by J. N. Chaney
“We should have spaced him,” Benzel said. “This way, he might come back to haunt us someday.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dash replied. “Believe me, I’m not any happier than you are to have these morals and ideals and the like. But Sturdivan was right. We can’t let ourselves start down the road of killing anyone who gets in our way. We’re liberators, not oppressors. Its life against machines and, well, he was right about that, too—we have to preserve life as much as we can.” He shrugged. “But I know. It sucks to be the good guys.”
“Sucks even more that you’re right,” Wei-Ping said, sighing and holstering her slug-pistol.
“That said, we don’t have room for anyone who can’t value what we’re trying to do here,” Dash said. “When we get back, we need to talk about Sturdivan’s network and what to do about it. Meantime, though, we’ve got a mission to fly. Let’s suit up and go do something useful.”
3
Now that Dash had a chance to study the frozen planet and wasn’t chasing a Harbinger among its prodigious storm clouds, he had to admit it was one of the prettier worlds he’d seen.
It was mostly water, with two middling continents, several island archipelagos, and the peaks of mostly dormant volcanoes. It orbited just on the outer fringe of the habitable zone around its white dwarf star, getting enough heat to avoid turning into a giant snowball. Still, it was damned cold overall, with the radiance of the star pumping enough energy into the atmosphere to drive the fearsome storms that lashed its vast oceans and scant, rocky landmasses. The sprawling cloud over made it gleam a pearlescent white on the side facing its sun, while almost constant pulses of lightning flickered across its night side.
“What did Kai say this place was called?” Benzel asked. “Tunnel, or something like that?”
“Burrow,” Leira said. “That’s not its official name on the charts, just what it was called in the only reference to it he and his monks could find.”
The name had been given to the planet by a small group of water miners, a splinter group, apparently, of a larger resource consortium that had operated nearly a hundred and thirty years ago. A sub-faction had apparently decided to break off from the consortium and pursue their own fortune. Water was still precious, and therefore an extremely valuable commodity for outposts, stations, and even some worlds. What these hardy entrepreneurs hadn’t counted on was that the rise of comet miners, like the Aquarian Collective, would make laboriously hauling water out of planetary gravity wells obsolete. There was no record of what happened to the splinter group after arriving here and staking a water claim to the world, beyond calling it Burrow.
“The satellite that took out the Harbinger probably belonged to those water miners,” Dash said, studying the planet called Burrow on the Archetype’s heads-up. He could also see the Swift hanging in space nearby. The Herald and the Snow Leopard kept station further back. More to the point, the threat indicator remained dark. Hopefully it would remain that way, so they could concentrate on recovering whatever they could from Burrow, and not end up in a fight while doing it.
“Wasn’t it already debris, more or less?” Wei-Ping asked.
“Yeah, it was,” Dash replied. “It had broken up at some point, meaning it was a debris cloud, which is probably why it managed to smack that Harbinger—it was like it got hit by a shotgun—if the pellets were travelling twelve kilometers per second, that is.”
“You know, that raises a point,” Benzel said. “A few years back, we looked at the idea of installing some projectile weapons—rail-guns—on our ships. We couldn’t deal with the power distribution, so we dropped the idea. But you accelerate a hunk of something to a high enough velocity, there’s not much that’s going to be able to stop it.”
“All that kinetic energy has to go somewhere,” Wei-Ping added. “Ain’t no energy shield or armor that can take too many hits from a rail-gun. Maybe with this Unseen tech we could make it work.”
Dash nodded. “Good point. Sentinel, did the Unseen ever develop something like that?”
“Mass drivers, such as rail-guns, were part of the Creators’ arsenal, but only for the defense of static points, such as installations and other defensive works.”
“Okay, this is definitely a conversation we need to have back at the Forge, because I’m always looking for new and exciting ways to make things go boom,” Dash said. “Meantime, how about we do what we came here to do.”
“You got it, boss,” Benzel said. “So how do you want to do this?”
“Well, Sentinel and Tybalt have narrowed the crash site of the Harbinger down to a few square kilometers. So, Leira and I are going to go down there, find it, and see if we can lift the wreckage back into orbit. You guys will cover us up here. Whatever we manage to recover, we take back to the Forge.”
Dash waited for acknowledgements then powered up the drive and took the Archetype toward the planet, Leira following in the Swift.
Dash circled the jagged peak, eyeing the crash site. The Harbinger had impacted the side of the mountain, just below the summit, square into a glacier, burying itself in ice. The crater, a good sixty meters across, was already refilling—first with melt-water from the heat of the impact, which had frozen back over most of the wreckage, and now with new, drifting snow. Inside the Archetype, he felt none of what must be bone chilling cold, of course, but he shivered anyway just looking at the desolate, wind-scoured expanse of ice, snow, and rock.
Leira must have felt it, too. “I kind of wish I’d have worn my thick socks,” she said.
“A toasty scarf might do nicely,” Dash replied.
“Did you say toasty?”
Dash sniffed indignantly. “Sometimes I prefer creature comforts. I’m a man of culture. Did you notice I stopped burping in command meetings?”
“True,” Leira said. “You’re practically a diplomat.”
Dash gave a satisfied nod. “Exactly. Now let’s dig in—so we can dig out.”
Dash eased the Archetype toward the mountainside. The mechs used graviters—gravity polarizers—for low-speed, atmospheric maneuvers, essentially much larger and more efficient forms of the tech that gave ships like the Slipwing or Snow Leopard their artificial gravity. Dash knew that human engineers had long wanted to upgrade them into actual drives, with some success, but nothing like the versions produced by the Unseen. It was just another piece of tech that might no longer seem especially remarkable to Dash but would be of almost unimaginable value to anyone in “normal” space.
He understood Sturdivan’s motivations. He profoundly, fundamentally disagreed with the man’s greed, but he understood it.
Dash settled the Archetype down beside the crater. The Swift landed on the far side of it. Gravity was about two-thirds standard, so Sentinel and Tybalt had to use the graviters to anchor the mechs securely to the mountainside, giving them the leverage to dig. Dash studied the wreckage for a moment, then said, “Okay, Leira, easiest way to do this is to just start scooping out the ice and snow right in front of us. We’ll keep digging all around, then break it free and lift it. Should be easy in this lower gravity.”
“Got it. I think we’ll probably have to take some ice up to orbit with us, though. These mechs are great, but I don’t think fine motor work is one of their strengths.”
Dash looked at the Archetype’s massive hands. Some of the fingers did end in fine manipulators, but they weren’t meant for digging. “Even if we have to pull a block of ice up to orbit, that’s fine. In fact, it’s probably better that way—the ice’ll hold things together.”
They began to dig. Even taking time for care, it went fast, the mechs making short work of the ice, snow, and even rock, pulverizing it, then heaving aside the spoil. In a half hour, the two mechs stood in a shallow pit, a large, raised block of ice rising from the center of it. The wreckage of the Harbinger stood out as dark shapes inside of it, with parts protruding there and there.
“Okay, we break this free then lift it up to orbit,” Dash said.
Dash checked the heads-up. It showed no power emissions at all—not even heat, which meant the wreckage had cooled to the ambient temperature of the ice. Still, he asked Sentinel for confirmation.
“While it is not possible to entirely rule the possibility out, there is no evidence that this Harbinger remains operative to any degree,” the AI replied.
“Not to mention, it took combat damage and was struck by fragments of a satellite before hitting a mountain at terminal velocity. Not exactly a recipe for keeping any kind of tech in working order—even a Harbinger,” Tybalt said. “In the meantime, both the Archetype and Swift remain fully operational.”
“I think Tybalt’s telling us we’re being nervous for no reason,” Leira said.
“I prefer the term cautious,” Dash said. “Anyway, I think we can assume it’s dead, yeah. And it looks like we’ve got a storm coming in, so let’s break it out of this pit and get out of here.”
The clouds thickened, mist and snow driving against the mountain as a storm rolled in from the nearby ocean. The worst of it hit as they finally worked the ice-locked Harbinger free and started lifting it to orbit, the mechs shuddering as they were hammered by the howling wind.
Dash watched as the Snow Leopard translated, followed by the Herald. They were on their way back to the Forge, the ice-encrusted Harbinger slung against the Herald’s hull. Hopefully, enough of it remained intact that they could extract more from it than just its Dark Metal. Benzel would hand that problem over to Custodian, while he and Wei-Ping started trying to run down Sturdivan’s network, and especially whatever contacts he planned to sell Unseen tech to.
Dash and Leira remained orbiting Burrow because Sentinel had found something interesting.
“There’s a signal emanating from a body of water, a lake, on the more northerly of the two continents,” Sentinel had said. “It is weak, but distinct.”
“Remnants of the water miners?” Dash asked.
“Unknown. I am analyzing the signal now.”
As soon as Benzel and Wei-Ping had departed, Sentinel gave an update. “Tybalt and I have concluded our analysis. The signal is transmitting Golden machine language. Notably, it is neither Verity nor Bright in origin. It is being transmitted by a source at the bottom of a frozen lake between two large mountain peaks.”
“So underwater, then.”
“That is correct.”
“Hey, Leira, feel like taking a dip?” Dash asked.
“In freezing cold alien water? Sure, I could use a swim. How deep?”
Tybalt broke in. “Three hundred seventy-one meters to the source, but the lake is considerably deeper. The beacon, or device, is on a narrow ledge. Any contact may dislodge it, sending it into a crevasse that is too narrow for pursuit.”
“Huh. So love taps only, Leira,” Dash said.
“Got it. Following you.”
Together, they dove back into the raging storms.
4
Dash swung the Archetype through a lazy turn, studying the frozen lake. Whatever was down there lay beneath not just almost four hundred meters of water, but also almost five meters of black ice, hard as rock.
“We can probably just dive right through it,” Leira said.
“We can, but I don’t want to risk disturbing things too much,” Dash replied. “Remember, whatever’s down there, it’s sitting on the brink of plunging into oblivion.”
“So what do you want to do?”
Dash deployed and charged up the Archetype’s power-sword. “This is what I want to do.”
He descended until the graviters held the Archetype just a few meters above the lake’s surface. Powerful winds, roaring across the bleak landscape and funneled between the two towering peaks, buffeted the mech. Dash gingerly lowered the crackling sword and touched its point to the surface, which immediately puffed to wind-whipped vapor. He pushed, shoving the sword through the ice, then worked it around, drawing it through a circle thirty meters across. The power-sword had been designed to cut apart armor and alloy structural components, so the old ice, even as hard and dense as it was, simply parted around the massive blade. Dash then cut the circle into quarters and, together with Leira, lifted and threw aside the pieces, leaving a gaping hole into dark water.
“Okay, let’s take a dip,” Dash said, and stepped into the water. He used the graviters to arrest the mech’s drop so it didn’t just sink under its own weight. The Swift followed him in and then down. Visibility immediately dropped to nothing as the shimmering circle of light making the hole was swallowed by darkness. They activated powerful floodlights mounted in the mechs’ hulls, something they had only rare occasion to use; the beams punched through the gloom, throwing their illumination surprisingly far.
“This water clarity is astounding,” Dash remarked.
“Indeed, it is,” Sentinel replied. “This lake apparently sees little current action or other movement of its water, so there are relatively few suspended particulates.”
The Archetype’s status was unchanged, all of its systems functioning normally. Dash had a question anyway. “How’s the Archetype doing? Any problems being submerged?”
“Water is just a denser medium than air or space. The force required to operate the actuators is slightly increased, but that’s all.”
Dash nodded, smiling as he did. Sentinel’s use of contractions in her speech was becoming more common. He assumed she’d just been picking up his own speech mannerisms but couldn’t help wondering if her underlying psychology was changing through exposure to him as well. It wasn’t anything he could ask her, so he resolved to watch.
And listen.
Something darted out of the gloom, turned, and shot back into the darkness. Dash had a vague impression of something big and wormlike, with many teeth. He was glad to have the Archetype’s armor between it and him, but still, it was remarkable that there were living things in this cold, isolated lake at all.
“Life, even here,” he said, his voice filled with wonder.
“Especially here,” Leira said. “No war.”
They continued sinking. Using radar, Sentinel could portray the rugged bottom of the lake rising up to meet them. The signal source seemed to be resting on the edge of a deep, narrow canyon. The submerged feature showed up as a long, jagged scar in the bedrock, the result of some ancient earthquake or other cataclysm.
Dash halted the Archetype about a hundred meters short of their goal. The Swift slowly dropped into view, then stopped just a few meters away.
“Sentinel, any change in the signal from whatever that is below us?”
“None,” the AI replied. “It continues to broadcast a repeating transmission in machine language. Tybalt and I have been attempting to determine its purpose, but we can find no translation key in the available stores of data.”
“Can you block it? Jam it?”
“Yes, but are you sure that would be wise?”
“Well, since you’re asking the question, you obviously aren’t.”
“If this message is simply a recurring status update, and it is suddenly cut off, then the suspicion of any party receiving it may be roused.”
“Good point.” Dash narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. “Could we replace it with something? Something that would generate a similar signal?”
“I could configure one of the Archetype’s missiles to do so, essentially by copying the message in its entirety to the missile’s guidance computer, then instructing it to broadcast it using its telemetry transmitter. The missile’s power supply should allow it to continue doing so for several years.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do that.”
Dash resumed sinking as Sentinel prepared the missile. The Swift followed. He kept his eyes locked on the threat indicator, ready for any hint of what might be a fire control signal, a weapon powering up—anything. B
ut there was nothing, and now the bottom of the lake appeared in their lights, the illumination splashing across flat patches of sediment punctuated by jagged rock.
“I see it,” Leira said. “It looks like a probe, about ten meters to your right.”
Dash nodded as his light hit something metallic. “Yup, I’ve got it.” He could also see the yawning chasm right alongside it, a vast and distant drop into blackness.
“Okay, it looks firmly stuck in that mud,” he went on. “We’re going to need to brace against it for leverage, and the Swift’s lighter than the Archetype. I think this is your show, Leira.”
“Got it. How about you get ready to catch it in case something goes wrong?”
“Will do. Before we do any of this, though—Sentinel, is this potentially ordnance? You know, something that might blow up in our faces?”
“There is no indication of any sort of demolition or other payload. In fact, the probe seems to have at one time carried a missile or other projectile in a launch tube, which is now empty. Whatever ordnance it may have carried seems to have been expended.”
“Alrighty, then,” Dash said, and moved the Archetype to the far side of the abyss.
The chasm was about thirty meters wide, but it narrowed fast as it plunged into the bedrock. Once in place, Leira positioned herself over the probe then gingerly lowered the Swift’s feet to the lake bottom on either side of it. Mud squelched from under them as the mech sank into the muck, raising billowing clouds of sediment that shimmered in their lights. The Swift bent forward and Leira worked the mech’s fingers around the probe.
“Okay, here goes,” she said, and straightened the mech, pulling on the probe.
It didn’t budge.
“Wow, that’s really stuck,” she said, backing off. “Maybe we should do some digging—”
Her words cut off as the ground beneath her disintegrated, fragmenting into a slide of falling rock, and both the probe and the Swift plunged out of view.