“Do you have enough food?” Paul asked.
“Yes, I still have some supplies. Now we need to go get Tiffany,” Gretchen answered.
“At least it is not far this time, and Tiffany is talking to us,” Paul commented as he activated the pressure door and stepped into the small cubicle between the two doors. He pulled the lever and opened the steel door.
“Packetized into oxygen levels!” cried a loud voice as Paul was grabbed by strong fingered hands.
Bright orange eyes glared down at Paul as he smacked back at the Roe which had grabbed him. It had once been a female, slight of build, with dark skin and long dark hair. The hair was now matted into a thick clump behind its head. The foul breath spewed over Paul’s face.
“Packetized into oxygen levels!” it screamed at Paul as it sought to bite him.
Paul elbowed the Roe in the abdomen as hard as he could and then dodged. He managed to slip around it in the hallway. It lunged after him again screaming out, “Packetized into oxygen levels!”
It was nearly naked, with only filthy rags hanging in tatters on its body. The scars which covered its arms and legs testified to its many previous fights.
Paul sidled away, and attempted to drawn his handgun.
Piff.
The side of the Roe’s head exploded from behind, spraying fragments of bone, flesh, brain tissue, and blood all around the hallway. Its body collapsed in a heap.
Gretchen put the pistol back in the holster.
“Tiffany? We had to extinguish a Roe. There will probably be tagalongs soon. We are coming out.” Gretchen reached a hand over to Paul. “We must move quickly.”
“Right. And thanks!” Paul said and gave her a quick hug. Some of the splatter from the Roe was on his clothing, and it got on Gretchen’s as well. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Some of the blood is yours, Paul. That Roe dug fingernails into your arm,” Gretchen nodded at his injury.
The sleeve had been ripped, and indeed, Paul was bleeding. “I will be okay,” Paul replied. “We can use the medical kit when we get away from here.”
“Yes, I can hear the tagalongs already converging,” Gretchen observed.
On both sides of the hallway there was the sound of rustling bodies. Rats of various sizes; brown, black, and gray colored, all with bright glowing orange eyes, were scampering toward the dead Roe.
“I hate these things!” Paul said as he kicked at one tagalong rat that was in front of him.
“They will feed first, so we have time to escape, so run!” Gretchen said.
They ran toward the bulkhead door they had used to exit the habitat. Paul’s arm was dripping blood and it was quite painful.
“I will get the door opened, you tend that wound,” Gretchen ordered. “The blood trail will attract those tagalongs.” She whipped out the fusion pack, connected in the molecular torch and began cutting the welds.
Paul connected the medical kit to his arm. It read out an assessment and expelled a white sticky gel. He slathered that over the four puncture wounds on his arm. They closed up quickly, and the pain receded almost immediately.
“Gretchen? The medical kit warns it is low on ‘transmutation materials’ so we will need to reload it,” Paul stated.
“I probably should do that for my pistol as well. It showed about thirty percent left in the chamber,” Gretchen replied. She had just severed the last weld. She then used the molecular torch to cut a section of the framework away. Taking the rectangle she shaved it down a bit more. Then she put the torch away and connected in the fusion pack to the access port. The cut off door frame section she then loaded into the back chamber of the pistol. She recalled Willie’s instruction about the pistol, “Just insert whatever material is at hand. The mechanism compresses that into tiny nuggets, perfectly round, which are projected at very high velocity.” She could see Willie in her mind’s eye with his arm in a sling, his wandering misaligned eyes, and wheezy voice. He called her ‘sweat heart’ which she vividly recalled.
“I sure hope Willie and the others from Dome 17 are alive and well,” Paul said as if reading her thoughts.
“What?” Gretchen was startled. “Yes, I do too. I was just thinking about him. “When he gave us the pistols, I thought we would never need them. I am so thankful we have them.”
“Only one of them,” Paul said in a dejected manner.
“Losing the other one was not your fault. We will need something organic as well as inorganic, for the medical kit to use for transmutation. Dr. Carilyn said our food rations would even work,” Gretchen said, again recalling one of the people from Dome 17.
“Gretchen? Do you think they are safe and well?” Paul asked.
She ignored the question, as she too wondered about the fate of the people from Dome 17. “The door is ready to open. My pistol is refilled. Are you ready?”
“If you are speaking to me,” Tiffany replied through the communication links, “I am patiently waiting here for you on the other side of this bulkhead door. When is a door, not a door?”
“What? Is something wrong with the door? Are we trapped in here?” Paul said with a touch of panic in his voice.
“Forgive me Paul,” Tiffany replied. “I was using humor, again in an attempt to lighten your stress. The question is irrelevant. The door should function properly, and on this side there are no immediately threats.”
“Opening it now,” Gretchen said. She punched in the color sequence on the control panel. The bulkhead door slid about half way open and then froze in place. There was a negative function buzzing sound.
“Go through,” Gretchen commanded. Paul stepped through.
Gretchen unjacked the fusion pack, and then stepped through herself. The orange automacube which carried the AI Tiffany was sitting there on its six wheels. She plugged in the cable to the access port and entered the override command to shut the door.
The door remained frozen in a half open state.
The orange automacube rolled over and Tiffany’s artificial voice came from the machine and not from the communication links. The orange automacube’s six wheels were covered in mud, and there was muck, debris, and some damage on the sides of the machine. Paul’s mind was struck by the difference in color between the orange of the automacube, and the glowing orange eyes of the Roe.
“I am so pleased you made it here,” Tiffany stated.
“We did, but Brinley did not,” Paul glanced across the habitat toward where the lake was located.
“Paul, we need to shut this bulkhead door. Do you recall how Brinley opened the space behind the color pad to use the hand-crank wheel?” Gretchen asked.
“It was really dark, and people were chasing us,” Paul replied. “No, of course I do not remember how she did that. Now we will never know.”
The automacube rolled over to where Gretchen was assessing the color pad.
“I do not think this one opens,” Gretchen said, “Brinley would know.”
“I am sorry I cannot assist in this matter,” Tiffany stated. “However, may we discuss Brinley?”
“This door will just remain partially open,” Gretchen said ignoring the issue of Brinley. “Unless, Tiffany do you have some way to close it down?”
“An engineering automacube could close this door. Beyond that, I have no suggestions. May we speak about Brinley?” Tiffany asked.
“We need to move quickly and get away from here. The tagalongs will find this bulkhead door open and come in. Those strange spheres may come back, or more of those hippo beasts may return.”
“Gretchen please slice off a part of the steel from that broken door so I can refill the medical kit. I will then need some organic matter,” Paul said.
Gretchen shaved off a section of metal and tossed it to Paul.
Tiffany had the manipulation arm on the automacube extend out a section of dead hippo, “This will serve as the organic component for the medical kit. We do need to discuss Brinley.”
“What for? I have failed her, like I fail everyo
ne,” Paul said as he fitted the organic and the inorganic parts into the medical kit’s transmutation compartment.
“Brinley may not be dead,” Tiffany reported.
“What?” Gretchen asked in astonishment.
“I will explain as we move,” Tiffany said and the automacube rolled in the opposite direction from the lake. “Your concern about the infected animals emerging from the corridors is a valid one. The other concerns about the unsafe environment here are also important. So I suggest we depart and move in this direction and I will inform you of my findings.”
Gretchen gathered up her gear and followed, but Paul was more hesitant. He did stumble along after them, but complained.
“I saw her dragged away by one of those things! Have you seen the bodies of those hunters? Should I scoop up some chunks of their human flesh too? From which pile?” Paul said sarcastically. “Do I have to go back there to prove that to you?”
“I agree, Paul is correct,” Gretchen said. “Brinley was indeed dragged away and under the waters of that lake.”
“Yes, I observed the scene of the skirmish. However, the communication link with Brinley is still partially functional,” Tiffany stated.
“So connect us to her,” Gretchen said eagerly.
Paul answered. “Tiffany said, ‘partially’ so there is something wrong. There always is trouble. Always some problem. Always something to lead to failure yet again. Just like with Zoya, or those children. Or our whole mission here. It always ends in failure. It is always something. Let me guess, you cannot speak to Brinley, right?”
“That is correct. I am unable to make her hear me or to hear her,” Tiffany stated. “The receiving unit on her end is not operating. However, I am getting sporadic visual images from her link, and I am able to track its location. It is moving.”
“So one of those sphere things has her gear and is carrying it around. So what?” Paul said. “Brinley could not have survived under that water with those things. They looked just like what grabbed the children and dragged them under the water too.”
“Paul, I did consider the possibility that one of the entities was just carrying the communication link. However, let me show you several of the images which have been transmitted.”
“Please show us,” Gretchen said.
“I do not want to see some horrible images or visual recording,” Paul stated bluntly. His mind went back to Dome 3 and the disgusting records he had witnessed there.
“There is nothing horrific about any of the images which I have received, however, they are not conclusive about Brinley’s condition,” Tiffany stated. “Displaying most relevant images now. The others are irrelevant for now as they only show interior structures which do not offer the evidence we need. Additionally I have been unable to identify several things in those other images, and am running conjectures on what they show.”
As they walked the manipulation arm of the automacube bent on its joints until it pointed at its own side. A projection came from the arm. It was of a hallway with a woman standing at the end of it. It was a strange arched hall with blackness around it. It was fuzzy and unclear. The woman standing there had blonde braided hair and was in a black and gray uniform.
“Is that Larissa?” Gretchen asked.
“The image has been enhanced as much as possible, and while the facial features are not as well defined as I would like, conjectures are eighty one percent positive that this image is of Governor Larissa,” Tiffany responded.
“So Larissa controls those sphere things? Then Brinley is certainly dead,” Paul said. “It does explain why the spheres are so cruel and vicious, but Brinley is still dead if she is with Larissa.”
“Paul, your reasoning is sound and logical; however, there are two other images which make me suggest that Brinley is alive.”
The next image projected showed a woman from behind and above. She had braided blonde hair, the same style and color of uniform as the previous image, and she was sliding down inside a very narrow shaft of some sort. A person’s shoed foot was in the foreground.
“So we see Larissa in some cramped place. So what?” Paul lamented.
“The shoe in the image is consistent with the same shoes that Brinley wears,” Tiffany replied. “That suggests the shoe belongs to Brinley. In this image we also see the figure which we are calling Larissa as in a movement pose away from the communication link. This suggests, without confirmation that Brinley was following Larissa in this image.”
“Paul, did you see how dirty and soiled looking is Larissa’s uniform? And even her hair?” Gretchen observed.
“So what?” Paul snapped back.
“Paul, if Larissa had command of those spheres, she would not be all messy when she was interrogating or killing Brinley would she?” Gretchen asked seriously.
“So Brinley fought her and got in a few good blows. What does that prove?” Paul asked.
“Paul, the images I have received prove nothing, regarding Brinley. They only suggest potentials. Your scenario of Brinley and Larissa fighting does fit the facts and is possible. However, it does not explain the presence of the sphere entities. Nor do I have an alternative conjecture which has a high degree of probability,” Tiffany replied. “Here is what is proven: The communication link is partially functional. A person consistent with Larissa’s attributes has been observed in some images which have been received. An image of a shoe which is consistent with what Brinley was known to wear has been seen in an image. The sphere entities exist and were seen taking Brinley away.”
“Tiffany what are those spheres?” Gretchen asked as they continued to walk along. They were following some kind of rough dirt path while they travelled parallel to the habitat wall. “If we can figure that out, maybe we can know what to do about Brinley.”
“So you are convinced that Brinley is alive?” Paul asked. “I am not so sure, but with the way things have gone for me, I doubt she survived. How could anyone survive inside that thing? She was pounding on it… and I could not help her.” Paul wept as he walked.
Tiffany responded to the questions from both Paul and Gretchen. “I believe following the signals from the communication link has the best potential to answer both of the questions posed. I do not know what the sphere entities are, and I am not sure of Brinley’s fate.”
“Could Brinley survive?” Paul asked bluntly.
“Yes. She could be alive,” Tiffany replied.
“Then we must try to get to her,” Paul said without enthusiasm. “Just another doomed quest which will lead to more sorrow and agony. But Brinley deserves our help, if we can.”
“That is a big if, Paul. A big if. What are those spheres? Tiffany tell me everything you can about them,” Gretchen ordered.
“By ‘everything’ I assume you want me to summarize the findings and not report each observation?” Tiffany inquired.
“Yes, what are they?” Gretchen snapped back.
“I am not sure. I apologize for being so nebulous in my response,” Tiffany replied with hesitation in the artificial voice. “I am still making computations and conjectures and gathering information.”
“Quit holding back,” Gretchen said. “Please just give me your best conjecture no matter how low the probability. What are those things?”
“An alien life form,” Tiffany replied.
Paul laughed a mirthless chuckle. “Is that one of your jokes to lighten the stress or some gallows absurdity, or whatever you called it?”
“No, Paul. I am not attempting to use humor of any style right now. My best conjecture is that the spheres are an alien life form,” Tiffany stated.
“Based upon what findings?” Gretchen asked.
“My spectral, chemical, qualitative, and quantitative analysis, through the communication links, and by direct examination of a sample of the sphere which was severed during the skirmish. Those things showed unknown elemental properties. There were readings which fit none of the known 137 elements on the periodic table,” Tiffany re
plied. “There is also a correlation between the wavelengths of the lights which came from within the spheres and phenomena which I observed from the scout ship during our separation. This suggests that the source of those light phenomena originated outside of the Colony Ship Vanguard. None of this is proof of the conjecture that the spheres are alien life forms, but that is my best conjecture.”
“Aliens?” Paul said. “We originated outside of the Colony Ship Vanguard, and we are not aliens. Besides, there is no other proof of aliens, right?”
“Proof no. However let me remind you of what the Dome 17 Committee reported, regarding the probes which were sent to the seven then missing colony ships. The report on the Marathon was this,” Tiffany answered.
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