by Adam Carter
Hawthorn helped where he could and Arowana was left standing there while she watched the experts work. It made what she had just said untrue, for Arowana was not better at everything. There were a lot of things she could not do, a lot of things she could try but would fail. Art, for instance, was the act of creating something from nothing. Arowana could understand the technical nature of anything, but did not possess the flair to make it unique. She could read a cookery book, could comprehend the logic behind paint-by-numbers, could learn how to read music; but art came from the soul, and sometimes she feared she didn’t have one of those.
“There,” Hart said at last. She held up a hunk of metal with three long handles. It looked very much as though she and Hawthorn had just constructed a three-legged stool. In the centre of the flat surface on top was the cylinder, its base poking through a hole. Beneath this hole was an umbrella of metal.
“Great,” Arowana said. “What am I looking at? A table that comes with its own built-in ornament?”
“This cylinder is a propellant for the robot’s rocket pack,” Hart said. We turn it on, the fire blasts down through the hole and the thing goes up. We hold the handles and hope the umbrella is enough to protect the three of us from the downward blast.”
Arowana looked at it with a different eye. It was ingenious, but also incredibly dangerous. “This is going to fry us.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Hart said with a shrug. “Never said it was perfect.”
“It’ll do the job,” Hawthorn said. He picked up the bulky thing and held onto one handle with both hands while Hart took another. Taking a deep breath, Arowana took hold of the final handle.
“At least we’ll all die together,” she said.
Hawthorn and Hart exchanged a look which told Arowana they wished she wouldn’t say things like that.
Each holding a handle, Hart flipped the switch which ignited the cylinder. Arowana shifted her weight nervously, flexing her fingers to get a proper grip. She did not know why she was so afraid but put it down to this not being her plan. She was trusting to Hart and Hawthorn that this would succeed, for Arowana herself had no idea whether it would. Her life was in their hands, which should not have been a problem.
Since it certainly was a problem, she knew it said a lot about herself.
Fire blasted out the base of the cylinder and the whole contraption jerked. The metal umbrella succeeded in containing the fire, but Arowana could see it was already heating up. Her body was awash with heat but it was uncomfortable more than painful, and they were shooting upwards before she could give it any true consideration.
They blasted up the side of the cliff-face at a speed of which the dragon would have been envious. The blue skies were suddenly gone, replaced with the greys and blacks of the storm-ridden surface, and she heard Hart and Hawthorn shouting at her to let go. It took her mind a moment to wonder why, and then Hawthorn’s powerful arms had encircled her and pulled her away from the handle. She hit the ground hard and watched as the makeshift rocket zoomed into the storm, twisting uncontrollably before emitting a slight explosion. The wreck went crashing down to the surface a fair distance away.
The three travellers lay on the ground, disturbed but very much alive.
Hawthorn released Arowana and she wanted to thank him, but she did not like needing anyone else’s help.
“You were supposed to let go,” Hart said.
“Then someone should have told me I was supposed to let go.” She got to her feet. “We have to find Borissa. We’ll start with the pod.”
Taking the lead, Arowana walked in what she believed was the right direction. The others followed in silence, which was fine by her.
Before long, a marker appeared ahead of them and Arowana decided it was worth checking, just in case there was any indication the Glory had made contact. With the receiver having been destroyed in the cabin, there would be no way to respond to any messages, but the marker would at least store anything it had picked up. Opening the casing in the lamppost-like marker, she tapped in a simple series of numbers and watched information flash across the tiny screen.
“Anything from Wraith?” Hawthorn asked.
“No. But at least the marker’s still standing.”
“Those are odd readings.”
“They’re not readings; they’re just random numbers.”
“Nothing’s ever random where numbers are concerned. Beth?” He rattled off the numbers to Hart. They meant nothing to Arowana, although by the time he was done, Hart wore a deep frown.
“What?” Arowana asked. “Why are the two of you getting worried about numbers on a screen?”
“If they were letters,” Hart said, “they’d form words. Numbers do pretty much the same thing to people like me and Gordon.”
Arowana looked at Hawthorn, who shrugged. “I recognised there was a coded series, but I can’t read it. But then, I’m not the genius here.”
Arowana rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “Fine. Beth, what does the message say?”
“It’s not a message. It’s just a collection of readings the marker took. They pick up all sorts of readings from this world. When I designed them, I was trying to understand Valetudo as much as I was trying to send messages off-world.”
“I don’t want your life story, Beth, just tell me what the numbers mean.”
Hart looked less than impressed with Arowana’s rudeness but replied anyway. “They say something metallic and vaguely human-shaped walked by here not long ago.”
“Borissa?”
“Oh, so now you’re interested?”
“Ladies,” Hawthorn cut in. “Come on, I’d like to get off this moon, so could we curb the argument for a while longer? Beth, which way was the robot headed?”
“The cabin.” She folded her arms. “Or, you could say, the opposite direction we were headed.”
“You want a medal?” Arowana asked. “Just tell us which way to walk.”
Holding her head high, Hart walked in a specific direction and led the way.
“I’m beginning to think of shoving her back in her cupboard,” Arowana said.
“Or you could stop bickering with everyone,” Hawthorn suggested and set off after Hart.
Grumbling further, but only to herself now, Arowana trailed behind.
It was not long before they arrived back at the cabin. Arowana had been told the dragon had destroyed it, but this was her first look at the damage. There was little left of the building itself, and what had not been destroyed by the dragon had been battered by corrosive rain and carried off by torrential winds. Any fires had long since been extinguished and there was practically nothing left save piles of debris.
The cabin had been their home for three months and Arowana felt a strange pang of sorrow that it was gone. An irrational pang, but one she could not deny.
Something moved and Arowana’s sentimentality was shelved. The robot Borissa was moving pieces of broken wood and stone, shifting the debris while it sifted through the rubble. It appeared to be searching for something.
“Is that your robot?” Hawthorn whispered as the three of them dropped to a crouch behind a fallen wall.
“Yes,” Arowana replied. “I can see some damage, which I’m assuming came from the fall into the trench. If we could get the dragon’s attention, the two of them could fight it out.”
“I have a flare gun,” Hawthorn said.
“You do?”
“No. Of course I don’t have a flare gun. I have a screwdriver. If we get close enough, I could undo all its panels and watch it fall apart.”
“Undressing a robot might be a weird fantasy of yours, Gordon, but we have to destroy it.”
“We have no weapons,” Hart said. “That means we have to use our brains. I’ll distract it. You two get ready to attack.”
“Distract it how?” Hawthorn asked.
“I’ll go and talk to it.”
“It’ll kill you.”
“It didn’t kill me before. It got the drop on
me and I woke up in Elaine McAlister’s house. For whatever reason, that robot took me there. Stands to reason it won’t kill me this time, either.”
“You heard what McAlister said. She confuses the robot, convinces it not to kill her by throwing logic problems at it.”
“And who better to throw it logic problems than a genius like me?”
Arowana watched their exchange and shook her head. “From wallflower to prom queen. Let her do it, Gordon. I can’t think of anything better to try.”
Hawthorn was still not convinced, and Arowana feared he and Hart were going to have a moment. Then Hart pinched his cheek and said, “Wish me luck.” With that, she leaped over the fallen wall and strode over to the robot.
“Kid has pluck, I’ll give her that,” Arowana said.
“Just be ready to back her up.”
They parted company, moving so they could attack the robot from either side. Hart stopped once she was about twenty paces from the robot, although it still had yet to see her.
“Hi,” she called out.
Borissa turned, dropped what it was searching through, and raised its cannon arm. Then it cursed itself as it remembered the arm had been damaged.
“Are you looking for something?” Hart asked. “I could help.”
“I don’t need your help,” the robot snapped. Then it regained its composure and said, “Conclusion: you are attempting to deceive me.”
“You took me to Elaine. She’s nice.”
“Elaine McAlister is not nice.”
“Who is she? To you, I mean.”
“Trouble.”
“Trouble? She says you’re trying to kill her.”
“If I was trying to kill her, she would be dead. Conclusion?”
“Conclusion? You’re not trying to kill her.”
Borissa almost purred. “You would make a good robot.” It went back to searching through the rubble.
“Thanks. Honestly, what are you looking for? We don’t have much here, but I could tell you if we have whatever it is you’re after.”
“Observation: you have markers. Supposition: markers are to attract the attention of passing spacecraft. Observation: markers alone are inadequate without a receiving and transmitting device. Conclusion: this cabin must contain a receiving and transmitting device.”
“You want to contact someone to get off Valetudo?”
“Affirmative.”
“Sorry, we had a transmitter but the dragon destroyed it.”
Borissa stopped sifting and looked over to Hart. “Dragon?”
“You haven’t noticed the dragon?”
“I noticed it. I thought I was going nuts.”
“Nuts?”
“Nuts and bolts. Malfunctioning?”
“Robot slang?”
Arowana followed the conversation from an area nearby. She could see Hawthorn had holed himself up in a location directly opposite. Borissa was caught in a triangle between the three of them, although it was still a heavily armed robot and they would not stand a chance if they rushed it. So far, however, Hart was doing well. She was, at least, still alive, which was more than Arowana had expected.
“Hart,” Borissa said. “I spared your life because you can be useful. Termination of skilled inhabitants would be counter-constructive.”
“Destructive.”
“That’s what I meant. Subject Hart has skill to build new transmission device. Conclusion: if subject Hart wishes to live, she shall construct new device.”
“Is that why you tortured Iris? Because you wanted to know which of us could build a transmitter?”
“Subject Iris was … flawed. She is of no use.”
“Flawed?” Hart laughed. “I agree with you there.”
Arowana had heard enough. She indicated to Hawthorn that she was going to make her move. Hawthorn shook his head resolutely but Arowana moved anyway. Keeping low, she made sure she was outside of the robot’s field of vision and came at it from behind and to the side. She saw Hawthorn moving similarly, which was not surprising; he did not agree with her strategy, but was not about to let her face the robot alone.
Hart glanced to her and ruined everything.
Borissa turned to see what Hart was looking at and froze. Arowana gave it no time to think and launched herself in a mad charge, screaming at the top of her lungs. Borissa raised an arm, but too late, for Arowana slammed her shoulder into the thing and sent them both tumbling. Arowana rolled and struck what remained of the kitchen stove. Her legs were unsteady as she rose, but she could see Borissa was itself having trouble recovering.
With a cry, Hawthorn leaped for the robot, encircled the thing about the throat with his arm and dragged it to the ground using both his weight and momentum. Borissa flailed its arms as it righted itself, keeping Hawthorn back.
Arowana noted Hart had yet to do much of anything.
Grabbing a broken metal pole and thankful to have a weapon at last, Arowana accessed what she knew of fighting with quarterstaffs and found a whole lot of useless information dumped into her brain concerning mediaeval jousting. Giving the side of her head a firm thump with the heel of her palm, she almost failed to hear Hawthorn shout at her. Her brain cleared in time to see the robot charging her and she instinctively brought up the pole, twirled it with her right hand, caught it in her left and met the robot’s assault head-on. Borissa’s momentum slammed the robot’s chest into the pole and with a shriek of effort, Arowana swung the pole upwards. Borissa did not quite go flying over her head, but did crash into the remains of a wall, sending chunks of rock down upon it.
Pieces of metal littered the ground at Arowana’s feet. Borissa had taken a pounding and as adrenalin surged through Arowana’s veins, she started to believe they could win.
The wreckage shifted and Borissa stumbled out, falling to its knee as it did so. Twisting the pole, Arowana brought her weapon down hard upon Borissa’s head, smacking the robot into the ground and splitting one of its horns.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Arowana said.
In answer, Borissa’s fingers worked quickly at a panel at her side and her rockets ignited. The robot shot forward in a panic, crashing into Arowana. The pole clattered away somewhere unseen and the two combatants once again tumbled, falling from one another.
Lying on her belly, pain coursing through her body, Arowana wished she hadn’t stopped to gloat.
“Iris, get up,” Hart said, sliding down beside her and yanking her arm.
“Get the hell off me,” Arowana said, pulling back her arm. Pain blazed through her at Hart’s jerking and she got up at her own pace. She tasted blood in her mouth and sat breathless against some rocks. Her body was a mass of cuts, her clothes were torn and bloodied, and her head swam with delirium. Hart crouched beside her, still not doing much of anything, while in the distance she could see Hawthorn trading blows with Borissa.
She blinked, having to look at that again, but Hawthorn actually was punching the robot, which was punching him back. It was a surreal moment and Arowana thought she must be dead.
Of course, if she wasn’t, Hawthorn was going to need her help.
“Don’t try to move,” Hart said, her hand upon Arowana’s chest.
Arowana pushed her aside and got up. The pain increased with the motion but she gritted her teeth and told herself she was doing the opposite of what Hart wanted, so it could only be a good thing. She did not stop to think about just when she had become so hateful of Hart, for she probably would not have liked the answer.
She watched as Borissa swung a clumsy fist. Hawthorn ducked and balled both fists together to strike the robot a savage uppercut to its belly. Borissa grunted as it was lifted from the ground, shards of its leg falling away. Hawthorn’s elbow jabbed into the back of the robot’s head and it went down again. It attempted to cut Hawthorn’s legs out from under him, but the fight was out of it.
Arowana sensed something was wrong. Borissa was losing pieces of metal all over the place now. She thought back to
the heap of repair-work Hart had found back in the trench. She thought about the way Borissa’s speech patterns had changed momentarily when it had been speaking with Hart. She thought about how weary the robot looked, how it had sometimes been surprised, or had shown pain.
McAlister had told them to kill it.
Kill the robot.
Robots weren’t alive. They could not be killed.
“Oh no,” Arowana said as everything fell into place. Hart was saying something, probably asking her what she was talking about, but all Arowana could see was Hawthorn. Borissa was on the ground now, lying on its front, while Hawthorn, tired and bleeding, was holding a jagged piece of broken girder above it. There was no emotion to his eyes, save perhaps the relief that it was all finally about to end.
He brought up the jagged spear of metal and with all his might shoved it down, intending to impale their foe.
“Gordon!” Arowana shouted, stumbling towards him in an impotent attempt at stopping him. He saw her fall and arrested his downward plunge. “Gordon, stop,” Arowana said from where she was crawling in pain towards him.
“Iris, you could have just said stop, instead of half killing yourself. What’s the problem, anyway?”
“You did it. Borissa’s unconscious.”
“Unconscious? It’s probably just self-repairing.”
Ignoring the pain, Arowana made it to Borissa’s side. She turned the body over and further chunks of metal fell from it. Taking firm hold of the dented snout, Arowana twisted the metal head and pulled the faceplate forward.
Revealed behind the snout was the bleeding face of an unconscious woman.
“I nearly killed her,” Hawthorn said in shock as he dropped the girder.
Unable to say anything more, unable even to think straight, Arowana collapsed atop the body of Borissa. As the dark patches consumed her, she felt incredibly relieved Hawthorn had not just become a murderer.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bethany Hart was not angry. She knew Arowana hated her for some reason, or at the very least that the woman ran hot and cold, but Hart did not much care what she thought. Hawthorn was understanding, which was the main thing, and if Hawthorn saw something in Arowana then that was all that mattered. Hart had only been trying to save Arowana pain and had been rejected, insulted and physically pushed aside. Hart did not care.