The Rogue World

by Matthew J. Kirby

  She glanced back. Then she screamed.

  The thing coming toward her was a monstrous creature of spindly legs and snapping jaws, but it moved with mechanical intention, not fully alive, and at the end of its arms it had four circular saws that preceded it at different angles. Eleanor knew intuitively the purpose of those blades. To the beings who had created this sentry, dismemberment was the ultimate violence, to be separated from the being of which you were only a part.

  She turned and ran, but the machine clicked and clattered after her with surprising speed and agility. She knew somehow her only chance of escape would be to reach the summit of the mountain, so she raced up the side, scrambling and slipping and nearly falling more than once.

  Once she had achieved a modest height, the sentry gave up its chase and returned to its post at the mountain’s base. Eleanor allowed herself a few moments of rest, looking out over a shadow landscape thick with spires and spines as far as she could see, ash-swept and utterly empty except for automated, perpetual machines. A world-city constructed outside Eleanor’s understanding, made dark and impenetrable by her own mind as she simply gave up trying to comprehend it.

  Swarms of alien ships flew through the air, and storms of static crackled across the surface, striking the ground with lightning and filling the air with the smell of ozone as the planet moved through space, the stars overhead unrecognizable from those where the world had been born. The earth was out there, a distant, pale blue dot, and Eleanor realized she stood upon the rogue planet, the only truly living thing on that entire world, separated from her home by a vast expanse of cold space.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  The mountain’s summit still called to her, wordless but forceful and absolutely clear. The silent observer she had sensed back in the Himalayas. Something up there needed her help.

  When Eleanor awoke, she felt as though something had just whispered in her ear, near her head, its fleeting presence retreating before she could rouse herself to grab hold of it. She sat up, the tent dark, letting her know it was still the middle of the night. She listened. All was quiet. Then she lay back down, thinking about what she had just dreamed.

  She felt as if she had been shown something.

  By something.

  But it hadn’t come from the ship’s intelligence, which she would have recognized instantly. This new presence must have been what she’d felt before she drifted off to sleep. The silent observer. It had reached her through the network of ley lines. It had shown her something it wanted her to see. It had called to her from the summit of that mountain. It wanted her to come to it. It needed her, and she no longer felt quite so alone.

  She immediately brushed that thought aside. It seemed too ridiculous. An impossibility. It was a dream, after all. But hadn’t this all been impossible, like a dream? The question kept her awake, her mind filled with the image of the black mechanical mountain, its distant flicker of green light.

  The only other time she had experienced anything like this was when she’d had a vision at the base of the first Concentrator she found, in the Arctic beneath the ice. That had felt real, too, and she now understood better where it had come from. Her sleeping mind must have inadvertently connected with the intelligence in the Concentrator, and she’d been given a glimpse of its workings and where it had come from.

  But if that had been real, was this?

  She’d been sleeping practically on top of the most connected place on the planet, where all its energy coalesced, and the alien ship was plugged directly into it. If something not of this world was trying to reach her, this would be the place to do it. But why would something from the rogue planet try to reach her at all? And why would it need her help?

  This presence hadn’t felt like any of the alien intelligences she had encountered. It held no hostility toward her, and she felt certain its purpose wasn’t to harm. Maybe it was a peaceful part of the rogue world. Maybe it was a prisoner of the rogue planet, and it needed her to break it free. Whatever it was, Eleanor believed it possible that the presence could help her, just as she could help it. Maybe it could even offer her a way to end the Freeze.

  A light bobbed outside, coming quickly toward the tent, and then someone walked in shining a flashlight. The bright beam flashed over Eleanor’s face, blinding her for a moment.

  “Turn that light out,” someone muttered from the other side of the tent.

  “I need Hobbes,” the woman with the flashlight said.

  Eleanor heard Hobbes mutter something she couldn’t understand, and then he asked, “Why?”

  “It’s the ship,” the woman said. “We’ve got activity.”

  A second passed, and then Hobbes was on his feet. “I need Jeffries and Ntaba, now.” Then he turned to Eleanor and Watkins. “I guess you’re up to bat.”

  Eleanor knew it wasn’t a coincidence that the alien ship had become active after her dream, but she wasn’t going to say anything to anyone yet. She climbed out of bed, and her mother stood up beside her, her mouth open as if she was about to say something. But then she didn’t, and Eleanor knew she’d been about to tell her to be careful and had caught herself, but now she didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t worry,” Eleanor said. “I will be.”

  Her mom smiled.

  “Shall we?” Watkins said, moving stiffly toward the exit.

  Eleanor nodded and followed him, wondering what kind of dreams he might have had.

  Outside, Eleanor looked up at the ship. Spotlights did their best to illuminate its surface, but with the spacecraft’s legs and angles, it only appeared to be covered in more chaotic and shifting shadows. But lights had also come on within the ship. They glowed in clusters that gave the impression of spider eyes.

  “You two.” Hobbes actually snapped his fingers at Eleanor and Watkins. “Stay with me.”

  He marched toward the tents where all the scientific equipment could be found, and as Eleanor and Watkins followed after him, her mom close behind, she asked the old man whether he’d just had an unusual dream.

  “Not that I can recall,” he said. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Eleanor said.

  As they neared the first tent, a scientist approached Hobbes with a stack of readouts that didn’t appear to have been organized yet.

  “Status?” Hobbes said.

  The scientist, a middle-aged Asian man, cleared his throat. “Thirteen minutes ago, we detected a surge on the infrared monitors.”

  “The ship is heating up?” Watkins asked.

  “Parts of it are,” the scientist said. “Then its lights came on, and our sensors detected subaudible vibrations from inside. Things are moving.”

  “What kind of things?” Eleanor asked.

  “Unclassifiable,” he said. “It also appears some of the legs may have shifted, but we’ll have to cross-check with previous imaging to confirm. There’s just so many of them.”

  Hobbes nodded. “Let me know what you find out.”

  The scientist returned to his work, and Hobbes pulled Eleanor and Watkins aside. Eleanor’s mom stood behind her, leaning forward to listen in.

  “Any idea what’s going on here?” Hobbes asked.

  “None,” Watkins said.

  “It looks like something woke it up.” And Eleanor believed she knew exactly what it was, which meant she had no more doubt whether what she had experienced had been a dream. There was a mountain up there on the rogue planet. She was sure of it.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s doing?” Hobbes asked. “What it’s going to do?”

  Neither Eleanor nor Watkins had an answer to give him.

  “But this sudden activity does appear neutral thus far,” Watkins said. “Neither hostile nor defensive.”

  “Can you be sure of that?” Hobbes asked.

  “Of course not.”

  Hobbes turned to face the ship, staring up at it with his arms folded, chewing on a thumbnail. Eleanor wondered what options he might be considering,
as she considered hers. The feeling had only grown more intense that something up there needed her help. But if she were to even entertain the idea of answering the call of the black mountain, there would be only one way to reach it, and in that moment, Hobbes had a bunch of tanks pointed at it.

  “I think we can get inside it,” she said. “And I think we should try.”

  Watkins looked at her in surprise.

  “Why do you say that?” Hobbes asked.

  “Right now, it could be getting a weapon ready, or it could be firing up its engines to return to the rogue planet—and who knows what’ll happen then.” She pointed up at the ship. “The only way to know is to go inside and find out what it’s doing.”

  Hobbes regarded Eleanor askance for a few moments. “When?”

  “Now,” Eleanor said. “We can try to get in now, while there’s time, and if it doesn’t work, you have . . . other options.” She nodded toward the tanks.

  “What do you think, Watkins?” Hobbes asked.

  “I—” Watkins looked at Eleanor, and Eleanor gave him a nod. “I will defer to Eleanor,” he said.

  “Then let’s do this.” Hobbes set off toward the ship, and Eleanor followed him. As they walked, Watkins leaned in close to Eleanor, and she knew he was about to ask her what she was doing. Before he could, she whispered, “Just trust me,” and that seemed to appease him for the moment.

  Stonehenge had a haunted quality about it at night, the standing stones like gray ghosts as they walked among them to the ship’s hatch. Eleanor stood before it, and tried to mentally prepare for the task at hand by clearing her mind, focusing on taking deep breaths.

  “Linguistics, report to the ship,” Hobbes ordered into his handheld radio. “Tactical, set up a perimeter, full contingency. We don’t know what might come through the door once we get it open.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Eleanor said.

  “What makes you say that?” Hobbes asked.

  “The ship is empty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just have a feeling.”

  Hobbes spoke into his radio again. “Tactical, bring around five Scout tanks. I don’t want to take any chances. Hobbes, out.” He put the radio away and said to Eleanor, “I trust my own paranoia over your feelings.”

  Eleanor resisted rolling her eyes at him and returned her attention to the ship. Her mom stood on her left side, and Watkins stood on the right. None of them spoke, and then the linguistics team and soldiers began to arrive, and Hobbes stepped away to give them orders.

  “What is this?” Watkins asked, quickly and quietly.

  “We’re boarding the ship.”

  “And what is your plan for the intelligence?”

  “We kill it,” Eleanor said.

  “What about Hobbes?” Watkins said. “His fear of provocation?”

  “It won’t matter,” Eleanor said. She decided not to tell them about her plan because she was still forming it, and because she couldn’t risk what might happen if they objected, and Hobbes overheard.

  “I think it might matter to Hobbes,” Watkins said. “He was—”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Eleanor said just as Hobbes returned.

  “We should be set up in ten minutes,” he said. “Then you can open the ship.”

  Eleanor heard the sound of engines, and she saw the tanks pulling up, their guns now aimed disconcertingly at the ship’s hatch, right where she was standing. Nearer to them, the linguists had set up a temporary workstation with several computers for recording and analysis. None of their efforts would be necessary, but she watched and waited until Hobbes was satisfied.

  “We’re ready,” he said. Then he took a place next to Eleanor, and she noted a change in his body language and posture. He seemed somewhat distracted, checking and adjusting his uniform, and he kept patting one of his pockets. Eleanor wondered what he was hiding.

  She leaned toward Watkins. “Are you ready?”

  “I believe I am,” he said. “We approach this as we did before?”

  “Yes.”

  Together, they stepped up to the control panel beside the hatch. Its contours looked familiar, and it appeared to be made of the same metal as the Concentrators. Then they raised their hands, and with a nod to each other, they laid their palms against the console.

  It felt as if the ship’s intelligence had been waiting for them. It lashed out almost as soon as she attempted to enter its space, raking her mind with claws and fangs. She recoiled from it, back into her bedroom, until she found her bearings and pushed back.

  “Watkins, are you here?”

  “I am where you last found me.”

  Eleanor worked to summon the memories that had allowed her to join her strength with his before, to feel the isolation and pain that they shared. She left the safety of her bedroom and found the scared and lonely boy hiding in the same janitor’s closet. She brought him out, and together with him felt even stronger than she had the last time.

  They faced the ship’s intelligence, and they attacked.

  Right away, this battle felt different from the others. The alien mind had a certain arrogance that those in the Concentrators had lacked. They had felt more desperate, weakened by thousands of years in exile on earth. This one had an undeniable will and single-mindedness.

  “This one is a fighter,” Watkins said.

  A fighter. Maybe that was it. The previous intelligences had been created to inhabit and run the Concentrators. This one had been sent down to bring the system back under control. Like an enforcer, it was built to fight. But what would a fighter do without an opponent?

  “Wait,” she said. “Let’s try easing up for a second.”

  “Easing up?

  “Just try it.”

  So they did, and they found that as they relaxed their assault, their opponent relaxed its defenses.

  “It’s like a finger trap,” Eleanor said. “The harder we fight, the harder it fights.”

  “Then we must keep it thinking we aren’t here to fight.”

  “Let’s just sit still and see what happens.”

  They went quiet and idled in that void space within the ship’s machinery. It was the first time Eleanor had ever been able to really reflect on the experience of being inside, and she found it like an extreme form of daydreaming, or even reading a book. Her body was in one place, but her mind was somewhere else.

  The intelligence waited in front of them, poised, ready to pounce. Eleanor sensed its nature, its existence one of caged dormancy until called upon to fight.

  “We need to sneak up on it,” Eleanor said.

  “How?”

  “We move slowly. Patiently. It’s basically a guard dog. If it gets used to us, we might be able to get past it.”

  “I doubt Hobbes will be very patient.”

  “He doesn’t have a choice now. All he can do is watch and wait.”

  So minutes passed in the void. Perhaps even hours. Eleanor lost the sense of time, focusing all her attention on the enforcer. Gradually, its posture changed, like a mass of shadow softening around the edges. She sensed it relaxing, allowing them to creep closer, and closer, and closer, until they were almost on top of it.

  They waited a bit longer, and then they fell at once upon it, crushing it with the weight of their combined minds. The surprised enforcer had no time to marshal a defense, though it tried, but they were able to tame it, pinning it down until it submitted to them. Eleanor felt it go slack beneath them, and when they released it, the enforcer retreated deep into the void, perhaps finding a distant recess in the ship’s machinery to hide.

  “That’s it,” Eleanor said. Now they could reach into the unguarded space with their minds, and it was like the entire ship flowed in, the controls at their disposal.

  She could feel Watkins’s satisfaction, which matched her own. “The ship is ours.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  ELEANOR SEPARATED HERSELF FROM WATKINS AND OPENED her eyes
, but she left her palm against the console. Watkins stood beside her, and when she looked behind her, she saw her mother and Hobbes standing by. Having driven off the ship’s enforcer, she took control of the hatch and opened it with a thought.

  The oval span split down the middle, where there hadn’t been a seam, and became a spreading chasm of darkness. Eleanor stepped in front of it, feeling a rush of cold, sterile air pour over her, while all the people behind her stirred, and some of them gasped.

  “They did it,” Hobbes said.

  A moment later, he was standing beside Eleanor, staring into the opening, fidgeting—as if he expected an alien to emerge from it at any moment and he already had a speech prepared.

  “The ship is empty,” Eleanor said.

  He barely glanced at her, and scowled as if she were distracting him, patting whatever he had in his pocket with one hand, and his holstered sidearm with the other.

  Watkins joined them, followed by Eleanor’s mom, while the linguists and soldiers hung back. Several moments went by, and no alien appeared. Hobbes’s expression turned to one of puzzlement, then to frustration, and Eleanor sensed that if she did not act soon, she would lose her chance.

  “I’ll need you, Watkins,” she said. Then she walked straight toward the opening.

  “Eleanor?” her mom said. “Sweetie, what are you doing?”

  Eleanor reached the border of shadow and crossed it without hesitation, entering the ship.

  “Eleanor!” her mom shouted.

  Then Eleanor heard Hobbes swear and start shouting into his radio.

  Eleanor kept moving. With each step, her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, revealing more of the ship. She walked down a corridor as wide and tall as the hatch, but her footsteps didn’t echo, as if the space simply swallowed all sound. The surface of the floor and the walls, while solid to the touch, appeared viscous, like a flowing river of crude oil lit from within by a pale, ambient glow. The air smelled of nothing.