Galactic Rescue Inc. Vol 1. Prelude

by James Lay

  Chapter 12

  The beer was a welcome relief to the decisions over the last week. Not that there had been much trouble and strife, it was more the uncertainty of the outcome of decisions taken.

  Pat made a very useful addition to Carl's worries. He was of the opinion that they would never get back to the good old U.K. ‘Thanks Pat’, was Carl's thought

  They stayed in orbit around Io for a few hours and took in the beautiful panorama before them. Carl realised that this was his view of the galaxies, from the galaxies, instead of his usual view of the front garden and fishpond back in Brunei.

  They jumped again, two hundred light years and still had Io in their receivers. Only Io. The area of space they had arrived in was very much a void. Not a sun, planet, system or galaxy within accessible distance.

  George did point out that there were many altered asteroids around, so there must have been some sort of space occupation around here at some time or other.

  They viewed their previous flight paths and could see many hundreds of thousands of future paths they could take but, as George so helpfully put it, which one would be Earth direction.

  “Pick out an Earth type star Pat and we'll head for that.” Carl suggested.

  “Oh, bloody great, 'pick out an Earth type sun', how the hell am I supposed to know what an Earth type sun is?” He replied.

  “Well, how about one like Io?”

  “I can pick one out like that.” George informed them. The flight track came up on the holo-sphere, with the co-ordinates, 200,000 light years!

  “Why not,” said Pat,” shall we?”

  “As you said, why not?”

  Pat activated and the jump sequences flashed across the Huds on the screen and in just under two seconds they were a reasonable Earth distance away from the Io-type sun.

  The space in this system was radio silent, which Carl thought was a bit of a disappointment. Although why he thought that puzzled him, it was not their sun for sure, it was much too red, as he now remembered Io's sun to be.

  “There are planets here,” said George,” not too far distant.”

  “Can't see the point of going to any of them. They're not Earth.” Carl observed.

  “No, let's shoot off somewhere else,” came back Pat, some resolve in his tone,” sector K42, wedge 126C4, Cone 40, ok Carl?” His track was on the holo-sphere, back towards where they had first hoped Earth to be.

  “Let's do it then.” And Carl activated the jump. It should have been 100+ light-years. They stopped before that.

  It was a rather puzzling scene that confronted them. It looked like the side of a very tall building with a window here and there.

  “Radio transmission but so weak to be hardly noticeable,” was the information George gave them,” since the 'radio-stop' command has taken priority, the Nav has steered us to this position. The mass in front of us is in the millions of tons and is metal and asteroid composite in manufacture.”

  They had stood up and leant to the surface of the front screen. Peering down and up they could see that the vertical construct continued in both directions for quite a few miles, at least five each way.

  “You say there is a weak radio signal George, what is it?” Carl enquired.

  They were then given a chance to hear some very pleasant electronic music. It was of classical style in the Heavy Metal vein.

  “That's it?” Pat asked.

  “That's it.” George responded.

  Pat jumped up in surprise.

  “What the hell.” He exclaimed.

  One of the mice had come out of hiding and had pushed Pat's foot off of the instrument panel.

  “I think you have caused a minor malfunction due to your shoe being on the instrument screen,” George supplied,” there is a period of repair”.

  The 'mouse' plus three minor mice had lifted the screen and carried out some electronic adjustments. Even a bit of miniature welding, of sorts, had been carried out, they had seen the tiny flashes of the torches or whatever they used.

  “Must be your personal bodyguard,” Carl suggested,” mind you, they all look the same to me.”

  The job was finished but the larger of the mice stayed back and in a couple of minutes the three minor mice returned with a black sheet. This they placed in a slot they had opened in the instrument panel and the sheet slowly retracted and then rapidly re-appeared to swing down and completely cover the instrument screen.

  “I think you have an against-the-foot-problem cover.” Carl said.

  The mice and mighty mouse moved away in their silent hover mode, to disappear into a large 'mouse-hole' in the floor, which then became floor again.

  “I wondered where those little buggers came from,” Pat murmured,” have to set up some mouse-traps and give 'em a surprise next time they come out.”

  “Never mind them,” Carl altered their train of thought,” what about our block of flats here?”

  Pat set up a holo of the outline of the constructed space centre they were parked next to. It was a simple cube, a hundred square miles on each of its six sides.

  “It's a big place,” Pat observed,” don't seem to be anyone at home right now though. Not one of yours then George?”

  “That it is not,” George replied,” whoever owns it has let its power systems nearly run out.”

  “Is it a Junction, do you think George?” Carl asked.

  “I have nothing to go on.” George answered.

  “Let's go round it and find a way in,” said Pat, in a determined voice,” could be interesting, with no problems.”

  Carl started Shadow on a sideways trip along the face of the cube and turned round the first corner, then stopped when they saw what were obviously thrusters or rocket outlets. They didn't want to pass across those, just in case. He moved Shadow back until they were a quarter of a mile away and took her on a medium-to-fast trip around the cube.

  On the third side they came across a lip extending out from the face, with four entry ports easily large enough to accept Shadow. There were two of the ports open.

  “Do we go in?” Carl asked,” Place seems pretty dead, should be ok.”

  “Yeah, let's go in.”

  They darted in like bees into the hive.

  “I register a force-line,” observed George,” which is not consistent with a low powered source.”

  The 'hanger' they entered was lit, quite strong colour corrected floods. The atmosphere was ammonia based and at twice Earth pressure, giving some indication as to the previous occupants. None Earth type based.

  “Well, it's empty, here anyway,” Pat noted,” what's the gravity like George?”

  “It is about four times Earth and once again you must note that the power requirements for that force is not consistent with the energy levels I am reading.” George replied.

  “Explain yourself a little more George,” Carl couldn't see what he was getting at,” surely it doesn't matter what the readings are?”

  “The point is Carl, these lights and the high gravity all require a high spend on energy,” George reasoned,” I am not recording that energy and if that is so, it is being screened for no purpose, or is there a purpose?”

  “I still don't know what the wanker's getting at,” Pat said,” p'raps he means there’s a devious reason to shield the energy, to make us think they are helpless!”

  “Exactly Pat,” George added,” it is my belief that there is trouble here and we should show extreme caution.”

  “Ok,” said Carl,” put the shields on active alert, maximum intensity and we'll take it steady.”

  Those words of command brought an immediate change to their view. The hanger lighting was effectively dimmed due to the fine filtering of the 'thickened' shielding of Shadow. There was now no possibility of being surprised even by a savage attack at full solar intensity. They could now practically enter a Star's surface without damage, a confidence booster.

  “Let's hear if there is any sound in this hanger.” Carl said.
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br />   George obliged and they were immediately assailed by a noise, of what can only be described as hundreds of metallic crickets. It was pretty noisy out there.

  “What the hell’s all that bloody racket,” wondered Pat,” sounds like a load of hammer drills working away”.

  “I record vibrations of the type you describe Pat,” observed George,” in fact I think it is exactly as you have described.”

  They were silenced by that knowledge, what was going on that involved 'hammer drills', or something like them?

  “My first estimate of the construction of this station was incorrect,” informed George,” there is a high concentration of silicone and ceramic dust in the atmosphere. I do believe there is demolition of the structure of the station taking place.”

  “George,” queried Carl,” when you said you registered no life here, I suppose you meant us carbon-hydrogen types didn't you?”

  “That is correct,” agreed George,” I do not know how to trace any other form or what they would emit as a life force.”

  “You reckon it could be a different sort of life to us do you?” asked Pat.

  “Maybe,” Carl murmured thoughtfully,” after all, its high gravity with an ammonia type of atmosphere, could be people from a gas giant, or something.”

  “A gas giant,” Pat muttered,” suppose that's a big planet full of cattle.”

  Pat had his moments.

  “Let's have a careful look outside the door, from the inside of the shield.” Carl noted.

  The door was clear, when they arrived there, and they could now hear the noise. It was not from inside the hanger, more like being transmitted through the stone 'type' walls.

  “Maybe they're trying to drill out.” Pat suggested.

  “What, through a silicon-ceramic, that's just about the hardest stuff around,” Carl observed,” you cut through that with diamond circular saws, not bloody hammer drills.”

  “Maybe they ain't got any.” Pat responded, mumbling away to himself.

  The floor of the hanger was in no clean state. It was littered with dirt and circles of what must have been liquids, which had dried up. The walls were pretty none descriptive, greyish stone looking, no windows or paint or metal anywhere. The hanger 'doors' were still open, if there were any, the atmosphere being held in with the force field George had mentioned when they had entered.

  “If we go out we'll have to put a gravity correction into the jump modules, don't want to crash down in four times G, do we?” Carl noted.

  “Bloody right!” Pat agreed,” I'm putting mine on 'instinctive' mode, that way I can walk on the ceiling, if I want to.”

  “Good idea.” Agreed Carl, and in no more than fifteen seconds it was set up. Their 'instruction' periods at the Junction were paying off, it was simply natural to carry out these very complex programming actions, all with finger pressure and slight twists of the fingertips on the module face.

  “What say we take a look,” Pat suggested,” we're reasonably well protected.

  “Ok, but let's be cautious all the same.”

  They jumped down the three metres to the hanger floor. Immediately there was glistening activity on their shields, especially around their faces, where the breathing of the ammonia was atomically changed to their mix of normal Earth gases. The dust puffed up a bit at their feet but settled back with unusual rapidity, 4 G's worth.

  Almost coinciding with their landing on the hanger floor, a door opened across the hanger, a little less than two metres high by two across.

  “Bloody hell!” Pat exclaimed.

  They both stood prepared to leap back into Shadow but nothing came into the hanger, the clatter of the hammering subsided a bit as well, then resumed.

  “Anything new on the radio George?” asked Carl.

  “The music has stopped and is replaced by very noisy white mush.” George replied.

  “Great,” Pat murmured,” it's light in the corridor but it seems like a trap ready to be sprung.”

  “I've got an idea,” said Carl,” George, send us two large mice to stay with us, link them to our jump modules.”

  “Bait,” said Pat,” good idea”.

  Two mice, about a metre long by half across came and joined them. Moving warily across the hanger they had one of the mice enter the corridor. Their Huds gave them a line drawing of the corridor. It went straight for three or four metres and then to a T junction. The mouse went to the T and waited. It had its own shield, so was relatively well protected from damage.

  Their Huds showed a long straight corridor, left and right, which appeared to disappear into the distance.

  “Looks ok so far,” opined Pat,” let's have a look.”

  They cautiously entered the corridor. Carl placed one of George’s computer interfaces on the control box just inside the door opening.

  “I have the sequence.” Advised George.

  The control was a push button affair, the buttons closely spaced, quite small and only a meter from the floor.

  “Looks like the people have small finger tips and are short in height.” Carl informed Pat.

  “Good,” he said,” don't like the idea of an ogre, a little leprechaun is acceptable though.”

  Their mouse was still at the T when they joined it, the other mouse was up near the ceiling.

  “I get no change of status,” George informed them”Wait...!”

  Their floor-most mouse shot away along the corridor at enormous speed and there was a huge explosive event about a hundred metres away. It had intercepted something coming towards them at very high speed.

  “I suggest you return.” Said a worried George.

  The torpedo mouse appeared from a cloud of smoke and debris and just hovered there. Both of them were too startled to speak.

  “Your mouse has destroyed something.” George stated.

  “We can see that you bloody iriot,” Pat exclaimed,” but what, it looks ok now though, we'll take a quick look.”

  They shot down the corridor and viewed the remains of a metal something scattered about on the floor.

  “There's a clever little mouse,” said Pat, patting the mouse on the 'head',” nice lump of oily cheese for you tonight. You can sleep in my room from now on.”

  There was no doubt about it, 'torpedo mouse' had very effectively stopped the thing, dead. It looked as if it was originally the same size as Shadow's mouse but had many arms and appendages on it, unless they should have been inside the machine.

  Their other mouse darted down, two little 'grabbers' came out, picked up two fairly hefty pieces and shot off, back along the corridor. It was back in no more than four seconds.

  “This metal is of a different structure than the station,” came George's little tit-bit,” I suspect it is not of the station at all but an intruder.”

  Both the mice roared off again, in different directions, and destroyed two more 'things', for want of a better description.

  “Send us a few more mice George,” Carl said quickly,” same programmes.”

  Six more mice appeared and Carl, for one, felt mightily relieved.

  “There's definitely somethin' wrong here,” said Pat,” I reckon these metal machines are the ones doin' the hammering. I wonder what happened to the original occupants?”

  “Maybe they opened the door for us to come to them.” Said Carl.

  They both looked down the corridors and had their Huds expand the view. A long way down the left leg they noted a Hud representation of an opened door.

  “Do you think they opened that as well?” Carl wondered.

  “They must have,” said Pat,” if it was the other mob, why are they hammering away, they would have opened doors instead.”

  “You're bloody right,” agreed Carl,” let's go.”

  They had at least a mile to go and half of their mice shot off in the direction they were going, the other half stayed spread out to their rear, their rear guards.

  “Take it steady, we don't know for sure.” Said Carl.
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  A mouse went into the doorway and came to no grief, Pat and Carl approached slowly.

  There was a rapid series of movements both to the left and right of them. Mice were shooting all over the place and the corridor rang to the sounds of metal on shields.

  “Let's get in here quick,” blurted Pat, darting through the doorway,” it's like a bloody minefield out there.”

  Suddenly all the mice popped through the doorway, which slammed shut close behind the last of the mice to enter, followed by three or four 'hammer' slams from the other side of the door.

  “Place is a ruddy madhouse, we're in now, and shut in.” Said Pat.

  They were 'in' as Pat put it, in another corridor’. This one also rang to the sound of hammering, much closer now, as if the hammering was an attempt to get in. Perhaps it was just that. The corridor, once again, spread a long way before them, three of their mice were already returning from a recce along it.

  “All the doors are shut,” said Carl,” what now?”

  “We'll move along it and see what we see.” Pat suggested.

  They did just that. After about half a mile they saw a 'door' slide open in the ceiling. Two of the mice shot through it and returned immediately to wait in the opening, all clear. Carl and Pat popped through and were obviously in a service tunnel of sorts. There were huge pipes, cable runs and massive girder-like struts all over the place. This was part of the main heart structure of the Station. It did appear they were being led to some point in the Station, by a roundabout - or maybe - safest route.

  Their Huds confirmed that the tunnel extended for a distance that exceeded eight miles, dead straight, with hundreds of linking tunnels joining at irregular intervals.

  “We're moving away from Shadow all the time,” Carl noted,” hope this is not a big come-on”.

  “I prefer it here, at the moment,” Pat observed,” and the hammering is further away, 'reckon they must have started from the other hangers and are working their way in.”

  “Looks that way,” agreed Carl,” which way though?”

  “Good point,” Pat replied,” this way.” So saying he turned right and moved off. All the lights in front of him went out.

  Pat stopped.

  “The other way?” He asked.

  They turned and moved the other way, the lights this way stayed on.

  “Good signalling by someone,” Carl commented,” proves they know exactly where we are. Any clues George?”

  “Nothing, apart from the radio mush having worsened.” George replied.

  “That could mean we are getting nearer to where we are supposed to be going and the opposition is trying to shut out any useful info.” Carl said.

  “That is logical.” Agreed George.

  “Don't start a Spock routine.” Said Pat.

  “Spock?” queried George.

  “It's ok George,” Carl piped up,” maybe we'll explain later.”

  “Ok Carl.” Came a puzzled George.

  “Trust you to bugger about.” Carl said laughingly to Pat.

  Four of their mice shot away ahead of them, both Pat and Carl stopped. They came to a halt about a hundred metres away, a hole had appeared in the floor and light was streaming up.

  “Well, go and look then,” shouted Pat at the mice,” what's down there?”

  One of the mice approached the hatch and was fended off by what looked like a piece of wood, of sorts. The mouse took hold of the 'wood', and pulled it free from its owner's grip and backed away.

  “We'd better be a bit careful here Pat, don't know what to expect.”

  “They must be friendly or we wouldn't have been led here, would we?” He observed.” I don't think they trust our mice though, can't say I blame 'em, seeing what the opposition's like.”

  “You're right,” agreed Carl,” we'll still have to take it steady though, we could give them a bloody shock ourselves.”

  They approached the 'hatch' with great caution. Slowly they could see down into what looked like a room. Carl held the piece of wood, that was not wood at all, God knows what it was. He put it back down the hatch and waved it about a bit.

  “Can't see anyone,” he said,” what next?”

  “We'll have to carefully go down, there's a ladder there,” said Pat, indicating a very insubstantial trellis-looking device resting on their side of the hatch,” we'd better slowly climb down rather than jump, might scare the life out of em.”

  “After you Pat.”

  “Thanks a bloody bunch.”

  He carefully placed a foot onto the trellis and lowered himself into the room, Carl followed, looking around. They were in a very large room, about 250 square metres and there was no one about.

  “Where is everyone?” Pat queried.” They must have scarpered.”

  They stood there and surveyed the scene. Fairly bare walls with some dullish coloured tapestry hangings, some sculptures, and loads of slim chairs and delicate tables. The floor was brilliant white and glass smooth. There were hundreds of chandeliers of crystal that scattered diamond points of light all over the room.

  Apart from the furniture there was nothing else in the room.

  “Very nice,” said Carl,” tasty, but where is every bugger.”

  “Bloody good question,” said Pat,” oh be jesus, look”.

  Carl turned and looked where Pat was indicating, nothing obvious, and then he saw it, one of the twenty or so sculptures moved. Carl jumped a bit but carried on looking, ready for a quick retreat if it turned out to be aggressive. However, the sculpture slowly raised an arm and then emitted a jabber of melodious tenor/soprano noise.

  “I hear the language,” George butted into Carl's thoughts,” talk back both of you, I also now sense the speech waves, a level of frequency I have not encountered before.”

  The 'sculpture' stopped moving and talking.

  “Carry on speaking to us, we'll understand in a minute or two.” Carl advised.

  “Si tan man por vone testy meek-meek, partail you may nedder help?” It finished in a questioning tone.

  “I'm getting it.” Said George.

  “So am I!” said Pat,” a dose of the squids, that is.”