A light above the inner door switches from red to green. Gal says, “Come.”
Although the seals around the door are in good order, I spot bits of rust eating away at the rim. We’re entering some kind of buried habitat.
Plants grow around metal frames. Vines creep over a stainless steel bench-top. Sunflowers reach up to within a few inches of the lights. Bright red cherry tomatoes hang beneath rich, green leaves. Pretty Boy plucks one and pops it in his mouth. We push through corn stalks. The leaves feel like sandpaper. Within fifty feet, we step out into a herb garden grown in hydroponics. Dark water rushes through clear plastic tubes, soaking the roots of various plants.
“Who are we looking for?” I ask, realizing someone spends a lot of time maintaining this garden. The microbial issues alone would drive Mac crazy on the Intrepid. We had an algae garden and a bunch of leafy greens, but it took constant vigilance to keep the atmospheric mix and microbe levels healthy. Commander Jansen was more concerned about the corridor leading to the greenhouse than she was about the main airlock. Her constant refrain was, keep that damn door shut. I think it was the smell. Funny, that memory is so clear.
Pretty Boy turns back to me, answering my question.
“We’re here to see Xerxes.”
Xerxes
From somewhere ahead of us, Xerxes says, “I saw your interaction. Madness. It is shocking to see aggressive, intelligent aliens hidden here on Erebus!”
He doesn’t sound surprised, although I can’t see him yet. Grapes grow on vines set in vertical rows around us. We push through the leaves, moving toward a workbench.
“Yes, yes,” Gal says in reply.
I push on after him, astonished to see a chrome humanoid robot soldering circuit boards on a bench.
“Is this her?” the robot asks, putting down whatever he was working on.
“Wait,” I say. “I don’t understand.”
In my age, robots were functional. They would take whatever specific shape was required for a repetitive task rather than appearing human-like. Oh, there were sexbots and companions in the form of people, but the human body is suited to bone and sinew. Why limit a robot to our meager physical dimensions when they can be any shape or size, depending on their goals. Most robots weren’t even a single entity. They tended to be something more akin to a dismembered octopus. There would be a central, AI-controlled brain commanding dozens of subordinates that were scattered around a factory or a spacecraft. They’d work together like a conductor with an orchestra.
Xerxes looks magnificent. His body is mirrored, catching the light around us. There are no flat surfaces, so the reflection coming off him is distorted—no seams, no joints, no smudges, no imperfections. It’s as though the statue of David has been dipped in silver and highly polished—minus only a penis.
“May I?” he asks, positioning his hand immediately over my chest. His mechanical fingers are outstretched, ready to interact with my robotic body.
“It’s okay,” Gal says.
I nod. There are dozens of other people in the chamber. The vast room we’re in joins a larger, subterranean structure. No one pays us any attention. They’re preoccupied, rushing about in what borders on panic.
Xerxes runs his hand over my frame. My chest cavity opens, revealing the brain fragment housed inside.
“Oh, this is quite remarkable. She’s beautiful. Exquisite,” he says. Xerxes turns to face Gal. “And she’s conscious? No enhancement or embellishment?”
“None,” Gal replies.
Xerxes removes his hand and my chest closes. He turns to Pretty Boy, saying, “Your finest work, my friend.”
But why does he face Pretty Boy? Xerxes is a machine. A personal presence is meaningless to a robot. He can interact through dozens of other interfaces simultaneously. He could choose the camera on the wall or a camera built into the viewscreen. As best I understand it, he’s mimicking human form, taking on our limitations to some extent. It’s a curious position for him to adopt.
Xerxes says, “I’ve broadcast your video across the worlds. Now is the time for us to mobilize.”
Gal replies, “I agree. Finally, the AI have shown their hand.”
“Are you?” I ask, pausing before adding, “Human?”
Xerxes laughs.
“I am AI.”
Gal explains. “Xerxes is a dissenter. A defector. They call him a traitor. We have hidden him here on Erebus for over three hundred years as we have built up our forces.”
Xerxes speaks from a chrome-plated mouth, something I find peculiar. He raises a finger, pointing at the roof of the cavern.
“For decades, we suspected there was something more at play in this prison of ours, but even I wasn’t privy to these aliens. At every point, whenever we attempted a breakout or even a recon run, we were thwarted. But how? Why? And then you. You exposed them. You have revealed both of them.”
Gal says, “We have operated on two levels for hundreds of years. Outwardly, all our efforts were channeled into the Refusal.”
“But,” I say.
“The Refusal was a front,” Xerxes says. “We knew there was a deeper layer. We thought there was a mole. We could never understand how they undermined our efforts. We never suspected they could corrupt the implants themselves. Even I use these as an interface. Even I was susceptible until you showed us their machinations.”
“They’re not the only ones that can play games,” Gal says. “We have run two operations in parallel. It’s magic! We keep them mesmerized with one hand while we work with the other.”
Xerxes brings up a holographic image of Erebus as seen from a low orbit. The city is visible with its dome rising out of the volcanic crater. Due to the angle between Styx and the host star Procyon Alpha A, the gas giant appears crescent-shaped. Its rings catch the distant starlight. Spacecraft race out of the city. They’re all heading in the same direction, rising up on an angle. They barely clear the mountains as they punch through into the vacuum of space, racing away from Procyon Alpha A.
“These creatures,” Xerxes says. “Whatever they are, they have escaped detection by collaborating with the AI. We suspected the AI had access to the Veritas, but we didn’t know they had any local agency. We thought they were helpless to do anything more than manipulate data. From the scans I’ve been able to conduct, those creatures appear semi-telepathic. Based on this, I’ve distributed a patch to the Refusal to prevent neural override.”
“Good, good,” Gal says. “And the prime launch?”
“We are at war,” Xerxes says. He manipulates the hologram, causing Styx and Erebus to shrink as he swings into a system-wide view of Procyon Alpha A.
“See how they come.”
From the outer reaches of the system, spaceships approach. Xerxes zooms in on them, something I find quite fascinating. Gal was the same, using physical gestures when his implant would allow him to control these holograms on a whim. For Xerxes, it seems the motion allows him to approximate what it means to be human. He has confined his presence to humanoid form as if in solidarity with those trapped on the moons and worlds in this system. It’s strange to see what must be mimicry from his perspective, but it’s not unusual. Intelligent beings have always related to the plight of other intelligent species. On Earth, we rallied to save dolphins, whales, and the great apes from extinction. I guess his motivation is similar.
“They’ve activated the cloud,” Xerxes says.
“Drone attack,” Gal replies.
“I’m activating the particle weapons on Antares and—”
The ground shifts beneath our feet. Plants sway behind us. Tools tumble from the workbench. The hologram shifts, changing perspective, zooming in on our location. Dust is kicked up on the desolate, rocky plain outside. The alien that tried to tear its way into Gal’s cave has tracked us here. It wraps its tentacles around the hatch, trying to tear the airlock out of the slope.
I’m still holding my oxy-acetylene torch. Even though it’s switched off and tiny compar
ed to the alien rocking the module, that thing out there is alive. The smaller one feared death. I don’t. According to these guys, I’m not actually alive. I’m not sure what I can do, but at least I can buy them some time.
“This asshole is all mine,” I say, marching off through the swaying plants.
“No!” Gal yells.
Pretty Boy races after me, rushing into the airlock. He’s still in his suit. He dons his helmet as the alien tugs at the entrance. The structure twists beneath us. Big Daddy is trying to pull it out of the ground like a goddamn weed.
Once the airlock is sealed and depressurized, I open the door. Hundreds of eyes stare at me, blocking the vast opening as the creature wraps itself over the hatch like an octopus. I fire up the torch, but the eyes remain locked on mine. The alien is expecting something, but what? The flare of my burning light reflects off the wall of eyes. If it’s not afraid, it should be. Perhaps this thing is so big it doesn’t know fear. Well, it’s about to know pain.
I increase the length of the flame. With a bit of fine-tuning it’s jumping out to six feet. With no hesitation, I launch myself at the creature, slashing at the wall of eyes. Oh, yeah, that gets its attention. Immediately, the monster retreats. It pulls back, but not before I sever a couple of tentacles as I’m thrown clear of the airlock. I roll in the dust, careening down the slope, trying to avoid the flame singeing the rocks as I cling to the torch.
I scramble to my feet, facing down the behemoth. I can sense its confusion. No spacesuit. How the hell am I alive? That’s why it ignored me when I opened the hatch. It saw what it assumed was someone in the throws of dying in a vacuum. It didn’t see me as a threat.
As big and bad as it is, it’s hurt.
The airlock is broken, having been wrenched up on an angle. The metal roof has been crushed but not breached. Pretty Boy follows me onto the surface, dropping down into the loose shingle.
I yell at him, saying, “Stay back,” but even I can’t hear myself. It seems that creature isn’t the only one that struggles with the distinction of a vacuum.
I turn to the alien, snarling as I say, “Come here, you goddamn coward.”
Maybe it can read lips.
Within the confines of the city and its artificial gravity, the creature was cumbersome and slow. Out here, it’s in its natural element. Like a squid, it propels itself by flexing its tentacles against the ground. The alien launches itself across the decimated craters in low-gee. Although there’s no fluid to push against, its action is the same. The creature flexes against rocks and boulders. Dust obscures the alien’s motion, being kicked up by its tentacles. The fine grains quickly settle.
The alien uses gravity to maneuver as though it were suspended in water. It stays low to the ground, darting across the surface. Tentacles touch lightly at the rocks as it steers itself. Its color is such that it blends in with the boulders. Blink and it disappears. There’s nowhere for something that big to hide and yet it’s gone.
I rush over the surface, covering twenty to thirty feet with each bound, but gaining height is an impediment. Pushing up causes me to lose surface contact. I drift until I settle on the rocks, which is slow and inefficient in low gee. If I lean forward, though, on the verge of falling face first, I can push along the surface. Like the creature, I never stray more than a few feet from the rocks. I use them to bounce around like a pinball.
“Where the hell are you?”
I could swear I’m right on top of the creature. There’s nothing around me beyond crushed boulders. I wounded it. I severed at least three of its large tentacles.
My eyes scan the ground, looking for clues, perhaps tracks in the dust. It’s then I notice some of the boulders are elongated, appearing like pipes covered in rocks and stones. On a hunch, I torch them. Instantly, the alien’s camouflage is broken. What appeared to be an undulating low mound within the plain was the creature flattened out on the surface. It’s able to mimic its surroundings like an octopus. Its skin blends in with the desert. Wrinkles form nodules that make its otherwise smooth back appear rocky.
Within a fraction of a second, the massive alien is towering over me, blocking out the light of the nearby star. I crouch, raising the flaming torch like a shield as it threatens to strike.
Tentacles wrap around my legs. I react with the torch, cutting at the strange flesh, but that lowers my guard. Another tentacle thumps me in the chest, sending me tumbling across the plain. There’s only so much punishment my robotic body can withstand. Being flung into a boulder the size of a house splits open my electronic hip, causing spasms to run down my left leg.
I look for Pretty Boy. He’s bounding up the slope behind the airlock, working his way around the cliff, trying to get above the plain.
Stones pelt me. Boulders the size of refrigerators crash down around me as I limp away, trying to find cover. The flame at the end of the torch flickers. The mix of volatiles is failing. I’m not sure if that’s because it’s running dry or the nozzle has been damaged. I fiddle with the oxygen supply, but it’s useless.
I crouch behind the vast boulder, taking shelter from the creature flinging rocks. It darts around, staying well away from me while maneuvering to get a clear shot.
A rock crashes into my shoulder, crushing the thin frame against the boulder behind me. To my horror, my right arm hangs limp. The torch flails in my numb fingers, falling from my grasp. I duck and weave, dragging my shaking left leg behind me. My remaining hand claws at the boulder, pulling me on. I’m trying to find cover. The one saving grace is I feel no pain.
Boulders continue to strike, hitting my head and shoulders with thundering blows. They’re so big they connect more with the rocky surface behind me, sparing me. They shatter into hundreds of fragments on impact. Dust billows around me, hiding me from view.
I limp behind an outcrop on the boulder. The creature tries to outflank me almost a quarter-mile away. It moves in bursts, rising like a squid and shooting across the plain before blending into the desert again. It would be invisible if it wasn’t for the hail of rocks it unleashes moments later.
Pretty Boy stands on a clifftop overlooking the vast plain. He’s pointing, but not at me. Lights appear low on the horizon. They’re in stark contrast to the black sky. I’m not sure whether the creature is hit by missiles or energy weapons, but the ground around it erupts. A salvo of unrelenting blasts hit, spraying rocks and dust across the plain in utter silence. The surface of the moon is churned by the attack. Fresh craters form. I’m sandblasted by the fine debris. Whatever clothing and artificial skin I have is ripped away, exposing the titanium structure beneath.
I shield my eyes from the onslaught of dust grains being shot at me by each blast. I’ve made one helluva mess of this body, but I’m sure Pretty Boy can whip up another one.
A dark shape looms over me, blotting out the light. Tentacles stab at me, ripping open my chest. The creature is wounded but determined to kill me. It’s calling Pretty Boy’s bluff. Is he going to continue his attack with me as collateral damage?
“No!” I yell in silence.
The alien pins me to the rock, peeling back my metal chest plate. It exposes the thin wireframe protecting the scrap of brain that defines my life.
“Stow it, Jess,” is the reply.
“What?” I say, surprised to find myself back within the confines of a bulky spacesuit. Light reflects off a glass visor barely an inch from my nose. Below me, Earth drifts by serene. White clouds swirl over a blue ocean as the Intrepid orbits my home. Islands dot the sea.
I mumble, “No. It can’t be. Not again.”
My shoulders are encased in a spacesuit. Thick material resists the movement of my arms. Rubber gloves surround my hands. The pump within my life-support pack hums, circulating cooling fluid within my undergarments. My spacesuit regulates my temperature, catering for whether I’m in the harsh light of the sun or the frigid, icy cold shadows.
“No, no, no.”
“Say again,” comes over the radio,
crackling through a pair of speakers in my Snoopy cap. The hull of the Intrepid is less than two feet away. Rivets line the metal panels.
I blink. A tentacle slashes my head, raking across my metallic face. My skull is knocked against the boulder.
Flashes of light erupt from the leathery carapace of the massive alien creature. It pulsates with color, trying to blend in with the rocks on Erebus, but it’s unable to maintain its camouflage. Pretty Boy directs his fire at the rear of the alien creature.
Hundreds of eyes peer at me, focusing intently on my sternum. The anger. The hatred. This thing doesn’t care that it’s dying.
Tentacles wind themselves around the vial in my chest, wrenching it free. It’s surreal to see the fragile remains of my fragmented brain held aloft like a trophy. The glass cracks and breaks. Fluid leaks out, seething and bubbling. It sublimates into a fine gas in the vacuum, draining away from the necrotic ganglions driving my thoughts.
I gasp even though there’s no air. It’s a reflex reaction, like a dying man drowning at sea. Tentacles tear through what’s left of my robotic body, trying to rip me apart. Wires come loose. Metal twists and breaks.
Explosions rock the plain behind the creature. Bursts of light chase away the shadows. There’s no sound. I’m held aloft like a rag doll. The alien slams my malfunctioning robotic body into the boulder. Fluid drips from my fractured brain casing. This goddamn thing is enjoying itself. It rips off my left hand, leaving nothing but torn, twisted metal. The carbon-fiber casing is exposed, but the alien doesn’t finish me. It’s content to have disabled me. It’s waiting. For what? For the relic of my necrotic brain stem to become overwhelmed by the vacuum? Or for something else?
More explosions rock the creature. Missiles pound its carapace. I can feel the vibrations thundering through its body. Somehow, its thick hide holds. In between the sea of eyes peering at me, I spot an electronic interface glowing in soft red. Like the humans on Erebus, this creature has been enhanced. That device gives it access to the artificial intelligence enslaving this system. The AI must be celebrating, seeing me beaten senseless. It’s watching with joy as I die. That’s what this creature is waiting on—the satisfaction of its masters.
Déjà Vu (First Contact) Page 17