any moment to see hordes of enemies surging towards them.
“We’re safe,” Hathor said, panting for breath. “On the surface, they won’t attack. When we try and penetrate the perimeter, they will throw everything they have at us.”
“Where are we going?” Salazar asked.
“There are more tunnels than the one you found,” Hathor replied, struggling to his feet. “Some of them lead to pockets, close to the surface. The AI uses them to store captives.” He looked at Salazar, and said, “Don’t expect this to be a pleasant experience. If you find friends down there, their minds will have long since been ripped away. Trust me when I tell you that they would beg for death if they could.” He looked down, and said, “My people have not even had that luxury.”
“I won’t kill them without giving them a chance,” Salazar warned.
Nodding, Hathor said, “That is your choice. This way.”
The humanoid nimbly led the way across the surface, Salazar following, taking care with his steps not to rise too far from the ground. At that, the gravity was far higher than it should have been, no matter how dense this moon might be. It was little larger than Phobos, and there an incautious bound could put a man into orbit. Here, such an effort would send him tumbling to the ground.
The view, however, almost made up for the terror, and he could see the surface of the Sphere as never before, uncounted millions of miles of territory, rolling around him. The explorer within him longed to wander those lands, see the peoples and civilizations waiting down there. Perhaps if they completed their mission, they’d have a chance. He could dream, at least, if nothing else.
A few more paces, and they reached the entrance to the tunnel, Salazar once more shaking his head at the absence of any surveillance equipment. Hathor slid down inside it, keeping his hands close to the wall, his wings still tired from the exertion that brought them here, and Salazar slowly descended after him, the low gravity making his progress easy as he slid from handhold to handhold, the rifle bouncing on his back with every move.
They swung around a corner, drifting into a chamber, and Hathor turned, sorrow laden on his face, before pushing back to allow Salazar to enter the room. Seventeen figures were plugged into the wall, all of them wearing Triplanetary uniforms, all but one with ‘Monitor’ written on their arms. Their faces were the same, blank and expressionless.
And at the end of the row, writhing in cables, was Harper, her face no different to the others. He walked towards her, calling her name, while Hathor looked on, them shook her, trying to rouse her, the winged man silently walking towards him.
“I am sorry,” he said. “There is nothing either of us can do, other than end their misery.”
“No,” Salazar replied, shaking his head. “I’m not giving up on her. Not yet. How do I disconnect her from all of this?”
“If you try, then the guards will be summoned. I was afraid of this.” Looking at the corridor, he said, “Captain, her consciousness has been removed, overridden by the power of the master machine. There is no way of repairing the damage. Trust me, I have tried in the past.”
“You revived your people,” he spat.
“They had no consciousness to save, were a blank template that could only form once they were freed. At best, she would not be the person you remembered. No trace of memory would survive. Is that what you truly want for her?”
Raising his rifle to cover Hathor, Salazar said, “Show me how to disconnect her, or I will end you here and now.”
With a sigh, Hathor moved forward to the panel, pulling a knife from his belt, hacking at connections and cables, a dozen quick and nimble cuts, each of which sent a wire curling away, recoiling from the figure to which it was connected. His hand hovered over the last of them, and he looked back at Salazar again.
“From here, I could make her end merciful and quick.”
“Cut the cable, Hathor. Now.”
Hathor slashed the last connection, and Harper fell forward, Salazar catching her in his arms, holding her up, looking into her eyes for any spark, any trace of life. She blinked, struggling to focus, then looked at first Salazar, then Hathor.
“Pavel?” she asked, her voice a dry whisper.
“I don’t believe it!” Hathor said. Turning to Harper, he said, “I must know. What did you see in there? What was it like?”
“I spoke to it,” Harper said. “The AI. I communicated with it. I think it took me into its memory store.” Shaking her head, she continued, “It’s all so vague, drifting away, as though it happened to someone else.”
“Disconnect the others,” Salazar said, turning to Hathor.
From below, sirens wailed, and Hathor shook his head, saying, “No time. We’ve got to get out of here, right now.” He gestured up, and said, “We’ve got friends on the way.”
Salazar looked up, and saw Hathor’s moon sliding through the sky towards them, fast enough to easily catch up, and two more winged humanoids dived to the tunnel, jet packs roaring. Without a second thought, Salazar pushed Harper to the shaft, he and Hathor helping her to the surface. Beneath them, the army stirred, moving into life, wings beating loud enough to echo around the tunnels as the trio struggled to ascend, struggled to reach safety before the enemy could catch them. Salazar looked back at the other crewmen, feeling bitter regret, then followed the others, crawling to the surface.
Harper was snatched by one of the humanoids, dragged to safety, and a moment later, Salazar followed, their trip this time far shorter, but without the security of the restraints from before. He craned his head around to look behind them, and saw a hundred winged beings, so similar to those they were allied with aside from the dull, dead look in their eyes, following at speed, all with rifles cradled in their arms, the nearest raising them to fire.
Bullets cracked through the air all around them, slamming into the rock of the moon, sending shards of stone flying all around as the once-pristine surface was marred by the battle. Harper was first in, thrown down the shaft into the safety of the gravity net, the humanoid gaining speed after releasing his payload and flying on, to a different part of the surface. Then Salazar, sliding after Harper, and to his surprise, the exhausted Hathor, tumbling after them, the last of his energy spent
in the desperate race to safety.
“Where is this place?” Harper asked.
“A safe haven, for the moment,” Salazar said.
Nodding, Hathor added, “The moon will outpace my people, even with the jetpack, but we’re running its stores of energy far too low. It will take hours to recharge once we have completed this orbital change.” Looking at the sky, he added, “Should we fall too low, we will slide down towards the surface. We might survive, but the force of the impact could kill millions below us.”
Salazar frowned, then said, “I hadn’t thought of that. Destroying the moon...”
“five hundred miles of atmosphere, Captain,” Hathor said. “As long as the fragments were small, nothing would reach the surface but dust. A beautiful display that would herald the dawning of a new age for the Sphere.” Turning to Harper, he asked, “How did you free yourself? How did you keep your mind clear?”
“I think the AI did it for me,” she replied. “I talked to it, in a strange sort of way. It said it wanted someone to talk to.” Looking at the others, she said, “It’s goals are noble enough. I watched a civilization die, twice. Watched billions of people slaughtered. The AI must have seen that happen hundreds of times. I can’t blame it for wanting to prevent it happening again.”
“Did you find a way to destroy it?” Hathor pressed. “Any weakness we can use?”
“Only one,” she said. “Me. Pavel, I’ve got to go back in there. I’ve got to interface with the machine again.”
“You realize that they’ll be waiting for us this time,” Salazar said. “They won’t let us simply fly over to the moon without a fight.”
“Nevertheless, it’s the only way. The only way.”
Chapter 18
Clarke tugged his restraints tight, looking around at the rest of the crew, assembled in the cockpit. McCormack sat next to him, an uncharacteristic eager smile on her face, with Lombardo struggling over the engineering controls at the rear, Fox providing somewhat inexpert assistance, and Mortimer looking over a collection of datapads arranged into a rudimentary sensor network. He rested his hands on the controls, his eyes closed, feeling his way around the switches and buttons, before reaching down to the launch actuator.
“Course locked in,” McCormack said. “All the way to the target. This is going to be a pretty wild ride, people. You’re going to be pulling a lot more acceleration than you are used to.”
“All of this for five hundred miles,” Mortimer replied, shaking her head.
“Five hundred miles at full atmosphere all the way, with fuel for the return,” Lombardo said. “We’re going to need those lower stages if we’re going to make this work.”
Taking a deep breath, Clarke said, “Hang on, everybody. Five seconds to launch. Four. Three. Two. One. Ignition.”
Silence, at first. Then, the engines fired, the ship shaking all around them as the rocket built to full thrust, straining against the restraining bars that were holding them back. After four seconds, they released, and the rocket raced into the sky, sliding smoothly out of the silo, leaving the base far behind. The force of acceleration grew, and grew, and Clarke struggled with the controls, wrestling the rocket off its planned trajectory, onto a long curve that would take them at least close to Base Camp, ready for the lower stage to detach.
“Course is good,” McCormack said. “Right down the center line, Sub-Lieutenant. First stage will be jettisoned in thirty seconds. Altitude ten miles, velocity one thousand, two hundred miles per hours and increasing.”
“No sign of enemy activity, but we’ve got a long way to go yet,” Mortimer said.
“Structural systems are sound, engines running smoothly, all systems remain green,” Lombardo added. “Assuming I’m reading this equipment right.”
Clarke nodded, wrestling with the overrides, the ship curving dangerously close to the ground. Millions of people would be looking up at the sky, he knew, watching the rocket race through the air. He looked out at the landscape, familiar features appearing as they reached their destination. It would be so simple to override now, to jettison both stages and return to Base Camp.
He couldn’t do it. They still had a job to do.
“First stage jettison in five seconds!” Lombardo reported. The engines died, all of them thrown forward in their restraints as they began to fall. With an ear-shattering crack, the first stage fell away, and then the second stage engines fired, hurling them back against their couches once more, the pressure building again as they raced for altitude. Clarke now allowing the computers to complete their original programming. The rocket raced to the vertical, rolling to the right as it gained altitude, sky filling the screen with the small moon at the heart of the display.
“Second stage burn satisfactory,” Lombardo said.
“Altitude, forty-one miles. Velocity, three thousand. Rising,” McCormack added.
“Sensors clear, nothing to report,” Mortimer reported. “I’m getting our communications beacon now. Signal transmission is clear. It should be sending its message to Alamo by now.”
“Let’s hope so,” McCormack said. “I don’t what to have to rely on a twenty-hour delay.”
“Start signaling Captain Salazar,” Clarke said, his eyes locked on the helm readouts. “Long range, but it might be worth it.”
“You think he’s still alive?” Fox asked.
“I’d bet my next month’s pay that he is,” Lombardo replied.
“Booster One to Salazar or Harper, Booster One to Salazar or Harper, come in, please,” Mortimer said. “Booster One to Salazar or Harper, come in, please.”
“Booster One?” Lombardo asked.
“You want to give this go-buggy a name, feel free, but we’re not going to be riding it long enough for it to matter,” Mortimer replied. “Booster One to Salazar or Harper. Come in, please.”
“Lock it on automatic,” McCormack ordered. “Passing a hundred miles. This beast can really move.” She tapped a control, and said, “We’re well into the second stage. Acceleration easing off a little. Atmosphere slowly starting to thin. Gravity falling.”
Nodding, Clarke said, “Initiating second roll.” The rocket shuddered as it rose higher, a trail of flame a dozen miles long following it through the sky as he worked the controls. They rose through the jet streams again, one then another, both tossing the rocket off course for a brief moment as the on-board systems compensated, keeping the target in the cross-hairs of the trajectory plot. He looked at the single datapad strapped to the console, the sensor feed showing a second moon almost directly in their path, a handful of miles away.
“That was there first time,” Mortimer said. “Different position, though. I recognize it. Someone’s moving it around.” She tapped the screen, and added, “Lots of quick course changes there. I think it’s settling into a close orbit.”
“Right now we’re on a course to overshoot it,” Clarke said. “Second stage running low. Stand by for separation in twenty seconds.” He watched the power feeds, eyes darting from one control to another, struggling to make sense of the unfamiliar readouts. Twenty-four hours was no time at all to prepare for a ride like this, and he knew that if anything went wrong, anything at all, there would be nothing he could do about it.
“Hang on!” Lombardo said, and the engines died once more, the lack of noise strangely unnatural as they coasted through the air. Another loud crack came from the rear, and they tumbled forward, free of the rocket at last, the second stage falling away, parachutes opening to allow it to begin its long transit to the surface.
The engines fired again, the third, final stage doing its work, now fully under Clarke’s control. He began a few quick turns, getting the feel of the ship before running back up to full power, keeping a careful eye on the trajectory plot, the target moon still dead center on the display. Behind him, Lombardo worked, throwing controls to keep the power feed stable, to re
gulate the fuel rushing to the three engines, while McCormack worked on the course plot, nodding in satisfaction as they raced towards their goal.
“Four hundred miles. Three thousand, five hundred miles an hour. Perfect.”
“Fuel is at eighty-five percent,” Lombardo added. “Nominal according to predictions. Should have a nice reserve for the landing and return. All systems still working.”
Mortimer looked at the leftmost datapad, and said, “A signal!” Stabbing the touchscreen, she said, “Booster One to Salazar or Harper. Booster One to Salazar or Harper. Come in, please.”
“Salazar here. Booster One? What the hell is that thing?”
“Long story, sir, but there are five of us on board, and we’ve got a sixty-megaton bomb to play with. Just tell us where you want it put down. Are you on the target moon?”
“That’s a negative,” he replied. “Both of us are on the orbiting moon, with some friends.” He paused, then said, “Have you got enough fuel for a return?”
“That’s affirmative, sir,” she said. “And to pick the two of you up. The bomb needs to be deployed on the surface.” She paused, then said, “Captain, we found the wormhole entrance. Repeat, we’ve found the wormhole entrance. If all went well, Alamo has been informed and will likely be through at any time. We need to clear the way to all her to escape.”
“Did I hear you right?” Salazar asked. “Are you telling me that...”
“The wormhole entrance is inside the Sphere, sir, and by now, Alamo has the coordinates. If we know about it, so will the AI, and we believe that it must be destroyed to allow us to escape.” She glanced at Clarke, and asked, “How long?”
“Fifty seconds to touchdown. Or crashdown. Cross your fingers.”
“Proceed as you intend, Booster One. We’ll be along shortly. I suggest you proceed on the assumption that you will come under attack shortly after touchdown. I’m afraid we’ve stirred up the hornet’s nest a little. McCormack, did I hear you in the background?”
Battlecruiser Alamo_Cries in the Dark Page 13