Armada

by Paul Teague

  “The pods are active, but they’re not running one of our standard programmes.”

  “So what are they running?” asked Mason, frowning at the pods.

  “No idea,” said Wilkins. “but it looks like they’re almost finished. You want me to disrupt it?”

  “Yeah, switch it off,” said Mason. “Whatever it is, it ain’t friendly.”

  “Roger, done,” said Wilkins, tapping at his slate. “Hmm, that’s not good.” He poked some more, then shook his head. “Disconnected. Whatever that thing is, it knows we’re here and it’s locked us out.”

  Inside the bay, the MegaBot shifted on the pods.

  “Back to Plan A, then,” said Mason, hefting one of the sonic disruptors they’d retrieved from the armoury. They were normally used for siege-breaking or crowd control, emitting extremely loud noises to discomfort organic lifeforms. “Am I blowing it or leaving it in the ship, sir?” he asked. “I’m going to have to recalibrate the sonic disruptors if they stand any chance against this thing, but I think it might work.”

  “Terminate it, Mason,” Stansfield ordered. “We can’t permit anything to interfere with the cloning bays.”

  “On it now, Admiral.”

  “I’m going in alone,” said Hunter, after he’d assessed the situation. “I’m going to use a handy tool in my arm attachment to deal with them.”

  “Negative, Hunter,” said Stansfield. “This is not a one-person job.”

  “Permission to speak freely, Admiral?” Hunter asked.

  “Go ahead,” Stansfield replied.

  “I’ve taken a look at the schematics down there. Those vents are lined with cables. We can’t use flame-throwers or guns without trashing your infrastructure. I can deliver precision blows to the bots without causing further damage to the ship. I’d like to give it a try, sir.”

  Hunter hadn’t expected a positive reception.

  “Agreed. But the moment you get into trouble, we’re sending in support after you.”

  “Thanks, Admiral. Going in now.” He turned to the Marines of his team. “Cover me,” he said, “and if this all goes wrong, well, you know the drill.”

  “No worries,” said Sergeant Rodha, hefting his rifle as he and his Marines stood clear of the vents. None of them had been keen to work with Hunter, whose reputation for reckless disobedience was well known.

  The Marines watched as Hunter stretched his neck and checked his cybernetic arm was fully charged. He was wearing combat fatigues, and his only concession to personal safety was a light anti-stab vest and a large piece of fine steel mesh that was little more than cosmetic.

  “You sure about this?” asked Rodha, nodding at the vent and giving the mesh the hairy eyeball.

  Hunter gave him a flat stare, then shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

  Rodha sniffed and shook his head.

  “Just keep an eye on things out here,” said Hunter as he eased himself into the vent, “and let me know if anything nasty comes looking for me.”

  “Sure,” said Rodha with a nod.

  Hunter squeezed his way into the vent and used his HUD to both show him the way ahead and keep up a running commentary on the team’s channel.

  This vent was slightly more hospitable to human movement than others on the ship, but it was still cramped, dark and dirty with the grime of decades.

  At the end of the vent, Hunter peered into one of the engineering bays. A whole bunch of OctoBots had clustered amongst a pile of discarded crates that were waiting for recycling.

  “No MegaBots down here, I’m pleased to say,” after a few minutes’ crawling, “just a big nest of the little fuckers. I’m going to activate a tool on my arm, right, and if anybody wants their porridge cooking, now’s the time to shout. Anybody? No? Here goes, then.”

  He blocked the vent with the mesh and poked his cybernetic fist through a gap, pointing it at the clustered bots. His arm made an electronic whirring sound as it charged up, preparing to deliver its sting. It was best that Stansfield didn’t know how he was about to clear the tech area. The Admiral might not have been so glib about the device that was lodged in his head.

  “Tweak the focus, broaden the delivery area,” muttered Hunter as he reconfigured fiddled with the configuration of his arm, “and here we go.” He triggered the microwave laser in his arm and directed a wide burst at the massive nest of OctoBots. Nothing happened at first, but then they stirred as the blast took effect.

  Safe behind his mesh, Hunter played the beam across the OctoBots, guided by the targeting matrix in his HUD. As each OctoBot was struck, their humanoid brains quickly began to sizzle as the microwaves boiled them alive. In seconds, the translucent carriers cracked like eggs falling to the floor.

  The OctoBots fell and danced, desperate to escape the searing heat, but all were caught. Hunter swept his hand back and forth, targeting everything he could see until the air was sharp with the tang of cooked meat and nothing lived or moved in the room.

  “Sautéed brains, anyone?” asked Hunter with a smirk. “I reckon I just solved your OctoBot issue.”

  “Are you sure you got them all?” asked Stansfield.

  “Pretty sure, sir,” said Hunter as he looked over the piles of steaming corpses. “I’m going deeper in now. I can see why you’ve been experiencing technical disruption, there’s a whole load of cables that are going to need plugging in. Can you send me schematics? I’ll have this fixed in no time.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” said Yau.

  While Hunter waited, he reset the laser’s configuration to the default narrow focus, then he leaned back against the wall and stretched.

  “No time like the present,” he muttered, muting all his channels and leading back against the wall. He flicked into his arm’s management system and delved into a little-used medical menu. “Where are you hiding?” he muttered as the options rolled across his HUD. “Got you,” he said, flicking into a tool called Internal Nano-Diagnostics.

  He browsed through the settings, not really sure whether his changes were making things better.

  “Fuck it,” he murmured, “might as well give it a go.” He held the middle finger of his cybernetic arm to the corner of his right eye, took a deep breath, and triggered the tool.

  There was a tiny snick as the tool went to work, then a sudden stab of cold as it injected nano-filaments through his tear ducts.

  “Oh, that’s weird,” whispered Hunter. Lights flashed before his eye, like he’d been smacked in the head, as the filaments wormed their way into his brain. He fought the urge to blink and a swell of nausea. Updates scrolled across his HUD; brain function normal they said, then minor nerve damage – repairing. A counter ticked up as the tool continued to dig through his brain.

  “Come on,” he hissed, holding as still as he could, his good eye flicking between the updates and the world outside, “come on!”

  A new message appeared – foreign body detected – and Hunter clenched his fist in a brief celebration. Neutralising, the tool reported. A few seconds later, the filaments began to withdraw.

  Investigation complete. Foreign body neutralised.

  Hunter let his arm fall away and relaxed, feeling truly free for the first time since joining the mission. He dabbed gently at his eye and grinned.

  “Your move, Stansfield,” he muttered under his breath. “Try to blow my head off and you’ll get the surprise of your life.”

  A channel pinged in his HUD as a file was delivered. “That’s the schematics, Hunter,” said Yau, “and there’s an engineering team on the way to assist. We’ll get these systems back online and find out what’s waiting out there in space.”

  “That’s the safety overridden,” said Wilkins, standing up. The crate of sonic disruptors sat on the floor in front of him, the lid off so that all the devices were visible, their red indicator lights winking. The disruptors were metallic spheres about the size of a melon and punched all over with little holes.

  “We’re ready to open the door
s,” said Commander Vernon. “Just waiting for the all clear from Mason; then we’ll go in once the clone conduits are clear.”

  “Almost done,” said Mason. “Give me a hand with this,” he said to Wilkins. Together they lifted the crate, and then Mason nodded. “Open the door.”

  Marine Gibney triggered the control and the door slid open.

  “In they go,” said Mason as he and Wilkins heaved the crate into the bay. It bounced across the floor, spilling the disruptors as it went so that they rolled towards the monster Bot.

  “And shut the door again,” said Mason as he watched the spheres roll away. The doors slid closed, and he blew out a tense breath. “Three minutes till detonation.”

  “Standing by, Mason,” Vernon responded. “We’ll enter the cloning bay on your mark.”

  “Activating now,” said Mason, triggering the five-second countdown on the disruptors. “Expect a surge in the cloning bays when that thing finally stops feeding off our data lines. Three, two, one.” Even on the far side of the door, they heard the noise, or rather felt it. The deep vibrations seemed to reach out of the bay and into the chests of the waiting Marines and engineers, rattling their ribcages. The high frequencies sounded like a squadron of demented mosquitoes, all chasing the last human on earth.

  “Fuck, that’s loud,” said Wilkins. “Must be bloody unbearable in there.”

  “Sounds like my kids on a holiday,” muttered Gibney.

  “Patch us through to the cameras,” said Mason. Wilkins fiddled with his data slate for a moment, then held it up.

  “That is one unhappy Bot-monster,” said Wilkins with a grin as the thing charged around the bay, searching for a way out. “It’s just as you said. The thing’s disconnected from our lines and it’s going spare in there. How long now?”

  “At that size and weight, we’ll give it another thirty seconds,” said Mason. “I want to make sure we’ve cooked it good and proper.”

  On the screen, the Bot-monster slammed into a wall, then took a few staggering steps and collapsed on the floor.

  “Looks like we’ve got it, Admiral,” said Mason. “The MegaBot is down for the count.”

  “Get in there, Vernon,” Stansfield said. “I want to be sure we’re growing ourselves some nice new clones.”

  Wilkins killed the disruptors, and the corridor outside the bay was suddenly quiet. The doors on the far side slid open, and Commander Vernon and his small team stepped through into the bay. As they moved cautiously around the room, inspecting the bots, the lids of the pods began to move slowly upwards.

  “The pods are opening,” said Vernon, sounding unsure. “Is that supposed to happen?”

  “No, sir,” said Taylor, the cloning expert left behind by Colossus to assist with the deployment. “The clones won’t be fully baked yet. Mason, did something get damaged at your end?”

  “Nope,” said Mason. “The MegaBot released its hold on the conduit lines the moment we started the blast. There was no explosion, no damage. Just a lot of noise, and the clones should have been partially shielded inside their pods.”

  Vernon watched as the lids rose, and environmental control gases cleared from each unit. The bay had been lashed up by the Colossus crew in haste and hadn’t yet been made ready to begin operating. Vengeance had replenished her crew from Colossus – before it was destroyed.

  “What the hell is going on, Taylor? Is this right?”

  “No, sir,” said Taylor, drawing his pistol with a shaking hand, “this isn’t right at all.”

  7

  The information that reached Vengeance’s bridge from the cloning bay was confused and sporadic. There were screams, shots, and above it all terrifying, primal roars that brought a chilled silence to the crew.

  “Dispatch security teams to the cloning bay,” said Stansfield, casting around for Commander Vernon before remembering he was already in the bay. “Hunter, Kearney, get your teams over there immediately!”

  He opened a direct channel to Vernon. “Ed, what’s going on down there?”

  There was no response. Vernon’s comms were dead. Taylor’s life signs were showing that he was deceased. Bygraves and Gittens, the accompanying security team, also showed no life signs.

  “Mason, get in there,” snapped Stansfield.

  “Moving now, sir,” said Mason. “Entry in thirty seconds.”

  “We’re almost there,” said Kearney, “we’ll follow you in. What’re we dealing with?”

  “No solid information,” said Yau. “Cameras are out, intermittent audio only. Proceed with extreme caution, we don’t know what’s going on down there.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Kearney. “Where are you, Hunter? We could do with your help.”

  “We’re on our way,” said Hunter. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m not dressed for the occasion, I’m a bit splashed with OctoBot brains.”

  “We won’t judge you, Hunter,” Mason replied, “but do make some effort to observe the dress code next time.”

  “Get me visuals in that bay, Lieutenant,” said Stansfield. “I want to see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Working on it, sir,” said Yau, “but it’ll take a while.”

  Once again, across the open channel came the screams of the small security team dispatched to check the area. There were shots in the background, and the deep, terrible growls of a beast.

  “I want all teams to secure a wide perimeter around the cloning bay, but I only want Charlie Team going in there,” said Stansfield as he considered his next move. “Charlie Team, use whatever force is necessary to rectify the situation. Extract Commander Vernon and his team. Destroy the threat to my ship.”

  Kearney and the remnants of her team clattered down the corridor, the lamps from the Marines’ helmets bobbing through the shadows as they ran. They reached Mason’s position at the same time that Hunter and his crew arrived from the opposite direction.

  “Nicely timed,” said Mason as he checked his weapons. In their power armour, he and his team looked out of proportion in the battleship’s cramped corridors.

  “We’ve got flame-throwers and pistols,” said Kearney as Sanders, Leman, Crank and Stewart crowded in behind her. Compared to the armoured Marines, Kearney looked positively puny in her sweat-drenched combat fatigues. “Can we mix and match from what your teams are carrying?” Kearney asked the security lead, whose people had come well-tooled for the confrontation.

  “Help yourselves,” came the reply. “Rather you than me going in there.”

  “It’s what we do,” Hunter responded, slamming a new power pack into his cybernetic arm. “I’m guessing these things are organic rather than mechanical, if they’ve come out of the cloning bay. I’m opting for chest or head shots. Microwave laser,” he said, raising his arm, “will blow a big hole in anything that moves.”

  “Just make sure you shoot the right thing,” said Mason as he raised his rifle and stepped toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the team. “Ready?”

  “Almost,” said Hunter, taking a knife and handgun. “We may get caught in more close combat. I’d better have a back-up for the arm.”

  “Okay, everybody, let’s go in and see what we’re dealing with,” said Kearney, adjusting her HUD.

  “I wish they’d get the lights fixed,” said Mason. “It’s a bit shadowy down here, and I’d like to see what’s in there before it finds us.” He looked around at the Marines. “Everyone in armour follows us in. The rest of you hold position here, and if anything non-human comes out that door, shoot it in the face until it’s dead, okay?”

  There was a round of grim nods from the team as they prepared themselves. Then Mason nodded at Wilkins.

  The door slid open. Beyond, the bay was dark and quiet. Even the familiar rumble of the ship’s systems seemed dulled somehow. Thin wisps of smoke clung to the ceiling and wrapped their way around the equipment, flashing white as the team’s lamps played across them.

  Kearney, Hunter and Mason made their way to the
top of the long corridor that led to the cloning bay, moving silently and with extreme caution. The Marines followed, working in pairs to watch every surface.

  At the corner, Hunter held up his hand to Kearney and Mason, indicating that they should prepare to give him cover as he went ahead.

  Then he darted around the corner, sticking close to the wall. Kearney sprang out from the corridor behind to protect him, and Mason went back to back with her to provide cover along the corridor leading to the cloning bay entrance.

  “What the hell did that?” said Mason, disgusted.

  “Report, please,” came Stansfield’s voice, ever alert.

  “It’s Taylor’s head,” said Kearney. “It’s been ripped off. What the fuck kind of creature can do that?”

  Hunter surveyed the scene. “The rest of his body has just been thrown away at the end of the corridor. He looks like he was savaged; this hasn’t been done with weapons.” Behind him, there was a nervous shuffle as the Marines unconsciously closed ranks.

  “Any sign of Commander Vernon?” Stansfield asked.

  “Not yet,” said Kearney. “We’re moving on.”

  Silently, stealthily, the three elite troopers moved up the corridor. As the entrance came into view, they could see that there was an arm lying in the doorway. It was still clasping a handgun.

  “Anybody see an infra-red signature?” asked Mason. “I’m getting nothing but background and equipment radiation.”

  “Nothing,” said Kearney. “Any progress on the lights?”

  “Maintenance teams report we’re almost there,” came Yau’s reassuring voice. “It’ll be only a few more minutes.”

  “We might not like what we see when the lights go on,” warned Kearney.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me,” said Hunter wryly.

  The three troopers were now outside the wide entrance to the cloning bay. Hunter had gone to the far side of the doorway; Kearney and Mason had stayed on the near side, with the Marines spreading out to secure the area.