“I can’t show you the way you came to this spot.”
That is only logical, Eve thinks. Marchenko would not have given her such an answer. Yet she should not measure the primitive software of the sensor unit against the same AI standards.
“Fine. It would be best if you come along. When I get to a fork in the road and don’t know which way to go, the two of us can explore both directions.”
The ISU does not answer, but it follows her. As if it could read my derogatory thoughts, Eve thinks, and then feels bad about mentally denigrating it. After all, this unit would sacrifice itself for her at any time!
The darker it gets, the harder it becomes for Eve to estimate the time spent and the distance covered. The pipe leads downward and seems to be turning in a spiral. Just as she has become used to it, there is a longer straight section. Eve cannot see its end. It seems odd to her that the complete structure should even fit inside the building. But maybe the darkness is deceiving. Shortly before the end of the straight sections she sees the path branching. She cannot remember this split, let alone the direction from which she came.
So this is the moment. “ISU 4, you check out the right corridor, I will take the left one. If you find the sleeping chambers, return to me as quickly as possible.”
“What do the sleeping chambers look like?”
Eve describes the tall room, including the thousands of aliens sleeping in the honeycomb-shaped compartments.
“These details should make identification possible,” ISU 4 confirms, then serpentines off.
“Just a moment,” Eve calls out. The unit turns back to face her. “There is a drop of about two meters at the end of the pipe, so be careful.”
“Thank you for this information.”
“And good luck with your search.”
“I will try to minimize the parameters of luck during my search.”
“Sure,” Eve says.
The sensor unit turns around and disappears into the right corridor. Eve listens to the tapping and rustling sound so typical for its snake-like motion, until she can only hear the humming of the life-support system. Then she starts out herself. She should not be surprised that she feels much lonelier now, but that is the case. She should have brought more—maybe all—of the ISUs along.
The corridor changes directions several times. It almost looks as if the designers put in some special effort toward the end. Now the way is leading slightly upward again. Eve can’t remember the way here being so irregular. On the other hand, she can see considerably more than a few days ago.
After ten minutes a soul-shaking scream echoes through the pipe. Her heart leaps, and she stops briefly to steady herself against the wall. The source must be far away, but even though the sound is muffled, her hair stands on end. Eve wipes the sweat off her brow. Was she this sweaty earlier? She hadn’t noticed. And had the increasing smell—a stench by now—been present before this point? Perhaps she became used to it in the sleeping chamber, but now she needs a new adjustment phase.
The end of the duct arrives faster than she expected. She discovers the ventilation opening in time. Eve stops and listens, telling herself she is waiting for the ISU. The corridor that ISU 4 is exploring obviously has not yet reached an end.
She admits she is actually afraid of the exit. She places a small pile of material in front of the ventilation duct in order to better pull herself up if necessary, but a quick escape will be difficult once she is down in the room. The horrifying scream came from far away, but who knows whether there might be a second extraterrestrial waiting for her down here? That’s nonsense, Eve, she tells herself, they can’t know that you are here.
Eve resolutely steps to the edge of the opening and carefully slides down. Yes. She has definitely found the right path. She sees her large backpack with the sturdy interior frame. It is still where she put it to help her climb up here before. She quickly reaches inside. The remaining food supply she’d had to leave behind is still there. Very good—she will survive a few more days.
She looks around. To the left, where she discovered the control panel for the honeycombs, a light is on. Close to the panel the wall has opened. Eve walks over there. Instead of the wall she sees a smooth surface with a vertical gap in the middle. Is this some kind of elevator? But where are the buttons? The thing, whatever it is, had not been here a few days ago. So she is definitely no longer alone in this building. Her hands tremble, so she presses them against the smooth wall.
The extraterrestrial is obviously not right here, she tells herself, trying to calm down. Did he change anything else? She notices something on the control panel for the honeycombs: A green symbol is glowing at half height. She has no idea what it means, but she has to make sure. The stench seems to be less overpowering now, or perhaps she is already used to it. Yet while she is walking upward, the intensity of the smell increases again. Then she passes the dead alien she took out of his chamber. The putrefaction has advanced considerably. She has to avert her eyes to keep from vomiting. Then she notices an impression in the wall of the capsule. Somebody must have hit against it with a heavy tool, using full force.
A few levels higher—she has stopped counting by now–she finds the empty chamber. The couch has been pushed outside. So the creature whose scream she heard must have come from here. She imagines the extraterrestrial standing in front of her, more than two meters tall, with a wide, barrel-shaped body and strong load-arms. He would be able to squish her like a louse. Would he want to? Perhaps not, if they had the chance to have an unbiased meeting first. Yet now he has seen his dead comrade, for whose death she is probably responsible, and if he has reached the control center he knows what a terrible thing she did to the entire system. Even if the alien is a pacifist, his first reaction will definitely not be friendly. How would she react in such a case? She and Adam and their Marchenko had punished Marchenko 2 for his attempted murder by sentencing him to eternal solitude. Yet she is to blame for the death of an entire nation, or what is left of it.
Eve sits down next to the empty chamber, leans her head against the wall, and closes her eyes. Adam, what would you have done? Marchenko, don’t you have any advice for me? She remembers how Adam was caught in the pit with the giant spider. At least he did not hide from it. And it really isn’t like her to try to dodge the unavoidable. I have lost my way, she thinks. I am in the wrong place here. I have to return to the control center, no matter what is waiting for me there.
She wonders whether she should rest for a little bit longer. Yet that would only bring back her doubts. No, she has to go now, but first she needs to replenish her water supply. She climbs all the way back into the chamber. Unlike the last time, no dead body is in her way. She quenches her thirst and fills the bottle. Then she walks back down the path. She tries once more to get the strange elevator going, but she still does not find any control buttons.
She will have to take the familiar way. She steps on the backpack again and pulls herself up. There she almost steps on a metal obstacle. The object scurries out of the way. It is ISU 4.
“Oh! ISU 4, what are you doing here?”
“I waited for you after fulfilling my task.”
“And why didn’t you keep on following me?”
“The task only concerned this air duct.”
“Sure. Thanks. Let’s return to the control center. You first.”
“Understood.”
May 9, 19, Marchenko 2
The past few hours have been the cruelest ones of his long life. They were worse than the time he had to spend alone in constant darkness, and more humiliating than the moment when two humans, barely out of childhood, defeated him. That scream alone! Marchenko 2 has no idea what a creature might look like that utters such a scream, but the image he comes up with is more horrifying than reality could ever be. He visualizes a cross between a velociraptor and a lion. He thinks of a carnivorous dinosaur because a part of the scream can be heard in the ultrasound spectrum, and the lion would add the necess
ary bass, the deep grumbling that needs a large resonant body to develop. And what is he doing? He is lying around, growing feet. He cannot look for the source, and there is something even worse: He is defenseless.
However, that will be over soon. Marchenko 2 will have four sturdy legs, two of which he can also use as arms. He can decide which ones to use for what, as all four limbs are designed with sensitive finger-like digits. Nor do they lack strength. He could lift 100 kilos—if he had a stable platform, because he only weighs half that much. He can certainly deal with Adam and Eve. Would he be able to defeat the other Marchenko? He does not know. He is sure, though, that he has the element of surprise on his side. One other thing is certain: He could never stand up to the creature that uttered that scream.
It is time to continue this voyage of discovery. He is inside a tall, wide corridor, which confirms his assumptions about the extraterrestrial inhabitants of the building. They might be two and a half meters tall and equally wide, and they still could walk through here comfortably. They are probably not much smaller, as otherwise the whole design would be inefficient. He must be near a reactor or some similar machinery that would usually be constructed at the bottom of a building. The control center—and there has to be such a place—would probably be considerably higher up, at a safe distance in case of a disaster. While this is a human perspective, and therefore it may be inappropriate here, all intelligent beings would, almost certainly, develop such basic ideas.
The corridor does indeed lead slightly upward. Whenever he comes to a branching path, he marks the way taken with a sign on the wall. In his memory banks he also generates a digital map, but he has already noticed that he cannot completely trust his length measurements. Space down here is special, and he does not mean a particular area, but space itself.
Finding the control center won’t be easy. He almost wishes that the scream would repeat itself, as he would then have an appropriate point of reference. What else can he use to orient himself? Marchenko stops and examines the walls. There must be supply lines. The corridors receive indirect lighting. The glow seems to come directly from the surface. Yet this is not possible without energy. There have to be lines that are regulated at some spot. After all, the center must be able to regulate the energy consumption of the building. Or are the extraterrestrials thinking in a totally different way? His scans cannot discover anything. Maybe the surface shields everything. He has to take a closer look at it.
Marchenko 2 stops. If he continues aimlessly he runs the risk of increasing the distance to the central room. He tries to scratch the wall with one of his fingers, but the material is too hard. Just a moment, he thinks. Within five minutes he changes the finger into a drill. He only manages to penetrate the surface one millimeter before the drill bit is worn out. But that’s no problem. His nano-fabricators have already begun using the material removed from the wall to harden the drill, and will continue to do so. As a result he succeeds in drilling a hole of approximately ten centimeters depth within ten minutes.
He examines the hole he just drilled. The upshot is fascinating. The material does not display any structures known to human technology. It is made all of a single piece, or to be more precise, it looks like it grew. The light is radiated by hardened cells that are supplied with energy by other cells behind them. However, these cells are not based on carbon, but on silicon. The aliens must either be silicon-based, or they managed to create life a second time, based on the life they knew, but with totally new components that are only theoretically known to humans.
Marchenko 2 feels he definitely has to find out how he can use this for his own purposes. Perhaps he could become truly invincible. While he is based on the clever concept of nano-fabricators, that system still distinguishes between dead and living matter. Just thinking about this gets him all excited. If he could gain control of such a superior biology, supplemented by his immortal consciousness, humanity would no longer stand a chance against him. He will need patience, but he will then succeed in taking revenge on his irresponsible creator—and on all inferior creatures as well.
Slow and steady, he thinks. Better concentrate on the next task—finding the control room. Even if electrical energy can reach the components by any route and without a specific path, that does not hold true for every consumable medium. What about water? Or air? The air in the ship contains enough oxygen for humans, which cannot be an accident. And where would the air probably be freshest? In the control center! That’s where the highest-ranked occupants would be, because the most important work is performed there. No commander would tolerate the air in the crew quarters being better than around his command chair. If he follows the air quality gradient he might take a detour or two, but he should arrive at the control center. Yet there is another essential task to fulfill first.
He needs a weapon.
Brightnight 36, 3876
The doors of the moving chamber open with a slight whistle. Gronolf is prepared. The system did not call him to the control center without reason. Perhaps danger is already awaiting him. The only thing he notices is the light. The room was not as brightly lit formerly. Otherwise everything seems okay. Gronolf inhales deeply. While he can smell the presence of a foreign creature, the scent is stale, so it must have disappeared hours ago. There is something else in the air, the odor of death. It is very weak, but it is obvious a Grosnop died here.
Gronolf starts to systematically examine the room. The consoles seem to be undamaged. He uses an ultrasonic command to open some of the motorized doors, but the equipment within the cabinets appears to be just as untouched as the outside. There is some ozone in the air. The holo-map must have been used recently. Gronolf walks around the consoles. He is ready to enter the center of the room when he sees the command chair. Gronolf starts breathing heavily, because a general sits there, recognizable by the patterns on his belly. He has to force himself not to drop to his knees in awed reverence. He has never yet faced a general without this natural gesture. Yet no matter how honorably this Grosnop may have lived, he is now obviously dead. His skin looks sunken, and the body can barely keep upright. The corpse must have sat in this chair for many years. What has happened here? Why did nobody pay his last respects to the general and take him back to the sea?
He remembers more now. This planet also has an ocean. Therefore this long voyage into darkness happened. They marched through ice and snow. He saw tough women and honorable men die in the cold. Gronolf shakes his touch-arms, as usual when he feels deep regret. Yet what does this have to do with this general? How did he die in his chair? Did this stranger—whose scent molecules he can still smell—have anything to do with it? He cracks the joints of his load-arms, with which he is going to rip apart the skin sack of the intruder. What did his mother always say? He must proceed systematically. He should not start out hunting on his own, even though he really feels like it. He is going to avenge the general! But not now. He first has to find out why the system woke him, and him alone.
Gronolf sits down on the other chair and looks the general in the front eye. He ought to ensure his honorable afterlife, instead of letting him sit here, but that will have to wait. He turns the chair around and taps on the top of the console. A control panel slowly slides out. It contains numerous small keys distributed among four sectors, but he knows how to use them. While he was trained in a ship, this console seems to be directly taken from a spaceship.
First he has to log in. “Gronolf Carriontooth,” he says.
“Welcome Gronolf, I recognize you,” the system says, “and I am handing over control to you.” The screen above the control panel turns on.
“Why was I awakened?” asks Gronolf.
“My subroutines agreed this was the only sensible option.”
“Agreed?”
“It was a majority decision. The psychological evaluation unit was against it.”
“With what justification?”
“It feared your lack of impulse control might cause problems.”
“The Majestic Draght has been activated again.”
“The... what?”
“You still appear to be suffering from the aftereffects of sleep. The medical evaluation unit warned this was to be expected after more than 500 years in the capsule.”
“I don’t understand.” Gronolf’s heavy knees tremble and make a clattering noise.
“Please specify,” the system says. Was it always so cumbersome and slow-witted? Or was it his mistake?
“You said more than 500 years.”
“I told you the current cycle number a while ago. 3876.”
Right. Gronolf hits his belly with his load-hand. The pain forces him to come to his senses again. He assumed he had slept perhaps 10 years, or 50. But more than 500? That’s impossible. He has to check this. He uses all four hands to go through the system diagnostic menus. The condition of the protective structure does not seem to be bad. That would be an argument against those 500 years. The maintenance obviously is still working.
On the lowest level there is currently a damaged area he has to investigate—no, there are two. However, they do not affect the functioning of the building. Even the dark matter reactor is functioning within its parameters. Gronolf switches to the status report for the sleep capsules. His knees, which just calmed down, start trembling again. The display must be defective! Only a few of the 4,630 capsules seem to be fully functional. He goes through the list of the chambers marked green.
He realizes why the system woke him. There is only one capsule left in perfect condition. Binara Steepfin, a young woman with a mediocre exam, lies in it. It is no special honor to get preference over this woman. After all, he was the strongest of his plex. Yet it is a reassuring feeling not to be completely alone. In case of emergency he could always wake up Binara. The status indicator for about 600 capsules is a light green. This means the occupants will require a longer wakening process with medical intervention.
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