In a sudden flurry of activity the drones swarmed inwards and broke into multiple vectors. The heads panned, caught the other drones, and coordinated the movement inside. A few seconds later the drones were all on their own.
“What I’d do for a strider,” Petty Officer Gereau mumbled.
Captain Khan slid an eye towards Gereau and didn’t say a word.
The drones picked through the menagerie of goods before assuming positions throughout the hold. They clung like metallic spiders and watched.
The Marines surged into the hold with weapons raised. The motion was smooth and seamless as they sidestepped around corners. Each squad was supported by a bolo tosser in case of a close quarters strider encounter.
The bolo was two dense weights with a meter long cord between them. The cord had a tensile strength close to the ribbon of a space elevator. The launcher was a simple design, akin to a crossbow of old without the horizontal limbs. It was a weapon that had sat on the files for a long time, and only recently been pulled out when the Sa’Ami became a threat.
The Marines swept the entire hold. They, too, found nothing.
“Hold is clear, we’ve got a sealed bulkhead, needs command auth,” Sergeant Goldstein clicked over.
“Mr. Grace, suit up, head over, and assist the Marines,” Captain Khan said.
William sprinted off the bridge and met up with the support team. He grabbed a suit of spare armor and strapped it on while he walked. The armor was bulky, designed for assault and not mobility. He declined a sidearm and tailed the team in.
The hold smelled of burnt cheese with a tang of meat gone ripe. The containers were all standard sizes marked with a collection of barcodes recognized nearly anywhere. They lacked designations readable by the human eye. It might be filled with medical equipment or socks.
Lieutenant Zinkov stood squarely in front of the panel and poked at it with his gloved hand. His nose was wrinkled and his cheek twitched. The helmet cradled under his arm popped out and skidded on the floor when he saw William. “M-m-m-”
“Lieutenant, allow me.” William slid in front of the Marine and checked the screen. It was sealed, it displayed a message about a corporate relocation of personnel due to dangerous circumstances. He keyed in his authorization code and watched as the lights turned green. The door clunked open.
Inside the hallway, pale LED lights blinked on. The passage was bathed in a white light that was almost too intense. William stood aside and waved his arm towards the opening. “After you, Mr. Zinkov.”
Inside was more of the same. A station evacuated and secured. It felt hollow, like a giant abandoned warehouse.
“Bridge, this is Grace. Everything is shutdown. Station is clear.” William walked back into the center of the hold and peered around. “Could someone bring a code reader? Nothing here is marked.”
The Marines arrayed throughout the hold and the living quarters in a defensive position until everything was offloaded. William met an engineering team heading to the fuel pellets. The team began to scan and he began to wander.
Against the back wall was a set of containers that didn’t match the rest. They lacked markings or barcodes. A heavy clasp was patterned against each of the doors. William ran his fingers over the alloy and steel covers. It was rough, flaky, old. Directly behind was a cargo bulkhead that led to where goods were received.
He reached forward and slid the clasp aside and felt it shudder under his hands. It was linked on both the inside of the container and outside. “Hey, LT,” was all William got out before the door blasted him aside. His body slammed away into a crumbled heap. He slid to a stop next to a massive orange container.
The long, gangly form of a Sa’Ami strider burst out. It perched on the outside of the container. Its wide head scanned across the hold. It pounced out and clattered into the containers.
The Marines rallied in a split moment. Teams surged forward. One pocket was covered while another group sprinted towards the mechanical construct. Zinkov’s voice was clear and strong with just a hint of a Bulgarian accent. The stuttering was, curiously, gone.
“Greely! Get up with the bolo, cover the flank. Schmitt, bring your squad to the back. Captain Khan, seal the ship and pull away.” The heavily armored Marine ran and squatted next to William. “Hu, bring the med pack!” He ripped open the nanite case strapped to his side and applied it to Williams face.
Then the hunt began.
Squads spread out and swept through the tight passages between the containers. PFC Greely stood near the center with the bolo launcher at ready. His eyes held position over the tops of the containers.
The drones detached and climbed, crawled, and scooted inwards. “There it is! Back bulkhead, it’s up tight!”
The strider, a gangly mechanical construct of violence and grace, crouched against the back bulkhead making itself as small as it could. A tiny drone stared down at the creature without making a sound.
The Marines moved forward silently and spread out on either side of the position.
“Schmitt, Lewis, don’t fire, just push him out,” Zinkov called over the comms. The Marines moved closer. Tighter.
It leaped and skidded past the incoming Marines and made a dash for the center. Both teams sprinted after with weapons raised. It was eerily silent as only the clatter of armored feet sounded after the hissing screech of the strider.
The strider erupted over the top of a container and was framed, for a moment, like a long limbed man leaping off of a building. Both arms extended wide with the legs trailing behind for balance.
The bolo fired with a clunk. The weights on either end of the cord sprang outward keeping the cord taut while the whole thing spun. It became a blur of dark and silver. It clashed against the upper body of the strider. The weights spun and smashed while drawing the arms in tight.
The strider landed in a heap on its chest and clawed with its legs. It spun and hissed and slammed about like an animal caught in a trap.
“Got it, LT!” Greely called out as he loaded another cartridge.
It lay against the floor and relaxed. A gentle stream of blue smoke popped out from the armored seams in the chest. The smoke rose and drifted into the vents.
“It uh, it smoked itself, sir.”
The strider had, knowing itself caught, deleted all memory banks. What was once a digital apex predator was now a restrained piece of slag.
“Sweep those containers!” Zinkov ordered as the Marines surged forward.
The squads grouped and sent the drones into the first container. Inside was a cradle of a strider and an empty couch. A pair of carbon leads ran to a control box.
“The strider was in drone mode, there’s an empty couch and an old set of leads,” Zinkov said. “We’re checking the second container now.”
The Marines took up position around the second container. The sides were streaked with corrosion and vacuum pitting. Greely stood with the bolo launcher at ready. Zinkov gave the signal and the latch was thrown. The door creaked open slowly. The angle of the light showed nothing but darkness.
“Light sticks!” Zinkov ordered.
Avi tucked next to the door on the outside of the container and swung a pair of ultrabright yellow LED lights into the interior.
“Clear!” Greely called out.
The container was empty. Dead conduit ran the length of the container all the way to the forward bulkhead.
“We’re clear, Captain,” Zinkov called back to the Malta. “Schmitt, take your squad and secure the entrance.”
“How’s it look, Mr. Zinkov?” Captain Khan asked over the comms.
“One man down, ma’am, Lieutenant Grace. Hostile was neutralized.”
“Very well. We’re coming in.”
William blinked his eyes open and pulled a corner of the patch away from his right eye. His chest felt like a giant weight was strapped to it. He was reminded of awakening on Redmond after the crash. Except it wasn’t cold.
“Ooof!” he called out as he tried to sit up.
/>
“Woah there, LT.”
Above him crouched a Naval corpsman. The medic squatted with a medical bag on one hip and a Colt on the other. The mans face was black as midnight ink.
“You got it, Doc.”
The Malta eased in and docked back up. Engineering crews swarmed in and scanned for the required fuel rods. William was hauled back across bearing some wicked bruising, but nothing permanent. In under an hour the Malta was underway once more.
William lay on his bed wearing an oversized nanite patch. The throbbing came in waves. The first rise would catch him off guard, a few heartbeats later it would subside. The medic told him it was cartilage bruising, maybe some interior bruising, but nothing serious. To him it felt like a wave of fire burning in his chest.
A knock came on the door.
“C’mon in,” William wheezed.
Captain Khan entered with a high nose and scanning eyes. It was obvious by her body language that she expected to find something unclean or wrong. She sat on the seat near the door with a rigid back. “How do you feel, Mr. Grace?”
“I’ve felt worse, ma’am. I’ll be up for my shift later.”
“Hmm, no. You got this one off.”
“Very well, thank you.” William laid back and relaxed slightly. The tension was there, no warmth, no camaraderie. He knew she was only visiting because it was expected.
“We’ve sent word to the Persephone, she’s on patrol in this system. They’ll come in and secure it.”
“Any word on the crew?”
“No, nothing. We’ll leave it up to the Persephone to decipher.” Captain Khan stood and smoothed the front of her uniform. “Get your rest, Lieutenant, we’ve a long trip ahead of us.”
William nodded. “Yes, ma’am, thank you for coming.”
She returned a smile that was as plastic as the covering on the walls.
He watched her walk out and closed his eyes. Nanite dreams tinted the edge of sleep as the watch passed by.
*
Archie wasn’t sure who he was. He woke with vomit on his chest and crusted snot around his nose. Whatever happened was painful, deep, wrong at the most basic of levels. A complete mind rape.
How did it work? Where they reading his mind now?
At first he thought of only simple things, things that wouldn’t matter if they knew. Just in case the nanites were like a data logger. Maybe it captured every thought? he wondered.
He moved on to obscenities. He strung together every sequence of horrible profanities he had ever heard. As a Marine he had heard more than the average sailor. This passed and he grew fretful that no matter what, he couldn’t keep them out.
Guilt was followed by regret. He pictured his sons, sons he knew he’d never see again.
Suicide was on his mind when the door opened once more.
Outside stood a man in tannish-gray body armor. The gangly shadow of a strider fell across him and into the cell. The man beckoned with an armored hand.
Archie stood slowly and stepped into the hallway. Immediately his skin chilled as the moving air sucked away what little heat he had. He missed the cell, just for a moment.
“Where to, chief?” Archie asked. There was only one way, but he thought asking was a nice touch.
The hand beckoned away from where he had met the Commandant. The thought of the man brewed anger.
They passed through a thin bulkhead and finally into a cargo area. The ship was alive, more alive than it had seemed from his cell. There were troops, staff, and striders moving all around. Striders he had never seen. Hulking brutes with delicate tool actuators for arms and squat weapons platforms that bristled with barrels.
The cargo hold was filled with gray containers that seemed to find a home in every ship. Some were old and pitted while others were freshly painted. The center of the hold was cleared. A pack of striders sparred in the center of the makeshift arena.
Archie regarded the dance of robots as he walked closer. One of the Commandant’s striders danced through a trio of standard issue striders. The motion was fluid, fast, and brutal. Around the area stood men in uniform, armor, and bared chests. All eyes were on the dance.
A hand stopped his motion. He watched as the others did.
The Commandant’s strider was like a ghost. Anytime the others raged closer for a blow that looked to end the spar it evaded and landed a strike. On the far side of the hold the Commandant stood with his arms crossed. Three men crouched nearby.
The striders swayed and pulsed like a living organism. The trio worked in unison. One would feint while the others would dart and grab. The Commandant was a maestro directing every move in a solo symphony. Motions of beauty and grace made the three standard striders seem like stilted geriatrics.
It was like watching a ballet, Archie thought. A ballet without choreography, plans, or design. No, there was always a plan. Even here. He picked out the movements. He saw the Commandant lead them in, then out, then to the side. The trio seemed to be working together but, in reality, each was just pushing on his own using the others for cover. He had to admit, the Commandant was good.
Movement above caught his eye. He looked up to see more drones in the air above dancing and pirouetting in another duel. It was a dogfight of avian proportions. The bird like drones darted in cover and behind conduit. He looked back to the crowd and saw the awe and wonder. Not only was the Commandant besting them on the ground, but in the air as well.
Archie wondered if this was for him, a show of force? Intimidation? What was more intimidating than what was already done? He crossed his arms and watched.
The Commandant gave Archie a slight smile and a mischievous wink. He uncrossed his arms and walked slowly, methodically, directly across the training area. The striders continued the sparring as he walked within a meter of the trio. He raised his hand into the air and snapped his fingers.
The Commandant’s strider landed a double blow upon a pair and swung a leg out that crippled the third. In a second it was done, all in the time it took him to take another step. The echo of the snapping fingers hadn’t even returned.
“Major Theodore, will you join me for tea?” Commandant Nefoussi asked.
Archie followed the Commandant. Behind him the striders stalked. An avian drone landed on the shoulder of a victorious strider and disappeared within.
“A bit of practice, Nefoussi?”
The Commandant turned his head and smiled widely. “May I call you Theodore? Seeing as you are my guest.”
Archie wanted to tell him to shove his name up his ass, but thought better of it. “Guest, eh? Well, you can call me Theodore then.” He spit.
Nefoussi nodded and put his head down as he walked. “Practice for them, not for me.”
“So you embarrass them three at a time?”
“Do you not train? Sweat in training rather than bleed in war?”
Archie snorted and walked in silence. He took in as many details as he could. The ship was larger than anything he had ever served on. Against the sides of the cargo hold were racks and racks of metal spheres. More sophisticated equipment was stowed nearby.
Nefoussi gave him a knowing look and proceeded down a bustling hall. He sat on a small stool. His hands proceeded through a ritual of unstacking the cups, adding loose leaf tea and pouring the boiling water. The smell of lavender mixed with dark tea.
Archie sat.
“So what do you think, Theodore?”
“Don’t you already know?” Archie replied.
“Ahh well, one has to know where a man stands.” Nefoussi leaned forward and sniffed the vapors of the tea. “Such wonders in tea. They say you can read the future from the leaves.”
“Bullshit.”
Nefoussi shrugged.
“What do you want? You have everything in my head. Why not just toss me out of the airlock?” Archie was sick of bantering. Time to get to the point.
Nefoussi made a wrinkle with his nose. He leaned towards the cup and took a gentle sip. “Ooo, hot!
” He rubbed his lower lip. “You will be my biographer, the one who tells history what I was really like.”
Archie turned his head and looked closely at Nefoussi. “Biographer? To a Dictator, or a Dictator’s General?”
“Come now, Major, like your pseudo capitalist regime is any better.”
“We have choice.”
“You’re backwards. Fear of augmentation, nanites, even of your own colonies!” Nefoussi leaned forward and shook a fist. His eyes were intense.
“For good reason, men are men. Not machines.”
Nefoussi waved a hand dismissively. “Archaic. Your mindset feared fire on the plains of the Serengeti.” His hand fanned his tea as he looked downwards. “When I was young, before I can remember, they implanted the nanite computer in me.”
“We don’t do that to children.”
“Oh, I know, too easy to control someone. Map there mind. I’ve heard the arguments, but a society that is founded on that ideal, well, there is no issue! If you have nothing to hide, why be ashamed?” Nefoussi tested the tea with his finger and drew it back quickly. “Still hot!” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Once the nanites spread and grew I was able to use my mind like no one ever else had. Today the youth see this as normal. But I was the first!” His voice was triumphant, proud.
“Until someone hacks your mind.” Archie looked down to the dancing froth in his tea.
“Bah! You lack even the basic knowledge and yet you still discount it. Look at your Core Corporation, they have augmetics as good as ours.”
“For those who chose it. Even then, nothing is added to the brain like a full computer.” Archie looked back at Nefoussi and began to doubt his argument. Was this modification just evolution?
“You see us as monsters?” Nefoussi asked inflecting his voice with a high tone.
“Butchers maybe.” Archie leaned in. He distrusted the tea, distrusted anything that the Sa’Ami Commandant offered.
Nefoussi looked distracted for a moment. His eyes glazed over before he nodded his head and smiled warmly at Archie.
The sounds of a metallic music called out . The feel of the ship changed as footsteps shuffled about. Traffic reversed in the hallway.
Edge of Solace (A Star Too Far) Page 7