So where’s the planet at? I asked myself, concluding it was simply below the cupola’s field of view.
There would be other places I could look, and right now, all I could see was the brilliant starlight of Aura. Every time I saw its brightness, it lifted my spirits, something logical, but also something primeval. We humans needed sunlight even if it was from a distant cousin of Sol. I told myself again that we’d made it and smiled. Once again a correction: I had made it along with a man called Arnold Reichs and no more than a few hundred others who hadn’t perished in their stasis pods. From the battle that had raged in the decks below, I wondered how many of that few hundred were still alive. And how many of those had made it down to the planet?
It was time to go—my time in Module 4 was through. I descended from the cupola feeling the chill of the ship’s air hit me immediately, the gloom of the interior far worse than before. After feeling the warmth of the alien sun, I yearned to leave this floating hulk any way I could. Eventually, that was what I needed to do.
6
I could see the open blast doors ahead. The link tunnel to Module 3 was beyond them, then finally the closed doors to the science module itself. Following the same drill, I went about manually opening them just enough to get through while wondering what I’d find. Would there be life support and gravity? Would there be survivors? Only time would tell, I told myself, slipping through into a corridor so similar to the one I’d just left. I felt a sense of déjà vu. If I remembered rightly, this top level was devoted to offices, meeting rooms and a few small labs. All the interesting stuff—the observatory, life sciences and hydroponics labs and so on—were spread over the nineteen decks below. They’d planned for the entire module to continue as an orbiting university and research center once we’d established the colony. There would be a lifetime of research to conduct on and around the planet. Much of it would be applied research in aid of the colony below. One of the early priorities had been working out what crops to grow there. The atmospheric composition had already been deduced from near-Earth telescope arrays, as had the presence of green vegetation and liquid-water-containing oceans. These were some of the primary confirmations of Aura-c’s habitability. From there, the plan was that the fast recon probes would’ve filled in a lot more of the details by the time we all woke up in the months before arriving. Launched in 2050, the tiny nano-probe cluster could be accelerated to velocities several times that of the massive Juno Ark’s. If all went according to plan, it meant the fast recon probes could send back data as the Juno made its way here.
Of course, I had no idea whether any of this happened or not. If it did, then without other survivors it would do us little good, us being the elusive Reichs and whoever else had made it. If it was just Reich and me then the human population here would remain at an exact figure of two. That was assuming we couldn’t get the artificial wombs working—I guessed that would not be a straightforward task for laymen. Maybe Reichs knew how. I sure as hell didn’t.
I passed the first doors—one on the left, one on the right, both closed. These were offices, as the plaque read. The corridor was, again, poorly lit on emergency lights, the once-white panels deteriorated with age. There were still no signs of life, just the sound of the air trickling from fluff-covered overhead vents and the sonorous creaking of the Juno Ark so far from home.
I called out again, not excepting a reply.
“Hey! Anyone home? The name’s Luker, Dan Luker ... If you’re there I’d love to meet you!”
Only echoes returned as I wondered how long it’d be until I started losing my mind. Days, weeks, years? Perhaps I’d end up talking to Tiro or my intercom badge just to stay sane. The intercom badge—I hadn’t tried it since the stasis module. I double-tapped the little device on my chest and it sprung to life with its happy four-note jingle.
I said, “Tiro, connect me with the nearest crew member.”
Like last time, only the pre-recorded message replied, not Tiro.
My computerized female friend said, “Tiro is unreachable. The communications network is inactive.”
“Intercom, initiate direct badge-to-badge comms. Any active node you can find.”
“Active node SD-057 is within range. Connecting ...” it said, accompanied by an intermittent chiming.
“Yes! Someone’s here!” I said, excitedly.
Seconds later the chiming fell silent.
A second after that it said, “No active intercom nodes within range.”
“What the ...? Repeat last command!”
“No active intercom nodes within range.”
“Last command damn it—badge-to-badge communications, any active node!”
“No active intercom nodes within range.”
“So what happened to node SD-057?”
“Unknown.”
Just as quickly as my hopes had risen, they came crashing back down. Maybe a short circuit—some damaged equipment with only intermittent operation. But how intermittent? I could try forever and never get another connection to SD-057, whoever that was.
I continued along the corridor, straight toward the other end—the quickest route to Module 2. Then I heard something up ahead and froze to the spot, listening intently. After pausing for a full minute, I detected no further sound. I considered for a moment whether I’d heard it or just imagined it.
Was it an early sign of the hallucinations that would surely come if I remained alone?
Up ahead, about sixty feet away and halfway to the next module, an overhead light flickered on and off at seemingly random intervals. On the floor below it lay a jumbled mess of what looked like mainly office furniture—a couple of upturned desks, some chairs piled in no particular order and what looked like the remains of yet more of the dead. I counted four as I got closer. This time, they were crewmembers in their blue flight suit uniforms. Continuing to listen, I realized this was a barricade as evidenced by the liberal spread of laser marks and bullet holes. I checked the crewmembers’ four handguns—apparently their only weapons—and found not a single round remained. Same in the magazines on the floor. Same in their pockets and equipment belts. Whoever they were fighting had simply waited until they were out of ammo. It must have been a desperate situation to make a last stand with handguns behind some upturned tables and chairs.
Not for the first time, I wondered who was fighting who. Crew versus marines? A split based on national lines? Or something else completely? What could have happened to have started such violence? One of the things we’d learned during training was how human conflict presented the biggest challenge for long-term space missions. The mission designers thought they’d solved it by having a spacious, well-equipped ship that could double as an orbital command when we arrived. That and the fact that everyone would be in stasis for most of the journey also helped. My stomach growled, reminding me I had a limited fuel supply and, therefore, a time limit before I’d need sustenance. I had to keep moving.
The double doors to the stairwell stood just past the barricade on the right-hand side. One of the two sliding halves was open and this time there was no bulge, no signs of explosion or fire, only a few pockmarks from stray rounds. I set about sidestepping through the gap between the tables in the barricade, knocking over a chair which came clattering to the ground. I cleared the barricade and observed that further along, just fifteen feet from the link tunnel, a set of double doors were wide open on the right—perhaps a lab or conference room. And that’s when I heard the faint whirring noise emanating from the same open room. Once more I froze, but this time the noise continued, definite enough to reassure me that my mind wasn’t tricking me. It grew louder and more familiar—the sound of electric servos—the sound of what came marching thirty feet in front of me. The metallic humanoid form of a security droid.
In the moments before it clocked me, I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad turn of events.
Then the droid turned with its handgun raised, its body in a firing position.
Its commanding, synthetic voice called out, “Surrender now. Lay down your weapons. Mutiny is a felony offense!”
I said, “Okay, I surrender! I’m reaching for my gun, then I’m gonna lay it down on the deck Okay with that?”
The bot stood still and repeated, “Surrender now. Lay down your weapons. Mutiny is a felony offense!”
Not a good sign. I picked out the handgun from my fleece pocket, holding it by the barrel, crouching down then laying it on the ground. I got up but didn’t kick it away.
With my hands raised, I said, “I’ve laid down my weapon. I surrender. Lower your gun security droid.”
“Surrender now. Lay down your weapons. Mutiny is a felony offense!” came the now, familiar reply.
Something was wrong—it wasn’t recognizing my surrender.
I sank down, attempting to grab my gun and that’s when the droid opened fire, advancing as it did so. I dove to the floor, rolling from where I’d been toward the stairwell doors but failed to retrieve my weapon.
“Damn it!” I said as I crawled prone through the open door and into the darkness, shots coming all too close to my legs.
I could hear the approaching bot, the whirring sound mixed with soft, regular footfalls. I got to my feet and rushed down the stairwell aided by the emergency lighting strips. When I heard the droid reach the landing above, I realized the doors to Level 19 were closed and probably unpowered. There was no time, so I went down another floor, then another until at Level 17 I found the doors open. I listened, poking my head into the stairwell, but the droid wasn’t pursuing.
I caught my breath and exhaled deeply. I’d escaped the malfunctioning droid but now had to decide how to get past it. With no weapon other than my ax, it would be no trivial task. The ship’s security droids were efficient and deadly when they needed to be. This one seemed to be deadly even when it didn’t need to be. To last this long at all meant that it still had access to a source of wireless electric power. That might even be the reason it hadn’t pursued me. Although designed to last for the mission’s duration, the batteries may have been less efficient by this point, requiring wireless power to supplement them. Interesting, helpful even, but ultimately academic.
All I knew was that there could be more lurking around, so I decided two things. First, that I needed a new weapon. Second, I wouldn’t try to get past the droid; I’d just go around it. Since Level 20 was at the top of the cylindrical module, it meant that on that particular level there was no way around. In the short-term, though, I had no choice but to hunt around for a weapon and a do my best to avoid further contacts until I found a way out. The other link tunnel connected the modules on Level 1, seventeen floors down. That was where I would head to next. Eventually, I may need to face off against the droid or an equally dysfunctional counterpart, so I reconsidered my next destination. There was nothing else for it—next stop, the weapons lab.
***
When I’d started from Level 18, I’d had no idea where to find the weapons lab. The hunt had taken me down four additional floors—searching each one in turn—before I found it. In Module 3, I’d been through everything you’d expect to find at a major technical university from test labs to classrooms, from offices to stores of spare parts. But I didn’t think you’d find a weapons lab like the one I entered on Level 14. With its own branch corridor, the place was like its own mini-institution. Until I’d reached it, there had been only intermittent signs of conflict. I’d counted a dozen dead—all died of laser or gunshot wounds. Two marines, four crew and six colonists. I did a brief search of each and got another handgun to replace the one I’d lost. I got a couple more clips and found an unopened ration bar, too—chocolate and banana, apparently. It didn’t taste like it and I wondered what effect it’d eventually have on me consuming such out-of-date food. The sugar felt good, though, but made me thirstier than I already was. I eventually found a small coffee break room with a faucet with some undrained water in the pipe next to some offices. I drank greedily until it stopped. Again, I wondered what the plastic pipes had donated to the water over so many years. It was hardly an immediate concern, though.
In hindsight, I could’ve used the escalating level of damage and battle scars to find the weapons labs—the closer I came, the more damage I saw. I eyed the scene of complete devastation that was in the weapons lab entry corridor. What had been double glass security doors lay demolished—shattered on the deck, one on top of the other as if felled by a rampaging giant. The charring and twisted frames and the devastated wall and ceiling panels told me that giant was a powerful explosion. Once again, I paid silent tribute to the ship’s designers for its ability to withstand such punishment. Remnants of a guard box still stood to one side. Only its footings and some nearby grime-covered debris remained. Further down the corridor was dark, so I switched on the flashlight. Scanning the floor with it as I advanced, I witnessed bone fragments and a part-melted laser rifle. Ahead were four wide doorways with no signs of doors. I guessed there were probably more, but the collapsed ceiling further along the main branch corridor was a mess. There was no way through.
I searched each of the four labs in turn. All were severely battle damaged. All contained yet more skeletal remains. Whoever had attacked these labs had emptied them of most of the weapons. In one, some sort of heavy energy weapon stood bolted to its mount, maybe too difficult to have hauled away. Another lab still held a few assault rifles of a type I’d never seen before. It was clear they were also energy weapons. None of them worked. It was becoming increasingly clear that the weapons labs were a waste of time. In the end, the only useful thing I salvaged was the lightweight body-armor vest still in its test mount. Once back in the dim light of the main corridor, I donned the vest over my stasis suit and replaced my fleece. After listening out for any approaching droids, I leaned against the wall, to gather my thoughts.
Why was the droid that attacked me talking about mutiny being a felony? I felt sure it was no coincidence with all the violence I’d seen. The question now was why?
Another thing didn’t make sense. Something I’d always wondered about. Why were there so many heavily armed marines and so many weapons on a trip to an uninhabited planet? Was it just precautionary, to keep law and order or to stop future coups d’état? After all, governments had always strove for a monopoly on the use of force. Perhaps the nascent colonial government had the same idea. It sure as hell wasn’t covered in training. An alternative theory surfaced in my mind. One more disturbing and outlandish, but possible nevertheless—was Aura-c already inhabited? Did the mission planners know something we didn’t? I shook my head and dismissed the idea, never one for conspiracy theories. I’d let the facts do the talking. All the same, I couldn’t rule it out completely.
I shook my head, trying to dispel these weighty thoughts. I had a choice to make: go destroy the droid and get to the next module or take my chances and use the lower link tunnel instead.
***
I never got to the lower link tunnel on Level 1. I couldn’t even get halfway there because I found the stairwell completely impassable below Level 9. As I lay prone on the deck of the corridor near its center-point, I faced one way, then turned around and looked along the floor the other way. The floor rose in the middle where I lay, then curved downward toward both ends. With the floor in the middle noticeably closer to the ceiling, some tremendous force had lifted it. The stairwell itself was a melted mass of twisted metal, the stairs ending in midair a few steps below Level 9. Whatever had happened to the floor below was structural and serious. My guess was another explosion—this time something big—one faction trying to cut off the route for some reason or another.
I didn’t relish taking on the security droid on Level 20—but would if I had to. But then an idea occurred to me laying there on the cold metal floor. It was what I’d seen on Level 10 that sparked it—the lab with the spacesuits. If I couldn’t get to the command via the lower link tunnel and didn’t want to face the droid, then perhaps
I could use a spacesuit.
Full of renewed enthusiasm, I sprung to my feet and made my way up the pitch-black stairwell to Level 10. Turning left, I took the branch tunnel to the outer corridor and found the lab. Once it was probably spotlessly clean, with gray alloy and gloss white surfaces and bright lighting. Now it was like everywhere else—a picture of decay and mold and grime. A rat scurried out from a dark corner, startling me, then saw me and changed directions darting back under a workbench. The lab was compact by the standards of the weapons labs I’d seen, with equipment-strewn workbenches either side of a central open area with a table on which sat a computer terminal. I tried the terminal, but it was as dead as all the others I’d found in this module. Next to it lay a space suit helmet with some cabling connected to some sort of input-output port—clearly a prototype, as almost everything was wireless even back in the 2060s when the Juno was constructed. Another identical helmet lay next to the first, but in a state of semi-deconstruction with parts lying beside it. In front was a door marked Suit Room and underneath it on its own plaque, Airlock. I opened the door and saw the locker room with the half a dozen space suits hanging up that I’d chanced upon earlier. These were nothing like the first suits worn by the likes of Neil Armstrong and Yuri Gagarin. Compared to these lightweight masterpieces, those historical suits were like spacecraft in their own right. Not much thicker than the spandex-like stasis suit I already wore, these one-piecers sported built-in booties, gloves and hoods. On the back sat a built-in maneuvering pack no bigger than a box of tissues. All I needed to complete the ensemble was a helmet and an air bottle. It didn’t take long to find a helmet inside a closed locker and the rack of compressed air bottles sat just past the lockers against the bulkhead to the airlock. I retrieved the gold-visor helmet and placed it on the small bench in the center of the room, its black rubberlike hose dangling to the floor.
Home Planet: Awakening (Part 1) Page 6
