End Times (Book 4): Destroyer of Worlds

by Carrow, Shane

  “But we were attacked,” I said, confused.

  Yes. As became clear to us when we emerged in your system and were immediately attacked by the machine vessels in orbit. So my mission – such as it could still be accomplished, stranded down here – changed. Clearly the machines had attacked this planet, as they had attacked every other planet in this sector. I had to determine why the seed on Earth had failed to report.

  “And why was that?” I said. “Why didn’t they report?”

  You tell me, Aaron, the ship said. Why didn’t you?

  My mind trembled. I could feel Matt’s own consciousness lashing out in shock, and for a brief moment my eyelids opened just a narrow slit, and I could see the real world again, in the midnight gloom within the ship, the wind howling along the hull. I could see Matt, lying in his sleeping bag not three metres away, face frozen in horror, but then the ship yanked my mind back into its specially arranged dream world and my eyes closed again. I felt another numbing dose of whatever it was doing to keep us calm, another mental Prozac, but it wasn’t quite enough. I was still shocked.

  “That can’t be true,” Matt said. “He’s not a fucking… You said he’d know! You said they’d know about it!”

  Not just him, Matt, the ship said. You as well. Both of you. You were the seed. Clearly something went wrong in the process. I’ve examined your minds, your memories. If I had to speculate, I would suggest it has to do with being twins. Something in the process of embryo splitting; some human biological quirk the program architects could not have anticipated. It has never occurred before. Seeds have always correctly reported. But in a process spanning this many wildly divergent species, something would inevitably go wrong eventually. It would explain why your abilities are stunted. Each of you has only half what your full telepathic abilities should be.

  I thought about how we’d grown up together, always feeling each other’s pain, always vaguely knowing where the other was, sometimes knowing what the other was thinking. Not to mention our shared dreams.

  “Why did we dream about you?” I said. “I remember the first time. Outside Albany, after all this started happening. After the dead started coming back. Why?”

  I was broadcasting a distress call, the ship said. A mental call – not anything that could be picked up by others, machine or human. Something only Telepaths could recognise. I still didn’t understand why the seed on this planet was silent. I kept sending those calls. I could feel your presence, in a dim way, somewhere out there. You picked them up when your mind was at its most relaxed and attuned – when you were asleep. It appears to have manifested as dreams. And here you are.

  “A distress call?” I said. “But… we dreamed it. We imagined it. We saw ourselves coming here, being here. Coming up that ridge in the snow.”

  If it had worked as intended, I would have been able to talk to you as I am now, the ship said. I cannot explain how your hampered abilities may manifest themselves.

  “The barrier,” Matt said. “We could get through. The others couldn’t. Why?”

  That was a defensive mechanism. Standard protocol. I can disable it, if you wish.

  “People died because of that,” I said. “A helicopter full of soldiers.”

  I know. I am truly sorry.

  It didn’t feel particularly sorry. On the other hand, I didn’t feel particularly sorry about its own dead crew. I find it hard enough to feel sorry about regular strangers these days, let alone alien strangers.

  “So what now?” Matt said. “I mean, let me get this straight – all this, all the shit me and Aaron have put up with our whole lives, feeling each other’s pain and having these fucking dreams and all this bullshit from day one – this was just some fucking warning system?”

  Yes.

  “And it’s fucked? We didn’t even do that properly? These machines come down, fuck us up, fuck up everyone else in our neighbourhood – and that’s it? Somebody back on your planet update the campaign map?”

  Yes.

  “Well, what the fuck good was all this, then?” Matt yelled. “What did we come here for? Do you know what we risked to come here? Do you know what we gave up to come here?”

  Yes, Matthew, I do, the ship said, because I’ve been inside your head. There was a cold anger flowing from it. Do you think you’re the only person to suffer? Have you thought about me? I am crippled. I will never fly again. I am stranded thousands of light years from home, on a backwater planet, deep inside machine territory. My life is over. Do not complain to me. I have no sympathy for you.

  Both of us were nonplussed. “You fucking started this shit!” Matt said.

  No, I did not, the ship said vehemently. The seed program began long before I was ever awoken. I was created in an age of total war. I did my duty. This is my reward. Stranded and broken for the rest of my days.

  “At least your species is alive,” I said. I was feeling pretty bitter myself. “At least you know you were fighting for something.”

  There was a long, quiet moment. It was awkward and a little frightening. Matt and I were still floating in that mental void; the ship had freely admitted to tampering with our mental states, preventing us from feeling fear or panic. What if it just decided to keep us in stasis forever? What else could it tinker with inside our brains?

  I’m sorry, the ship said eventually. I know this is not an easy situation for either of you.

  “It’s just…” I said. “We had a lot riding on this. You know?”

  So did I.

  “Why?”

  The ship was silent for a while. Hope, it said eventually. I knew I’d never fly again. I made my peace with that. I just thought that perhaps, if the mission wasn’t a failure…

  “Why do you say you’ll never fly again?” Matt interrupted.

  Earth is within the bounds of machine territory now. Nobody is coming for us. The alliance will not venture here. Nobody will repair me. I will live out my days here.

  “What if we fight the undead off?” I said. “In the long run, I mean. What if we don’t die out entirely?”

  The ship didn’t say anything, but I could feel that it was figuring out how best to explain something.

  “What happens?” I demanded.

  The machine experiments are simply that, the ship conceded. Experiments. In the past, when their subjects have managed to survive the apocalyptic events unleashed upon them, the machines have exterminated them anyway.

  “How?”

  By igniting the atmosphere. There are still several machine vessels in orbit. They are sentries.

  “When?” I said. “How long do we have?”

  I do not know. A few years, perhaps. If there are still any humans alive by then.

  Silence. Snowflakes whispering along the hull. “There must be a way,” Matt said. “Can’t you call your people? Tell them to come and defend us?”

  Why would they?

  I grasped around for a local analogy. I suppose it was a bit like Australia asking the UK for help fighting off the Japanese, when the British had Hitler on the doorstep. Not their problem.

  “So what you’re saying is that we’re fucked,” I said.

  Maybe we all are, the ship said. In the long term. It has been a losing war, so far.

  “What do we do?” Matt said. “Seriously. I don’t mean us as a species. What the hell do me and Aaron do now?”

  That is up to you, the ship said. You can begin by focusing on the small things. You have a gravely injured friend at the lodge south of here. Corporal Rahvi. Bring him here. I will deactivate the barrier. There is a medical chamber. Bring him here and I can help him recover.

  “You don’t have any crew left,” I said. “You don’t have any doctors, you don’t have…”

  I do not need doctors.

  “You just told us we’re all fucked,” Matt objected. “So what’s the point? Save his life so he can get burnt alive with the rest of us next year when the robots put a fucking flamethrower to the planet?”

&nbs
p; Very well. Remain here, and let him die.

  “Matt…” I said.

  “Un fuckin--believable,” he said.

  I felt the ship begin to withdraw. It was like waking up: I was slowly aware of my surroundings, of the sleeping bag wrapped around me, Matt’s face a few feet away from mine, the shiny blue sheen of the ship’s interior metal all around us. I could still feel the ship there, hovering at the edge of my mind, but no longer enveloping it.

  “Fucking hell,” Matt muttered, sitting up.

  It was dawn. The room was still gloomy, but as we packed up our belongings and moved back out through the corridor, the ship was lit up with an eerie blue light as the sun filtered through the cracks in the hull. I cannot guarantee your friend will live if you bring him here, the ship said. I only know his chances will be far greater.

  “Hey,” I said. In the cold light of day, realism was filtering back into my head. “You realise… you know the only reason we came here, the SAS came here, is because the government wants to study you? Right?”

  They are more than welcome to, the ship said. I have no use to the alliance any more. I am happy to share what I know with your people.

  I hadn’t expected it to be like that. I guess it wasn’t exactly ET. They couldn’t chuck the ship in a containment chamber and slice it up in autopsy.

  “Do you have a name?” Matt asked suddenly. “We name ships. We give them names. What’s yours?”

  My name? the ship said. My class of scout vessels were given the names of abstract nouns. My own means…

  A vague impression, mentally transmitted. Something along the lines of, “a purposeful undertaking.”

  “You mean, like… an endeavour?” I said.

  I suppose.

  “Huh,” I said, looking at Matt. “How about that?”

  “Weird.”

  I don’t understand, the Endeavour said.

  “I guess you didn’t have to dig into that part of our memory,” I said. “Anyway. How far can we go? Before we can’t talk to you anymore?”

  One or two kilometres, perhaps. If your abilities were as they should be, we could talk anywhere on the planet. Alas…

  “Righto,” Matt said. “Well. Let’s get moving. We’ll be back later tonight, hopefully.”

  Safe travels, the Endeavour said. After a moment it added: I’m glad you came here.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

  I wasn’t sure I meant it.

  Neither of us said anything, as we trudged south out of the valley, back across the snow gums to where we’d left Tobias and Jonas and Andy and Llewellyn camped out. I was feeling miserable, and I could tell Matt was too, although his misery usually manifests as anger.

  All that time. All those dreams. For so long, I’d thought this was the solution. All through the blood and mud and misery of Albany, Kalgoorlie, Eucla, the Bight. Everyone who’d died – Dad, Tom, Anthony, Alan – I’d thought there might be some higher purpose. I’d thought Matt and I were different. I’d thought we were special. And we were, it turned out. But not enough to matter. Not enough to make any difference. I trudged south with Matt through the snow with the one guiding principle I’d had torn out of my heart and scattered on the icy wind.

  After an hour we came to the southern encampment, the one sad little tent, the four of them sitting around a measly campfire of eucalyptus sticks, Captain Tobias trying to get a billy going. Jonas was the first one to spot us, abandoning the fire and surging up the ridge to greet us. The others weren’t far behind. They were ecstatic at first, but faltered when they saw our expressions. “What happened?” Jonas said. “What did you find?”

  “It’s there,” I said. “It talked to us. It’s not good news.”

  “It talked to you?” Professor Llewellyn practically screeched.

  Matt jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Sure. Go talk to it yourself, if you want.”

  Llewellyn looked at him, then over the ridge. “But the barrier…”

  “The barrier’s down,” Matt said. “Go ahead and go talk to it. It’ll be glad of the company.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Captain Tobias said. But Llewellyn glanced at him, then took off. Didn’t even go back to the tent to grab his stuff – just started legging it up the slope, heading north, towards the valley of the Endeavour.

  “Hey!” Captain Tobias yelled, but didn’t go after him. “God damn it, get back here!” He turned back to us. “Is it safe?”

  “Perfectly safe,” I said. “It’s on our side. It’s against the machines – I mean, the shit in Ballarat, the thing that shot us down. We’re on the same side. Nothing to worry about.”

  “What exactly happened?” Tobias said. “You talked to it?”

  “It’s a long story,” Matt said. “Look – it has medical facilities. Rahvi. We need to get him there.”

  Captain Tobias – a military man to his core – didn’t need any further urging than that. First contact with extra-terrestrials is hard; seeking medical attention for a wounded comrade slots easily into the playbook. He hesitated, though. He was about to ask us something, if we were really sure about this, if we really trusted it, if we really thought it was the best. But I could see the thoughts playing out on his face. We’d already bet the farm on this thing. We had to trust it.

  Funny how I could see that. He’s an SAS captain. He has a good, stern poker face. But I could still tell.

  “All right,” he said, turning to Jonas and Andy. “You two stay put. Don’t go traipsing off after Llewellyn. I’ll take the boys back to the lodge and we’ll bring Rahvi back. Simon too, if he’s up to it. Just stay here.”

  “Are you sure…” Jonas trailed off uneasily. He glanced over the ridge to the north. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  He wasn’t asking Tobias. He was asking me and Matt.

  “Jonas,” I said, “I can honestly promise you: this is probably the safest place in the country right now.”

  We left.

  It was a half day back to the lodge, even travelling light. The only question Tobias asked us was whether the barrier was down – whether he and the others could safely travel to the ship now. “You saw Llewellyn,” I said. “He took right off over the ridge.”

  “Right,” Tobias said. And that was all he asked. His mind was ticking away, but he was keeping his cards close to his chest.

  We’d left at dawn, and so we arrived at Trish’s ski lodge a little before noon. Simon was on the porch and saw us coming, hobbling down the stairs. “Jesus, where are the others?” he said. “Why are you back – what happened?”

  “It’s fine, everything’s fine,” I said. “They’re back at the ship…”

  “Quiet,” Tobias said sharply. Trish had emerged out onto the porch, followed by Sergeant Blake, still with a bandage around his head. “Captain?” the sergeant asked.

  “We’re here for Rahvi,” Tobias said. “How’s he doing?”

  Not well, as it turned out. He was still unconscious. His fever has worsened overnight and the antibiotics didn’t seem to be working. We made a makeshift stretcher with a wooden ladder from the workshop, wrapping some blankets around it, hauled Rahvi on top of it and crossed his arms over his chest so they wouldn’t dangle. “Trish, if we could have a moment?” Tobias asked.

  “You could save a lot of time by just telling me what’s going on,” she said irritably.

  “Trish,” Sergeant Blake said. “Please.”

  She frowned, went upstairs. Tobias kept his voice low as we gathered around Rahvi’s stretcher on the living room floor. “All right, listen. The twins have been to the crash site. They say it’s safe, and they say there’s help for Rahvi there. So we have to take that gamble…”

  “It’s not a gamble!” I protested. “It’s…”

  “Quiet,” Tobias said curtly. “Sergeant, you’ve got the spare satellite phone. Stay here. Keep Christmas Island posted. If we’re not back within a few days, don’t come after us.”

  “This is unnece
ssary,” Matt said.

  “I told you to be quiet.”

  “You told Aaron to be quiet.”

  “Oh, so you heard me?” Tobias glanced over at him, the first he’d looked at either of us since we’d stepped into the lodge. It was like he was having a conversation with Simon and Blake – not us. An uneasy feeling crept into my stomach.

  “I want to come with you,” Simon said.

  “No,” Tobias said bluntly. “You’ll slow us down. We’ll come back for you later. For now, stay here, rest up.”

  Tobias directed Matt and I to pick up the stretcher. We filed out of the living room, back out onto the cold of the porch. “Hey,” Simon whispered, coming after us, looking at Tobias already clomping down the steps. “I don’t know what stick’s up his ass now, but if you guys say it’s safe, I believe you. I’ll come after you as soon as I can. Just… stay close to Jonas, all right?”

  “We’ll be all right,” Matt said. “Take care of yourself.”

  Then we were off, heading north again, following our own footsteps back through the crisp, clear snow. Tobias led the way; Matt and I carried the stretcher, Rahvi murmuring to himself in the depths of his fever, his exhalations misting in the frigid air.

  It was hard going. Sometimes Tobias swapped over with us, relieving the burden, but we had to take regular rest breaks. He didn’t ask us any questions about the ship; he barely spoke to us at all.

  “He doesn’t trust us,” Matt said to me, as we watched the SAS captain striding through the snow ahead of us.

  “Has he ever?”

  “I thought he did, yeah. Back at the dam, when he told us all that other stuff. Yesterday, when we went on to the ship. I thought he did.”

  “He’ll be fine once he sees it himself,” I said. “When he can talk to it himself.”

  We trudged on through the afternoon. The sun was low in the western sky by the time we made it back to the shallow valley where the others had camped for the night. Jonas and Andy had packed the tent down and were sitting around the fire, waiting for us. “Llewellyn didn’t come back?” Tobias said.