Provider Prime: Alien Legacy

by John Vassar

  Greaseball turning up had been surprise number one. He was nothing like most of the workers here, who all seemed too intellectual for what amounted to manual labour. The need for any kind of hands-on human involvement in manufacturing had long since gone, but Wade knew that there were those who still wanted to. Some people needed work. They needed to be rewarded for that work. Without it, they became bored and dissatisfied and sooner or later, would add to the ranks of the sceleri. FedStat never said as much, but Victor Wade had worked it out long ago.

  Wade considered himself a good judge of character, too, which is why he distrusted Steinberg. The man was a creep from any angle. He had no qualms about leaving Greaseball in his care, but Wade always felt uneasy whenever a new female worker was processed, especially if they were young or pretty, or both. Wade hadn’t seen the girl accompanying Thorne, but he suspected she would fall into that category. A hundred times over the years, Wade had told himself that attractive girls needed work too and were every bit as capable as the men. And a hundred times over, he never quite believed it.

  He entered the Command Centre, sat down and unwrapped a fresh cigar. The filter took away any cancer risks, but the relentless pull of nicotine was still there. Wade was addicted, knew he was addicted and since it was his only vice and the regulations allowed, he continued to indulge. He’d have to get used to going without when he retired and returned to Earth. Tobacco sticks were banned outright.

  The coms alert sounded. With a steady hand, Wade rested his cigar in the antique ashtray his sister had given him for his forty-first birthday. This would be Rod Thorne and he had to appear in control. He looked up to acknowledge the transmission and got his second surprise. This was no ordinary communication, it was on the channel marked ‘SE’. Sub-ether coms meant no visuals and maximum security.

  ‘Wade here.’

  ‘ETA is twelve minutes and seventeen seconds. I take it the latest recruit has arrived?’ The voice sounded very artificial. Wade didn’t remember SE coms producing this effect, but it had been three years since he’d used this channel. There was no doubting it was Thorne, the code matched his personal transport and the ID was displayed as clear as day. Wade said confidently, ‘Yes, sir. Arrived some time ago. A little misunderstanding regarding his delivery point, but he is now secure. Should be with Mr. Steinberg as we speak.’

  ‘Contact Steinberg and inform him that the new female worker will be left in the transition area by 22.00 hours lunar time. The female is in need of minor medical attention and you will not be required to process her. Instruct Steinberg to collect her himself.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Wade brushed aside his unease, swivelled in the multichair and checked on Thorne’s landing approach. ‘Your sequence is good, green lights on all beams. T-13 landing control will take over in... one minute and forty-one seconds.’

  ‘Acknowledged. Thorne out.’

  Wade relit his cigar and inhaled deeply before he relayed Thorne’s missive to Steinberg. He then sat back and monitored the skimmer’s approach, making sure the landing sequence was flawless. His smoke was three-quarters finished by the time he switched the monitor to the landing bay area, the one part of the complex that was completely underground. He watched the skimmer touch down. It was a beautiful machine - like the ones he saw on the airscreen commercials in the shuttle terminals back home. One day, Victor, one day...

  The hangar roof closed and the bay pressurised. The hatch opened on the far side of the skimmer, and he switched camera point as the steps hit the deck.

  ‘Whoa...’ Wade leaned forward. He had been trying to get a look at Thorne as he disembarked. Instead, he saw a massive autom emerge from the skimmer. It must be a military model, it was huge. In its arms, it carried the limp figure of a girl. She was young, slim and pretty with long, auburn hair. Wade felt an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach, but something else had now appeared and was scuttling behind the towering autom. It looked like an overgrown beetle from the old nature vids he watched as a kid. It was a metre long and steel grey in colour, divided into segments with a tapering rear end and short spikes sticking out front. It did not look friendly.

  Wade blinked in disbelief as both mechanical freaks entered the complex. He turned his attention back to the skimmer, waiting for Rod Thorne to emerge. After a minute or so, its steps withdrew and the hatch closed. Wade’s cigar had long since gone out, but he stubbed the butt into the ashtray as he looked back at the skimmer, gleaming under the lights of the hangar bay. There was no sign of life. For a second he considered scanning the vessel, but thought better of it. Thorne had a reputation for obsessive privacy.

  Victor Wade stared at the airscreen one last time and then strode across to the storage locker where he kept his cigar stash. Under his breath, he whispered, ‘None of your business, Victor, none of your business... Just keep taking the money and get out when the time is right.’

  His common sense was one of Victor Wade’s best qualities.

  Right now, it told him he was smoking too much.

  23

  Lee Mitchell was in his own kind of purgatory; his Skimmer, silent and invisible, resting on an old school playground in Euro-2. The SenANNs were with him, waiting and watching inside his head, having become part of him for the rest of his life. Strangely, he felt at peace for the first time in days. Perhaps peace was the wrong word. More like a sort of blankness. Like an airscreen on standby, waiting for something to display. Waiting to be told what to do. Maybe this was how automs felt as they waited for the next instruction. Poor, soulless bastards…

  Something uninvited came back into his consciousness.

  ‘Lee Mitchell, We have further relevant information. In the last few seconds, Agent Charlis has submitted a report to Commander Devlin at Delere Secos. He also suspects that Roderick Thorne did not die at the Cytec facility. He is continuing his mission based on this assumption.’

  Mitchell was alert enough now. Did the SenANNs have a direct tap into DS ops?

  “Are you monitoring all reports from Delere Secos?”

  ‘No, Lee Mitchell. But, as you know, We have been instructed by the High Council to monitor all events and reports regarding the security investigation initiated by Commander Devlin. This is necessary to provide the High Council with accurate data, in turn enabling them to make the best-informed decisions. Agent Charlis’s current mission is connected to this investigation.’

  “Does this also mean you’re monitoring the movements of individual agents via their neural implants ?”

  ‘If those agents are involved in the investigation, yes.’

  Mitchell asked the next question simply because he could. “Where is Agent Charlis at this moment?”

  ‘Agent Charlis is on board FedStat vehicle SFV-100744. The vehicle is on a lunar trajectory and is three thousand, one hundred and fifty-seven kilometres from FedStat headquarters.’

  “Why is he headed lunar-side?”

  ‘His report cites several reasons. He has expressed a belief that Roderick Thorne may take refuge there. Like ourselves, he believes that Roderick Thorne has abducted Rayna Ash. In addition, an incident involving the suspect Julius Moreno has led Agent Charlis to believe that he has also been abducted and transported to the Moon.’

  “Will you show me Agent Charlis’s latest report?”

  ‘Of course, Lee Mitchell.’

  There was something behind their last response that Mitchell understood to mean, we still trust you. As before, he was guided towards the file. He recognised the DS report format and quickly accessed the data. Charlis was detailed and thorough, as expected. Yorktown’s security monitors had recorded Greaseball’s abduction, close to the time that Mitchell had arrived at Severnside. He was removed from Mulligan’s by a medtec autom using a repulsor disc and did not appear to be very happy. Instead of a hospice, he had been taken to the commercial side of Yorktown Terminus and bundled onto an Autogen-registered cargo shuttle, bound for Cytec lunar assembly plant T-13. Charlis planned to follo
w Moreno’s trail. He suspected that Moreno was complicit in Doyle’s murder and would be executed by Thorne to ensure his silence. By timing his arrival, he hoped to arrest Thorne and Moreno together.

  Interesting, thought Mitchell, but flawed. To expect Roderick Thorne to allow such an easy arrest was optimistic. Maybe Charlis didn’t know of the transference – his report hadn’t mentioned it. But he did agree, based on the evidence, that Thorne and Rayna may well already be lunar-side. With the notable exception of Lomonosov penal colony, FedStat-branded security was thinner there. Latere existed, but in much smaller numbers. Some staffers were present but generally unenthusiastic. If you were posted to the Moon, it said nothing good about your career prospects. The lack of FedStat resources lunar-side made Mitchell curious. “How many other DS agents are engaged on this mission?”

  ‘There are no other agents, Lee Mitchell.’

  Mitchell frowned. Maybe Charlis had been instructed by the High Council to act alone.

  “Can you give me the precise location of Cytec Assembly Plant T-13?”

  ‘We can.’

  Mitchell flinched as a bolt of white light flashed through his skull.

  ‘The co-ordinates are now in your Skimmer’s navigation systems. Forgive Us, Lee Mitchell. We did not wish to cause you discomfort. It was the fastest way to input the data you required.’

  “Through my neural implant? Now I do feel like a comlink. For future reference, that smarts a little...” Mitchell rubbed a weary hand across his face. “In fact, I think I need a break.”

  ‘We have been connected for some time. We are elated that this has been possible. We will leave you now.’

  “Before you do, tell me this. I intend to follow Charlis to the Moon – under cam circuits and at a safe distance. Two questions. What is Charlis’s ETA lunar-side and will I still be able to communicate with you at that distance?”

  ‘Agent Charlis will achieve lunar orbit in three hours, twenty seven minutes and six seconds. At all times, We will be able to communicate with you. Proximity is not necessary.’

  “Good. I will need your assistance and information.”

  ‘We will continue to provide it, Lee Mitchell.’

  Mitchell’s legs all but gave way as the SenANNs departed. The process of separation was very different now that the neural link was no longer involved. They hadn’t just left his thoughts, it was as though they had left his soul. He sat on the deck with his head in his hands for several minutes.

  ‘Jesus,’ he mumbled through his fingers. ‘Tell me it isn’t going to be like this every time...’

  24

  Thorne stood alone in Area 1, Section 1 in Cytec T-1. The Sentinel’s internal systems told him he had been standing for just over twenty-two minutes, with zero articulator movement during that time. It was a strange sensation, he thought, to stand indefinitely without fatigue.

  Thorne surveyed the room and the stacked, ordered containers. The components had been shipped here under the guise of autom parts destined for the real assembly complex, Cytec T-13, sixty kilometres distant. After years in waiting, the coms array that Thorne had developed in parallel with FedStat’s sub-ether coms system was ready to be commissioned. The Autogen-branded SE system used a fraction of the technology that he had created for his own coms array - a system so advanced that it would allow almost instant communication with Vis’haan.

  Vis’haan. Thorne not spoken to his own people in over forty Earth years. Less than twenty-three of his own planet’s measurement of annular orbits, but still a considerable period of time. Such was the lot of the Provider Prime. Now, Ja’faal of Vis’haan stood in readiness to fulfil his destiny. He stood on the brink of bringing a world to its knees.

  He felt powerful. He felt supreme.

  Three decades of dedication were coalescing. Hybrid autom production was complete, bar the processing of Mitchell’s female. The subterranean assembly plant at T-1 would soon be re-commissioned to produce the Mobile Destruct Units. With sub-miniature cam circuitry and SE-enhanced laser targeting, they were far in advance of any weaponry available to FedStat. The MDUs would provide the physical firepower, but the Hybrids would be the ones to subdue the human race. Their like had never been seen in the cosmos.

  They would be certain to succeed.

  Thorne flinched subconsciously and the momentum of the Sentinel’s left arm threw his body off balance. Like a youngling after its first faltering steps, the huge machine toppled sideways to the floor.

  Impossible.

  The Sentinel righted itself. Thorne ran a full systems diagnostic, but there was no fault with the machine’s operational status. The control circuitry and servos that gave the autom near-perfect balance were unimpaired, but something had overridden them. Thorne made rapid adjustments in the core module to isolate the basic functions of the Sentinel from higher level interference. His own interference. His intellect was trying to take command of system elements that it had no need to. Thorne had been expecting this. It wanted to grow. It wanted to break free of the confines of the machine.

  Expected or not, Thorne had no time for this distractive behaviour. He had allotted two hours to commission the communications array and had just wasted twenty minutes in a semi-conscious dream state that served no purpose whatsoever. Thorne brushed aside his irritation and activated the Sentinel’s tactile manipulators. Three multi-jointed stilettos emerged from the ends of each pincer digit, giving nine dextrous sub-fingers to each hand. He set to the task at a speed no human, or Vis’haani for that matter, could have achieved. The precision of the Sentinel’s work would have astounded anyone watching.

  Concentrating on the array, Thorne was unaware of something that had remained buried since his arrival on Earth creeping back into his psyche. Like the physical degeneration that had gone unnoticed for so long, this too was a cancer of sorts. In reality, it was a feeling that had never left him from all those years ago on Vis’haan.

  From the moment in the desert when he realised that everything was about to change.

  The youngling Ja’faal was still afraid.

  Afraid that he would never see home again.

  25

  Mitchell was in better spirits as he studied the location of Cytec T-13 and picked out a landing site. He had achieved lunar orbit just an hour and ten minutes after Charlis. Locating the DS agent’s exact whereabouts would be easy. All he had to do was ask the SenANNs…

  T-13 itself was tucked away in the dark basin of Tsiolkovsky crater on the far side of the Moon. Like many lunar craters created centuries ago, Tsiolkovsky had a small, central range of mountains thrown up by the original meteor impact. It jutted up like an island in a sea of black, with Cytec’s autom assembly plant nestled at its southern edge. Still under the cam cloak, he planned to set down a hundred metres south of T-13 and enter the facility on foot. The cam-suit with an ExTerra air pack would provide all the protection and stealth he needed.

  Mitchell’s active service had never taken him lunar-side, but he did once visit the Moon as a kid. Dad had booked them on a sightseeing excursion to the Apollo 11 museum, although in his enthusiasm he’d overlooked a crucial detail – he hadn’t consulted his wife first. Naturally, Tamara Mitchell refused to join them. They went anyway. His excitement had lasted for weeks, his parents’ bickering over the cost of the wasted ticket going almost unnoticed. Tranquillity Base was now a domed museum, with Eagle taking centre stage. It sat on the original landing site, albeit with a reproduction LEM fixed onto the original Lander base. It looked more like a restroom on legs than a soaring bird of prey, but to a small boy called Lee it spelt adventure with a capital ‘A’.

  The Skimmer crossed the lunar terminator and Mitchell found himself staring down at another basaltic impact crater - Lomonosov, home to the notorious penal colony. The complex wasn’t visible at this mag level, but he knew where it was. Every kid who’d ever been threatened with Lomonosov if they didn’t behave themselves knew exactly where it was. He pointed the Skimmer sou
th-east and began the gentle descent towards Tsiolkovsky. His first priority was to locate Rayna and he would be relying on the SenANNs to assist. They would be using good old-fashioned detective legwork to track her down, but he remained confident. His optimism did not last long.

  The crash harness clamped itself around him as the Skimmer invoked red mission status and the primary shields snapped on. Tactical showed a small explosion three kilometres ahead and just below his position. The energy surge was low yield but it produced a dense and unusually regular debris field. Mitchell requested analysis of the detonation, then realised its true purpose seconds too late. The shields were now registering a large number of tiny impacts.

  Impacts that were relaying his exact position to someone.

  The second explosion was precise and much larger. A high-power energy bolt struck the Skimmer amidships, the anti-inertia systems straining as the ship keeled over. Mitchell cursed under his breath as the damage report came through.

  ‘Primary Shields compromised. Starboard Fuel cell control circuits are-‘

  A third volley smashed into the exposed left flank of the ship. An instant before the neural link went offline, the attacking weapon’s energy signature registered as identical to his own. Mitchell threw the Skimmer into evasive manoeuvres – the first thing he should have done after the range-finding shot that he had failed to recognise. Cadet-level stuff that he had simply forgotten. Maybe Charlis had been right after all. And maybe Charlis was out there right now. With those energy readings, his assailant had to be in a FedStat vessel. Not that it mattered. Mitchell’s own skimmer was now radiating debris and the trail would be visible to the simplest scan.