End Point

by Michael Campling

  The bots stood in an orderly V formation spanning the corridor. There were seven of them. Stock still. And every single one of them had its automatic weapon at its shoulder, ready to fire. Meat grinders, Chapman thought. This isn’t going to be pretty. The M2 bots deserved their nickname. The toughest bots in the exercise, M2s were relatively slow but heavily armored, their limbs, body panels, and joints clad in the latest ceramic armor. Their only vulnerabilities were the visors protecting their optical sensors, and the fact that their AI capabilities were basic at best. But what the M2s lacked in guile, they more than made up for with sheer, dogged determination.

  “Shit!” Vygotsky breathed. “Two or three, we could manage, but seven? No dice. We’ll have to double back and try the starboard corridor.”

  “Maybe,” Chapman said. “But there’s something about this I don’t like.”

  “You think they set up an ambush on the starboard approach?” Parker asked.

  Chapman hesitated. “Yeah, but it’s not just that.” The bots are forcing our hand, he thought. They’re trying to control our every move. But he couldn’t say that aloud; the squad would never let him live it down. Everyone knew that bots weren’t smart enough to put together a decent strategy. Even the M3s with their adaptive AI were little more than guard dogs, programmed to patrol and destroy intruders, but that was their limit.

  “They’re still not showing on my HUD,” Corporal Dern put in.

  “Mine’s blank too,” Samson added. “What’s going on here?”

  “All right,” Chapman said. “Wallace, pull the worm back. Parker and me will go forward and deploy countermeasures. When I give the word, the squad will double back to access shaft one and head up to the forward torpedo room.”

  “We’re retreating?” Vygotsky asked.

  “No, we’re being smart,” Chapman said. “We’re going to drop off their radar then hit them hard. Parker, let’s go.”

  Striding forward, Chapman pulled an electronic countermeasures pod from his belt. The flick of a sliding switch was all it took to arm the device, and it would deploy as soon as it left his hand. Edging toward the corridor entrance, he sensed Parker at his side. “I’ll aim high, keep yours low, okay?”

  “Ready,” Parker said.

  “Three, two, one, go!” Chapman reached around the corner, hurling his ECM pod toward the ceiling, and Parker kneeled at his side, sending his own pod to rebound from the deck and along the midship corridor.

  A brief burst of automatic fire sprayed from the darkness, pelting the outer bulkhead, but then the countermeasures did their job, and the bots stopped firing, temporarily blinded by the surge of sensory signals hurled out by the ECM pods.

  “Go!” Chapman shouted, pushing off from the bulkhead and powering back toward the squad. “We’ve got ten seconds to hit that access shaft.”

  The squad ran hard, sharp breaths hissing on the comms, and Chapman led the pack, mentally congratulating himself for the time he’d spent learning The Pride’s layout; all those hours poring over schematics were about to pay dividends. He halted by a tall, narrow hatch and tapped his passcode into the keypad, yanking the hatch open as soon as it unlocked, then he stood back, ushering the squad inside, Vygotsky in the lead.

  “Move it!” Chapman called out. “Climb!” As soon as the others were inside, Chapman followed, clinging onto the slim steel ladder and sealing the hatch behind him. The access shaft was tight, allowing just enough room for a person in an EVA suit to use the ladder, and the walls pressed in on Chapman from every side. Lit only by a dim red glow, the shaft plummeted to deck two below and rose to deck zero above, both destinations swathed in shadow. It was a grim spot, but it would serve, and Chapman propelled himself upward with his arms, grateful for the lack of gravity. From below, a harsh hammering rattled up through the ladder’s rungs, and he guessed the bots were pounding on the hatch, but Chapman allowed himself a grim smile. He’d outfoxed the enemy. The bots would know about The Pride’s four access shafts, but there was no way they could have the passcodes. And even if they could open the hatches, the shafts were too narrow for their bulky frames. An M3 might make it inside, but Chapman doubted it. For now, they were safe, but the way things were going, Chapman wasn’t counting on anything. I’ve got to up my game, he told himself. I have to turn this around.

  Vygotsky’s voice came over the intercom: “I’m at the top.”

  “Go ahead,” Chapman said. “Use an ECM. Be ready and move fast. Clear the room, then we’ll head for the comms section.”

  “Got it. Going in. Deploying ECM.”

  Above Chapman, the squad climbed faster, pouring in through the hatch. “Clear!” Vygotsky called. “Let’s move.”

  Chapman followed, clambering into the forward torpedo room and sealing the hatch before rejoining the squad. They double-timed it to the comms section, Vygotsky using his passcode to open the door. Inside, Chapman let the squad draw breath then began his brief:

  “First, I have a confession. Before this mission, I didn’t upgrade the firmware in my HUD.”

  “But, standing orders—” Parker began.

  Chapman raised his hand to fend off interruptions. “I know, but if it ain’t broke…” He looked around the squad. “You see where I’m going with this?”

  “Your HUD is the only one that works,” Vygotsky replied.

  “Yes, but there’s more to it,” Chapman said. “From the way your HUDs all glitched at once, we have to accept the possibility that the bots have hacked our systems.”

  Silence reigned, each member of the squad staring at Chapman, their minds working overtime.

  Corporal Wallace spoke up: “We can roll back the firmware in our HUDs. Only takes a second.”

  “Good,” Chapman said. “Do that, then we’ll make for the aft torpedo room. Dern, you’ll bring up the rear, and you’ll set two PMs along the corridor. The bots must be on their way up, either in the freight elevators or the walkways, but one way or another, they’ll be right behind us.”

  “Are you planning on heading down to engineering?” Vygotsky asked.

  “That’s right,” Chapman went on. “We’ll use the access shafts. I’ll lead my team into shaft four, Vygotsky, you’ll take shaft two. We’ll hit engineering at the same time, deploy ECMs then secure the room. We’ll make sure it’s sealed tight, then we’ll regroup and see if we can’t set up a surprise for our mechanical friends.”

  Vygotsky grinned. “I like it. What are we waiting for?”

  “Everybody fixed their HUDs?” Chapman asked, and when the squad confirmed, he made for the door.

  ***

  Chapman led the way down access shaft four and let himself out into the corridor with as much stealth as he could muster despite his EVA suit. His HUD showed the corridor as clear, but he looked around carefully just the same. I can’t take anything for granted, he told himself, sending the beam of his tactical light along the bulkheads and checking the panels overhead too. The bots were too large for the narrow crawl space above the ceiling, but the M3s’ powerful fingers could cling onto any surface, and in zero-G, they could slink across the ceiling at speed and attack from any angle with ease.

  “Clear,” he said. “Vygotsky, report.”

  “I’m in the port corridor already,” Vygotsky responded. “All clear. Heading to engineering now.”

  Chapman frowned. “Copy that, but don’t go in until I give the word.”

  “Understood.”

  Parker and Wallace appeared at Chapman’s side, and beckoning them to follow, he turned toward engineering and broke into a jog. He’d be damned if he’d let Vygotsky beat him to it.

  The engineering bay was secured by blast doors so heavily reinforced that his HUD showed nothing of the vast room beyond. They’d be going in blind, relying on speed and surprise, but first, they had a complication to overcome. The door could only be unlocked by a passcode, but the keypad had been ripped from the bulkhead leaving only a tangled knot of singed cables. Whether this was sabo
tage by the bots or damage inflicted by a previous squad, Chapman couldn’t tell, but fortunately, he had an ace in the hole. “Wallace, you’re up.”

  Corporal Wallace took a small plastic module from her pocket and stepped up to inspect the damage. She shook her head, but she went to work, sorting through the wires and attaching them to the module with clipped leads. “Done. Ready when you are, Sergeant.”

  “Vygotsky, we’re good to go,” Chapman said. “Are you ready?”

  “Almost. The pad was gone. Dern is patching it now.”

  Chapman almost smiled at the frustration in his fellow sergeant’s tone. “All right. Keep me updated.”

  “Will do,” Vygotsky said. “Wait, we’re ready. Standing by. ECM primed.”

  “Excellent.” Chapman activated his ECM pod. “When we release the doors, we’ll go in fast and fan out, but stay close to the bulkhead. I want a field of fire laid down across the whole bay. Understood? Okay. Three, two, one, now!”

  Wallace tapped a key on the module, and as the door shuddered open, Chapman hurled his ECM inside and ran in after it. Immediately, his threat indicator lit up, showing a dozen bots: mainly M1s with a couple of heavily armored M2s thrown in for good measure.

  “Contact!” Chapman yelled. “Weapons free!” He sidestepped to starboard, Parker and Wallace following his lead, all three unleashing a storm of gunfire.

  The older M1s were tough, but their sensors were particularly vulnerable to modern countermeasures, and most seemed stunned, unable to return fire. Chapman picked off the nearest bot, aiming for its head and sending three shots into its metallic skull. The bot staggered back, its arms flailing, and when Chapman followed up with another trio of headshots, the bot’s shoulders slumped, and it drifted upward from the deck, its body limp.

  Meanwhile, his team was doing good work, mopping up the M1s in short order. Across the room, Vygotsky’s team was pitching in, and sparks flew as bots staggered under the onslaught. Soon, the airless room was strewn about with debris, fragments of fractured metal floating through the void. The glinting carcasses of dead bots tumbled aimlessly, some still trembling, their servos twitching, spurts of stuttering current draining the dregs of power from ruptured circuitry.

  But the pair of M2s were unharmed, and Chapman knew the bots would quickly recover from the effects of the ECM; their sensors recalibrating, their neural networks reconfiguring their sensory circuits to compensate for the pods’ interference.

  Chapman centered his scope on an M2. The bot’s head darted from side to side, its systems assessing the threat and acquiring targets. Bullets rained down on its body, but the bot remained upright, its arms hanging loose by its sides, apparently unconcerned.

  It’s like we’re using peashooters, Chapman thought. He took careful aim at the bot’s visor, tracking its motion with his scope. But before he could fire, the bot went into action, marching forward as it brought its rifle to bear on its chosen target: Corporal Nate Parker.

  Parker, clearly unaware of the danger, was bracing his elbow against a metal workbench, intent on targeting the second M2 across the room, leaving his flank wide open. In a split second, the first bot would be in position, and then it would casually hose Parker down with a stream of gunfire. The bot’s rounds might be non-lethal, but Parker would be finished, kicked out the program and returned to his unit in disgrace. But Chapman wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Adjusting his aim, he shouted out a warning as his finger tightened on the trigger, sending two three-shot bursts into the bot’s visor. His shots were good, all finding their mark, but though a spray of tinted glass erupted from the cracked visor, the bot seemed unfazed, letting fly with a burst of automatic fire that raked across Parker’s position, kicking up sparks as the rounds rattled into the metal bench.

  “I’m hit!” Parker cried out, but he didn’t sway back or stumble; he simply ducked down behind the bench. “Shit! My suit’s breached.”

  “Wallace! ECM!” Chapman shouted.

  Wallace disengaged from the gun battle and darted behind a broad pillar. “Deploying ECM.”

  Chapman didn’t see the pod, but the M2’s reaction was unmistakable: it stopped firing, its body rigid, its head tilted back as it struggled to deal with the fresh onslaught of electronic noise pumped out by the ECM pod.

  “I’ve got this one,” Chapman called out. “Everyone else, take out the other bot.” Breaking from cover, he sprinted toward the M2, getting up close and personal with the heavy-built cyborg; the one thing they told you never to do. But Chapman’s grav boots pounded the deck, closing the bot down, and he didn’t slow until he was just a few meters from his target. Aiming steadily at the M2’s damaged visor, he chose the spot where he knew its sensors would be. The bot swung its rifle around, its proximity detectors sensing Chapman’s approach despite the ECM. But Chapman didn’t hesitate, unloading his weapon directly into the M2’s sensors.

  The bot’s visor shattered completely as Chapman’s rounds punched through into the delicate circuitry beneath, a jagged blue arc of electrical discharge crawling across the M2’s skull. But Chapman didn’t let up. He clenched his jaw and reloaded, firing until a flash of white light told him he’d cracked the bot’s cranial power supply.

  Smoke spewed from the M2’s wound, and it lowered its weapon, its head bowed as though accepting defeat.

  “It’s done,” Chapman said, turning to check on the squad.

  Vygotsky had leaped onto a bench to get a better line of sight on the other M2, and as Chapman watched, the tell-tale flash of light flickered from its visor. “Die!” Vygotsky shouted, sending another volley into the bot’s head.

  “Hold your fire,” Chapman commanded. “Save your ammo.”

  Vygotsky fired one more three-shot burst then did as he was told, jumping down from the bench with a satisfied chuckle.

  “Weapons check,” Chapman said. “Dern, you’re with me. Parker needs help.”

  He found Parker where he’d left him, hunched behind a bench, his rifle cradled in his arms, his head down.

  “Hey,” Chapman said, kneeling down at his friend’s side. But he could say no more. The words stuck in his throat, his breath caught in his chest.

  Parker did not move. His face was pale in the dim light, his eyes wide open but unfocused. And from the corner of his mouth, a dark stream of blood formed viscous globules that spun and settled against his visor.

  “What the hell?” Dern breathed.

  But Chapman knew exactly what had happened. In the front of Parker’s EVA suit, arranged neatly across his chest, a row of holes gaped in the pristine fabric. Parker was dead, his suit depressurizing as he’d bled out, and there was no way that sim rounds could’ve caused his wounds. The bots were using live ammunition.

  ***

  Leaning over a console in the center of the engineering bay, his hands roving over the controls, Chapman looked up as Vygotsky approached. “You checked the bots?”

  “Yeah. Every single one.”

  The man’s tone was so grim, Chapman hardly needed to ask what he’d found, but he had to hear it for himself. “Live ammo?”

  Vygotsky nodded. “God knows how, but they all had the same ammo. Standard issue rounds. Box-fresh. Literally. I found a carton in one of the cabinets.”

  Chapman cursed under his breath. “They must’ve found an old store, broken in and helped themselves.”

  Vygotsky looked away for a second, and when he looked back, there was a guarded expression in his eyes; a haunted look Chapman had never seen before. “You know what?” Vygotsky began. “When you said the bots had hacked our gear, I thought you were losing it, jumping at shadows. But now…” he let his words hang in the air.

  “Something’s not right, that’s for sure,” Chapman said. “I can’t raise the base on my comms, so I set Wallace to check it out. She knows her way around any kind of comms, but she can’t get a squeak, not even on the emergency channels. They’re being jammed.”

  “We’re on our ow
n,” Vygotsky stated. “Question is, what do we do about it?”

  Chapman looked him in the eye. “We came here for one reason, you and me, and that hasn’t changed. We might’ve started this mission like a bunch of raw recruits, but by God, we’ll finish it like Cutters. So here’s what we’re going to do—we’re going to fight back. We’ll fight until the only things left standing in this crate have got dog-tags and heartbeats. What do you say?”

  “Hell yes,” Vygotsky said, and he chuckled, a genuine warmth to his laughter.

  Chapman smiled in return. “Good, because I’ve figured out a way for us to win. But first, we need to get the team together.”

  Vygotsky turned to the others. “Okay, everybody. Over here for a briefing. We’ve got work to do.”

  The squad chorused their confirmation and hustled over, standing in a quiet semi-circle facing the two sergeants.

  Chapman squared his shoulders and began: “All right. There’ll be a time to take care of our fallen friend properly, but first, we’ve got to put things right. Now, we could retreat to the shuttle and head for home with our tails between our legs, but so long as there are hostile bots on The Pride, we can’t guarantee we’d get free. The bastards hacked into our HUDs, so we have to assume that all our systems could be compromised, and that includes the shuttle. They could’ve found a way inside or even sabotaged the dock. It could take some considerable time to check it all out, and I won’t ask you to fight a rear-guard action for that long. There are still plenty of bots on this ship, and they’ll just keep coming, trying to wear us down, and I don’t like those odds.”

  “I’m with you there,” Vygotsky put in. “One hundred percent.”

  Chapman acknowledged his support with a nod. “We’re dealing with a new set of objectives here,” he went on. “We were aiming to capture this ship as if it were still in active service, preserving the bridge, engineering and so on. None of that matters anymore. This has become a fight for survival. And that’s why…” He paused to grab a breath. “That’s why we’re going to blow the control center and take out as many bots as we can along with it.”