Dark Star Calling

by Julia Keller

  She nodded. “Ready, Kendall?”

  * * *

  “Here.”

  She stopped. The silence created in the wake of that pause was eerie. They had not seen another living soul or heard a sound other than their own footsteps for the past twenty minutes. Neither of them had felt like talking. And so after double-checking the signal direction, they had marched along, silent but resolute, while fallen branches and dead leaves crackled and crunched underfoot.

  Kendall checked his console. “I’m getting an ID confirmation for Tin Man. He’s in there, all right.”

  They could barely see it, mired in the woods: a small, dilapidated cabin. Violet and Kendall had to thrash and flail their way through a natural latticework of thick branches to get there, stumbling numberless times into bogs hidden by hedges and unruly bushes swarming with thorns.

  “He’s gotta be in there,” Violet said.

  She had a foot on the broken-down porch and was almost at the door, a slab of wood that bore the marks of an ax blade as well as the claws of wild animals, when Kendall grabbed her.

  “Wait. I’ll go first.”

  “Why?”

  He couldn’t think of a good answer, so he shrugged and released her arm.

  “Let’s go in at the same time,” he said.

  Only after Violet had started to lift the wooden latch did she wonder if maybe it was some sort of trap. What if Tin Man had been forced to summon them here and they were about to be attacked? Old Earth was a wild, lawless place that seethed with people who had nothing to lose. Violet’s and Kendall’s consoles could be melted for scrap; scrap metal could be traded for food and shelter and weapons.

  Well, if that happens, it was a pretty good life overall, even if it was damned short, she thought. Worst-case scenarios always brought out the smart-ass in her, instantly improving her mood. Nothing to do now but go forward.

  The door was heavy, and its hinges were so rusty and stubborn that all of Violet’s strength was required to heave it open just a tad, even with a massive assist from Kendall. They slipped sideways into the cabin.

  The first thing they saw was the image that had been transmitted from Tin Man’s console. He was lying on the floor in the fetal position, bleeding profusely from a long gash across his forehead.

  “Tin Man!” Violet called out. She rushed toward him.

  Kendall, suspecting an ambush, sent his gaze flying around the room. It was dim, lit only by the shaft of daylight allowed in by the half-opened door. “Anybody else in here?”

  Tin Man moaned and shook his head.

  “Don’t think so. They dumped me here and left.”

  Violet was down on her knees now, peering at the head wound. “Who? Who did this to you? And why?”

  “Yeah,” Kendall said. He was checking the corners, despite Tin Man’s assurances. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Tin Man coughed. The effort to do so made him yelp in pain. “It’s my ribs,” he said, gasping out the words. “I think at least two of them are broken. They kicked me pretty hard.” He tried to sit up. Another yelp. But he stayed up, blinking mournfully first at Violet and then at Kendall, who by this time was looming above him. “I’m really sorry, guys.”

  “If you’re so sorry,” Kendall answered, with no kindness in his voice, “then tell us what happened. Your distress call interrupted the alien transmission. Rez is livid. Let’s put it this way—the fact that you’re not actually dead may be only a temporary state. Because he wants to kill you.”

  “Come on,” Violet said, trying to get an arm around Tin Man’s waist to help him up. At first, he wouldn’t budge, but when Kendall leaned down to help, taking an arm, he seemed more inclined to rise.

  With a few more yelps and a piteous-sounding moan, Tin Man stood up. He still kept a hand on his chest, holding his injured ribs in place.

  “I was looking for Molly,” Tin Man said.

  An astonished Violet stared at him. “But your little sister is dead. Why were you—”

  “Yeah,” Tin Man said, interrupting her. “And Rachel’s dead, too. But she’s back. Sort of. Because we’ve got her Intercept chip. So Rez gets to see her again. Or at least her memories. Rachel’s graduation day, remember? Well, it’s not fair. If Rez can have his sister back, then why can’t I have mine? I want to see Molly’s memories. I loved my little sister just as much as Rez loved his. So why can’t I have her? Why?”

  “I get it,” Kendall said quietly.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” Kendall looked at Tin Man. “You came down here to find Molly’s chip, right?”

  Nodding slowly, Tin Man said, “There’s an old cemetery just behind this cabin. It’s all overgrown with weeds now; you can’t see it from the road. Most people wouldn’t even know it’s back there. But I know. Because that’s where I buried Molly.”

  He put a hand to the gash on his forehead. He pulled his hand away again and saw the blood slathered on his fingers. The sight made him wince.

  “Bunch of guys jumped me,” Tin Man explained. “They came from out of nowhere. Old Earth’s worse than it’s ever been. Gangs don’t just stick to the cities. They hang out on the back roads, too, waiting for somebody to come by so they can rob them.” He poked gingerly at a rib and caught his breath as the pain sliced him. “They beat me up and threw me in here. They didn’t take my console—only my money. Good thing, because that’s how I reached you guys. The console fell out of my pocket when they dumped me here, and it skidded over there.” He tried to incline his head toward a dark corner. “I used voice activation and put it on panorama, and I—”

  “And you interrupted the signal from the aliens,” Violet said, cutting him off. “That’s what you did.” Her voice had lost its concern. Now that she knew he was basically okay, she was angry. “So let me get this straight. You were going to get Molly’s chip? From her body? Good God, who are you? Dr. Frankenstein? What were you thinking?”

  Tin Man closed his eyes and shook his head. “I know. I know. I’m the world’s biggest dope. As soon as I got here, I realized how insane it all was. I just … I just went a little nuts. When I thought about Rachel’s chip transmission coming back to us, I couldn’t help myself. I want Molly’s chip back, too. I miss her so much. Sometimes I can’t…” His voice thickened. Violet could tell he was fighting the urge to cry.

  Which was a totally weird spectacle even to contemplate: Tin Man, the biggest, strongest person she knew, his muscular body stamped with tough-looking tattoos—weeping. Or almost.

  Kendall had heard enough. He didn’t want to deal with tears. “Okay. No more self-pity. Let’s get out of here before some other gang comes out of the woods and all three of us end up with busted heads and broken ribs instead of just one of us. Can you walk?”

  “Yeah.” Tin Man coughed and winced. “But one more thing. I need you to know something.” He gulped. “She gave me my nickname. Did you guys know that? Molly’s the one who started calling me Tin Man. She was only five years old. She’d found an abandoned console and she watched an old, old movie called The Wizard of Oz. She loved it. And her favorite character was Tin Man because he was the only character in the story who really worked. That’s what she said. The scarecrow just hung there in a field, and the lion blustered and bragged, but Tin Man worked. With his ax. And Molly knew how hard I worked to protect her. In the end, though, I failed. I lost her. She died.” Once again, he seemed close to tears.

  “Let’s go,” Violet said. She nudged him. “We have to get back.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tin Man blurted. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I just lost it. The thought of Molly’s chip and being able to see those good times again, all these amazing times we had down here, was too much. As hard as life was down here, we had fun. She was such a great kid. So filled with life.”

  Finally, he let himself be drawn along. Violet and Kendall stationed themselves on either side of him, ready for the journey back to the transfer point at Thirlsome.

  The
y had barely cleared the door before Tin Man murmured, “I was kind of hoping you’d bring Shura. I mean, she’s a doctor, right? And these ribs really hurt.”

  Kendall let out a long, pissed-off sigh. “Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what, Tin Man. I’ll make note of your preferences”—he pronounced the word with a shudder of distaste—“for the next time you sneak off and jeopardize a project that could hold the key to the survival of New Earth, okay? I’ll do that. Yeah. Sure.”

  Violet totally understood Kendall’s attitude. They’d forgive their friend—because you had to forgive your friends when they screwed up. Sometime, though, you could take a little while to do it. He might not have meant to betray them, but that was what he’d done.

  Shuffling along between them, his head hanging down, Tin Man didn’t say anything else for a long time.

  * * *

  By now, the preliminary sounds were familiar to them—the whoosh, the rumbles, the second and even louder whoosh—as they linked up the wireless connection between Shura’s brain and the signal cruising in from the distant reaches of space.

  Once again, she stood in the middle of a circle of blank canvases. Once again, Rez and Mickey monitored the computers, keeping a close eye on the signal strength. Kendall secured the tripod and the receptors. Violet returned to her spot on the floor by the crate. She’d hurriedly counted the tubes yet again, making sure they wouldn’t run out of colors—which, in this case, would be like running out of life. The supply of canvases made her smile with satisfaction. There were plenty.

  The only thing different about the booting-up process this time was the absence of Tin Man. Violet and Kendall had taken him home, to the small house he’d once shared with his mom. Violet called Jonetta Loring and asked her to take care of him. Jonetta had readily agreed, and with a blessed lack of pesky questions.

  And now they were all back in Rez’s lab, ready to pick up where they’d left off.

  After the second whoosh, Shura’s eyes fluttered shut, just like before.

  She lifted her brush, just like before.

  She picked up her palette, just like before.

  Kendall adjusted the row of sparking receptors along the tripod, just like before.

  And just like before, the canvases began to explode with great arcs and whorls of color as Shura painted, her body swaying slightly as she dabbed her brush on the palette and mixed the colors and then lunged forward and—

  Suddenly, Shura froze. The brush plummeted from her newly opened hand. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Next, the palette fell, too.

  Eyes still closed, she began to tremble. Both hands were drawn up into tight fists.

  “What’s going on?” Violet cried out.

  Shura didn’t answer. Her moan widened out into a wail of intense pain.

  “Kendall? Rez?” Violet said, her voice urgent. “Do something. Cut the signal! Pull the plug! Just do something! Anything! She’s hurting!”

  Rez was already on his feet. He’d rushed over to Mickey’s computer. One look at the robot’s screen gave him the grim news.

  “The signal booted up too fast after the break,” Rez said in a helpless-sounding voice. “It’s too much for her. Her body can’t absorb the energy at this intensity.”

  “Shut it down!” Violet screamed the words. “Shut it down!” She lunged toward Shura, intending to gather her in a tight hug and hold her, trying to make the vibrations stop.

  “NO!”

  Kendall, Rez, and Mickey yelled the word simultaneously.

  Violet halted. Her hands were inches from Shura’s trembling body. “What? Why can’t I—”

  “Don’t touch her!” Kendall yelled, yanking Violet back out of the circle of easels and out of reach of her friend. “You’ll be caught up in it, too. It’s like when someone grabs a live electrical wire; you can’t make contact. Or you die, too.”

  Die? Violet felt sick and dizzy. Shura couldn’t die.

  That cannot happen.

  But Shura was shaking even harder. Her entire body was racked by spasms—her shoulders, her torso, her arms, her legs, her feet. Liquid trickled from her mouth. She clearly couldn’t speak, just as she couldn’t break free from the signal’s escalating grip.

  “Shut it down! Cut the signal!” Violet said, almost hysterical now. Her best friend was in total distress and apparently there was nothing—nothing—she could do to help her.

  “We’re trying!” Rez yelled back. He and Kendall worked furiously at the control panel, rushing back and forth, wrenching dials and flipping switches.

  “We’ve cut it at our end,” Rez explained as his fingers flew over the panel, “but the aliens have to cut it at their end, too. And I can’t tell them that. I don’t have any way to communicate with them. When we shut it down for you to go after Tin Man—and then booted back up again just now—they didn’t recalibrate. They just started where they left off.”

  “They’re killing her!” Violet cried out.

  “Yeah, but they don’t know that,” Kendall muttered. He slapped at buttons and slammed toggle switches. “They’re clueless.”

  “Look at her!” Violet cried out. “Guys, you’ve got to do something now.”

  The spasms had intensified. Shura’s eyes had flown open, and they revealed a great, helpless, fathomless fear.

  More dials. More switches. More yelling from Violet and also from Rez and Kendall as they tried everything they could think of, calling out to each other when another idea occurred to one or the other and then trying the new idea, a desperate frenzy in every gesture.

  Nothing worked.

  Mickey’s voice sounded even more frantic and agitated than the human ones.

  “It’s getting worse! The circuit’s at full capacity! It’s overloading!” came his rattling, metallic squawk. “She’s burning alive! She has approximately eight seconds until death.”

  16

  Silicon Heart

  Eight seconds.

  Seven.

  Six.

  Five.

  Violet made up her mind. No matter the cost, she would leap forward and embrace Shura. If it killed her, at least she’d die with her best friend.

  And that was something, right?

  It was. It was more than something. It was a hell of a lot.

  She readied herself for the jump.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  All at once, Violet felt herself being knocked out of the way. Mickey rushed past her and spun into the circle, snatching up Shura’s right hand with one of his pincers. He squeezed tightly. With his other pincer, he reached forward. All Violet could see was a blur of robotic motion, a flash of translucent panels, and a geyser of sprung wires.

  A flash of sparks leaped high in the air. A giant trident of flame burst forth from the receptors on the tripod, which initiated the noisy release of the black, spongy, fire-canceling foam that was packed into the walls and floor of every lab on New Earth. The foam expanded wildly, doubling and tripling and quadrupling its size as it engulfed the space, suffocating the flames.

  The shouts and cries of Violet and her friends were instantly muffled. And then, there were no cries at all anymore.

  Only a terrifying stillness.

  A few seconds passed. Just as quickly as the foam had been deployed, a small door in the wall opened. Out scurried a unit of ReadyRobs to vacuum the foam. To Violet, who was watching the world reemerge from under the thicket of smoke and foam, they looked like tiny, efficient versions of Mickey.

  Mickey.

  He lay on his side, charred and blackened and shrunken. Wires had sprung loose from between his cylinders and lay in ratty, tangled heaps around his prone chassis like seaweed draping an oddly shaped and translucent rock.

  Shura stood over him, breathing hard, her face wet with tears.

  Violet rubbed her eyes and coughed. Her mouth and throat felt as if they were coated with a gooey version of the anti-flame foam. She had breathed in a great deal of it when t
he small room was enveloped in chemicals.

  “Shura,” she said. “Are you—”

  “I’m okay,” her friend replied. “But Mickey—” She gestured helplessly toward the AstroRob. “He saved my life. He diverted the current from me and took it into himself.” She dropped to her knees, uttering a sob as she did so.

  Rez and Kendall were there, too, kneeling over Mickey.

  “Is he—?” Violet asked, barely trusting her own voice.

  Rez checked the numbers on his console. He nodded solemnly.

  “But I thought robots were built to withstand a power surge,” she said.

  “They are, and they can,” Rez said. “Under ordinary circumstances. Mickey, though, was already weak from the Graygrunge attack. He wasn’t back up to full strength yet. He was vulnerable.”

  Shura’s voice sounded stricken. “Did he know that? When he grabbed me, I mean, and took on the current?”

  Rez reached out a hand and placed it on the AstroRob’s central chamber. It was partially melted from the fierce heat of the current, a heat that been supercooled by the foam. “Of course he knew it.”

  And then they all stopped talking to let the reality seep into their souls:

  Mickey—the Mickey they knew, the wisecracking, infuriating robot who wouldn’t stop making bad jokes—was gone.

  The small room had been cleaned in seconds by the ReadyRobs, and the air instantly sanitized, so what hung in the air was not smoke or ash but … grief, the surpassing strangeness of the realization that this heap of metal, plastic, and silicon on the floor was all that was left of their friend.

  Violet lifted her eyes so that she could look around the room. As upset as she was, she had another concern: the paintings that Shura had finished as the aliens’ emotions flowed into her. If the paintings were damaged or destroyed, Mickey’s death would be meaningless.

  Well, not exactly meaningless. He had saved Shura’s life. But his sacrifice would matter less.

  “Hey, look,” she said to her friends. She pointed to a spot in the corner. The paintings were secured under a flame-resistant tarp.