by R. A. Nargi
I stood over my dad and pondered the options.
First I would have to figure out a way to disconnect the jury-rigged power hookup. Then I would need to get him back to the ship. The MedBed would certainly have programs to properly revive him, but the trick would be getting my dad back to the ship without injury.
It was just so strange. I couldn’t believe that I was actually here with him. Looking down at him, I wondered what had happened. He was stretched out there on the cot so peacefully. But why? It didn’t make sense. If my father was alive, why did Yates leave him? And—equally baffling—why did my dad hole up here and put himself into hibernation? Why didn’t he escape into another part of Bandala? Surely, there were some sort of living facilities for the beings who tended the fortress.
A thought occurred to me. What if it was too dangerous to move around? What if my dad knew he couldn’t get to safety? He didn’t have any way to shut down the security grid, after all.
The horror of the situation finally dawned on me. My dad knew that he was trapped on this alien fortress—with no food, water, or life support. He knew he’d be hunted by hundreds—if not thousands—of security bots. Not just the guardian bots we’d tangled with, but also scrubbers, arthrodes, and Dynark knows what else. He knew there was no way he’d be able to survive, so he put himself to sleep—hoping that someone in the future might find him.
It was a terrifying gamble, but it had paid off.
Now I just had to get both of us to safety—back to the ship. And to do that, I needed the sled. I also needed Ana-Zhi Agrada’s help.
But I was worried.
What if Yates tried to pull something? If he had left my dad to die on purpose—it was the same as murder. And murderers tend not to like to be exposed for what they did.
But maybe if I got everything prepped first, I could risk calling in the rest of the incursion team.
I kneeled down to examine the power hookup from his suit to the coupler. There was a standard LB plug on the suit. The cable ran towards the bottom of the coupler. I could see where a narrow panel on the unit had been pried off to expose a bridge rectifier.
That was weird.
It looked like the cable wasn’t connected to anything.
Its end was just bunched up and wedged loosely against the rectifier. That didn’t make any sense.
Thinking that I must be missing something, I examined the cable again—and then checked my dad’s suit for any other cables.
Nada.
His suit must be running on its own power. There was no other explanation for it.
I tried to remember the stats on a Welkin suit. I seemed to remember that it had a five-year operating life, but this one had lasted at least seven.
That was incredible.
My thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound echoing from somewhere up above. I climbed out of the pit and moved out of the maze to get a better sense of the noise. It sounded like a clicking or clattering noise—metal on metal—combined with a faint whirring sound. Definitely mechanical—
Holy shit—bots!
Pouring in through the archway were six multi-armed attack bots. I recognized them as a type of arthrode—each the size of a small dog, but insectoid in design. They had segmented chitinous exoskeletons and carried themselves low to the ground propelled by more than a dozen clawed legs. Basically, big robotic centipedes.
I wasn’t sure about these in particular, but most arthrodes did not possess ranged weapons. Their preferred mode of attack was close combat.
The arthrodes worked as a pack, forming up in a semi-circle to block my exit.
This was insane. I powered back my comm unit and yelled into it, “Help! I’m pinned down by hostiles in the first depot room east of the four-way intersection. I don’t think I can hold them off!”
My comm unit relayed nothing but a wash of static.
“Ana-Zhi, come in!”
The arthrodes each rose up, lifting the front of their bodies like a snake getting ready to strike. They continued their mechanical chittering and whirring. Maybe they were scanning me, trying to determine the quickest way to take me out.
“Anyone, come in!”
Nothing. It was like my comm unit was being jammed.
My eyes darted frantically around the depot. The maze of machinery stretched out to the east. I didn’t want to go in there. If anything, I needed to lead them away from my father. But where?
South and west were the cargo tunnels. I knew that they dead-ended into the circular galleries. If I tried to escape in that direction, I’d be trapped for sure.
The only way out of here was north through the archway back into the main east/west corridor. But that direction was blocked by the arthrodes, which were now swaying rhythmically.
What the hell were they waiting for?
I glanced back at the maze of machinery and a plan began to form in my mind. But first I tried my comm unit one more time.
“Anyone there? I’m in some serious shit. Come in!”
Nothing. I was on my own.
I powered up my magtouch system and began to inch towards a tall pressurized storage tank on the edge of the machine room. I was interested in three things about it. First, it appeared to be made out of some sort of metallic compound. Second, it towered up a good dozen meters tall, just about to the ceiling. Finally, the sides of the tank were as smooth and rounded as Lirala’s naked bottom, which I probably shouldn’t be thinking about at this particular moment of time. But I couldn’t help it. Lir had a particular talent for lodging graphic sexual images in my mind—usually against my will.
I shook my head to clear it, and took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
I drew my RB and fired at the two arthrodes closest to me. I scored a lucky hit on one, hitting it just below its head and basically blowing the arthrode’s front half clean off. My next shot was a little too high and the bolt glanced off the second arthrode’s chitinous armor in a shower of sparks.
But I didn’t hesitate even for a second. I sprinted toward the storage tank and leapt up onto its side, landing with a resounding clang as my magtouch gloves and boots locked on.
A meter below me, the closest of the arthrodes scrambled towards my legs, clacking its pincer-like appendages angrily.
I kept moving, climbing up the sheer vertical wall of the tank and praying that the bots would be unable to follow.
Oops. I guess my general lack of faith had consequences. It turned out that not only were the arthrodes able to climb the smooth walls of the metal tank, they were able to climb them a lot faster than I could.
The closest arthrode jumped onto my leg while I frantically raced towards the top of the tank. I felt its weight on me and the loud sound of its maniacal whirring and chittering momentarily blanked my audio.
My exosuit kept me from being sliced to ribbons by the scalpel-like pinchers, but the armor wouldn’t hold up forever. I had to get this thing off of me, and I couldn’t risk shooting near a tank that very well could be filled with hydrogen or some other highly-flammable substance.
As the arthrode snapped and tore at me, trying to dislodge me from the side of the tank, I freed one of my hands, reached to my belt for my judder knife, and keyed it on. Then I slashed at the arthrode, severing its metal limbs and tearing into its robotoid carapace like cutting through soft butter. The bot released its grip on me and tumbled to the ground ten meters below.
There was no time to celebrate. Another arthrode skittered around the side of the tank and charged me. But I was ready for it.
I was quickly becoming knowledgeable about what parts of the bots’ bodies were most vulnerable. I plunged my judder knife into an unprotected space between two of its plated segments and then ran it up through the arthrode’s thorax, carving it in two.
Breathing heavily from the effort, I scrambled up to the top of the tank. I had a good view of the remaining three arthrodes as they clattered towards me. But before they could get close, I in
itiated the magtouch repulsors on my boots, setting them to full thrust. Then I jumped the three meters to the ceiling.
My gloves caught hold and soon I was scampering along the ceiling like I had done a million times during exosuit training.
Finally my luck held. It turned out that the arthrodes were unable to follow me onto the ceiling. But they were smart little buggers. They flew off the storage tank and raced along the ground beneath me, tracking me as I moved.
I didn’t care. I just wanted them away from my dad—and the hydrogen tanks.
My muscles burned as I made my way across the ceiling towards the archway which led to the main corridor. I spied a narrow ledge along the top of the archway and headed for that. Below me, the arthrodes chittered and swarmed, clacking their pincers and waiting for me to fall.
But I didn’t fall. I climbed down to the ledge, shook out the pain from my arms and legs, and started blasting. From my vantage point I made short work of the remaining arthrodes, and then dropped down to the ground.
That was close.
I had been lucky that there had only been six of them.
“Hello?” I said into my comm unit. What had happened to the rest of the team? “Anyone there?” I called again. But there was no response—just a wash of white noise. I was still being jammed. But by what?
I got my answer a second later. The clang of feet pounding echoed throughout the hallway. I peeked around the corner and saw a squad of bots advancing from the east. They were bipedal and larger than the guardian bots we had run into back in the gallery. Not quite as tall as me, but at least up to my chest.
I searched my memory to try to identify them. As part of my briefing, Piettow had implanted knowledge of all the technology I might expect to encounter on the other side of the Fountain—including bots. I finally was able to place them. These looked like some variation of a prowler bot.
Prowlers were probably considered a state-of-the-art security bot 700 years ago, but they were hopelessly primitive by today’s standards. Still, with their quad radiant blasters, heavy-duty plating, motion targeting capability, and the ability to coordinate their efforts, they were plenty deadly. And now eight of them were marching down the corridor towards me.
I knew I needed to lure them away from the depot. As long as my dad was in hibernation and closed in that coupler closet, the bots wouldn’t bother him, but I didn’t want to risk a firefight in there.
Thankfully, the prowlers hadn’t locked on to me yet. I pressed up against the wall and made my way west towards the big intersection, moving as quickly as I could. I needed to find some cover.
I ducked around the corner south and paused to check the topo on my Aura.
About 300 meters to the north was Bandala’s central core. I had no idea what might be there, but it was too far away. West was back towards where I had left the rest of the team. If I could get to the access hatch to the lower level, I might be okay. I didn’t think prowlers could climb. But then again, if they could get the hatch open, they’d be able to plug away at me while I was climbing down. No thanks.
According to the topo, the south corridor led back to the main entrance with the murals. Unfortunately it was over a thousand meters away. I doubted that I’d be able to outrun the prowlers over that distance.
What was I going to do?
My eyes settled on the row of hover-carts against the wall. Their propulsion systems were dead, of course, and I had no idea how to power them up. I might be able to figure it out if I had more than fifteen seconds, but for now the hover-carts were just several metric tons of solidly-built metal objects. Perfect for cover against blaster bolts.
A plan formed in my mind. And it involved one of my micro drones.
As the prowlers rounded the corner into the intersection, I launched the drone.
I watched as the prowlers swiveled and tracked the drone as it buzzed right in front of them. My gut tightened in fear. Would they just blast it out of the air and ruin my plan before it started?
Then suddenly they let loose—eight prowlers firing at least one of their quad RBs. The bolts thickened the air—but luckily the drone was too quick and too maneuverable. None of the bolts found their tiny target. This forced the prowlers to pursue—north up the corridor towards the core.
They were moving quickly, marching on their hydraulic-powered legs, and in a few seconds they would be out of range.
This was my chance.
I braced my RB on top of the hover-cart I was hiding behind, took aim on the leftmost prowler, inhaled deeply, then fired.
Whoosh!
Direct hit.
And because I hit it from behind, I struck the vulnerable part between its leg housings. Essentially, I shot it in the ass.
The prowler didn’t explode in a spectacular shower of debris. That might have been asking for too much. But I did stop the bot in its tracks by blowing apart the connection between its legs and its top combat module.
I kept shooting, adjusting my aim a few meters to the east. Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three shots, spaced perfectly.
The only variable was my targets’ reaction.
The next two went down without a hitch.
But these prowlers must have been networked together, because they quickly realized what was happening.
Prowler number four broke formation just as I fired and jumped to its right. My bolt missed it by a meter or so.
Now their algos had to make sense of both a fleeing target in front of them and an attacker behind them.
I guess survival won out.
The remaining five prowlers turned on their robotic heels and charged south down the corridor back towards me.
Now I was kind of screwed.
I got off a few more shots, but my attacks were fruitless. The prowlers were too heavily armored up front. I’d need much heavier weapons to even make a dent. The best I could do was take pot shots at their feet, hoping to damage their balancing mechanisms.
Yeah, bad plan.
The prowlers came at me fast. Much faster than I expected.
But I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
Pumped up with adrenalin, I gave myself a running start and dove beneath the closest hover-cart. I slid across the floor, kicking up dust as I blasted at the legs of the prowlers. They tried to fire back, but the angle was off for them. And by the time they realized where I had been, I was moving again— scrambling up and racing along the beds of the hover-carts.
But the prowlers reacted quickly, blasting in my direction. One shot pounded me in the chest, knocking me sprawling off the cart. Everything went dark as my helmet cracked against the ground and my breath was driven from my body. I managed to stay awake—barely—but I was stunned, motionless, and deafened by the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
In slow motion, the five prowlers converged on me, jumping up on the hover-cart. I saw their quad-blasters pivot towards me, sighting on my head.
I took a deep breath, knowing that it would be my last. But all I could feel was the intense pain throbbing in my chest. It was like I had been hit with a sledgehammer.
I’m sorry, I thought.
I’m sorry that I failed.
Failed my father. Failed the mission. Failed Chiraine.
Failed myself.
Tears burned at my eyes, and my ears were ringing so loud I thought I’d go insane. I felt sick to my stomach. I tried to calm myself down so I could die in peace, but my thoughts were racing uncontrollably.
What kind of life had I led?
The last fifteen years were a wasteland of drugs and sex and not giving a shit about anyone except myself. Check that. I hadn’t really given a shit about myself either.
It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
But it would all be over soon.
I tried to get my eyes to focus, but they were bleary from the tears.
I could barely make out the prowlers. I registered their movement. But not towards me.
They
were swaying in slow motion. Then stumbling, toppling, falling—like marionettes whose strings had been cut.
What the hell—?
A far-off voice called my name.
But the sound was lost, like a leaf bobbing on the currents of a river. Like the river in my head.
15
Ana-Zhi Agrada shook me awake. “Jannigan, you’re okay.”
What…?
She helped me to my feet. All around me were scattered inert prowlers.
“How?” I gasped. A spasm of pain jolted through my chest.
“EMP jiggler,” Ana-Zhi said. “Perfect when they’re all clustered up tight like that. Took them all out. Also may have glitched your life support. Sorry. But I got it back up and running so you should be fine.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I just tracked your last position. I knew something was going down when our comm jammed.”
As my suit administered a blast of high-concentration oxygen, my head started to clear.
“My father,” I gasped. “I found him. He’s alive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father—”
“You’re still messed up from being shot.”
“No. I’ll show you.”
We made our way back to the depot room and I led Ana-Zhi through the maze of machinery and down to the coupler closet in the pit where my father was.
“Holy shit.”
She checked his vitals same as I had.
“He’s alive.”
“I know,” I said.
“But…how…?”
“His suit kept him alive,” I said. “We need to get him back to the ship.”
Ana-Zhi stood up and activated her comm unit. “Yates, do you read me?”
I heard her voice loud and clear on the group channel. Whatever had jammed our frequency had stopped.
“Yates, come in.”
But there was no answer. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.
“Yates!” Ana-Zhi barked, losing patience. “Hap? Anyone?”
