Cyberdrome

by Joseph Rhea

  “I’m so sorry I messed up your plans,” he said.

  “I had this Survey Vessel hovering down near the surface to reduce the power drain, which was a mistake I won’t repeat. However, I’m now safely high above the ground and you’re not. I’d say you’re about to get paid back in full.”

  “Who are you anyway?” he asked. He was rapidly growing frustrated at her ability to stay a step ahead of him “Is it Klaxon, Lorena, or Stacy? What’s your real name?”

  Another pause, then, “How about ‘Rose?’”

  He almost chuckled. “You mean, ‘That which we call a rose, by any other name...’ I’ve read Shakespeare too.”

  “Then you can see how it applies to me, can’t you? Whatever you choose to call me, am I not the same person? The person who beat you? The person who beat Alek Grey—poet among Plumbers?”

  “Why are you doing this?” he yelled, unable to contain his anger and frustration any longer. “Who the hell do you work for?”

  “I believe that should be ‘whom the hell do you work for’, and the answer is obvious, if you think about it.”

  “No more games, Klaxon. Tell me his name.”

  “Oh, but I absolutely love games, don’t you? It’s the heart of what you and I do for a living, Doyen. Only this time, I’m afraid that we are the pawns in someone else’s game. You and I both, it seems.”

  “So it’s chess we’re playing, is it? Well, just remember, in the rules of chess, a pawn can become a knight if it reaches the other side of the board.”

  “Or a queen,” she added.

  “You killed my father,” he yelled. He was now through playing games with her. “If you were involved with the takeover of Cyberdrome, then you’re directly responsible for his death.”

  There was a long pause, before she finally answered. “Your father killed himself.”

  Before he could ask what she meant, the Survey Vessel began to move away from him, accelerating as it headed towards the horizon. In a moment, it was out of sight.

  SEVEN

  With the Survey Vessel long gone, Alek decided to see if he could start his Tracer from the outside. After opening the canopy and climbing out, he stood on the side of the hovering vehicle and looked around. The ground below the Tracer looked like it was made out of textured steel and covered by a series of large, interlocking circles. When he looked to the horizon, he could see the floor curving upwards in the distance. “I’m standing inside a gigantic metal bubble,” he whispered, remembering the image Cloudhopper had shown him.

  Directly above him, presumable in the exact center of the bubble, a white ball of light shown like a star inside a scale-model Dyson Sphere. It was definitely the strangest virtual environment he had ever seen, but then again, it wasn’t meant for human eyes. This was Cyberdrome’s Core Memory, and it was once home to the Sentinels.

  He cautiously jumped off the Tracer and landed with a metallic clang. Instantly his Omnisuit began to move across his body, changing into some sort of black armored suit. Then he realized that his entire body was changing as well. As he stared at his own hands, he saw small details like moles and pores disappear; replaced by smooth, rubber-like skin. It looked, and felt, as if his Avatar was becoming less detailed, less real.

  Afraid that contact with the Core was somehow destroying his Avatar; he turned to jump back aboard the Tracer, but then realized that he was actually feeling stronger and more alive than he thought possible. The Core was altering his Avatar, but maybe it was a natural part of that system. Maybe existing inside Core memory required a different type of body—something simpler, but also stronger.

  When the transformation was over, his stomach suddenly gurgled, and he realized that whatever was supplying him with such instant vigor didn’t alter the fact that his—or his Avatar’s—stomach was empty. It was like drinking some kind of super-caffeinated sugar water—loads of energy, but no real substance.

  He felt the ground begin to vibrate through his feet. It was rhythmic—almost like a heartbeat or a bass drum beating. He crouched down and placed his hand on the ground, which felt like cold metal. Then he remembered that the Tracers used magnetic levitation to hover, so a metallic surface made sense. It still made him feel a bit like an ant on a large metal table.

  The vibration became more pronounced and it dawned on him that it could be something running towards him. He jumped up and scanned the horizon, but saw nothing. Then the ant analogy reminded him that he was very much alone out there. He crawled back into his Tracer and sealed the canopy. As he sat in the chair, his body changed back into its original “more human” form, blemishes and all.

  “So, what now?” he asked the empty cabin. He tried repeatedly to make sense of the Tracer’s controls, but nothing seemed to be functional. After a few minutes, he threw up his hands in frustration. If these ships really were designed for human-based Sentinels, then it didn’t make sense that they would be so difficult to operate.

  As he stared at the dashboard, he realized that he was all alone and that there was no one around to teach him what he needed to know. He peered out the side window at the dark expanse of Core space. Maya and the others were out there somewhere, but who knew where?

  If what Lorena—or Klaxon—had said was true, and all sensory connections from his brain were now tied into this artificial reality, then whatever happened to him here could affect his body back in the real world. If those machine creatures he had narrowly escaped from back on the Survey Vessel found him before he could figure out how to operate this ship, he could end up just like his father—dead. Luckily for him, those monsters were nowhere in sight.

  As if on cue, a familiar shape suddenly appeared out his right window and came to a stop directly in front of him. It was a large metallic gray sphere held up by eight piston-driven legs sprouting from its top. Even though this one was twice the size of the one on the Survey Vessel, he found himself strangely fascinated by the Spider as it turned to face him. More than a robot, he reminded himself; it was a living machine. And, like most living things, it probably wasn’t traveling alone.

  He glanced left and right, and cursed when he saw them. At least a dozen Spiders were closing in—each identical to the first—their huge metallic bodies glistening in the strange twilight of the Core. An opening appeared in the body of the one in front and something inside began to glow. Before he could react, a red ball of energy launched itself directly at him.

  Unable to move the Tracer, he realized there was nothing he could do except hold on tight and hope for the best. He didn’t believe in miracles, but at that moment, he knew that he needed one. As the energy ball closed in, he shut his eyes tight and instinctively tightened his grip on the two T-shaped handlebars. Suddenly his Tracer roared to life. “All power diverted to shields,” he heard a female voice say, just before the energy ball exploded all around him.

  The concussion sent his Tracer spinning out of control. When he came to a stop, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Klaxon had said that the Survey Vessel contained a built-in intelligence, which acted as an autopilot. Maybe that was true for the Tracers as well.

  “I need help,” he said aloud.

  “Help is now online,” a female voice said.

  He saw several Spiders in his forward window, turning around to face him. “We need to get out of here,” he yelled.

  “Direction?” the voice asked calmly.

  Since most of them were now in front of his ship, he yelled, “Backward.”

  “Affirmative. Course is now plotted and ready for activation.”

  “Do it now,” he yelled.

  As the Tracer began to move, the voice said calmly, “Incoming fire detected. Multiple sources and trajectories confirmed.”

  He looked out the forward window. Several glowing balls of light were heading right at him. One was already very close.

  “What are those things,” he asked.

  “Weapons identified. Electromagnetic charges. Six seconds to initia
l impact.”

  “I’m guessing that Electromagnetic charges can’t be good for digital programs,” he said, trying to calm himself. He needed to think clearly and panicking would not help him. “Is there a way to maneuver this ship manually?”

  “Manual override is now engaged,” the voice said.

  “Wait. What do I do now?” he asked, but the ship was silent.

  Need to turn the ship, he thought, and as he looked out his left window, his ship pivoted ninety degrees to the left. Unfortunately, the energy ball turned as well and continued to close in.

  “Recalculating trajectory. Eight seconds to impact.”

  Direct mental control, he realized. Appropriate for Sentinels, now that he thought about it. Turning the ship had bought him a few extra seconds, but it still didn’t get him out of his current predicament. He needed his Tracer to go faster. Faster, he thought.

  “We are at maximum speed for Explorer Mode,” the ship replied. “Six seconds to impact.”

  He looked down at his dashboard and noticed the placement of three glowing letters on the right side. The letters were W, E, and R. The middle letter, E, glowed green.

  That must stand for “Explorer Mode” he realized. Then he remembered that most energy-based vehicles balanced their power between three systems: weapons, shields, and engines. Slower ship meant more powerful weapons and shields. Faster ship meant weaker weapons and shields. Explorer Mode could be the default mode, with power distributed evenly between all three systems.

  If that were true, then “W” and “R” should stand for the other power modes. The “R” could be for Reconnaissance, he guessed. That would be a fast ship with weak or no weapons. If that were true, then the “W” key should trigger the offensive mode. What did the “W” stand for?

  “Recalculating trajectory. Two seconds to impact.”

  His cabin began to fill with light and he knew it was the energy charge almost upon him. He yelled the words “Warrior Mode,” and held his breath.

  The windows went pure white and he felt the shock of the explosion, echoing through the ship’s hull. The display on the dashboard now had the “W” lit up. He had guessed correctly.

  He looked out his forward window and saw a holographic heads-up display projected in front of him. It showed his shields holding at eighty-five percent and a green cursor was now tracking the next energy charge.

  He thought the word, “Fire,” and a yellow beam of light erupted from somewhere above him. It vaporized the incoming charge. The heads-up cursor then locked on the next closest charge.

  He repeatedly shot and destroyed all remaining charges. “Is that the best you can do?” he asked aloud. It all began to make sense to him now, and he felt himself becoming an extension of the Tracer, something that usually only happened to him after many hours inside a virtual ship. He realized that he really was beginning to think like a Sentinel.

  The Spiders appeared to be formulating a new attack plan, because while they continued their pursuit, none of them were firing at him. He used the time to quickly test the last remaining power modes of his Tracer. Recon Mode transferred all shield and weapons power to the engines, just as he had guessed. He might need that later, but not right then. He had no plans to run away from this particular fight.

  The heads-up display also showed that his Tracer had two types of weapons on board; the beam weapons he had been using were called Electro-Magnetic Pulsars, or EMP, but he also had something called Electrostatic Discharges, or ESD. The display showed that he had only four of those so he decided to hold off testing them for the moment.

  The Spiders suddenly increased their speed. In Warrior Mode, his Tracer couldn’t match their speed. He waited until they were just seconds away, then reactivated his Explorer Mode, reversed course, and pushed his thrusters to maximum. He shot right through the middle of the Spiders, which sent them running into one another as they tried to stab at him with their metallic legs. He then turned hard and began circling the group. He switched back to Warrior Mode and began firing his pulsars into the crowd as fast as he could. Nothing seemed to hurt them.

  Then he took a chance and changed his targeting cursor to aim for the leg joints. One Spider fell as three of its legs broke off. One of the Spiders launched an energy charge, but Alek’s circling motion caused the charge to hit another Spider, which exploded and took out two others. Chaos erupted in the group as they began fighting with each other.

  In a few moments, only two spiders remained standing. Alek locked on the nearest and fired, but nothing happened. He looked at his weapons display and saw that it was empty. “Damn,” he said as he switched back to Explorer Mode and steered his ship out toward open space. He looked behind him and saw both spiders running after him.

  He was about to try out the Recon Mode when the heads-up display scanner showed what looked like a hole forming on the ground behind him. He rotated his Tracer 90 degrees and looked out his side window just in time to see the closest Spider attempt to jump over the sudden chasm in the ground. Halfway through the awkward jump, something huge lifted up out of the hole and pulled it down.

  He turned back around just in time to see a section of the ground collapsing in front of him. He turned his Tracer hard to the right, but continued to slide sideways toward the opening. He remembered too late that the Tracer’s magnetic lift worked like a hovercraft—sharp turns just couldn’t happen at high speed.

  He looked out the side window into the approaching hole. Something was rising from the darkness, something big enough to swallow a building-sized Spider whole. He took a last-second gamble and turned his ship toward the rising creature. Just as it broke the surface, he hit full thrust. He bounced once, then felt his ship rising. He dropped back down to the ground a moment later, the magnetic lift breaking his fall.

  He turned his ship hard to the side, and was able to see the creature out his side window just before it fell back into its hole. It was another machine—tube-shaped with treads on its sides and rows of digging blades circling its mouth. It had to be the Mole that Klaxon mentioned—another one of her programs brought to life by his Panspermia Bomb.

  Moles began rising up through the ground all around him. He kept turning, trying to avoid them, but they were forcing him into a smaller and smaller area. Within a minute, the Mole openings had surrounded him; forcing him to a full stop. He sat there in stunned silence as the ground beneath him began to sink.

  “Do not move,” a male voice spoke from his cabin speakers. It didn’t sound like Cloudhopper, but it could’ve been any of the other members of mission team.

  Before he could reply that he had nowhere to go, another Tracer appeared in the distance. It began dropping small objects behind it, which exploded as soon as the Tracer had moved on. Depth charges, he guessed. Someone was trying to lure the moles away.

  It worked. The ground beneath him stopped sinking. Whoever was in the other Tracer had just saved his life.

  “When HomeSpace reformats,” the voice said, “head to the following coordinates at maximum speed.”

  A series of numbers appeared on his heads-up display. He started to ask what “HomeSpace reformats” meant, when he saw the holes near him begin to seal themselves. “So, the Core can repair itself,” he said aloud.

  When the area around him finished mending itself, he thought the words, “Recon Mode,” and then felt the ship around him shudder slightly as it transferred all power to the main drive. He thought the words, “Maximum thrust.” Instantly, the acceleration shoved him back into his chair. He flew across the ground at an alarming rate. His ship seemed to know where it was going, because within a few minutes, it slowed to a stop by itself. The other Tracer was already there.

  “Thanks for the help back there,” he said. “Is Maya with you?”

  Instead of receiving an answer, a white light appeared out of the top of the other ship, and then everything went dark. When he opened his eyes, he was staring into the face of a blue-skinned man.


  “Greetings Sentinel,” the blue man said with a slight nod of his head. “What is your status and designation?”

  Alek stared at the face of the strange man sitting before him. He had seen some weird Avatars before, but this one could win an award. His had a bald head and he seemed to be naked, except that he had no discernible genitals, which suggested that he was either sexless, or wearing some sort of thin bodysuit. His skin, or bodysuit, was translucent blue from head to foot with embedded patterns that seemed to go deep into his body.

  The blue man was sitting on the ground in front of him and they were both inside some sort of large circular tunnel. The walls and ceiling were glass-smooth and the material gave off a slight reddish glow, lighting the tunnel and the strange man before him. He had no memory of climbing out of his Tracer or coming in here.

  “Is your language processor operational?” the blue man asked. He looked concerned.

  “I’m fine,” Alek said. “Where am I?”

  “This is a tunnel created by Species-4. We are safe down here for the moment.”

  Alek looked around and then back at the blue man. “I assume that you’re one of Cloudhopper’s people. I never got a chance to meet any of his team members.”

  “I have no knowledge of the designation, Cloudhopper,” the man said. “I am Javid Rho. Do you recall your designation?”

  “If you mean my name, it’s Alek Grey.”

  The blue man’s eyes widened. “You are a Gray?”

  “Well, yes,” Alek replied. “That’s my name or designation as you call it. I’m Maya’s friend.”

  “This is an interesting turn of events,” he said, almost to himself. “Very well, Alek. Do you have any knowledge of why you are here?”

  Alek started to tell of the mission to delete Ceejer but then thought better of it. Something was up with this guy. Better to play along, and find out what he was doing in there. “My memory seems to be a little foggy,” he said. “Do you know why I’m here?”