“Thank you,” she said, making sure the detonator’s safety was on before tucking it into a hip pocket of her camouflage fatigues. “Now let’s take a stroll over to the hyperdrive controls and take care of that bomb.”
Mercer rose from his chair and headed out. Sinja followed but paused in mid-step before walking through the bridge door. She looked back at Tarn. He was off to one side, sitting handcuffed in a swivel chair much as he had been since this hijacking began. He was eyeing her in return.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him. She pulled the remote for Ritch’s ankle bomb off a clip on her utility belt and held it out for the hauler captain to see. “For your son’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.”
Tarn lifted his right hand and waggled it back and forth, showing Sinja he was still securely handcuffed to his chair. “Not much I can do from here.”
Something about Tarn’s demeanor troubled Sinja, making her suspicious. Her instincts warned that leaving him alone on the bridge was a bad idea, even with the ankle bomb as a deterrent. Sinja drew her stun pistol and pointed it at Tarn’s head. “Follow Mercer. You’re coming with us.”
Tarn gave her a hard stare but did as he was told, leaning forward in his chair and using both feet to roll it forward through the bridge door. He turned right and rolled down the corridor, following Mercer. Sinja brought up the rear with her stun pistol out and ready.
After leaving the docking bay, Datch had made his way to a specific machinery room. Once inside, he walked to the breaker box that fed power to the electric motors that lifted the docking bay’s 2.85-tonne space door, pulled open the box’s panel door, and flipped both 175-amp breakers to the off position. He closed the box and went to another, this one supplying power to motors that opened/closed the heavy slide cylinders that physically locked the space door in place. Datch flipped these breakers off as well. He then unslung the rifle on his back, thumbed off its safety, and stood at guard position.
Sinja had been worried that once the shuttle mods were complete, Mercer might go ahead and detonate the bomb despite his promise, then through some trickery slip away in the shuttle with Dupree, leaving her and Datch stranded on Argo. If that happened they’d be stuck on the hauler at sublight speeds, helpless against enforcers who would eventually show up to nab them.
To prevent such a betrayal, Sinja had instructed Datch to lock the space door. With it pinned in place and the motors driving it powerless, no one was leaving Argo without her say-so. Not unless they somehow managed to get past Datch.
Of the three robots Shepard had sent forth on individual tasks, the second had the shortest distance to its destination, arriving first. It glided through the door and scanned the AI compartment beyond, hovering to a stop in front of the meter-high, polished-chrome pillar in the center of the room that supported the environment sphere in which Shepard resided.
With one of four double-elbowed, mechanical arms, the robot extended a ratchet spanner and swiftly removed the twenty maglock bolts that secured the sphere in place. Once this was done, two other arms reached out and lifted the sphere straight up, revealing the close-bundled optical conduits that connected Shepard to Argo. Sever those and the AI’s sphere could be removed, allowing Shepard to be transported off the ore hauler. With its fourth arm, the robot extended a pair of cutting snips and proceeded to do so.
Shepard suddenly halted the robot. The cutting snips froze in mid-splice, with approximately thirty percent of the conduits already severed. Had Shepard been able to display frustration, the AI would have done so in a very expressive manner, as it had just discovered Datch’s activities to lock the space door. The Great Escape was thwarted!
Their escape plan entailed detonating Mercer’s bomb down in the hyperdrive controls while Tarn, Ritch, and Shepard escaped on the modified shuttle, taking Stynx with them. The hijackers would be left stranded on Argo, easy arrests for police enforcers who’d find and follow the Strontium-90 breadcrumbs trailing behind the hauler like glow dust in the dark.
But now, with the space door frozen shut by Datch, a change of plans was required.
Shepard recalled the third robot, the one sent to explode the bomb with a welding torch. It had just entered the compartment that housed the hyperdrive controls, and now it swiftly retreated back to the bunkroom from which it came. For an entire 2.4 seconds, Shepard tried to find a way to reroute power to the electric motors that opened the space door, but the circuits were effectively severed at their source. Until the breakers were physically switched back to the on position, the door was staying shut.
Shepard calculated the implications, running psychological routines to determine probable outcomes of Datch’s actions. With a 92.5% possibility, the AI concluded Datch would free the space door once the bomb was safely removed. Shepard felt confident Sinja had initiated this precaution to ensure Mercer kept true to his part of their deal.
Once the space door was freed, Shepard could take measures to prevent it from being pinned shut again, thereby enabling Ritch, Tarn, and Stynx to escape with the shuttle as originally planned.
Unfortunately, this required Shepard to stay behind.
The AI instructed the second robot to undo all the work it had just done. Splicing and snipping, it began reattaching Shepard back to Argo.
Ritch was trying his best to remain calm as the first robot glided into his bedroom. They must keep to the schedule, and it was almost a minute late―not good! Fidgety therefore, amped up on the impatient energy of twelve-year-old youthfulness, the boy could barely sit still as the robot scanned the ankle bomb locked around his left leg. Ritch took a deep breath and exhaled, trying not to move as the robot clutched the bomb with two of its four mechanical hands. He held his breath as it extended a drill with a third hand. Knowing even a twitch might make it go kaboom didn’t help.
With a high-pitch whirr, the thin 1.5mm polycarbonate drill bit bore into tough metal, spitting tiny gray flakes. Ritch closed his eyes, afraid to look. He heard the drill stop, then there was more high-pitched whirring as another hole was bored into the ankle bomb. Following the technical schematic downloaded from Shepard, the robot drilled four holes in exact locations, each 3.25 millimeters in depth. Any deeper could set off the anti-tamper device.
With the holes dug, the drill retracted. In its place came a pair of delicate hand tools like those an old Earth Swiss watchmaker might use. With these, the robot removed the cover plate, revealing the locking mechanism underneath. In went the little tools, deftly moving guard pins out of the way and aligning the combination dials underneath.
Ritch heard a soft click. He then felt the bomb lifted from his ankle. He opened his eyes, sagging with relief when he saw the robot holding it with two hands. The robot carried the bomb to his closet, gently placed it inside in a corner, and then slid the closet door shut.
Knowing there was no time to waste, Ritch hurried over to his bedroom’s recreation alcove and plopped down in the recliner. He placed the simulated-reality helmet onto his head. The SR unit was already on and running with the control program he and Shepard had created loaded in.
Seconds later, Ritch’s bedroom faded away, replaced by a blue-line schematic of Argo’s lifezone. Ritch was represented by a blinking green circle. The robot appeared as a gold triangle. The schematic gave him an overhead view like an old-style video game. Currently it was centered on his bedroom. He expanded the scale and put both lifezone decks side by side, the upper deck on the right, lower on the left. Argo’s internal tracking sensors provided the locations of everyone aboard. A pair of blinking red circles―indicating hijackers―were moving through the upper deck. A green circle revealed his dad was with them―not on the bridge as expected. That could be a problem, but Ritch was confident in his ability to improvise.
Ah! Excellent, Ritch thought as he located a cluster of gold triangles down on the lower deck. These were work robots Shepard had prepared for his use, armed with heavy hand tools and awaiting his commands. An AI could not use them t
o harm a human. Ritch was under no such restraints. He could only assign the robots basic commands, such as go this way, stop, turn in a circle, common functions like that, but it should be sufficient to get the job done. He tagged the robots in this cluster as Gang 1. This allowed him to give a single command that they’d all follow. He located another group, tagging these robots as Gang 2.
With Shepard’s help, Ritch had practiced controlling them, with his near-constant immersion in simulations making it relatively easy. He sent Gang 1 to the portside stairway, where the nineteen robots went inside, rose a level to the upper deck, and then left down a corridor. He stopped them at an intersection, where they hovered motionless. He’d use Gang 1 to rescue his dad.
Gang 2 would deal with the two hijackers on the lower deck.
There were seventeen robots in the docking bay that would form Gang 3 when they reached the shuttle. Backups, in case some extra mechanical muscle was needed.
It was almost time. He sent Gang 1 forward, moving the robots into position. Gang 2 edged toward Datch.
This, Ritch thought, is going to be fun.
“Be advised, Mercer,” Sinja said as they walked down the corridor. “The space door has been locked shut by Datch. You’re not leaving until the bomb is disabled, and I’m convinced you’ve kept your end of our deal.”
Mercer shrugged, appearing not the least bit concerned. “I expected you’d take precautions of one sort or another. Would’ve been surprised if you didn’t.” Mercer stopped in front of a doorway and tapped a five-digit code on the wall-mounted keypad beside it. He went inside after the door slid open. “Took some precautions of my own, as you’ll soon see.”
Tarn, sitting in his chair, rolled into the room after Mercer. Sinja went in last.
They were in one of three avionic control compartments, this one housing the processors, firmware circuitry, and optical interlinks for Argo’s hyperdrive. Mercer went to an instrument bank on the far wall, input another five-digit code on a control panel, then squatted down as an access door on the lowest level swung open. Inside was a black, rectangular processor box, atop which sat the bomb they had brought aboard as part of Sinja’s Plan B contingency. At least a dozen wires―each a different color―were wrapped around it and the processor, tying the two devices togethers. Tripwires, Sinja assumed.
Mercer pulled a small snipper from a pocket and began cutting the wires in a specific order.
“I also synced the detonator with my biosigns,” Mercer explained to Sinja between snips. “If my heartbeat had ever flatlined, the bomb would have exploded.” He looked up at her, raising his left hand in a fist and then opening it suddenly, fingers and thumb spreading wide to indicate an explosion. “Boom.”
Sinja frowned at him but said nothing. She had considered giving Datch a crack at neutralizing the bomb, but since Mercer was a cyber engineer who designed defense systems, trying to outfox him when circuitry and tripwires were involved was a perilous proposition.
After the last tripwire was cut, Mercer tenderly pulled the bomb out. He rose to his feet and handed it to Sinja. “All yours. We good now?”
“Almost.” Sinja holstered her stun pistol, took the bomb with both hands, and walked out of the avionic compartment. “Follow me.”
She went to the storeroom where her weapon locker was kept, pressed her thumb against its DNA scanner, then once it opened Sinja put the bomb inside. Even if it exploded now, the locker should dampen the blast enough to prevent critical damage.
“Now we’re good.” Sinja tapped her earplug, opening a comm channel to Datch. “Unlock the space door,” she told her stepbrother. “The bomb is secure.”
Mercer offered to shake hands. “I’ll be on my way then.”
Sinja ignored the gesture, refusing to make-nice with a man who had double-crossed her. Oh, she’d honor her part of their deal sure enough, letting him and Dupree leave in the shuttle with that alien pod, but nothing more. “We drop hyper in half an hour. I want you off this ship five minutes after that.”
“Understood.” Mercer scurried out the door and was gone.
Sinja let out a deep sigh of relief, glad her dealings with Mercer were almost over. She tapped her left boot against Tarn’s chair. “Okay, hauler captain, back to the bridge.”
Tarn rolled his chair through the door, using his feet to pull himself forward. Sinja followed him out. They moved down the corridor in silence.
As they rounded a corner, Gang 1 attacked, nineteen meter-long, metallic turtle-shapes, all waving heavy tools like an angry mob as they sped down the corridor toward them.
Expecting the attack, Tarn pushed off hard with both feet, propelling his chair backward into Sinja. Given his size, the impact carried considerable force, almost knocking her to the ground. He pushed back again, turning his chair and trying to pin Sinja against the wall with it, but she was too fast and sidestepped out of the way.
Sinja counterattacked, hands chopping down hard on Tarn’s neck, one on each side. Both chops landed on a carotid artery, stunning him. Tarn slumped in his chair, momentarily dazed.
Sinja backpedaled, retreating from the robots as they sped closer. They began to levitate higher, rising so they could pass over Tarn. That told Sinja they were after her. Robots don’t attack people, she thought, not unless they’re controlled by a human. Mercer!
As she backed up, she drew her stun pistol and fired at the closest robot. The bolt streaked down the corridor and hit flush on its sensor grill. To Sinja’s dismay, the bolt dissipated with no visible effect other than a splatter of cobalt sparks. She vaguely remembered that stun charges were ineffective against mechanicals.
“Frack.” Sinja turned and ran, retreating back to the storeroom. Her fusion rifle was in the weapon locker, along with some HE grenades. She was positive both would take out robots.
Datch was walking down a corridor when Gang 2 attacked. As the robots rounded a corner and sped toward him, rushing Datch from behind on silent antigrav thrusters, the motion-sensor built into his utility belt chirped urgently to warn him of the threat. He spun around, eyes going wide with surprise when he saw the robots flying toward him. They were waving hand tools back and forth, making their intent to cause bodily harm vividly clear.
Unlike Sinja, he had two distinct advantages his stepsister did not. First, Datch knew a stun pistol was useless against mechanicals. Second, he was fully armed, not just with his RZ-11 fusion rifle but also with a half dozen assorted grenades. The stun and frag grenades wouldn’t do much good here, but the two HE ones certainly would. He just needed to make sure he didn’t use them near critical ship systems or an airlock.
Datch raised his rifle, took aim, and pulled the trigger. A brilliant-orange beam of energy shot out, striking the sensor grill on the lead robot’s turtle-like head. A half-second trigger pull was enough to scorch its grill and vaporize the circuity behind it, causing the robot to nosedive into the floor. It crashed with a rattling cha-thunk, its mechanical arms twisted and broken by the impact. Pale-blue flames flickered to life within its metallic carcass.
Overhead, an automatic fire extinguisher came on, shooting a thick stream of foamy retardant onto the burning hulk to douse the flames.
Datch shifted aim and fired again. A second robot exploded as the fusion beam lanced through its head and neck to detonate the power core in its turtle-shell body, located where a biological heart would be.
Another shift, another trigger pull, and a third robot burst into flames.
Meanwhile the remaining automatons of Gang 2 sped closer.
With military-trained precision, Datch stood relaxed in a marksman’s upright firing stance, exhaling before each shot as he systematically destroyed the robots one by one. He knew they’d reach him before he could get them all, but he’d get as many as he could before retreating.
Datch fired again, the 18mm fusion beam exploding the power core of the seventh robot, then he turned and ran.
Along the way he tried to open a comm link to S
inja, but a loud crackling hiss was his only response. It seemed their private, supposedly secure channels were being jammed.
At a full sprint Datch was faster than the robots, and when he got a big enough lead he stopped, turned around, raised his rifle, and fired. The fusion beam scorched a robot’s sensor grill and sent it careening into a wall. It ricocheted off, veering into the path of the robot coming up behind it, the impact causing both automatons to cartwheel into the floor.
Datch fired again, destroying another robot, then he bolted off down the corridor once more.
Naturally, Datch assumed Mercer was trying to take over the ship just as Sinja had feared he might. As one of the many contingency plans his stepsister had prepared, his priority was to get to the docking bay and secure the shuttle.
If they lost control of Argo, that shuttle was their only way out of here.
Damn, she hits like a jackhammer, Tarn thought as he leaned back in his chair, his neck numb on both sides where Sinja had chopped him.
Eighteen robots of Gang 1 had levitated over him and sped past, chasing Sinja. The nineteenth hovered in front of Tarn, chirping to get his attention. It held out a freshly forged handcuff key, made by the robot in a machinery room using a pattern downloaded from Shepard.
He took the key with his left hand and used it to free his right, the cuff around his wrist swinging open with a click. Tarn stood up, a bit wobbly from both the chops on his neck and sitting in the chair for so long. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times to get some blood flowing, then he trotted off down the corridor toward his son’s bedroom.
The nineteenth robot followed a few meters behind him, a crowbar in its second hand and a ratchet spanner in the third.
Per the escape plan Shepard had stealthily informed Tarn about―scrolling the plan in dribs and drabs across a bridge monitor when no one else was looking―once he joined up with Ritch, father and son would make their way to the docking bay, prep the shuttle for departure, then once Shepard showed up they would all fly away together.
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 21