by Isaac Hooke
The hump of water had risen the full seventy-five meters into the air so that it was touching the gravity well, and feeding it—which would cause the wormhole to slowly enlarge over time without Eric having to fire.
The boat had tilted upward along with the surrounding water as well, but the admiral was able to maintain their five hundred meter distance from the wormhole.
For now.
“Nature’s version of a perpetual motion machine,” Slate said over the comm. “Gotta love it.” He spoke over the comm even though the team was in close proximity to him: the howling wind essentially necessitated it. Eric had engaged active noise canceling so he could hear him better.
“That’s not a perpetual motion machine,” Eagleeye said, also over the comm.
“Is too,” Slate said.
“Nope,” Eagleeye said. “By definition, a perpetual motion machine runs forever. But once this wormhole is finished gobbling up the Earth, it’ll simply orbit the sun.”
“Yeah okay,” Slate said.
“By your definition, planetary motion is a perpetual motion machine,” Eagleeye said. “It—”
“Shut it!” Slate said.
They waited, watching as the storm came in.
“Now for the moment of truth,” Traps said. “We’ll see if this little transmission overrides any danger sense the micro machines might have.”
But apparently it did not, because the swarm kept coming.
Small flashes appeared around the bowling ball of infinite blackness. They were infinitely tiny, and barely noticeable.
“You see those flashes?” Tread said. “Those are the outliers hitting the wormhole.”
“Zap zap little mosquitos!” Slate said.
More and more of the termites began to strike the wormhole. The tendrils ahead of the main storm were swept inward, and sucked inside the gravity well, so that large swathes were devoured entirely.
As that wall of black seething micro machines towered above him, eating up the sky and sun, a roar even louder than the wind filled Eric’s hearing. It reminded him of a freight train.
That wall curved inward on all sides, and overhead, it even hung over the flagship, but as the micro machines descended toward the communication source—the sole termite trapped in the containment field—invariably, they were swept inward, and toward the wormhole. It was almost like an invisible, elliptical dome protected the flagship from the termites.
The invisible dome remained in place as the storm arrived. Termites were sucked into the wormhole constantly, further feeding the tear in reality, so that it slowly enlarged. The admiral accelerated the ship away to the one kilometer mark from the wormhole, because the gravity well was strong enough to prevent the swarm from reaching them even at that distance. However, by the time he reached one kilometer out, the ship had slowed to a crawl, even though he was accelerating at top speed. And then the carrier began to reverse course, slowly proceeding toward the wormhole.
The ocean behind them had formed a sort of swirling plateau around the black hole, as thick as any rock plateau one might find in nature. The water all around the boat was flowing backwards.
“We’re going to have to switch to the octos soon,” the admiral said over the comm. “At this rate, we’ll be sucked into the wormhole in half an hour.”
“We’ll start making our way to the octos immediately,” Marlborough said. “I expect you and the captain to be waiting for us. We need to put some distance between ourselves and the wormhole before it becomes impossible even for the high-powered aircraft to withstand the pull.”
Eric and the others adjusted the magnetization on their soles so they could begin making their way toward the flight deck. Eric released the magnetization every time he wanted to lift a foot, then re-magnetized the sole when he set it down.
In that way he slowly made his way past the tower superstructure, and then across the empty flight deck to the waiting octocopter. There were two, but the team only needed one, and they headed toward the one on the right, where the admiral was standing on the ramp and waving.
“Captain’s already inside,” the admiral said. He was wearing thick boots—likely magnetic—and he held onto the railing on the ramp.
“What happened to your MA escort?” Marlborough asked.
“The robots have elected to go down with the ship,” the admiral said.
By then, the massive fronts on the north and south had folded well inward, so that both the northern and southern horizons were filled with the blackness of the machines; they surrounded the transport, forming a horseshoe-like shape. They were invariably sucked away one kilometer off of both flanks, diverting toward the wormhole.
“You know, I can’t believe it, but this harebrained plan looks like it’s actually going to work!” Slate said. “Assuming we can actually dispel the wormhole and don’t end up destroying the planet!”
“We’ll dispel it,” Dickson said.
The admiral slowly pulled himself up the ramp as the team arrived. Eric waited for the Cicadas and smaller robots to board, then he followed with the Ravagers.
“I want this ramp to stay open,” Marlborough said. “Scorpion, you and Slaughter will stay close to the entrance. We need you ready to fire the dispersion bolt.”
“Roger that,” Eric said.
While it would be several hours yet before the entire storm was engulfed, it would be up to Eric to keep the wormhole a manageable size while the termites continued to feed it.
When Eric reached the top of the ramp, he turned around, and planted himself in place with his magnetic mounts. He also applied a hand to the surface beside him, and also magnetized it. He ordered Slaughter to assume a similar position on the opposite side of the entrance across from him, and the Ravager obeyed, mounting to the bordering walls and floor. He could see the deck clearly outside, along with a portion of the superstructures beyond.
The engines started up. Eric momentarily switched to an external camera to watch as the big rotors swiveled toward the storm to counter the pull as it took off. In a few moments they were airborne, and hovering above the flight deck, which slowly receded underneath them.
The admiral flew the aircraft high enough so that the superstructures below had enough clearance to slide past. Meanwhile, the overhanging eave of micro machines from the storm was only about three hundred meters above them.
“That’s a bit too close for me,” Marlborough said. “When we’ve cleared the ship, take us closer to the water.”
“I’m relaying the order to the captain,” the admiral said over the comm. He was situated in the cockpit on the far side of the cabin, strapped in with the captain.
“Also, I want that other octo in the air,” Marlborough said. “Switch control over to my team.”
“It’s yours,” the admiral said.
“I’m giving control to you, Slate,” Marlborough said. “Get it airborne.”
“With pleasure,” Slate said.
The second octo left the aircraft carrier, and in moments was hovering alongside the first. When the ship moved out of the way below, the two aircraft descended back toward the ocean, and hovered five meters above it.
“All right Scorpion, that wormhole is big enough,” Marlborough said. “You know what to do.”
Eric accessed the weapon on Slaughter’s back and aimed the crosshairs at the wormhole, which was currently eight hundred meters away. It was buried inside the plateau of water that swirled around it, forming a dark smear near the top. He was a bit worried that the bolt wouldn’t penetrate the surrounding liquid…
He fired.
25
Eric need not have feared, because the dispersion bolt passed through the plateau effortlessly. But the aim was slightly off, and the bolt missed the immersed wormhole by a meter.
“These crosshairs need to be tuned,” Eric complained.
“Hey, you’re a sniper,” Brontosaurus said. “You’re used to accounting for drift.”
Eric adjusted his
aim, moving the crosshairs slightly above and to the right of the wormhole, and fired again. This time, when the dispersion bolt traveled outward, it glanced the outer section of the wormhole. Good enough.
The flagship meanwhile continued receding toward the wormhole, to its doom.
“I can shrink the wormhole enough to save the flagship…” Eric said.
“Yes,” Marlborough said. “But then these termites will close the noose. I’m not willing to let them come any closer than they are. Already there are some outliers who have been coming a bit too near for comfort, according to the precision LIDAR systems aboard. If we reduce the size of the wormhole even a smidgen further, some of those outliers will begin reaching us. And you know what happens then…”
“Well I got something I’m wondering,” Tread said. “What’s to stop one of the termites from steering around well in front of us, and purposely allowing itself to get sucked in so that it slams right into our octo?”
“This,” Mickey said, patting Massacre. “As long as this continues to transmit, the termites will come straight toward us. They won’t cut in front. And they’ll fly directly to their doom.”
Twenty minutes later the ship was swallowed by the wormhole, and Eric was forced to release another couple of shots to reduce its size.
And so the octos hovered in place like that over the next several hours, maintaining their distance from the wormhole, while the termites continued to congregate on the signal from the captured micro machine.
Eric fired the dispersion bolt occasionally, ensuring that the black sphere at the heart of the gravity well remained smaller than a beach ball.
The engines operated at close to their maximum capacity during that time, keeping the octos fixed in place relative to the wormhole. Two of the rotors on the octocopter burned out from the stress, but the other six kept going strong.
“I don’t like this,” Marlborough said when the second rotor failed. “By my calculations, we need five active rotors to counter the pull.” He glanced toward Slate. “Can we switch to the other octo?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, not with this suction,” Slate said.
“Admiral, has Central Command updated you on the status of the storm?” Marlborough asked.
“They have,” the admiral replied on the comm. “It no longer stretches from pole to pole, but instead has been reduced to the size of a state. It’ll only be another hour, two max, before they’re all gone. They’re ready to fire a wall of nukes at our position if we somehow fail.”
“Not sure a wall of nukes will help at this point,” Marlborough said. “Maybe when we got the termites down to the size of a Metropolis.”
“They’re content to let us do our work,” the admiral said. “And they won’t try anything unless we lose contact.”
“That’s a relief,” Marlborough said. “Somewhat.”
“Still can’t believe we actually did this,” Slate said. “Saving the world, one termite at a time.”
“We haven’t won yet,” Eagleeye said. “Don’t jinx it.”
A few minutes later another rotor failed.
“See!” Eagleeye said.
“Damn it,” Marlborough said. “We’re down to our last rotor.”
“How come only one rotor has failed on the other craft, whereas we got three failures on this one?” Eagleeye said.
“Simple military odds, bro,” Slate said. “The craft your team chooses for the mission is always the craft that is going to fail.”
“More likely we’ve placed it under a higher load,” Tread said. “There are no passengers weighing down the other craft.”
“We can’t stay here…” Marlborough said. “If one more rotor fails, we’re going to be sucked into that wormhole. We have to risk transferring to the other octo.”
“You’re sure we can’t reduce the size of the wormhole just a little bit?” Traps asked.
Eric gazed at the swirling cloud of micro machines above them that blotted out the sky.
“As I told you all, we can’t reduce the size of the wormhole even a smidgen further, or the outlier termites will begin to hit us,” Marlborough said.
“Yeah, but we got electrified hulls,” Slate said. “Some of us do, anyway.”
“Won’t help,” Marlborough said. “They consume the ship, we drop into the drink.” He turned toward Eric. “Have your jumpjets recovered from their little dip in the ocean yet?”
“They have,” Eric said.
“Do you have enough propellant?” Marlborough pressed.
“Between Massacre, Slaughter, and myself, we definitely have enough to transfer the whole team,” Eric said. “Even accounting for the pull from the wormhole.”
“It’s a good thing you reminded me to let you top up on the flagship,” Marlborough said. “What about you, Dunnigan? Can you help?”
“Sorry mate, fetching Scorpion out of the drink drained the last of my propellant,” Dunnigan said. “I would have refueled on the flagship, too, but my tank wasn’t compatible with the plugs.”
“They were universal plugs…” Eric said.
“Yes, universal to the rest of the world,” Dunnigan said. “But we English have a different definition of ‘universal.’ We like to make our own standards…”
“I can share some propellant with you if you really need it,” Eric said. “It should be compatible. But then I won’t be able to ferry everyone back and forth.”
“No, the three Ravagers will do well enough,” Marlborough said. “The admiral, the captain, and Dickson will be your first passengers.”
Eric fired his latest dispersion bolt at the wormhole, and then the two men and the Cicada loaded up; they all made good use of their magnetized gear to prevent themselves from getting sucked away through the open ramp.
When the passengers were in place, Eric leaped out of the vehicle and jetted to the second octo. Slate had left the ramp open.
He had to fire lateral jets to counter the sideways pull of the wormhole, but he reached the second octo soon enough, and jetted onto the ramp. He magnetized his feet in turn as he made his way into the cabin. He lowered the admiral to the floor, and waited for Massacre and Slaughter to deposit their own loads. Then he jetted outside, fighting the winds to return to the first octo.
He and the two Ravagers continued ferrying the team like that, moving back and forth between the two aircraft, until they had transferred everyone, save for Marlborough.
Eric was returning to the ramp to make the final run, when he noticed that the first octo was retreating. He realized that only four of the rotors were spinning. Another had already failed.
Eric checked his fuel levels, and those of the remaining Ravagers. Because Eric would be traveling against the pull on the way back to the octo, he’d use up far more fuel—there wasn’t enough to retrieve Marlborough.
“Sarge!” Eric shouted over the comm. Other Cicadas rushed to the opening to watch the transport retreat.
“I’m sorry, Bolt Eaters,” Marlborough said as the vehicle slowly traveled toward the wormhole. “Looks like I’m not going to see this one through with you after all. We all knew some, or even all of us, could die. It’s somehow fitting that I’m the only one this time around. It was a pleasure to serve with you. Some of you once asked me why I originally froze my mind? I wanted to live forever. I’ve since changed my mind.”
As Eric watched the damaged octo retreat, he realized he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to save the man.
“Bronto, how much carbon fiber cable do you have in that belt of yours?” Eric asked.
“Not enough to form a line between this ship and that one,” Brontosaurus said.
“Didn’t think so,” Eric said. “What if you combined the cable with spools from the other belts?”
“Running a quick inventory on the spools,” Brontosaurus said. “Mm, this is bad. Half the spools are missing—lost in the different battles we’ve fought. The rest have been damaged in one way or
another—we’ve incurred a lot of dents to our exterior shells along the way, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.” Eric checked his military database for the specs on these particular octocopter models, and confirmed that they weren’t equipped with grappling hooks. Too bad.
“Okay. Bronto, you’re in charge of the alien weapons.” Eric deactivated the mounts that secured the energy weapon to his shoulder, and attached it to the floor of the cabin instead. Then he leaped toward the retreating octo and landed on it.
Brontosaurus landed beside him a moment later.
“What are you doing, Bronto?” Eric asked.
“Buddy system,” Brontosaurus replied.
Eric would have felt the tears welling if he were still human. “But Bronto, my friend, we could die.”
“I know,” Brontosaurus said. “But I couldn’t let you try to save the Sarge alone. I gave control of the wormhole device to Crusher.”
A moment later Bambi landed on the external hull of the octo, along with Crusher.
“Well hello y’all,” Crusher said.
“Bonjour,” Bambi said.
“Guys, no…” Eric said.
“I couldn’t stand back while you risked your life,” Bambi said.
“Neither could I,” Crusher said. “Don’t worry, Traps has control of the alien weapons.”
“It’s not the alien weapon I’m worried about at the moment…” Eric glanced toward the receding octo, and was relieved when no one else attempted to leap across after them.
“Please tell me that what I’m seeing on my overhead map is an error,” Marlborough said. “And that you four fools haven’t leaped onto my octo to join me in death?”
“We’ve leaped,” Eric said. “But we have no intention of joining you in death.”
“Really?” Marlborough said. “Then tell me your plan.”