The Colony Ship Vanguard: The entire eight book series in one bundle

by John Thornton

  “That was truly odd behavior for an automacube,” Brinley stated.

  “Not as dangerous as the red ones trying to kill us, but annoying anyway,” Paul said.

  The yellow machine opened the door and rolled out into the area beyond the door. The three people followed.

  It was a circular room with three doors. The walls were deep blue colored and did not reflect light. Set into one part of the wall was an enormous multi-bladed fan protected by a permalloy grille of mesh. The blades of the fan were turning, even though it was nearly silent as it operated. Air was forcefully being blown out of the room by the fan and the movement of air could be felt immediately. The air was coming mostly out of the ceiling where ventilation ducts were covered by their own grillwork. The air then was sucked into the fan and away.

  “So where did they go?” Gretchen asked.

  “No tracks. Do dust in here, with that fan,” Brinley pointed her thumb. “Those automacubes could have gone out any of those doors.”

  “Squash wants to go through that one,” Gretchen pointed.

  Paul rushed over to it. He looked carefully at the door, before the automacube reached it. “I do too! Look what the door says.”

  On the door, in white stenciled lettering was ‘Causeway 147’ and though the ‘u’ and ‘a’ were just about faded away, the label was easily read.

  “That was the way we came in!” Gretchen cried in triumph.

  “Was that were the toilet area was?” Paul asked. “Were we encountered the first Roe?”

  The automacube came near to the door and the door slid on its own out of the way.

  “Brinley? Should we follow or stop to look for those blue automacube and my fusion pack?” Gretchen asked.

  “The way they were moving, I doubt we could find them, no matter how long we searched. They wanted to get away. I fear the fusion pack is lost,” Brinley said. “But if we are close to your scout ship, will it matter so much?”

  “It will matter if Larissa has another one of our tools,” Paul said. “She sent automacubes after us before.”

  “Paulie, if those had been security automacubes back there; we would have been killed when we entered that room. It was almost like the blues were hiding, or something,” Brinley replied.

  “Are they leading us into a trap” Paul somberly added. “We follow them to where the red ones are waiting to kill us? Or maybe they marked us with radiation, again? Will we be tracked now?”

  “I can check that tagging possibility easily enough,” Brinley said. “Let us continue to follow Squash and while we walk I will scan us all.” She dug out her tools and started that process.

  Causeway 147 was illuminated by lighting from the ceiling. The door they came out was on the very end of the corridor. The air in the corridor was moving toward the room with the fan, and strands of broken wire, torn insulation, and other wreckage was fluttering in the draft. The corridor was one of the worst condition places they had seen. If it was in good repair it was large enough to stand in, about three meters high, but now it had so many wires, and items hanging down in disarray that Gretchen had to duck many times while they walked. The floor was some kind of an expanded metal under which could be seen more conduits, channels and ducts. Some places in the floor were ripped open, either downward or upward. The automacube Squash rolled along, sometimes bumping a wheel over a chunk of debris on the deck.

  “This looks somewhat like where we entered, but I did not remember so much junk,” Gretchen said.

  “Some of these pipes have been deliberately severed by vibration saws,” Brinley pointed. “Someone was out to wreck this place and sought to do it effectively. In some places the floor decking was ripped open with dark holes and unknown spaces beneath. Squash maneuvered around those, but it made walking difficult.

  “I can detect no radiation, or any other things which might be used to track us,” Brinley said as she finished her inspection of the three of them. “So the blues did not do that to us in the dark.”

  “So we still do not know what they were doing,” Gretchen said as she ducked under a fallen section of ductwork.

  A hand reached up from the broken decking and grabbed Gretchen and yanked her down to the deck. She fell to one knee with the grabbed leg disappearing down the hole.

  “The exothermically disqualifying rainwater!” a voice yelled from under the deck as it wrenched Gretchen’s leg around.

  “Yaoooooo!” There was a sickening popping sound and Gretchen screamed in agony. She beat down at the permalloy decking, but could not pull herself back up.

  The yellow automacube continued onward, but Brinley drew her handgun and tried to line up a shot at the Roe that was under the decking.

  “Let go of her!” Paul raged at the Roe and stomped on the expanded metal floor. He could see the glowing orange eyes under the metal, but could not see much else.

  Gretchen pulled the pistol out and tried to aim it downward, but the Roe twisted and yanked on her leg. Gretchen cried out again in anguish as her body shook to the side with the Roe’s pulling.

  Brinley lay down prone on the deck and tried again to get a shot in at the Roe, but the angle it had Gretchen’s leg, and the small space of the broken decking did not allow for it.

  “Urgeooo! It is biting my leg!” Gretchen wailed. She dropped the pistol in her agony.

  Paul knelt and slipped off his backpack. He quickly connected a molecular torch to his fusion pack and fired up the cutting flame to maximum. He set the flame against the expanded metal and began melting the permalloy. The flame was shooting down into the space under the decking cutting into pipes, ducts, and anything else underneath. The warmth of the cutting radiated out and the light from the torch flame flickered through the expanded metal.

  “The exothermically disqualifying rainwater!” The Roe yelled in a high pitched squealing.

  “You will let her go!” Paul said in stern determination as the line of cut and dripping permalloy got closer to where the orange eyes of the Roe could be seen. Paul wonder how it had hold of Gretchen’s leg from that angle, but continued to cut.

  Blam, blam.

  Brinley fired down into the space through the gaps in the expanded metal. “I cannot hit it.”

  Gretchen screamed in pain again. She pushed down on the deck with all her might, and moved a bit upward, but then was slammed down again.

  Paul cut sideways with the torch and molten drippings from the permalloy fell into the Roe and around Gretchen’s leg. “Let go of her leg!” Paul commanded.

  “The exothermically disqualifying rainwater!” The Roe howled as some of the burning metal fell onto it.

  Paul stood and stomped down on the section of floor he had cut. It fell away with a hissing clang. Brinley leaped over and fired her handgun down into the now exposed area.

  Blam, blam, blam.

  “The exothermically disqualifying rainwater!” The Roe said weakly as it was struck by only one of Brinley’s shots.

  Paul pushed Brinley to the side and dropped himself down into the space. His ribs caught on a bit of the rough metal edge, and sliced into his shirt. But he dropped through.

  Gretchen’s leg was horribly mangled and blood was flowing freely from the knee which was twisted in the wrong way. The light filtering down through the expanded metal made the area very dim. The Roe was still trying to yank on the leg, which now looked like it was coming out of the ceiling. Even though the Roe’s left arm was hanging uselessly due to Brinley shot, it still pulled hard with its right arm. There were smoking wounds across the Roe’s back where the drops of burning metal had stuck it.

  Paul pulled his handgun and set it against the side of the Roe head and fired.

  Blam.

  The explosion of skull, tissues, and blood splattered all over the area behind the Row, but generally missed Gretchen.

  “Brinley get her pulled out of here!”

  The leg hanging from the ceiling disappeared as Brinley pulled Gretchen upward. Paul then looked
down and saw the dress that the Roe had been wearing. The body was not large, about one and a half meters. It had been a female, and probably only at most in early adulthood. The body was twitching in death. Paul looked at the shoes, and saw that they were some kind of athletic performance shoes.

  Paul stepped quickly on pipes, and wiring and wiggled his way through the hole which had been cut in the decking. It was harder to get back through and out than it had been to fall in. “How bad is Gretchen?”

  “Paulie, she has lost a lot of blood,” Brinley said as she busily placed compression bandages on the injuries. “Her leg is really messed up.” Brinley’s facial expressions said even more how seriously Gretchen was injured.

  “Messed up… That is for sure,” Gretchen said weakly. “That thing sure can pull.”

  “Not anymore,” Paul said. “We must get out of here. The tagalong animals will be coming.”

  “Paulie is right,” Brinley said. “I will just finish bandaging your leg and split it and we will be off.”

  “Paul… run and stop… that automacube….” Gretchen said. “We must keep… searching for the scout ship.”

  Paul was ready to refuse, but Brinley caught his eye. “Go, I am here. Stop Squash, we need it!” Brinley said. “Nothing will get to us.”

  Paul sprinted after the automacube and down Causeway 147. He had to step over and around jumbles of broken items, mostly things that had fallen from the ceiling or been pushed up from the floor, but there were also things he had no idea how they had gotten there: a single boot, the dried out remains of some plant which had been in a pot, a small bundle of cloth, which at first he thought was a body, but turned out to be more of a tapestry of some kind, and other assorted junk.

  He found the yellow machine as it was pushing open a steel door which was badly rusted, and stuck. The yellow machine had its manipulation appendage extended and was pressing forward to force open the door. Its wheels were slowly churning and putting increasing pressure on the door.

  Paul pressed the ‘Halt’ button and the machine stopped and stood completely still. He then raced back down to where Gretchen had gotten hurt. He thought he heard something behind him, but he was not certain, and he was too worried about Gretchen to look back.

  Brinley had Gretchen up and was supporting her on the side of her mangled leg. Gretchen’s arm was across Brinley’s shoulders and both backpacks were on Brinley’s back. Thus they progressed with her uninjured leg moving in short hops. So the two of them were limping onward. Gretchen’s leg was fairly restrained in the makeshift split Brinley had rigged up, but the pressure dressings were showing blood that was seeping out.

  Brinley put her finger to her lips so Paul would not call out. She nodded her head backward. Paul could hear that the tagalongs had found the body of the Roe and were industriously devouring it.

  He slipped his shoulders under Gretchen’s other arm and aided in carrying her. He then noticed that Gretchen was holding the pistol in her hand, ready should something attack.

  A few meters away, they found a door in the sidewall. There was a color pad next to it which was only dimly lit up. Brinley tried entering an override sequence, but the color pad only made a buzz of negative function. Paul leaned Gretchen against the wall, removed his own backpack, and jacked the fusion pack into the access port. The color pad lit up brightly and Brinley tried the access code again.

  The door opened. A strong, sour-sweet scent offended their noses as they entered. The fusion pack had energized the ceiling lighting, even though it was now unjacked from the wall. There was also a smell of burned dust as those lighting fixtures fried off the remains that collected on them. Sundered casks and broken bottles lined the walls of the room. The shards of glass were somewhat dusty, but many were also covered in a dried out mix of what had been in the bottles and the dust that accumulated. Several packing crates made from permalloy were stacked to the side. One small barrel sat upright and unbroken amid the rubble.

  Brinley looked over the room. “This is defendable, especially with the bad stench in here. Only one door here. That smell may keep the tagalongs from noticing where we are, but we left a blood trail in the corridor.”

  “Sorry about… bleeding all over,” Gretchen said weakly. “Lay me down, please.”

  Brinley and Paul rearranged the crates and the other items into a short wall around them. Paul pried off a length of pipe and handed it to Brinley. “The Roe are not the only ones who can use a club. It might be easier to smash the tagalongs than to shoot them.”

  “Especially with your aim, Paulie,” Brinley gave him a smile, and then looked back at Gretchen. “I will go to find that scout of yours and see if it has a medical kit. You both did that for me, you can stay here and keep her safe.”

  “The way I shoot?” Paul said. “No, I will go on. I know the scout ship systems, and right where to get the backup supplies. I also helped cut that passage, and climbed down from that scout. So I know more of the layout than you. I will go.”

  “That is a real surprise; Paulie knows part of the Vanguard better than me?” Brinley had wetness in her eyes as she looked at Paul.

  Paul gave Brinley a quick hug and then turned to Gretchen. He squatted down and kissed her. “I will find Tiffany and get supplies back to help you. I promise you.”

  “I trust… you… Paul. See you when… you get back. I still have…this.” Gretchen held up the pistol. “Nothing will get close… to either of us.”

  “I am so glad we are immune from the infection. I wish we were immune from trauma. Doctor Carilyn said our healing would be good, but that leg will take a while without intervention.” Paul stood and turned to go.

  Brinley looked dubiously at Gretchen’s leg, then back to Paul. “Paulie, if you see an ESRC, fire suppression gel might cover the blood trail and hide us more, but do not linger. There may be more Roe, our fight with that last one was noisy.”

  “When I get back I will pound three times on the door, then pause, and then two more pounds. That will be our sequence,” Paul said. He looked at the outside of the door and the brightly glowing color control pad.

  “Got it. Your fusion pack energized this area, and I hope it lasts. Now hurry!” Brinley said. She powered the door shut after Paul left and took up a guard position over Gretchen.

  19 Paul on a solo mission

  Paul adjusted the additional things he had placed in his backpack and on his belt. He was not as laden with tools as Brinley usually was, but he had more than was typical. The door to where Gretchen and Brinley were hiding slid shut. The control pad with its nice different sections, each a unique color, radiated brightly in the dim causeway. He turned and headed back toward where the automacube Squash was located.

  “Great, now I have a solo mission. I never thought I would be on one of those,” Paul muttered to himself. “I am no Michael.”

  He recalled the solo missions back in Dome 17, and the look on Michael’s face when he made his presentation. There was something haunting about that look.

  “Michael’s solo could not have been as bad as when I went to Dome 3 with Jamie and Karen,” Paul told himself. “Besides, Michael is probably basking in some paradise right now, while I need to save Gretchen. This will not be so bad.”

  Paul pushed his way ahead and past the rubble and ruins in Causeway 147. The lighting was poor, but he hesitated to turn on the fusion pack light. He had been this way before, and the yellow automacube should be just ahead. “I know Roe are drawn by noise, but do they come to light too?”

  Paul reached the rusty door where he had left the automacube, and found the door was wrenched all the way open, and the automacube was shoved to the side and tipped up on its drive wheels.

  “What happened to you, Squash?” Paul said as he looked around. He did not see anything else moving in the causeway, but with the myriad of items strewn around and the closed doors along the sidewalls, it was hard to be sure what was where.

  Paul muscled the automacube back into its
upright position and assessed it for other damage. He was no expert on automacube engineering, like Brinley, but he saw nothing obviously wrong.

  “Maybe a Roe shoved you out of its way?” Paul said. He made sure the handgun he carried was readily assessable and then pressed ‘Proceed’ on the display of the yellow machine.

  It whirled its manipulation appendage around and then spun on its wheels and headed down the causeway.

  “I sure hope this is not far,” Paul said. He then touched the communication link in his ear and said, “Tiffany, I could really use your help now. Are you there?”

  There was no response.

  “Perfect. I am alone with a machine named Squash, in a world of monsters. Who would believe it?”