by James Axler
Ryan shook his head. “No, they told me what I needed to know, including that you’re looking for some more information about me.”
“Correct,” the computer replied. “Your file received from the Wizard Complex is only partially complete. Please look directly into the red light without blinking, then place your index finger where indicated. I will finish your group’s processing and assign appropriate duties to each person.”
“Let’s do it.” Ryan kept his single eye open and stared into the glowing red orb until he heard a click, then saw the glow next to the orb and speaker. He placed his finger on the small pad.
“You will feel a sting,” the computer said. As it did, Ryan felt the prick of a needle on the flesh of his finger.
“My physical scan has detected a deficiency in your ocular capacity, Ryan,” the computer stated. “Do you wish to schedule an operation to repair this defect?”
While the computer was speaking, Ryan’s hand had risen to touch the black eyepatch. It covered the gaping, empty left socket, a souvenir his fratricidal older brother Harvey had given him the night he’d tried to kill Ryan and take over their home. Ever since, he’d made his way in the world with the sole remaining eye. He’d been threatened with its loss more than once, but had never had the opposite offered to him.
But Ryan knew what that would be. He’d seen it on the poor bastard outside—the pitiless red orbs that had replaced his lost eyes. And besides that, who knew what else the crazy machine might want to implant in him while it was rummaging around in his head? A choice like that wasn’t any choice at all.
“Thanks, AIDAN, but I’ll pass,” he replied. “Been doing fine with one so far. I figure I’ve just gotten used to it.”
“Very well. Should you change your mind, you may schedule an appointment for ocular replacement at any time in the future,” the computer replied.
“Thanks. I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Ryan replied. “Anything else?”
“Yes. I have completed the analysis of your files, and have your duty assignments ready. Are you all ready to hear them?” Ryan looked around and saw nods from everyone else. Before he could answer, the computer spoke.
“Excellent. They are as follows: Dr. Mildred Wyeth, medical lab; Dr. Theophilus Tanner, command center; Ryan Cawdor and John Barrymore Dix, maintenance; Jak Lauren and Ricky Morales, maintenance assistance; Krysty Wroth, aquaculture.
“I will be assisting all of you in becoming functional in your assignments,” AIDAN continued. “Once you have all become proficient in your primary duties, you will all be assigned secondary duties to become more efficient at the maintenance and operation of this base.”
“Mind if we get something to eat first?” Ryan asked. “Mat-trans jumps tend to make people hungry.”
Actually, the opposite was usually true. Ryan and the others had all thrown up at least once after a jump, but if there was a chance to eat in this place, they’d take it.
“Of course,” AIDAN replied. “Follow the flashing lights in the corridor outside to the dining area.”
Chapter Nine
Jak lifted a forkful of thin, dark green tendrils festooned with tiny brown chunks of something, watching as they slid off the tines and fell back onto his plate. “What this?”
“Seaweed and kelp salad tossed with soybean oil and textured vegetable protein,” AIDAN replied.
The albino refilled his fork and tried a bite, chewing with a shrug. “Not bad,” he said. “But if this all there was to eat, no wonder they went crazy.”
Everyone else was digging in, as well, following the old Deathlands maxim of always eating whenever they got the chance, because the next meal might be a long time off.
They had left the captain’s quarters and found the hallway empty. The only signs of the fight had been small pools of blood and the green liquid mixed with the brackish water on the floor.
“Where cyborgs go?” Jak asked.
“And what took them there?” Ricky asked on his heels.
“Reckon we’ll all find out soon enough,” J.B. answered. “Let’s go eat first.”
True to AIDAN’s word, a series of flashing lights on the well rippled down the left corridor. “Follow the bouncing ball,” Doc said to no one in particular as he began walking down the corridor.
By now Ryan had regained nearly all of his usual mobility, although there were a few odd patches of numb skin on his body. His right foot, in particular, tingled with every step, but he didn’t favor it, wanting to get back to one hundred percent efficiency as quickly as possible.
When they had entered the plain dining hall, which looked marginally better than the rest of the complex—less mold and no water on the floor—they’d found a round table with seven place settings. The only edible things on the table were glasses full of water. Long serving tables lined the left and rear of the room, but they were all completely empty.
When everyone had sat down, a door on the far end of the room had opened, and a waist-high robot rolled in, carrying a large tray. Seven plates, each one containing the seaweed salad, rested on the tray. Once the plates had been distributed, the robot had zipped back through the door.
“I guess this place wouldn’t have the endless supplies like the aboveground redoubts,” Mildred said as she cleaned her plate. “Too costly.”
“You are correct, Dr. Wyeth,” AIDAN replied from a speaker in the wall, making her jump. “The plan for Poseidon Base had always been to harvest the ocean’s endless variety of bounty, both plant and animal. Even with what has happened on the surface, we continued this plan for the survivors here. All of the food you are eating was specially harvested to be easily preparable by automated cooking.”
As it finished talking, the serving robot entered the room again, followed by another one. Their trays were laden with all manner of seafood, from thick, orange-tinted steaks of some kind to circular, white disks of meat that Mildred and Doc were almost drooling over.
“Is this—” Mildred speared one of the fist-sized chunks of meat with her fork “—what I think it is?”
“If you are thinking that it is a sea scallop, you are correct,” the computer answered.
“My God—I’ve never seen one so large.” She sniffed it, then cut off a large hunk and tried it. “And I’ve never tasted one this good, either!”
“It would seem that there may have been some advantages to the—unpleasantness on the surface,” AIDAN said. “All of the food you are eating satisfies your basic nutritional requirements and more.”
Doc had helped himself to a huge scallop as well as one of the steaks. “Swordfish, I gather?”
“Yes, Dr. Tanner.”
Doc frowned. “But how did you catch it? The swordfish rarely goes below five hundred meters.”
“A remotely piloted fishing device ascends to a suitable depth and harvests whatever fish it finds. There are also suitable stores of shrimp, tuna and mahimahi—enough for several months. We also have a wide variety of seaweeds stored, including the spiny sea plant, sea grapes and green sea feathers, slender slippery weed, reindeer limu, tubular green weed, elkhorn, sea moss, south sea colander and others.”
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to try the other stuff,” Ryan said, catching J.B.’s eye. He knew the Armorer had not missed the mention of the remote fishing machine, either. The only question was if it could be piloted by someone, or if it was truly a robotic drone. As maintenance personnel, he expected they’d get the chance to find out soon enough.
Everyone set to eating their fill. The only thing marring the meal came during dessert, which consisted of a variety of sweet and sour jellies made from various underwater plants, served on dried seaweed crackers. One of the robots that had been serving them turned in endless circles for a few minutes. It whirled around and around, then straightened out and ran at top speed into the wall next to the door. The impact was enough to knock it over, and it lay there helplessly, its wheels spinning in the air.
A heavy s
igh made Ryan look at Doc, who shook his head while staring at the malfunctioning machine. “The tipping point has been reached, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Meaning what, Doc?” Ricky asked.
“Meaning that our presence here is only accelerating the breakdown process that had begun decades before our arrival and is still ongoing today,” he replied.
J.B. leaned back in his wire-framed chair and casually pointed at the ceiling. “Sooner we can get gone, the better.”
* * *
AFTER THEIR MEAL, AIDAN directed them to their quarters. These were smaller versions of the captain’s rooms, single bedrooms, each with its own tiny bathroom and shower. The standard red orb and speaker were on the wall near each door. A new, dark blue jumpsuit lay on each bed, next to a stiff, laminated identification card. A pair of black, ankle-high, rubberized boots sat on the floor beneath the two items. When he saw them, Ryan became acutely aware of his saltwater-soaked clothes chafing several different spots on his body.
“Hey, AIDAN?”
“Yes, Mr. Cawdor?”
Ryan paused at that. “Since we’re going to be here awhile, I think it would be fine for you to call me Ryan, all right?”
“It would be my pleasure, Ryan. What were you about to ask?”
Ryan paused at that. He knew the computer system was only a rad-blasted machine that intended to keep them here to produce offspring, like an automated rancher ruling over its flock...but in that moment, he could have sworn that it meant what it said about calling him by his first name. He shook his head. “If I leave my clothes here, could they be cleaned?”
“Yes.”
“Boots, too?”
“Of course. Do make sure to have your identification card with you at all times when you are performing your duties. They are keyed to the security personnel, so they will not bother you if you have the card on you.”
“Good to know,” Ryan said as he unlaced his boots and pried them off his feet. It was rare in Deathlands to be secure enough to remove his boots. Typically Ryan just loosened them and slept in his clothes. However, with nowhere to go at the moment, he decided to enjoy the luxury of new clothes and get his battered coat, fatigue pants and T-shirt cleaned.
“Did you let everyone else know about the cards?” he asked as he dressed. There was a triangular insignia patch on the shoulder of the right sleeve. Edged in gold trim, it showed the base in dark brown underneath a deep blue ocean, complete with a strand of green seaweed. A golden trident thrust up from the base to the top point of the patch. The words Poseidon Base—U.S. Navy were in gold letters on black underneath it all.
“Yes.”
“Good.” The jumpsuit fit like it had been made for him specifically, and Ryan grunted at the feel of it as he slipped the boots on, which also fit perfectly.
“Is anything wrong, Ryan?”
“Nope...just feels good, that’s all.” He saw why as he regarded himself in a mirror near the bathroom doorway. There was a name stitched over the left breast pocket—rodwaC nayR. With a start, he realized he was looking at his own name.
“AIDAN, were these uniforms made for us?” he asked.
“Not exactly. The jumpsuits come in a standard pattern, and are then custom-fitted to each individual once their measurements are on file. The last step is to add the name of the individual to the standard identity location. I trust it is satisfactory.”
“Um, yeah...just takes some getting used to, that’s all,” Ryan replied.
“I am pleased to hear that. If you will join your companions in the corridor, you can all head to your respective duty areas.”
Ryan eyed the unblinking orb for a moment. “Sure.” He made sure his blaster was handy, as well as the panga, which was riding in its sheath on his left hip, but left the Steyr Scout Tactical longblaster in a corner of the room. From what Doc had said, the big 7.62 mm rounds might punch through the walls and drown them all. Slipping the ID card into his pocket, Ryan walked out of the room and joined everyone in the corridor.
Everyone had taken advantage of the base’s stores. Of course, modifications had been made, depending on who was wearing it. Jak had hacked the sleeves off his uniform, his skinny arms poking through the ragged holes. Ricky had gone one step further, cutting the sleeves off and separating the top and bottom halves into two pieces, so he ended up wearing a zip-up vest and a pair of belted pants.
Doc still wore his frock coat and knee boots over his jumpsuit, while J.B. wore the uniform as it was, with his sleeves rolled up and his battered fedora on his head. Apparently he’d left his leather jacket in his room.
Mildred and Krysty had also pretty much left their outfits intact, although Ryan’s lover was still wearing her dark blue cowboy boots with the chiseled silver falcons on the sides. The front zipper of her outfit was lowered enough so Ryan got a glimpse of the valley between her firm, creamy breasts. The sight made him grin, in spite of their circumstances.
“Everyone have their ID cards?” Ryan asked, noting that like him, everyone’s names were embroidered on their chests.
He got nods all around. And, of course, everyone was still armed, despite Doc’s earlier warning against it.
“AIDAN asked that we all check out our specific areas. Anyone have a problem with that?”
No one shook their head, although there were a fair number of apprehensive looks on faces. “Might as well get it over with,” Doc said.
Ryan nodded. “Keep your eyes open. Everybody move out.”
Chapter Ten
Mildred stood in front of the door labeled Medical Lab and took a deep breath. “It’s probably just going to be the usual sort of sick bay, with beds and tables and counters and cabinets,” she said to herself. But with every step she’d taken toward her duty area, her instincts had been whispering a different warning. The cyborgs had to come from somewhere, be created somewhere....
Shrugging the thought away, she pulled out her ID card and fed it into the slot. It popped back out a moment later, and the door opened.
The stink hit her first, a charnel house stench of decaying flesh and caked, drying blood, overlaid with a powerful odor of what she thought was formaldehyde but smelled off somehow, not quite as astringent. As bad as the hallway had smelled when they had first entered, this was ten, no—a hundred times worse.
Gritting her teeth, Mildred stepped inside.
The lights flickered on at her movement, revealing a scene worse than anything her worst nightmares could have thrown at her.
Her instincts had been dead right—the cyborgs had been created here, built out of whatever could be scavenged from the bodies of the former personnel.
Mildred stopped in her tracks and stared at the abattoir all around her.
Body parts were everywhere throughout the room. Arms, legs, hands and feet, all preserved in glass tanks filled with a cloudy green solution. One container was large enough to hold the upper torso of what looked like a man missing one arm below the elbow, his mouth forever open in a silent scream.
But that was only the beginning. Seeing a second row of tanks behind that one, Mildred slowly walked to the end of the second row and froze again, her hands going to her mouth.
Inside these tanks were fetuses in various stages of development, all preserved in the same green liquid. She saw ones that she estimated were maybe ten weeks old and a larger baby, probably around nine months old, its sightless eyes forever staring out at her.
Stumbling back from the scientific horror show, she whirled, only to be faced with a brand-new section of medical hell.
The cyborg security forces they’d faced upon their arrival were all here, as well. The man with the clamp arm, the woman with the plastic half face, the four-armed one, all of them were piled in the middle of the room like so much flesh-and-metal cordwood. Trickles of coagulating blood and the strange green liquid dripped off them to form a large pool on the floor. Beyond that, her stunned mind barely registered a long row of black Formica-topped lab tables, fil
led with equipment, including two robotic arms and a centrifuge.
Mildred took a deep breath through her mouth, fighting to keep from throwing up. Even with her extensive medical training and all that she had experienced in the Deathlands, this was almost too much to take.
“As you can see, Dr. Wyeth, the security forces suffered significant damage from that...misunderstanding with your group.” The computer’s voice made her jump again. She whirled to find the red orb and speaker next to the door.
“Goddammit!” She took another breath. “I’m never going to get used to you talking out of thin air.”
“My apologies. Would you prefer that I begin each communication with some sort of signal?”
Mildred rubbed her temples. “No, let me just— I need to get to work if I’m going to repair these...these...things.” She looked around again, her curiosity warring with her revulsion. “I have to ask...how do you keep them a—” She stopped herself before she said the word. They were definitely not alive. “Functioning? Surely, once the last personnel died, there was no need for them to exist any longer.”
“Your lack of foresight is disappointing, Doctor,” AIDAN replied. “There has always been an excellent probability of more personnel reaching the base, and if that ever did occur, it would be prudent for there to be tissue and blood samples from viable genetic specimens on hand, if needed.”
“Of course. Very prudent of you,” Mildred replied. It also wouldn’t hurt to have your own sec force, just in case the visitors didn’t come in peace, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she glanced at the nearest body-part tank. “So, exactly what is that green fluid? It’s the same compound used in the various cyborgs, correct?”
“A very astute observation, Doctor. That is one of my primary achievements since assuming control of the entire base. It is a mixture of processed and refined genetic material from starfish and a serum derived from the neurotoxin of the blue-ringed octopus. The primary effect of the neurotoxin is to paralyze the nerve endings that signal pain to the brain, while the starfish component keeps the flesh in a state of slow regeneration. The fluid also has seaweed and kelp powders mixed into it, which supply essential nutrients so they do not have to be sustained with normal food.”