by Kyte, Adrian
One thing the commander had not known about Roidon was his ability to exploit every situation for some future plan. On the way to his quarters he had stolen a stungun – no bigger than a man’s thumb – from one of the guards; he had taken a spare power pack from the other. His semi-metalic hands had powerful electromagnets. The guards were carrying conventional phase weapons ready to use if Roidon decided to go his own way; the stun guns were more intended for biological beings.
And so it was only a matter of time before the staff inventory check had shown one stun gun and a powerpack short. He waited, prepared, for his visitor.
Two guards, in fact, with guns and armour entered his room without any notice. They fixed him in their sights with inscrutable expressions.
‘We have been authorized to search every room in your quarters.’ The taller one’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
‘I can save you the trouble,’ Roidon said equally calmly. ‘Since I know it is this you are looking for.’
He fired the device at the guard, followed by the next. Their response was woefully too slow for his enhanced reflex, even with their weapons trained on him. Also his ability to aim precisely, for there was only a small exposed area on the face vulnerable to the beam.
He took one of the more heavy duty weapons and walked out, along the corridor. It seemed no alarm had been triggered so far. But even after using the souped-up stun-gun the guards would regain consciousness within the hour. Of course he could have killed them, but for all things he was regarded as being, a callous killer was not one of them. Besides, he had no real enmity with the B’tari – they had for so long been his benefactors, and this was no time for making further enemies. The gun he carried now was on the lowest setting, it would certainly cause a nasty headache after a prolonged unconsciousness, not that anyone else could see their life would not be in danger.
Inevitably he reached a locked door. He tried an energy weapon, but even on full setting it wasn’t enough to do more than fuse the lock. At least he only had to wait for more security to burst through. He managed to stun three, then a group of four, then six. Then he switched to the energy weapon to incapacitate an autobot – a dull silver hovering multilimbed thing with a dome top weapon barrel. He used his own strength to rip out its power supply connector.
Now red lights were flashing along with a siren. He was engulfed in smoke, so switched to infrared. He heard a millisecond of an inordinately loud sonic grenade before his audio receptors shut down. As he made for the outer corridor they were throwing everything at him. He headed up for the observation deck. A transparent tube through which he could see the sea, turquoise from the interior illumination. Through all the morass Roidon had a moment of synchrony; his brain and body in perfect harmony, his legs working like pistons steering him out of trouble faster than the fastest human. There was no fear or doubt, just a focus on the objective. And it felt good. He felt wonderfully unselfconsciously alive. That surprised him, in a brief moment of self-reflection.
Along here he had to find a docking port. It was not difficult; there was an airlock from a smaller diverting tube. It seemed they had given up on preventing him from leaving. Why were they so keen for him to stay in any case? The B’tari weren’t stupid, surely they knew he would never be satisfied as a prisoner. Now he simply got into the nearest docked available vessel and told it to leave. It didn’t comply, of course, telling him his voice did not match authorized, but it was worth a try. Instead he told it he had a bad throat, then took out the swab he’d used to take a saliva sample from one of the security staff and smeared it on the DNA receptor pad. After a few tense seconds it accepted authentication. It seemed, here, they really were complacent about security. To much trust, too little suspicion from a race who never knew descent in their ranks.
And so he left, ascending upwards and into space. B’tari vessels were always so versatile. And although this one was capable of space travel, it was not enough for the kind of journey he had in mind. He requested it find the main docking bay. The craft obeyed without hesitation, heading down to some subterranean hanger, but it was beyond its capability to evade the potential onslaught of the two craft approaching.
‘Rescind! Full speed up.’
They were not firing, despite having the perfect opportunity to do so. Not even any attempt to communicate. Observing, it seemed, perhaps ensuring he really was leaving.
‘What is the minimum time it will take to reach Earth?’
‘Twenty-eight Earth years, based on twenty-seven point six years of zero power momentum – unencumbered.’
‘Destination Earth, then, unless you detect wormholes, or other craft. In such an event you will wake me.’
‘Understood.’
In the cargo hold he discovered a stasis unit; B’tari craft were always reassuringly well equipped, prepared for emergencies to the point of neurosis. The unit, however, wasn’t exactly designed for someone of his construction. For a start the pod was too short, so he had to crouch with his knees pushing against the translucent top cover, and the head pads couldn’t seem to adjust properly to lock his position. He was sure most humans would fit in fine. Another reminder of his freakish nature; had such physical mismatches been a tipping point for the captured humans in this new form? At least the somnambulant probes attached manually to the softer exposed part of his face.
Finally ready. Just needed to give the command. But the doubt had crept in that he’d ever be revived. He didn’t trust the ship, it could be loyal to another master. Perhaps it had been intended that he use this vessel. What better to put him out of action than for him to do it himself? A perfect solution for them. It would certainly explain why the ships had allowed him to leave. But what other option did he have now? There was no going back to base. Roidon Chanley: a man with no future other than oblivion.
So be it, he thought, and gave the command to initiate stasis. His last thought that it may well be his last.
* * *
51
Torbin tried to make sense of it, but there was something wrong with his thinking, like he couldn’t shift his brain into any analytical mode.
Something’s wrong. That simple thought repeating as he stared into the tall woods. Who was she really, and how could she just vanish? Had he imagined her; was she some manifest result of his desire for a woman? Surely things hadn’t gotten so bad that his mind resorted to hallucination, someone to give him what Emelda was denying him, for all her excuses. Gone like a beautiful sprite. Only he remembered she said she would keep in touch.
‘Focus,’ he told himself, and headed back to his car. Then told it to take him home.
Home. The word no longer had the same resonance. It felt like an empty word when it should have evoked a feeling of warmth, of reassurance; of where his core identity resided. But it was just a place where he lived, with a woman who claimed to love him but with only the minimum expression of it.
When he arrived, she was there. Emelda slouching on the sofa, wearing what looked like a soft fabric pyjama set of purple matching top and bottoms watching some holo-soap, sipping coffee. She gave a perfunctory acknowledgement of his presence. She turned round and said, ‘Your boss called through, wanted to know if you’d be back at work tomorrow. I said you’d let him know.’
‘Was that all he said?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘I see.’ Something not right here, he sensed. He wanted to ask her why his boss hadn’t shown more concern, why Emelda was not more concerned.
‘Oh, and your friend Roidon dropped by. Said he was sorry to have missed you. I told him you needed time to yourself these days. He seemed very understanding.’
‘Roidon … dropped by?’
‘Yes, it was him – his ident checked out at the door.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it was him.’ Torbin paused, took a breath. ‘Did he stay long?’
Emelda put her hand to her mouth in a sign of contemplation. ‘Humm, now let me see. He stayed about half an hour. Long
enough for a quick fuck and a coffee afterwards.’
‘Em. That’s not even funny.’
She gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘He’s your best mate apparently, knows all about you. But maybe you don’t know him very well.’
‘I know he’s a womanizer.’
‘Oh, a womanizer is he? And I’m just the woman to be izered.’ She got up off the couch. Her look was intense. She pushed at his chest provocatively. ‘Maybe you should try womanising me.’
Torbin shook his head. ‘Well, I seem to have lost my ability at that.’
‘Why not give it a try?’
This was it. His moment.
‘Come on then,’ she taunted, and took her top off to reveal her naked breasts. Got closer to him. He detected a faint perfume; it was wonderful, sexual, as if her pheromone had been made into a conscious scent. Would Roidon have detected it? Enjoyed it?
He was certainly aroused enough now. She stood with her hands apart from her hips, palms facing him in a gesture to match her last words. The purple bottoms clung to her generous yet firm curves. He pulled them down slowly and tentatively to reveal high cut white panties. He got down on his knees and started caressing the exposed parts of her bottom, then working his hands around the front. Her skin felt surprisingly smooth; he got closer and detected the faint aroma of coconut oil. His hands rubbed without friction. He thought he heard her sigh, or perhaps it was a groan of pleasure. Torbin so wanted to please. He felt enraptured in her sex, the very potential of all she had to offer.
Then, as he began to slide down her panties, she hoisted him to his feet from under his arms with a surprising strength. She wagged a finger at him in mock rebuke, then peered down at his crotch. A brief smile and a gentle nod before slowly undoing his trousers. But as soon as she started to work his underpants down, the thing he most feared happened: he climaxed. ‘Dammit,’ he muttered but loud enough for her to hear.
This time the sound she made was definitely a sigh. ‘Again. You need to relax, Torbin. You’re too tense.’
‘It’s just I wanted you so bad,’ he admitted.
‘Well, there’ll be other times.’
Will there?
She must have seen the disconsolate look on his face. ‘Oh Torbin,’ she said. ‘What’s happened to us?’
‘I don’t---’
She embraced him. He allowed himself to be caught in the waves of her long red hair, welcomed the mild asphyxiation from the sweet scent.
‘We’ll be okay, Torbin. I just know it.’
He wanted to say: ‘So do I,’ but he was beyond talking now.
* * *
52
They released Zoraina on her own insistence. She wanted to take the Earth sim back to her quarters – she didn’t trust it being out of her sight – but eventually conceded that it would be best remaining in the lab. There they reassured her how connected to the sensor grid it could be monitored for any further malfunctions. The chief technician told her that it was currently stable, essentially plugged into their mains. Her first instinct was to re-immerse. She’d tried to come up with a good reason, but nothing her rational mind was telling her added up to a justification. Her role in there was to ensure Torbin and Roidon cooperate towards one specific solution that was fully ingrained (it seemed) in Roidon’s mind, and Roidon only needed an assistant. Except therein lay the problem. What she knew of Torbin is that he is a man of considerable pride who would not take kindly to be anything less than an equal partner in this venture. Did a clash of egos improve their chances of reaching the desired goal? The male competitive approach, while potentially leading to innovation, also risked catastrophic failure – pushing the limits just a little too far. With humans especially it had ever been thus: the gamble, the high risk stakes. Life, she had to admit, would be considerably more interesting in the sim.
Instead, she was walking along the efficiently lit corridor towards her comfortable yet boringly functional sleeping quarters. Until something caused her to stop. Out the corner of her eye a figure had emerged from the side, though only briefly and then disappeared ... into a room? A room she didn’t know even existed. The door: it was just an oblong impression, she’d never noticed before. There was a hand vascular-ID plate, she placed her palm on. It opened. It was dark inside. She felt a surge of adrenaline, requested lights. Nothing. The door had automatically shut behind her. When her eyes eventually adjusted she was able to see faint outlines of furniture. She noticed a red LED type light, enough to give the faint glow to the room, so moved towards it. It was part of another door. She touched it and it opened. The room seemed so bright it dazzled her. When her eyes eventually adjusted, she saw the tall spindly figure standing before her. Zoraina’s heart pounded so hard she knew her fear was manifest and made her look like the trapped prey that she felt herself to be.
This room looked similar to the laboratory, or – she reconsidered – more like that of the native human who’d hidden his centre of operations under his hut. A moment of mutual comprehension: The B’tari and the Elusiver.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’ Yet this being was the intruder – a creature of legend for all their power; the ones the B’tari had most feared before the Machines took over.
‘B’tari female, like human.’ It said in her native language, its voice whispery and oddly nasal, rolling the words around in the way an alien would.
‘Yes. I understand you.’
‘They are near. The artificial ones.’
‘The machines – the Kintra?’
‘You are not safe. They are observing.’
‘Why are you here? How did you---’
‘No. Here is not important. Not in any place.’
‘You got into our most secure base.’
‘No. Not in any base.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she admitted.
‘Close eyes.’
There was a moment where she just stood staring at the creature, trying to assess any malign intent. Wondering what he could do to her unaware. Even so, she shut her eyes but only for a couple of seconds.
The room was empty. All the equipment gone, and just near darkness; an unused room. She left, trying to accept that the creature had somehow infiltrated the most secure base in the B’tari stronghold. Yet he denied actually being there so maybe she was merely seeing some kind of projection. Still, this base – two kilometres under the ocean bed – was also constantly monitored for rogue signals.
As she walked the final few metres to her quarters, Zoraina felt the floor shake. She rushed the rest of the way. In her room the visual display was up, showing, tagged in red, objects surrounding the labyrinthine architecture. There had been no known Machine presence within a thousand light years and still surely the B’tari had to be constantly monitoring for the slightest hint of an invasion. The B’tari had not survived this long – for millennia as a technologically advanced species – without being ultra cautious.
And yet she was besieged, alone in her room with no one coming to her rescue. The tagged objects were moving in closer. The room shuddered with greater intensity, until the floor began to crack. But she only stood there, frozen to the spot. And then the thought flashed into her mind: I am going to die. Not just die, but die unpleasantly. To confirm her dread, water began to seep through the burgeoning crack, then a gurgling sound that held her both fascinated and horrified. The water was pooling now, coming from other areas of the room where cracks were spreading, merging together.
No. She simply could not remain here. There had to be a way out – a shuttle she could take. But the Machines outside, just waiting to capture B’tari – their final conquest.
She tried her PDU. ‘Give me commander Zoltar, emergency protocol.’
‘Commander Zoltar is not available.’
‘Sub commander Zardil?’
‘Not available.’
‘Anyone in in base security?’
‘Communications are down.’
�
��Why not tell me that in the first place? Never mind.’
‘As you request.’
‘Wait. Is there anyone still alive on this base.’
‘That information is not available.’
‘What can you tell me?’ she said in desperation.
‘That you’re going to die.’
‘What?’
‘There are no options for you at this stage.’
She had never heard her PDU talk to her in such a blunt and disregarding manner before; it left her speechless.
The lights went out, leaving only a dull emergency red glow. Zoraina slumped on her bed. Resigned now. Eyes closed, listening to the bubbling and gurgling of the water, and feeling further shudders. It seemed the Machines were intent on destroying the only remaining safe outpost of the B’tari. Their only other place of refuge, the B’tari home world where Central Council still ruled in their infinite wisdom: planet B’tar. A world ten thousand light years away, but even that could no longer be guaranteed safe. This felt like the beginning of the end.?
Then she heard a voice. Her PDU? ‘Zoraina. I know you can hear me. Try to open your eyes.’
‘Why? What’s the point?’ she retorted. ‘I don’t want to see the water rising. I don’t want to see the moment when I drown.’
‘You are not drowning, Zoraina. You are safe.’
‘No. Why are you lying to me?’
‘Zoraina. Open your eyes.’
She finally conceded. But what she saw amazed her. She was no longer in her bedroom but back in the bright medroom. Someone, presumably a doctor, standing over her. She was on an examining couch connected to monitoring equipment.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘How did I get here?’
‘You’ve been immersed in the Earth sim. We could only remove you gradually. More specifically, the interface module would not let you disconnect suddenly. It had you in a REM state. It was never tested for that specific sim program. You are lucky to be alive.’