Artificial Evolution

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Let go of me, you little rodent,” he growled, yanking at the funk’s tail.

  Squee squealed and yowled, but refused to let go.

  “Squee, look out!” Lex yelled.

  The beast glanced aside, attempting to look to Lex without releasing her grip. A split-second later she opened her mouth and Lex retracted the leash. Leon turned and pointed the weapon at them, but Lex had a firm grip on a line of conduit running across one wall. He caught the recoiling funk and quickly guided himself along the length of conduit like a railing.

  Leon tried to steady his weapon for a kill shot, then realized that his weapon wasn’t the reason everyone was so eager to leave the area. The SOB had pitched to the side and was headed directly for the doorway, a massive and scalding-hot chunk of metal heading directly for him. He moved as quickly as his boots would allow, which wasn’t quite fast enough to get clear before the ship struck the interior wall of the hangar. The impact rattled the whole of the station, buckling the wall. An extended cooling fin sizzled against the leader’s gun hand. He cried out, releasing the weapon and stumbling away as the ship rebounded, revealing deep silver scars in its black coating.

  Lex watched the ship soar by again, a look of genuine pain on his face. “Squee, where’s the slidepad? We’ve got to put this demolition derby to an end before the ship or the hangar gives up the ghost.”

  Squee yipped, Lex looked. The leader had taken to the wall, stepping gingerly over tubing and struts on his way to the drifting gun, which was not yet within his grasp, but reachable. A bit farther along and near the high ceiling, something rotating in the air caught the light of the SOB’s thrusters. It was the slidepad.

  “Okay, Squee.” Lex quickly reeled out as much slack as the leash could offer and locked it off. “You’ve surprised me a few times so far. We’re going to try to split up again. See the gun? Get the gun!”

  The funk snapped into action, springing directly for the weapon. Much as Lex wanted to take the direct route and jump straight for the slidepad as well, with the SOB wandering around with a mind of its own, he didn’t want to be without the means to change direction in a hurry, and to retract Squee if she got in trouble. Instead he made his way along the wall, pushing along struts, catwalks, and wires, always mindful to keep Squee within leash range to avoid fouling her trajectory. The SOB crashed into one of the side walls, almost shaking Lex loose, and began to cut across the hangar toward the slidepad.

  The leader stepped onto a ventilation duct and reached out for his machine pistol. “Yes…yes!” he said, the weapon inching closer to his fingers. He felt the strap brush the tip of his fingers when a black-and-white blur swept past him.

  Squee clamped her jaws around the strap and twisted neatly in the air, kicking off his outstretched hand to swing out into the hangar. Leon took a wild swipe at her, missing the creature but briefly snagging the leash. He lost his grip immediately, but not before the funk’s carefully aimed leap was halted and she began to slowly drift back toward Leon.

  “Come on… come just a little bit closer, you little rat!” he growled, reaching out and waiting for the creature to float into his grasp.

  Lex was too busy trying to reach the slidepad to notice the creature’s predicament. She kicked her legs and swished her tail, gnawing at the strap of the gun and shaking her head. Soon the pistol itself bumped into her nose, and she clamped on to it instead of the strap. She viciously shook and clawed at the weapon, perhaps assuming if she could somehow kill it, that would be enough. Her teeth weren’t doing much damage. When a paw managed to hook the trigger, however…

  Leon yelped and crouched down as the gun released a buzz of bullets. The recoil spun Squee like a top, tangling her in her own leash and sending the gun launching off into the far reaches of the hangar. One of the stray bullets managed to punch a hole in Leon’s foot, and he cried out in pain. At the cluster of sounds, Lex turned and saw his spinning pet and the weapon-turned-projectile.

  “Jeez, Squee. What did you do?”

  The gang leader looked to his injured foot, then the uncontrolled spaceship, the spinning fur ball, and the pilot clinging to the wall. He stared, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and pain, and finally decided it was best if he just let the situation play itself out.

  “I won’t forget this. You’re going to regret the day you got me as an enemy,” Leon said as he limped toward the door. “That goes for that rat of yours, too!”

  “You’re a solid six on my enemies list. Probably top five for Squee, though,” Lex called back from the upper corner of the room, where he was reaching for the slidepad.

  The leader finally edged out of the room and shut the door. Lex wanted to rescue his revolving and increasingly tangled pet, but time was becoming an issue. The SOB was now heading directly toward him. The slidepad was barely a centimeter from his fingertips, but reaching any farther would mean letting go, and the wall ahead of him had taken more than one hit already. It was a mass of jagged metal and sparking wires. Jumping toward it was out of the question. Leaving the slidepad behind wasn’t an option either, since if it was crushed, things would be getting worse before they got better. It was twisting just beyond his reach, but slowly moving closer. He glanced to the ship again. Not fast enough… It was close enough to touch, but not close enough to grab. Trying to snatch it would just send it spinning away. The ship was close enough for him to feel the lingering heat of the chassis. He paused.

  “I’m getting such a déjà vu… wait!”

  He nudged the slidepad, sending it twirling toward a small flat patch of wall. It bounced off, struck the other wall, and spun into his grasp.

  “Ha!” he crowed, springing away just before the ship met the wall. “Meat juggling for the win!”

  Lex snagged a strut and locked it with his legs. He brought the ship to a stop, popped the cockpit, and angled it above him. After taking a few moments to reel Squee in and untangle her, he slipped inside. The time in the station had dropped the interior of the ship out of the sauna range, but the collisions had left the cockpit windows webbed with hairline cracks.

  “Structural integrity check,” Lex stated.

  “Structural integrity: ninety-eight percent atmospheric containment intact. Condition green,” replied a remarkably Ma-like voice.

  “Well, we’re flight worthy. Surface scan.”

  “Surface integrity, forty percent. Massive cosmetic damage.”

  “Crap… that’s really bad. But it can wait.” He tapped the communicator. “Docking bay 5 requesting departure.”

  “Go to hell!” barked the voice on the other end of the communicator.

  “Big surprise…” Lex said, shifting his tractor beam into weapon mode and sizing up the massive door for weaknesses.

  He pulled the trigger and rattled open the corner of the door, then squeezed the SOB out. Once he was clear and convinced that no ships seemed to be getting rounded up to hunt him down, he tapped Ma’s contact on his communicator. She quickly answered.

  “Lex, please state your current condition,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

  “I’m fine. Is the data okay?” he asked.

  “As previously stated, the data is intact, appropriate, and sufficient. A visual inspection of your face suggests ‘fine’ is an inappropriate description. I am detecting significant facial inflammation. Were you involved in a physical altercation?”

  “I got a little banged up, the SOB got really banged up, but you should see the other guys.”

  “I am sorry to hear about your difficulty,” Ma said. “May I access the maintenance system of the SOB to assess the damage while we converse?”

  “Sure thing. Is Mitch available?”

  “Connecting now.”

  Michella, looking weary and wearing her glasses, appeared on the screen. A look of relief washed over her. “Trev! Thank God you’re okay! What happened?”

  “It turns out Garotte had some enemies on the station. And now I have some enemies on the station.
Squee too! So it’s nice that she gets to join the club,” he said. He held her up in front of the communicator. “She’s fine though, see?” Squee was looking a bit disheveled and tired, but she seemed to be as happy as ever. She squirmed free and draped herself across his shoulders. “Oh, also, I’m pretty sure she shot a guy.”

  “Squee?” Michella said.

  “Yep.”

  “Squee shot someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was her usage of firearms lethal?” Ma asked.

  “No, she shot him in the foot.”

  “Was it in self-defense?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That is acceptable, but please try to avoid placing yourself or Squee in similarly dangerous situations in the future.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Trev, you really look bad, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I don’t look so…” He maximized the front-facing camera. “Whoa…”

  He was well on his way to having two black eyes. One of his lips was fat and developing a split. Seeing the assorted other bruises on his face made him suddenly aware of the ones around his ribs and sides received during his brief but intense tangle with the two thugs. He was going to be very sore in the morning.

  “Okay. This was one of my less flawless missions,” he admitted. “So… I hesitate to ask this, but what’s the timeline now? How fast do I need to fly back? Because the SOB will blow a gasket if I push it that hard again without repairs. Plus the paint got really chewed up.”

  “I’m sorry your ship got all scratched up, Trev. I know it means a lot to you, but don’t you think you should be more worried about your face?” Michella asked.

  “My face will heal, but the paint is our main concern.”

  “Why would a paint job be our main concern?”

  “Because that paint job is the reason we slipped past the blockade so easy on the way out. It’s stealth coating. Without it, getting back through will be… less easy.”

  “Can’t Karter fix it up?”

  “The stealth coating requires a lengthy curing period in a Class 10 cleanroom. The schedule may not accommodate such a procedure. However, he has already confirmed he is unlikely to have a solution prepared in less than twenty-four hours. Do you believe you can arrive safely within that time frame?” Ma said.

  He sagged with relief. “Yeah. I could autopilot and still make it in that amount of time. Which is good, because I’m just about ready to collapse. I think I’m going to sleep off some of the beating I took.”

  “You do that, Trev. See you soon,” Michella said.

  “See you then,” he replied. He closed the connection. “Well, Squee. I guess that was closer than I realized.” He brought up the navigation charts and quickly jotted out a twenty-four-hour course to Big Sigma that wouldn’t push the SOB too hard. “We should probably…”

  He glanced down at his shoulder to find Squee soundly asleep, her delicate breath puffing against his neck.

  “Yep, that’s what I was thinking,” he said. He punched in a few final commands. By the time the ship had hit FTL, he was fast asleep.

  Chapter 23

  “I don’t like this plan,” Ronzone said warily.

  “Yeah, hon, you’ve been pretty clear about that,” Silo said.

  One of the reasons Silo and Garotte worked so well together was that they worked so well apart. They knew one another well enough to know what each could handle, and what they could be trusted to do. She didn’t know what Garotte had in mind to delay the arrival of the bombers, and she didn’t need to know. He had a job and he’d do it. If he needed her, he’d contact her. He treated her with the same trust and confidence.

  In her case, the plan itself wasn’t hard to develop. They already knew the robots would come running if they detected something broadcasting a signal. The tricky part was getting their hands on a ready supply of portable and disposable transmitters. There were very few cities on Movi, and for all of their lack of training and discipline, the military had been fairly effective at locking them down. Fortunately the hovertank that served as their only means of transportation was one of theirs, and stretched as thin as they were, they didn’t have the time to check each vehicle that thoroughly. Slipping into the city with a heavily armed weapon of war was thus simpler than it would have been on foot. Silo couldn’t help but start mentally tallying the ways in which the on-planet armed forces had fallen short. If she’d still had a commanding officer, she would have a significant report to deliver to him.

  Now they were humming along in the city streets, Silo at the navigational controls while Ronzone sat somewhat uselessly at the weapon controls.

  “We’ve seen what those robots can do, I don’t think it is wise to purposely attract them. I also feel I would be a good deal safer with the full force of the local police and army protecting me rather than one woman.”

  “We just got a whole tank past that crackerjack defense. You think they’ll be any good at holding back the robots? Besides you said that radio in your head can’t be turned off. I can’t very well leave you here to draw the robots to all these good folks.”

  “All I need to do is block the signal with a Faraday cage,” he said. “That should douse the broadcast enough to prevent the robots from noticing.”

  “So this is one of those rare occasions that a tinfoil hat is actually worth wearing. Imagine that… We still need you to wake up the radios though, so you’re still drafted. Besides, take a look through that targeter. The city’s not a very nice place to be right now.”

  He leaned forward and, after a moment of inspection, located the control to activate his imager. The city looked relatively deserted, though it had looked that way even before the disaster, thanks to the real-estate planners overestimating the popularity of the prepubescent terraforming project. A few more seconds of viewing, though, revealed some more ominous signs. Windows were broken, doors smashed. There were signs of fire damage on most blocks, and most stores and restaurants were either boarded up or completely cleaned out.

  “Riots. Bound to happen. No communication, martial law imposed. Folks don’t know what to do, and there’s no one there to tell them. So they do what comes naturally.” A group of people rushed out and hurled a flaming glass container at the tank, screaming statements about the military that were best left unrepeated. The container smashed against the tank and covered it with flame, which had very little effect. “What comes naturally to a lot of folks is pretty awful. The rest just hide.”

  “What about that building there? Why is that one intact?”

  Ahead stood a tall building that seemed to have been spared the wrath of the confused populace. It was the hospital, and makeshift barricades had been built around it using everything from park benches to whole hovercars. Men and women with weapons, mostly police and a few sporting Nagari-Hamilton Laboratories Security uniforms, were posted at regular intervals.

  “Because that’s the one we’re looking for,” Silo said.

  She pulled the tank up to the edge of the barricade, hovering more or less at eye level with the sentries stationed at the top. She popped the hatch as the last of the flames from the fruitless firebomb attack were just flickering away. Rather than standing up immediately, Silo keyed the PA system.

  “Attention,” she began. “I need to speak to a Chief Saunders. She should be a patient at this—”

  Before she could continue, another voice rang out, cutting her off. “Let her in. Put her around back.”

  The sentries lowered their weapons and waved her around. She guided the tank up and followed their directions.

  “How did you do that?” Ronzone asked.

  “Like I said. Without someone to tell them what to do, people do what comes natural. Sometimes what comes natural is telling people what to do. You end up with these little bubbles of sanity in the middle of chaos. Saunders seemed pretty on the ball.”

  They reached the rear of the hospital, which from a defensive standp
oint was the most secure. It was surrounded on all sides by wings of the main building or parking structures, making it secluded from the rest of the city except from overhead. By the time Silo set the tank down, Chief Saunders was already outside, ready to meet them.

  The woman was a force of nature. Her missing leg had been replaced with a high-end prosthetic, allowing her to stand on her own feet once more. Various cuts, burns, scrapes, and gashes had been sealed chemically, leaving the characteristic thin scars that most Neo-Luddites were crisscrossed with. She was flanked by two lightly armed escorts.

  Silo climbed from the hatch and jumped down, firing off a crisp salute and receiving one in return. She stepped up to Saunders and extended a hand. The chief gave it a firm shake.

  “I assume this little command center is your doing?”

  “Someone had to take charge. About time you showed up,” she said. “Nice to see you didn’t wear the mask this time. Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s with the ship, trying to make sure the robots remain our largest problem.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “What sort of resources have you got?”

  “Not a lot. Most of the nonmilitary vehicles got remote disabled a few minutes after they spiked the radios. Some people had illegal mods in their ships and tried to break quarantine, but that drone net took them down. Anything that gets to a certain altitude gets hit by a salvo of missiles. There’s not a vehicle left on the planet that can hit orbit.”

  “How are you set for communications devices?”

  “What does it matter? They’re all dark. Heaven knows why.”

  “Turns out that was a good precaution. The robots target strong signals. But I’ve got a guy who can wake up the communicators, and I figure if I can gather up enough of them, I can keep the robots out in the marsh instead of in the city.”

  “I’ll get some men on the ground rounding them up. You need any supplies?”