Nine seconds.
The machine scanned the room. It spotted Hamilton’s pod. It was somewhat repaired from the last time he’d seen it.
Eight seconds.
It began to advance on the pod. Its arms, in better condition than they had been, began to come to bear on Hamilton’s pod.
Seven seconds.
Hamilton realised it would either fire or reach the pod before it launched. He fumbled with the hatch lever.
Six seconds.
Hamilton threw open the hatch and, ignoring the pod’s alarm klaxon, fired at the robot with the alien pistol. The robot returned fire, striking the pod above the hatch. Hamilton’s shot struck the machine full in the chest area. The beam was very wide, he noted, far wider than the end of the barrel should allow. The robot somersaulted backwards into a wall. Its defence field flaring brightly as it struggled to dissipate the energy.
Five seconds.
Four seconds.
The robot began to move again. Hamilton thumbed the power setting all the way to the other end of its track. He took aim once more.
Three seconds.
The beam that emerged from the pistol this time was needle-thin and blindingly bright. The robot was just sitting up when the beam struck it again. This time, its defence field was of no protection. The fine beam sliced through it and into the robot’s shoulder without stopping, emerging from the other side and zapping into the wall. The robots arms on that side went limp.
Two seconds.
Hamilton realised belatedly that he possessed a weapon sufficiently destructive to dispose of the robot. He could take the ship! Having over-ridden the safety systems, the pod was going to launch regardless of the fact its hatch was open. He also realised he had no time to get out of the pod and shut the hatch again.
One second.
In disgust, he slammed the hatch shut and secured it. The protective inner door slid down over it at once, to prevent the chamber from being decompressed when the pod launched.
Zero.
The acceleration was worse than he’d been told. He’d never used an escape pod before. Now he was glad. The bone crushing acceleration flattened him into his seat. Almost too late, he remembered the charges he’d planted. With a titanic effort he managed to get hold of the detonator from his belt, then arm, and finally fire the charges.
He never heard the explosions from the ship, never heard the discharge of the weapons as they fired blindly, seeking targets suddenly invisible to their tracking arrays. He never heard because the vacuum of space separated him from the action. He’d already blacked out from the acceleration, anyway. By the time the computer had tied in the main sensors to the weapons the pods were already well out of range.
Only the forward battery had had any success. Several clouds of debris marked former escape pod’s demises.
The robot regained its footing and stood indecisively. It knew what had happened to its target this time. It had escaped!
An insistent buzzing filled its head. An errant transmission from somewhere that ordered it, commanded it, demanded, threatened. The robot ignored it.
Its entire concern was its escaped target. It reviewed its program. Dispose of ship’s occupants, destroy any other invaders. Its damaged brain considered the matter.
It had disposed of the ship’s occupants. But this invader had failed to be destroyed. It had failed in an assigned task.
But maybe it could redress the failure.
One of the pods had not jettisoned. It was the master’s own pod, prepared beforehand with a special code to prevent unauthorised use, to be used only in emergencies. The robot considered this an emergency. Further, it knew the unlocking code.
It half moved toward the pod, then stopped. It was in no condition to pursue its quarry. It needed further repairs. Slowly, almost painfully, it turned about and headed for the elevator.
Hamilton came to after only a few seconds of unconsciousness. A familiar voice greeted him.
“Hamilton? Are you awake yet? Hamilton?”
It was Walsh.
Hamilton muttered darkly under his breath. His suit speaker carried it to the voice-activated pick-up.
“Ah! I see you are! Congratulations! I didn’t think you’d survive my little friend.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Hamilton stated. He didn’t have the energy to be sarcastic.
“No matter. You’re going where I wanted you to, in any case.”
Hamilton shook his head to clear the last remaining black spots from his vision. “Walsh, what the hell’s going on here?”
“Aha! Admitting defeat?” Walsh sounded smug.
Hamilton was too exhausted to fence with him. “Yes! Now tell me what’s going on. You promised.”
Walsh’s sigh was very audible. “Ah, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes”
“So be it. I shall tell you some of what is transpiring here.” Walsh cleared his throat noisily, then. “Sorry about that,” He apologised. “An unnecessarily human gesture. I sometimes forget I am not one of you. But surely you have surmised as much?”
“I considered it.” Hamilton admitted.
“But discarded the idea as ridiculous, no doubt?”
Hamilton was silent.
“Yes, no doubt your human arrogance - which I have mastered so well, don’t you think? - led you to discount that theory as absurd. Odd, considering you already know of the Humals. Still, that’s your problem, not mine. But to return to my tale, before your pod enters atmosphere and we lose contact, yes, I am an alien. Not Humal. Not like anything your kind have encountered so far.”
“How come you look so human?” Hamilton demanded.
“Oh, Walsh’s body, you mean?” Walsh sounded ever amused. “That’s just something I threw on, so to speak.”
“What?” Hamilton was nonplussed.
“OK. Try and stay with me, Hamilton. You’re not that dim.”
Hamilton ground his teeth as Walsh continued.
“Remember what LeGault told you about his teams’ mission to the Humal derelict?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the thing he didn’t know is that I was in Mr Walsh when he brought him back after the explosions.”
“In him? What the Hell are you?”
Walsh was silent a moment, as if trying to figure out how best to explain a difficult subject to a particularly dense child. “Hmmm. I guess the best way I can put it so that you’ll understand is to describe me as a virus. An incorporeal, machine virus. A particularly advanced and complex piece of code that can rewrite itself at will and inject itself into almost any machine sufficiently advanced to hold it.”
“Like a program?” Hamilton frowned.
“Something like that, yes. But not written by anyone else. I was in the Humal ship when it crashed millennia ago. The Humals detected my presence and tried to eradicate me. As well try to hold back the tide, as you humans might say. When they realised I couldn’t be deleted, they crashed their ship to prevent me escaping.”
“Why infect the Humal ship?”
“Why not? We were at war with them. A particularly nasty war. We’d almost won, too. Of course, I never saw the end of the war, being trapped on that barren planet in the wreck. But I know from the lack of Humal relics your kind have found that we must have wiped all trace of them from the galaxy.”
“If that’s true, how come you virus things haven’t fallen on us and done the same?” Hamilton demanded.
“A good question. One I intend to discover in due course. In any event, your species continued existence will be short-lived now. The planet below you was a Humal planet but it was also one of our “sleeper” worlds. In the early stages of the war, when there was a chance we might actually lose, we sent thousands of our kind here, using this Humal tachyon beam relay station to transmit ourselves from many different locations to this one. Once here, we simply insinuated ourselves into the planet’s data matrix and waited until we were needed.”
“A
storage facility, then? Like a cryo-capsule for you programs?”
If you like.” Walsh sounded amused. “I’ve already determined that the data matrix is 90% intact. I have to give the Humals credit where it’s due. They built to last. All the necessary comms gear is still functional too.”
“How did you end up in Walsh? Some sort of computer implant?”
“Stop thinking so simply. I’m in Walsh because he, like the rest of your species, has a built-in computer. His brain!”
Hamilton felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “How did you get in there?”
Walsh sighed. Perhaps he was tiring of the conversation. “The Humals were far more advanced than your species. They developed thought/machine interfaces long before we found them. It was like an open door into their heads. All their ships had them. The Humal ship that Walsh and Co. found. The one where I was trapped, had such an interface. When he and the other one tried to power up the console I was able to strike out through the interface and establish a link to Walsh. The console partly overloaded then, killing the other one and knocking Walsh out. Unconscious, it was much easier to use the link to transmit myself into his brain.
“Unfortunately, he was not terribly suitable. None of your kind are, but I didn’t know that then. When the other one, the female, entered, I tried to reactivate the link to her. But somehow she was able to resist it, sense it. I imagine she has some latent mental powers. I was unable to get in through the Humal interface. Further, she perceived my attack as coming from the console with the interface. She pulled out a weapon and destroyed it, leaving me trapped in Walsh’s head.”
Hamilton felt he should be happier at finally putting some answers to all the questions he’d had. So Lewis was the latent psion that had put nightmares in their heads. It made sense and explained some of Lewis’ attitude and craziness. But it was a hollow feeling that filled him. Walsh, the program, or virus, or whatever he was, was clearly in control here. All he could do was to keep him talking and learn as much as he could.
“So. Why did you drag us all out here? What do you want with this planet?” Hamilton was filled with a terrible certainty he already knew what Walsh’s response was going to be.
“The data matrix still has hundreds, if not thousands, of my kind embedded in it. All of them trapped here, as I was trapped on the Humal ship. I intend to re-establish the commlink between the station and the matrix, then use the station’s tachyon beam transmitter to send my fellows back into human space.”
Hamilton went cold. It was as he feared. Walsh was planning an invasion.
“And before you ask,” Walsh continued. “I have taken the liberty of building a tachyon receiver on one of your human worlds. A populous world. The receiver is coupled to a thought/machine interface, again, built by yours truly. I’m sure you can see where this is going.”
Hamilton could. He didn’t much like it.
“What’s the matter? Lost your voice?” Walsh sneered.
It was a good thing the pods weren’t controllable else Hamilton would have turned his around and headed straight for the station, for all the good it would do. Even as he was wishing for this, the pod bucked and jerked as it entered the upper atmosphere of the planet.
“Oh dear,” Walsh sighed. “Hamilton’s sulking. I must have put him in a bad mood. Surely it wasn’t something I said? Not to worry,” Walsh continued, as if talking to himself. “If he was mad before, think how enraged he’ll be when he finds out his pod was damaged and won’t land anywhere near the shuttles.”
Hamilton scanned the limited read-outs and dials in the pod. It seemed the alien was right. Pods were designed to home in on friendly beacons, such as those broadcast by the shuttles. However, they had very limited directional controls. Any damage would throw them off by miles.
“He won’t be very pleased when he realises he’ll have to walk so many miles.” Walsh continued.
“What’s the point in bringing the rest of us out here, anyhow? Surely you could have just built that ship and flown out here by yourself? What did you need the rest of us for?” Hamilton asked. He was fairly sure he already knew what this answer was going to be as well. He just hoped he was wrong.
Walsh chuckled. “True, but it seemed prudent to bring along a few…..hosts, just in case the station was damaged and unable to transmit. A score or so of us would make light work of any repairs needed. Alternatively, if the matrix was destroyed and my brethren lost, we could simply move on to the next sleeper world and try again. I know the locations of several such worlds.”
“So why let us live now? Surely you have what you want?”
“Who said I was going to let you live?”
Hamilton felt a chill.
“True,” Walsh continued. “You are of absolutely no threat whatsoever now. I could just simply abandon you on the world below. However, as soon as the transmission is complete, I believe I’ll target some antimatter warheads on your locations on the surface. I’m nothing if not prudent and I don’t like loose ends.” Walsh’s voice crackled with static. Their conversation wouldn’t last much longer.
“Where did Vogerian fit into this?”
“Vogerian? He was just a puppet. I developed a small implant, based on the thought/machine interfaces, but utilising more technological transmission methods. One in my head, one in his. With it I can control any being completely. Vogerian was always under my direct control. You were suspicious from the start, but of the wrong person. A classic piece of misdirection.”
The static was terrible now. “What do you call yourselves?” Hamilton asked.
“Let’s see, I think the translation of our own name means: Those who think. Something like that. But I think I like the Humal term for us. Jada-Ko-Vari. That’s both the singular and plural form.”
“What does it mean?” Hamilton questioned.
“The devils within.”
Hamilton, for once in his life, was bereft of any clue what to do next.
“Ah!” Walsh exclaimed, barely legible through the static. “Transmission has begun. Farewell, Hamilton. I have to go.”
Static drowned out any further conversation. Hamilton muttered irritably under his breath.
The pod continued its breakneck descent into the atmosphere. In time, a parachute opened and the little pod sailed down more gently. It disappeared into the trees and vanished from normal sight.
Aboard the Hope’s Breath the robot finished its repairs. It was as good as new, apart from the buzzing in its mind. It only remained to load up with munitions and be off after the escaped invader.
It reached towards an ammunition box.
The explosion was far larger than Hamilton could have envisaged.
The robot’s hidey-hole was located almost directly beneath the main engineering section. It had been placed there to further hinder detection attempts. The blast ripped through the floor and into the chamber, severing vital computer control lines and sending static discharges down the wires.
The computer was suddenly convinced of one thing. The station was an enemy vessel. It fired up the engines, though only two nacelles roared into life, and headed directly for the structure, guns blazing. Even the emplacements damaged by Hamilton couldn’t fail to hit such a huge target.
In the engine room, rockets and micro-missiles exploded from below, doing further damage to the delicate instrumentation.
The ship’s computer realised its error and ceased firing immediately. It tried to shut its engines down.
And failed.
It was unable to turn swiftly enough. The engines were at full thrust. It was on an unavoidable collision course with the station. Vital minutes passed. The computer sought to regain control but was hopelessly unsuccessful. Each fresh explosion from then engineering section sent a wave of false and confusing data to it. In addition, Walsh was ordering it to stop. Demanding it. After a minute he stopped trying to tell it what to do.
The station opened up on the Hope’s Breath. The computer w
as confused. The station must be an enemy installation after all!
The ship returned the station’s fire. Both craft were soon damaged beyond repair. They ceased firing almost simultaneously. Seconds later, they collided.
The explosion briefly drowned out the light from the distant star. For a few moments, the planet had two suns. Then the fireball began to fade, until, eventually, all was as it had been for countless years.
EPILOGUE
Hamilton was on his hands and knees, vomiting up the gallons of sea water he’d swallowed during his swim to the shore.
Any hope of avoiding a rapid exposure to the jungle world’s bacteriological community had vanished almost as rapidly as the escape pod had sunk after it had plummeted into the ocean several hundred yards offshore.
The demented storm which was lashing this part of the planet had undoubtedly served to throw the damaged pod’s navigation out even further than it already was. He had hoped to at least have time to sit within his pod and perform what limited tests the devices aboard were capable of doing. Instead he’d had to pitch himself headlong into raging seas or sink along with the useless, doomed pod.
To be fair though, he thought, it wasn’t the pod’s fault that it had been damaged.
At least the ‘chute had opened, he thought grimly.
Coughing up the last of the extremely salty water he wearily stared around himself.
He lay upon a wide beach of dark sand. At the head of the beach lay a wall of greenery, the beginning of the jungle that most of this world was covered with. In the darkness it looked less than inviting. Behind him, quite a way behind, the ocean surged and pounded its fury at his escape from it.
Hamilton gave it the finger and then allowed himself to roll onto his back. He’d ditched both spacesuit and armour as he’d struggled not to drown in the sea. Something had torn the suit during the landing and escape from the pod and it had filled up with water almost immediately, dragging him down. By the time he’d gotten out of the suit and armour, he’d been deep beneath the waves. He preferred not to recall the struggle back to the surface whilst his lungs screamed for air. Drowning had always been a fear of his.
Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope Page 28