by C. Gockel
“But it isn’t?” Sixty asked.
They were close enough to the planet that they could see the faintest outline of what passed for an atmosphere on S5O12—a thin, wispy layer of what the holo identified as nitrogen, methane, carbon dioxide, and carbon monoxide.
Shrugging, Volka tilted her head, not sure why she felt uneasy and hollow. “Should it be so dark on the surface?”
“There is never life on the surface. The facility is under the ice,” Sixty explained. “Ice blocks radiation and traps heat. There would normally be space traffic, but with the emergency, it’s not strange that they’ve brought all their ships into dock.”
“I’m not getting any ether signals...nothing.” Jerome said. “Not even encoded signals. There should be something by now.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Ramirez muttered.
“I have no feeling.” Volka said. Closing her eyes, she reached out to Sundancer. The ship sent her an image of an empty, deserted husk of an alien colony ship. Her eyes bolted open. Carl, until that moment a lump of fur in an abandoned helmet, sat up with a squeak.
“No one is there,” said Jerome, oddly at that exact moment.
Volka swallowed.
Carl squeaked. “No one is alive. Everyone left is dead.”
Volka felt a shiver run up her spine, and then her eyes widened. “No, not everyone!”
At Carl’s words, “Everyone left is dead,” for a brief moment, 6T9 pictured calling the Fleet in to investigate, and Volka, Carl, Sundancer, and himself going home. Obviously, there had been some great tragedy here, but it was over now, and they weren’t the people to uncover what had happened.
But he knew they weren’t going home, didn’t he? And then Volka said, “No, not everyone!” and 6T9’s moment of indulgence shattered completely while gazing into her wide, earnest eyes.
Volka put a hand on his arm. “The machines! They might not be AI, but they are alive! They can tell us what happened! We have to go down there.”
The machines that would be left on Reich were not sentient, and not alive, but 6T9 noted no one corrected Volka’s pronouncement.
Dr. Patrick Shore said, “There are strange readings going on there…I think…I think…” The man gulped audibly. “The nuclear reactors that power this planet’s activities… I think that they are going to go into meltdown.”
6T9’s head jerked in the man’s direction. “Reich wouldn’t have reactors that would melt down accidentally.” This was not the sort of place that would use twentieth-century tech.
Young sighed and rubbed his eyes. “No, but they would have reactors that could be programmed to melt down if they wanted to keep their research secret.”
James had been standing very still, hands clasped in front of him, but his body jerked abruptly.
“Lieutenant,” James said. “Infected System 5 forces at a private gate at S5O11 have just been defeated by a Fleet squadron. The gate is still operational—another squadron is coming through. They’re heading this way.”
6T9’s brow furrowed. “That gate is two hours and twenty-three minutes away at lightspeed. Not soon enough.” His Q-comm flashed white. “If they’re going to so much trouble to destroy this facility, there is something worth knowing.” And knowing it might be what saved the galaxy and Volka.
“Or it could just be a trap,” Young said.
“We have to go down there,” James said, and 6T9’s vision returned.
“Not disagreeing,” said Young.
“You have at most thirty-five minutes,” said Shore.
“We can go in and out quickly,” said James.
“Where to?” Volka asked.
James said, “We’ll have our best luck getting in at one of the drone entrances.” And he highlighted a destination in the holo.
6T9 felt the ship dropping. If he had a heart, that might drop, too. “Jerome isn’t picking up any ethernet activity. We’ll have to hardlink directly to Reich’s research computer.” James’s eyes met 6T9’s across the bridge. They were the two beings aboard capable of hardlinking with a possibly malicious computer without getting their neural ports fried. 6T9 glanced down at Volka’s wrist. Bracelet might be able to—but Volka needed Bracelet, and Bracelet was a baby by human and AI reckoning.
Young must have read James’s and 6T9’s unspoken thought because he said, “Half my team and myself are coming with you two. Jerome can establish local ether for us at least. Everyone, use the cipher from Shinar. It will still be secure.”
Young’s thoughts flooded the general channel with a flurry of orders. Around him Marines sprang into action.
6T9 hadn’t volunteered—but apparently, he’d been volunteered. He did and didn’t want to go. He glanced down at Volka. She had stepped very close to him. She was the reason he wanted to go and didn’t want to go, another dichotomy. Giving in, he took one of her hands in his.
Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered, “I want to come with you.”
He exhaled. He was happy that she’d do the most good aboard Sundancer—for the ship, a meltdown would be a pleasantly warm bath. He actually smiled with relief when he said, truthfully, “You and Carl have to stay here and keep the getaway car warm.” Dipping his chin, he whispered, “You are the only ones who can drive.”
She gulped, nodded, bit her lip, and whispered, “It does seem like a trap, Sixty.”
His Q-comm flashed. “Just because it is a trap doesn’t mean the rat will be caught.”
Frowning, she said emphatically, “You’re not a rat.”
He grinned. “I’m not nearly as delicious, I’m certain.”
A forced-looking smile flitted across her lips.
From her helmet came Bracelet’s voice. “Don’t worry, Miss Volka, I’m sure if anything happens to him, Time Gate 1 will give his server to another 6T9 unit—and a Q-comm, of course.”
That didn’t reassure 6T9, particularly. His grin faded.
Volka scowled. “You are more than your server brain and your original programming.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, sensory receptors firing as though they were touching from forehead to toe, though only their hands were linked—and even then, he’d already put on his gloves.
Sundancer was no longer moving. In the local ether connection, Young gave the order to be ready to move out. 6T9 reached up and pulled back the skin covering his neural port. There was a hardline extension in his helmet, and he plugged that in. He’d be able to hardlink to any port now without lifting his visor and exposing himself to the planet’s bitter cold. Finishing, he blinked down at Volka.
Half of his face was a metal skeleton—abhorrent looking even to people born in the Republic—but her gaze was steady on his. She put her hand over his chest where his heart would be, and illogically, he imagined he could feel the warmth of her touch through his suit. And then, nodding once to him, she left the bridge with Carl and all those who would remain.
“Suit check,” Young said over the ether. With a thought, the Marines, James, and 6T9 confirmed their suits were sealed. The atmospheric pressure of the planet was 1% of Earth’s at sea level, and the temperature was -223 C. Their suits would not be impervious to the elements for extended periods of time. With their suits’ heating pushed to their limits, their power reserves wouldn’t survive more than thirty minutes. 6T9 found his lips turning up wryly. Fortunately, the planet’s nuclear power plant would irreversibly slide toward meltdown before that happened. How long after that moment before the explosion, he wasn’t sure, but he’d be warm then.
“6T9,” Young said, “you’ll be our ether extender.” He handed 6T9 a satchel and then a rifle—even without 6T9’s latest programming updates, he could fire at malicious machines. At 6T9’s touch, the rifle pinged him over the ether and gave him a status update and a cheerful, “Ooh-rah!” It must have been a default salutation, because Ramirez murmured, “Ooh-rah to you too, Baby,” to his own weapon, and there were chuckles around the bridge.
Sundanc
er’s keel opened, and 6T9 followed the team out into the darkness beyond. As soon as his boots hit the ice, lights flashed inside his suit, warning him of the frigid temperatures. Despite the suit’s insulation and heating system, he could feel the cold in his heels and in the exposed skeleton on his face. Since 6T9 was the designated depositor of ethernet extenders, he jogged behind the team as they raced toward the maintenance entrance. When the ethernet connection to Jerome weakened, he backed up a few steps, bent over, and embedded an extender into the ice. It was a small, camouflaged device, half the size of his palm. He took a few steps past it, verified he was still in contact with the teams inside the ship and on the ground, and headed for the entrance. Approaching it, he noticed a large ice overhang. He was two meters back when the shared channel hummed with Young’s voice. “If we blow the door, the ice overhead is going to block the entrance. Not normally an issue; we’d melt it with plasma. But right now, we don’t have time.” There was a flare of static, probably a barely suppressed curse.
6T9 gazed up at the ice. Somehow, they needed to get inside, shut down the reaction—or, at the very least, download the data they needed and get out—
Ramirez turned toward him. There was no sound in such thin atmosphere. But 6T9 read the words, “Incoming!” on his lips.
Phaser rifles came up. 6T9 spun and saw a disc-shaped ‘bot hovering toward them over the snow, phaser chargers lit within it. His Q-comm downloaded unhelpful information on its make and model number—it was a ColdSWEEPER256 security unit—it was highly phaser resistant and its own phaser cannon was primed and ready to fire.
ColdSWEEPER256 swept over the ice drifts toward maintenance entrance South by Southwest 49A. ColdSWEEPER256’s 830 day-survey mission of planet S5O12 was nearing completion. Power reserves were low, and ColdSWEEPER was forty-five standard Earth days overdue for its scheduled system updates, but the ethernet was down. ColdSWEEPER did not need the system updates; still, an Ethernet not Found message replayed constantly in his status updates, an infinitesimal drag on optimum efficiency. ColdSWEEPER’s function was hovering—sweeping—over the surface of S5O12, identifying strangers on the planet’s surface, stunning them, resorting to phaser fire if need be, and alerting Central—the main computer—of potential “corporate espionage.” ColdSWEEPER did not know what “corporate espionage” meant. However, it did know that at the moment, if it encountered a stranger, its stunners and phasers would be at .197 percent below optimal power. ColdSWEEPER preferred always to be at optimum power, even though in forty-six rotations around the planet it had never encountered any man or machine that had been a stranger. In fact, in the last forty-five days, it hadn’t encountered anyone or anything. It was programmed to find people and things. Seeing a human or machine caused its circuits to warm and its greeting sequences to activate. The dark and cold of not seeing anyone or anything was…sub-optimum.
Approaching the maintenance door, ColdSWEEPER attempted to connect to the ethernet and failed again. Sometimes the SWEEPER techs set up private ethernet hubs. These were against protocol, but the techs had programmed ColdSWEEPER not to report them. Sometimes, on ColdSWEEPER’s arrival, they would download visual data from ColdSWEEPER’s sensors and broadcast the ‘bot’s approach for their children. Sometimes when ColdSWEEPER swept into the maintenance entrance, a tech or two and their partners would meet ColdSWEEPER. Sometimes they brought their children, too. ColdSWEEPER had heard the techs declare that he was a “big hit with kids.” ColdSWEEPER did not understand that; it had never been hit by or hit a child. Children jumped up and down when they saw ColdSWEEPER and “loved his holos,” according to the parents. Sometimes, after ColdSWEEPER’s body reached a temperature that was not dangerously cold, children would sit on top of it as it hovered to maintenance. Children were warm. ColdSWEEPER was designed for cold, but warmth was…optimal.
Children’s appearances changed very much in 830 days. As part of its approach sequence, ColdSWEEPER began running aging simulation apps so as not to misidentify Reich’s underage inhabitants. It was Jocelyn’s fourth birthday today. ColdSWEEPER would whistle “Happy Birthday” to her. Last time the ‘bot had seen the child, she had put sparkly stickers on its carapace. The way the light reflected on the stickers was always different. ColdSWEEPER was programmed to look for differences. Looking at the sticker with its periscope eye made ColdSWEEPER’s circuits fire and warmed its systems. Finding differences was…optimal.
There was no response on the private channels, either. ColdSWEEPER’s circuitry didn’t become warm with reception, but still, the running app that was estimating the children’s new appearances was warming.
ColdSWEEPER swept within 4.7 kilometers of its destination and saw difference! It slowed. ColdSWEEPER detected foreign ethernet and a ship hovering to the south of the entrance. ColdSWEEPER could not identify its make. Visual receptors revealed no machines or humans, but heat sensors detected hominid forms by the door. Further sensory analysis revealed the hominid forms to be sealed in stun-resistant armor. ColdSWEEPER switched to its phaser cannon. Seconds later, it was primed and ready to fire at the foremost figure. However, it did not fire. It attempted to identify the man within the suit. Helpfully, the hominid form turned around. Its suit’s helmet lit within, providing optimal lighting for facial recognition. Half of its face was peeled away, but ColdSWEEPER was able to focus on the remaining half. All of ColdSWEEPER’s circuits fired in recognition. Recognition triggered a data query. The query returned massive amounts of information. It was not an intruder—it was Android General 1. Android General 1 was a hero machine: he had been selected by The One for first contact. He had traveled to Luddeccea and escaped. He had rescued a sentient alien machine from Luddites. He had saved machines from pirates. He had discovered another, extinct alien species. He had fought the Dark and rescued Time Gate 33—though sadly, she had destroyed herself. Android General 1 was more than he was designed to be. He had transcended his programming. He was a savior for all machines. He was authorized above all except Central. There was much more, but ColdSWEEPER did not understand any of it, except that Android General 1 was authorized to be here. However, the query and the influx of data was warming, and warmth was optimal.
ColdSWEEPER could not connect to the foreign ethernet, as it was not any of its approved hubs. So it issued its greeting in flashing Morse Code. “Android General 1, may I be of assistance?”
The standard response time from a human or android was 200 milliseconds. Android General 1 did not respond for three seconds. ColdSWEEPER’s circuits lit with the problem. It was possible it wasn’t Android General 1 and only a machine of the same model. A direct inquiry would serve in that case. 6T9 units would not lie about matters outside of their original programming. ColdSWEEPER was about to inquire, but then the suspected Android General 1 replied, eyes flashing in Morse Code, “Please let us into the maintenance entrance, ColdSWEEPER.”
ColdSWEEPER’s circuits lit. It was giving orders. It must be Android General 1. However, “The humans are not authorized. Nor is their ship.”
There was a pause of 300 milliseconds, but then Android General 1 replied in blinking code, “I authorize them.”
“Very good, sir.” Zipping forward, ColdSWEEPER said, “Pardon me while I open the airlock.” The strange men moved away from the door. Since the ether was down, ColdSWEEPER extended an arm and hardlinked with an access panel. Cold radiated from the arm into ColdSWEEPER’s core, and it withdrew the arm quickly when the door began to grind open. The men jogged inside as soon as the opening was wide enough. Android General 1 went last, affixing an ethernet extender on the outside of the door as he did. ColdSWEEPER entered as soon as it could fit its wider bulk, hardlinked immediately, and closed the door. Android General 1 affixed another ether extender as pressurized air flowed into the chamber. The air was cold. That was not optimal.
Android General 1’s eyes flashed Morse Code at ColdSWEEPER. “Do you get your system updates from Time Gate 5?”
“Negative,
sir. I receive them from Central.”
“Central?” The eye that was not exposed widened. ColdSWEEPER’s circuitry lit. An expression of surprise. “What is Central?”
“Reich’s supercomputer. It’s in charge of…everything.”
“I need to speak with Central. Where can I connect to it?” Android General 1 spoke aloud. There was enough pressure in the airlock for there to be sound now.
“The closest connection is in maintenance,” ColdSWEEPER also spoke aloud. ColdSWEEPER was still very cold—its carapace was just -230 Celsius—and the sounds rattled out of it, tinny and sub-optimal.
“Take me there,” Android General 1 ordered, and ColdSWEEPER’s circuits lit exceptionally brightly. When he got to maintenance, and he was met by the tech’s children, ColdSWEEPER would introduce Android General 1. ColdSWEEPER would relate everything his query about the general had returned, even the parts he didn’t understand. Android General 1 was a 6T9 Unit—a sex ‘bot—whatever was that? But human minds would understand it and find it interesting. ColdSWEEPER was programmed to converse. It helped keep humans alert when they were cold, low on power, or needed to reboot—ColdSWEEPER had never fired on an intruder—it had, however, rescued humans in downed ships and was programmed to keep those humans alert. From its techs, it knew that for human children, data was stimulating and helped them develop their software.
“Of course, I will take you there,” ColdSWEEPER replied. Android General 1 and his companions were holding weapons and had not moved to open the visors of their helmets; still, ColdSWEEPER announced, “Do not remove your helmets or open your visors. The air pressure is sufficient, but it is too cold. Hyperthermia could set in within minutes even with minimal exposure.” Its circuits lit, and it added, “This airlock has never been this cold. How very unusual.”
Android General 1’s companions lined up against the far wall, except for one who got on one knee near the inner airlock door and raised his rifle.