“Good work, Kimberly,” Janae enthused, “Although, they are going to meet me soon enough, but by then we will be inside, and probably getting the teleporter set up.”
When the scout was directly over the green light, Ken reported back, “Diego? I am now over the green light, about the same distance as I was from the other parts. Is that where I should be?”
Diego’s voice came back, “Yes, just keep well away from Axis Mundi. Now watch for the hanger bay doors to be opening. I have no visuals from that section of the hull, but when the hanger bay opens, the automated debris sensors will shut down the repulsors, and also the microparticle turrets.”
The scout was not directly across from that central shaft, and was not quite to the place where a large structure connected between the cylinder and the shaft. Everything about the exterior of the Trailblazer was gargantuan. The cylinder was by far the biggest in bulk, but the shaft was extremely long, over double the length of the cylinder, but very skinny in comparison. The connecting structure was roughly the same diameter as the shaft, but short and set perpendicular to the length of the shaft. It all still looked black to the naked eye, except for the small green light. The animated outlines, which Kimberly provided, allowed both Ken and Janae to picture, in a rough outlined form, the shape and scope of the ship. Using the various scanners, Kimberly was also building a detailed composite image of what was on the surface of the hull, but the AI refrained from showing that to prevent sensory overload.
“There it is!” Ken exclaimed.
On the hull, to the side of where the green light was located, a blue light lit up a rectangular shape, and white spot lights pierced out, illuminating the exterior doors of the hanger. They were gray color with yellow warning stripes, in a hashmark arrangement.
Diego’s voice came on, “You are cleared to descend directly into the hanger. Be warned, gravity manipulation will be off as you enter, but when the door shuts behind you, the gravity vectors will come on again. Oh, wait, do you know about gravity manipulation? Just, well, you will be able to fall again, and feel heavy. But it may pull you in an unexpected way. Watch for the directions on the rear viewer.”
The yellow striped doors parted, and the interior of the hanger was well-lit. Inside, pointed upward toward the now open doors, were three spacecraft. Four other stalls were empty. Kimberly used the scout’s thrusters to maneuver into the hanger. Just as the scout passed the thick threshold, the lights in the hanger began to flash with yellow and red alternating colors. Then the exterior doors folded closed.
“We are inside,” Kimberly announced, but it was obvious to both Janae and Ken that that had occurred.
Drums—as tall as the scout—lined the perimeter of the hanger, and Janae switched her mind’s orientation to thinking of the hanger doors as the front, and the sidewall, where the other spacecraft were locked in place, as a floor. Then across from that floor was a ceiling, to her new orientation, and the furthest wall was the back of the hanger. Along that back wall, a large rectangular display lit up with a scrolling message.
“Hanger bay cycling will begin when doors are sealed,” the scroll read. “Land in stall four, secure your shuttle to the docking clamps, and remain inside until further notice.”
“Well, they do speak standard, and the lettering and numbers are fairly routine,” Janae commented. “I wondered if after a hundred years things might be different. Back a hundred years ago, the whole world was different.”
Ken huffed a bit of a laugh, “And yet people remain the same.”
Kimberly set the scout as close to the surface where the shuttles were clamped down as was possible, but the scout lacked any the kind of clamps which would allow a joining. The AI stated, “I believe when gravity manipulation is reinitiated, the scout will be sitting upright, and its rear surface will rest on what will become a floor.”
The rectangular display flashed another message which cut through the red and yellow strobing light. “Seals secured. Gravity manipulation will commence in 30 second.” The numeral began to count down, and a blinking arrow pointed toward the surface they thought would become a floor. “Air refilling the hanger. Please stand by for gravity manipulation to commence.”
The red and yellow flashing lights stopped, and the prior illumination of the hanger returned. Ken and Janae felt gravity pull on them, just as the scrolling message announced it was in place. From their position in the pilot seats, they felt pulled down as they looked upward. Janae glanced over and saw that as compared to the noses and swept-back wings of the other shuttles, the scout was pointing toward the ceiling while the Trailblazer’s spacecraft were on skids and pointing toward the hanger’s exterior doors. Kimberly extended small legs from the scout, and used a tiny adjustment on the thrusters to set the scout gently down next to the docking clamps right over the yellow marks.
“We made it!” Ken whooped. “Now, we just need to set up the teleporter!”
“There might be a complication,” Janae said as she twisted her head to look at what was rolling into the hanger from doors in the same wall as where the scrolling message had been display. The message now read, “Atmosphere established. Security forces in place.”
9
Confiscation
Ken and Janae both unhooked their restraints, and twisted about to look at what was approaching.
“Diego? I am in the hanger. Thank you for helping me,” Ken transmitted.
There was no response from that first person they had encountered.
Looking out, Janae and Ken saw machines rolling right toward the scout. The machines were red colored, with six wheels, three on each side, suspended on complex axle arrangements. The chassis of the machine was a cube about a meter square. Numbers were stenciled in on the machines, while at the top of each machine was a multijointed arm of some kind. More troubling, at the front, was a three-barreled arrangement which looked like a muzzle for weapons. That swiveled a bit, but the barrels pointed directly at the clear permalloy.
“Diego? Diego?” Ken tried.
Still there was no response.
“I count seven of those red machines. Are they robots of some kind?” Janae asked.
Kimberly the AI replied, “That is possible, although the word robot is antiquated. I have compared the design of these machines to my database, and I find nothing exactly like them.”
“More are over there,” Ken said and pointed toward another part of the hanger. “Those are different, not just because they are blue, but they look like a different model, serving a different function. See, that apparatus looks like some kind of tools at the front, rather than weapons, but who knows for sure? Kimberly? What happened to my new friend, Diego?”
“I conjecture the exterior doors of the hanger bay cut off communication. I have been scanning for any other transmissions, but there are so many electromagnetic frequencies being used in here it is uncertain which the Trailblazer uses for communications. I will keep trying to make contact.”
“I know a better way,” Ken said. “I will just go out there.”
Janae took in a deep breath and added, “We have no other choice. They control the hanger, the door, and the colony ship. Kimberly? Are you certain Diego was a human, not a machine voice?”
“Yes, to a 78% degree of confidence.”
Crawling through the space to reach the side hatch was not too much different than what they had done in Dome 17, except everything was now shifted at a right angle.
“Ken, I advise that we wait inside the scout and see what these machines do,” Kimberly stated. “A hasty approach might give the wrong first impression.”
“Diego was our first impression, and that got us safely inside. I am good at first impressions. I assume you confirmed that message on the wall, about an atmosphere being here, right?”
“Yes, Ken. The tests I have run confirm that the air in the hanger is safe. Proper pressures, no excessive radioactivity, or toxins. Temperature is a comfortable twenty-two degrees. Your RAM
suits can easily handle much more unsuitable environments. However, a prudent approach would be to allow these machines to communicate to us their intentions.”
“No, we need to make contact back to Dome 17. Out I go!” Ken activated the hatch on the side of the scout. Climbing out, he slipped a bit, but then righted himself. Janae followed.
Ken held up both hands, palms toward the nearest machine, his fingers spread wide. “Thank you for letting us land. I am Ken, and this is my friend Janae.”
The weapon barrels swiveled a bit to point away from Ken, which he took as a positive sign. Besides that minor movement, there was no apparent response.
“We need your help. We are on an urgent mission to save our people,” Ken stated, but turned his attention from machine to machine, not sure if they were hearing him—or if they were, if they could reply—or if someone who was controlling them, would hear and reply. “We have come here to find a safe place for our people. Who do I speak with?”
“Over there!” Janae pointed as a third kind of machine rolled toward them. This one was white colored, and a bit smaller than the red ones which were close by. It lacked the weapon barrels, and as it approached, the red machines rolled back allowing it direct access to the humans.
Ken turned and saw the white machine approaching. He also noted that some of the blue machines were now next to the scout, and their arms were extended out from the tops of the machine. The ends of the arms were tenderly moving next to parts of the scout. “An examination?” Ken murmured.
Kimberly’s voice came from the open hatch doorway, “Ken and Janae, you need your data sticks and readers to fully assess this situation. You currently have none of your equipment; tools, weapons, or com-links. Both of you have those systems we spoke about, but both are currently turned off.”
Janae tapped under her ear, but also stepped back toward the scout.
“I am Doctor Alpha 7,” a mechanical voice came from the white machine. “You are under medical quarantine. I will need to know the habitat from which you originate.”
“I am Ken, and this is Janae,” Ken began.
“I heard your designations. I will need to know the habitat from which you originate,” Doctor Alpha 7 stated.
“We came from Earth, Dome 17, and need your help,” Janae replied.
“All humans on the Colony Ship Trailblazer originated from Earth. I need to know the habitat in which you were born. I have no designation of ‘Dome 17’ for any of the eight biomes of the Trailblazer,” Doctor Alpha 7 stated. “Local nomenclatures are not universally recognized. What do you call your home habitat?”
Ken tried, “Doctor Alpha 7, we have come from Earth, directly. We were there yesterday, in a place called Dome 17. Who is in charge here? Who do we speak to about getting help? There are about fifteen hundred people in Dome 17 and they are in grave danger.”
Doctor Alpha 7 turned a little on its six wheels. Each wheel moved independently of the others, and it was quite dexterous. Its voice said, “What is the nature of that ‘grave danger’? Is it a medical emergency?”
“Dome 17’s systems are failing, and they have only a bit over a hundred days until the dome fails. When that happens, everyone will die. Radiation and toxins will flood in.”
“Did you originate on Axis Mundi? If so, please tell me immediately,” the machine responded. “Remote assessments of you show no characteristics of those from Axis Mundi. Are there safe pockets on Axis Mundi? Is there an unaffected remnant population on Axis Mundi?”
“Axis Mundi? I do not know what that is,” Janae replied. “We came from Earth.”
The white machine’s arm suddenly shot out and its ends gripped Janae ever so quickly. She felt a tap where the mechanical grippers had closed on her, but no pain.
Janae yanked her arm back, stepped away from the machine, and leaned against the scout ship. “Why did you do that?”
“Pardon me, if that was frightening. Remote assessments I have made of you two do not give me an adequate quantity of information to make a diagnosis. Sampling your garment would allow me to trace the habitat of your origin, by looking at spoors, fibers, trace elements, floral remnants, and residual faunal traces.”
“You should never just grab someone!” Janae yelled.
“Pardon me. I was unsure if you would understand the need for garment sampling, and I am seeking to assist you as much as possible, despite your limited educational and mental developmental levels. I tried to sample your garments, but was unable to do so. I refrained from exerting excessive pressure. Your garment is stronger than I estimated. My preliminary findings show you to be poorly oriented to time, place, or situation. You seem unable to relate your home habitat, nor do you fit the profile of those having come from Axis Mundi. May I have a sample of your skin to assess your genetic materials? That will help me to unravel the mystery of your origins.”
“Why, you insulting box of bolts! I told you we were from Earth,” Janae insisted. “I am telling you the truth.”
“Right. We just came from Earth in this FTL scout ship,” Ken added. “Now, who should we speak to about a project we need to build? It is imperative.”
Doctor Alpha 7 replied, “I assume, by your tone of voice, this project is to save those fifteen hundred people who live in your Dome 17. Is that correct?”
“Yes! Excellent! Who do I speak to? The project is super important and…”
“You have mentioned this before. From the limited information you have provided,” Doctor Alpha 7 stated, “it sounds like a Machine Maintenance issue. There is no location designated as ‘Dome 17’ in my medical records. I attribute that to some tribal custom of re-naming places. Since you cannot tell me the specific habitat, nor even describe the type of biome where you were born, I again ask if I can take a genetic sample to assist you.”
Janae looked over and saw that the blue machines had been using tools on the sides and bottom of the scout. Some of the blue machines were using their multijointed arms, holding up lengths of dark gray chain, while others were applying new spots of permalloy to weld the chains onto the sides of the scout. Those chains led down to the clamping apparatus on the deck.
“Hey! Stop that!” Ken yelled out and he ran over to the nearest blue machine. He tried to grab onto the chain, but the machine just ignored him and continued doing its work. Several chains were already welded into the permalloy and clamped into the docking anchor cleat.
Janae, sensing things were going awry, moved back toward the hatchway of the scout. A red machine rolled in front of her and blocked her way.
“Please do not be afraid,” Doctor Alpha 7 stated. “I cannot allow you to re-enter this vehicle. I have received word from engineering that this vehicle does not conform to official safety standards, and is an unregistered design. Would you like to tell me who manufactured this vehicle for you? Which of the Reproduction and Fabrication facilities were subverted into making an uncertified design? Or perhaps, did you find this vehicle? That would be more consistent with your limited intellectual abilities. Was this a tant design?”
“Tant design? What are you blathering on about? Brink designed this and it was made in Dome 17!”
The white machine responded, “This Dome 17 of yours is a Reproduction and Fabrication facility? That does explain some of this. That would account for the vehicle, the garments, and the voice I heard when I first came here. Are you victims of a rampant artificial intelligence?”
Janae sputtered in anger, “No! I told you, we came from Earth! That scout is the highest and best spacecraft ever designed. It brought us here from Earth! Just listen. Ken explained that we are on a mission…”
“Pardon me for interrupting, but home-made spacecraft are a threat to you, and to the Trailblazer itself. Personal pride in building something has a place, but confabulating this vehicle by stating it is the ‘highest and best spacecraft ever designed’ is just delusional. Home-made vehicles like this one are extremely risky on multiple levels. They cannot be tolerated. Th
e danger to others is just too great.”
“We know what we are doing,” Janae said softly, as she suppressed her anger. “The design was checked and approved.”
“By whom?”
“The scout is disabled,” Kimberly reported through the implanted communicator. “I very strongly advise that you not tell these machines about my presence, lest they seek to disassemble the scout further.”
Janae shifted on her feet, and stepped back. “Our leader designed this scout so we could come here.”
Tracking the Trailblazer (Colony Ship Trailblazer Book 1) Page 14