Flint
The ship landed in the hangar as planned, but what Flint hadn’t expected was a silent arrival. From what he could see, there was no one else inside the ship bay with him, at least not from this perspective. It felt wrong. Instantly, he considered this might all be a setup. His instincts were usually spot-on, and he’d made it through a lot of crazy odds by trusting them.
Now, as he sat there in the enemy ship, his gut wasn’t sure what to say. He flipped the mask over his face, and the makeshift Watcher pilot uniform swam over him. Charles had been able to find out what type of garb the aliens wore while flying, and someone aboard the Eureka had enough skills to duplicate the pattern. Flint felt like a fool wearing the platform boots, making him still look too short to be a Watcher, and also doubling as a tripping risk.
The whole plan flashed in Flint’s mind, and he realized it was insane. There was no way he was pulling it off and escaping. Maybe he could manage to unleash the virus, or leave and escape now, but the chances he could do both were astronomically infinitesimal.
Flint exited the stolen Watcher ship, peering around the hangar as his feet hit the floor. He listened for signs of alarms or someone speaking, but it was silent. A little too silent.
A small voice spoke into his hidden earpiece. “The tower is down. I repeat, the tower is down. We lost Bull.” It was Ace’s voice, and Flint stopped walking at the news. Bull had quickly become a friend, training with him every day over the past few months. Flint couldn’t deal with that now. Now it was time to make Bull’s death mean something. He ran around the room, setting small devices underneath as many enemy ships as he could before he ran out. That would have to do.
When he was done, Flint gripped his small tablet and watched as the path to the ducting glowed with blue dots on the map. His footsteps clanged out as he crossed the space. Each step seemed louder than the last, until Flint found himself tiptoeing like an animated cat burglar on the prowl.
There were dozens of ships in the hangar, each ominously feeling like they were watching him as they sat still, unpowered and unmoving. The pack Flint hid under the flowing black uniform was growing heavier as he went, nearing the doorway indicated on his map.
A minute later, Flint was staring at a wide door. Beyond it lay the city the Watchers had built on this faraway moon. All he needed to do was unleash the virus at the right spot, and they’d be dead in days, a large chunk of their population decimated before their home world even knew what happened.
He tapped the controls, and the crude door slid open. Grease dripped from the edge of it, splattering on the floor. It was nothing like what he’d expected beyond. The hall was dank; lights flickered on and off, as if on a timer. Flint couldn’t smell it with the mask on, but it looked musky, like there was a large pool of water near them, causing an increase in humidity. The metallic walls had a sheen, and he touched one with a gloved hand, running an index finger over the surface.
Something startled him from down the corridor, and he muttered to himself as a dark form raced toward him. “Damn it,” he said, crouching lower; his training with Bull kicked in, and he let it take over.
The Watcher grunted in its animal-like language as it swung a thick fist at Flint. He narrowly avoided the full-on impact, the meaty hand brushing his mask instead. Flint reacted quickly, dropping even lower and pushing the Watcher, using its forward momentum to his favor. One thing Flint had learned fighting Bull was, the larger the opponent, the harder they fell. The creature floundered, tripping over its own long arms, and rammed head-first into the door that had closed behind Flint. It fell to the ground, its neck sideways. Broken.
Flint counted his blessings that it had been so easy. He tapped the hangar door open and dragged the heavy Watcher through the entrance. Finding a tarp on the wall, he draped it like a blanket over the dead alien, hoping no one would stumble across it in the meantime.
Flint’s heart raced as he checked the map. He didn’t hesitate now. He made sure his stunner was accessible and started running down the corridor, following the dots on his tablet. He passed open doors, seeing a few Watchers here and there. No one stopped him as they went through their tasks, whatever those might be. This was nothing like he’d expected. In his mind’s eye, the Watchers were on a civilized outpost, some of the children in classes, playing instruments and learning math.
Being here popped the bubble in an instant. These were not a cultured people. They were warriors, grungy and strong. The dots led him down a hall, where he heard the screams of his enemy. Flint was in their garb, but upon closer inspection, no one would believe him to be one of them. He also knew that a pilot would have left his mask back at the ship, so he looked even more dubious as he sneaked around the corridors.
As he approached the room, he peered inside for an instant. It was full of Watchers, all standing and facing the back of the room. Flint had a view of their backs: most of them were in rough armor, leather or something similar. What could only be a female Watcher stood at the front of the space with a smaller being. It must be a child. The kid’s eyes were as black as any of theirs, its face disturbingly calm as the female slid a knife from a sheath strapped to her thick leg. Her bald head glistened with sweat as she sliced forward on the boy’s chest.
The room of Watchers erupted into chants. Flint ran now, sick to his stomach with what he’d witnessed. What were the Watchers? He felt no guilt as he made his way, sneaking through the edge of the outpost, hiding the odd time from any incoming enemy. Eventually, he’d wound his way to the air handlers for this side of the facility. It had taken a lot longer than he’d expected, and he’d cut his mic power, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to himself.
Flint pushed through a door and found himself “outside.” He swore under his breath. This wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have been inside the air-handling building by now. He wasn’t in the initial maze-like structure that connected to the hangar. He was beyond it, and it seemed like he was in the streets, even though when he looked up, he saw a ceiling hundreds of meters in the air.
This outpost was built in a huge metal box, instead of a dome like humans had done. From here, Flint discovered tall buildings interconnected with aboveground walkways and corridors. Noises came from every angle now, voices, and smoke poured from multiple spots around the streets, the clouds sucked upward and out to the moon. Flint felt a different vibe here, one that was more alive than behind the door he’d just walked through.
Flint saw a group of Watchers approaching his position, and he scurried away, carefully hiding against the wall. He watched them from his secret position. It looked like a group of children, not yet wearing armor, just black clothing and thick boots. Their discussion was angry and animated, but that could just be the language, Flint decided.
From his hiding spot, he sought his map out and found he’d taken one wrong turn. From here, he could double back and get to the air-handling unit. He slid the tablet away and grabbed hold of one of the canisters in his pack. It was time.
Wren
“What’s taking them so long?” Barkley asked from the front of the bridge.
Wren didn’t know, and still didn’t, even after the tenth time their captain asked the same question.
Tsang spoke. “I tried Charles again, but he won’t respond.”
“Something’s wrong,” Wren whispered. She hadn’t thought it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but Heather craned her neck back.
“What’s wrong?” the captain asked her. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. Charles wouldn’t purposely ignore you.” Wren hated to ask it, but she had to. “Can you send Ace in to check on them?”
Ace had been instructed to find a safe place to land, somewhere inconspicuous, and stay grounded until he was needed. If Charles or Flint needed help being extracted, Ace would be there. It wasn’t a great plan, but they had no other options.
“We’ve already lost Bull. I despise asking more of Ace. He’s
just a kid.” Heather Barkley’s voice was low, but Wren could tell she’d made her mind up. They needed to win the day. There would be no other option.
“Ace, come in.” Barkley was sitting in Flint’s seat on the Eureka bridge, tapping into the communicator.
“Ace here.” His voice sounded smaller than normal, a good representation of the thin teenager.
“We need you to check on Charles. He won’t respond. We think Flint has made it inside, but if he’s been taken, we can’t let Charles fail. At least one of them has to unleash the virus. Do you understand?” Barkley asked.
Ace didn’t respond for a moment, and Wren had the feeling he might decline the order. “I’m on it. Be there momentarily.”
Exhausted, Wren reclined in her seat and awaited further updates.
Charles
One step. Just take one step. Charles couldn’t convince himself to move. He’d tried everything and had been standing here still as a statue for almost an hour now. If he was programmed to seize up here, why, and by whom?
Benson. The name entered his cognitive functions with the firing of an electrical impulse. Benson had been behind all of it. But why? If Charles could understand why, he might figure out the how, and a loophole to fix the programming.
Benson didn’t want the virus to be used. It was a reasonable hypothesis, and one Charles was comfortable leading with. If the android has the virus, do not let him use it. So he’d had Charles programmed at some point on board the Eureka. There were many cases where Charles had been powered down, usually when charging. It could have been done, but he thought he would have known. It didn’t feel right.
What, then? It had to have come before that. When? Charles stood there, static as a scarecrow, combing through his system files. He could find no alterations to his programming at all. Benson was sneaky, he’d proven that, but Charles had been able to decipher everything the man had hidden. He’d do it again.
Charles went a different route. Within a couple minutes of processing time, he found something. Under three years ago, a file had been updated. This was news to him. He’d never considered looking there, because he’d never had a need, but now, knowing this, he felt strange; corrupted by the revelation.
He feared what he’d uncover, but he needed to, or they were going to fail the mission and it would be his fault. The whole crew looked at him with admiration. Wren saw him as a good friend, and he couldn’t let her down.
He dug into the file, his outward self failing to notice the ship lowering beside him as he focused on the update file he’d just uncovered. Something was wrong with it. He’d been at the Caliban prison for forty years, but when he looked inside this file, it said he was recommissioned from an Earth Fleet outpost only three years prior. This was bad. Really bad.
His update was to get him up to speed with the Mining Prison for Women’s procedures and schedules. Charles nearly fried a circuit as he learned his history. His whole life had been a sham. The memories inside weren’t his. They were from someone else, a different android who’d been damaged during an explosion in the smelter. Charles was programmed to break Wren Sando from prison at a specific time. It had to be a backup plan, one an unsure Benson had put in place in case he decided to work with the Watchers.
Just as he was now programmed to prevent the virus from going off. Charles screamed, a primal animal sound within his EVA. What was he? Why did he still think the way he did? Was that programmed into him? Were his feelings and friendships all manufactured by the hands of the brilliant but horrible Benson?
“Charles!” a voice called from behind him. The sound of the name was enough to snap him out of the painful loop he was stuck inside.
He turned to see Ace standing there in a full EVA. The Watcher vessel’s lights shone down toward them, illuminating the short distance to the wall, where they could finally drop the virus.
“I’m not Charles any longer,” he said, unable to drop the preprogrammed sadness from his tone.
“What are you talking about? Charles, we have a job to do!” Ace shouted, stepping toward him.
The android, who now chose to be nameless, held a hand out. “Stay back, human. I do not want to harm you, but I will.” His eyes glowed brightly, and he saw fear in Ace’s young face through the mask in front of him.
28
Ace
“What are you talking about, Charles? We have to do this!” Ace bellowed at the android, who didn’t even sound like his friend at that moment. His eyes seemed darker than normal, and his posture looked foreign.
“I am not Charles. I am not even CD6, it appears,” Charles said softly.
Ace didn’t know what to make of this. Charles appeared to be having a nervous breakdown at the worst possible time. Ace stepped toward him, but Charles held a hand out. “Don’t. I may harm you.”
“Why would you hurt me? We’re friends,” Ace said.
“My programming. It’s all been a sham. I am not who I thought I was. I was tricked: programmed to find Wren, and even now, programmed to not release the virus,” Charles said.
Ace was finally beginning to understand what was going on. “How can I help?” he asked without hesitation.
This seemed to stump Charles, who cocked his head sideways like a questioning dog. “It’s not worth it. I no longer wish to exist.”
Ace glanced at the pack wrapped around Charles, holding the virus canisters. They needed to use the deadly creation, and soon. “This is about more than us.”
“Humans. What good have they ever done? They created me and made me think I was something I wasn’t.”
Ace understood only too well. “From the moment we’re born, or made, we’re told what to do. We’re told who we are, and what box we fit into. Our parents lead by example, our teachers grade us and put us in another box, our employers and coworkers, and other students… everyone judges us and tells us who we are, and what we can do.
“That’s a bunch of crap, Charles. I know you. I know you’re a wonderful friend, and regardless of whatever someone may have done to you, you’re still your own android. You have choice, I see this in you. You’re not like the rest of them, and neither was I.”
Charles let his metal chin drop toward his chest, the EVA bunching. “But I’m not even three years old. Benson implanted fake memories in my processor.”
Benson. Ace wasn’t surprised to hear this man’s name being connected to Charles’ predicament. He was apparently behind a lot of things. “Charles, I wish I could erase my first sixteen years. By those standards, I’m only a year old, because it wasn’t until then that I finally broke free from the chains placed by my parents and society. I got off the streets and went to the Moon. I passed the tests and became an Earth Fleet pilot. The things I’ve done since, and the friends I’ve made, aren’t meant for the likes of the old Ace, because he wasn’t supposed to have this life.
“You’re the same. We’re the same, Charles. Now tell me how to help you, so we can use the canisters and get out of here.”
Ace saw the moment Charles snapped to. His eyes met Ace’s through the EVA mask, and Ace noticed the fire burning once again. He felt the same emotion in his own chest at that second, and Charles nodded slowly.
“We’ll need to open me up. Quick, inside your ship,” Charles said, and Ace ran for the open hatch, his android friend close behind him.
When they were sealed inside the Watcher fighter, Charles undid his suit, exposing his metal back. “Third panel down. Push the top right corner.”
Ace did so, and the panel slid to the side, the pocket door hidden. Inside were small boards with tiny pinprick lights.
“There are two panels. This particular program is deep within the first sheet. See the squares mounted on the panel?” Charles asked.
“I see them.”
“You will need to push the third and seventh indicator lights.” Charles’ voice sounded shaky, as if he were afraid. Ace didn’t like that.
“What will that do?” Ace asked.<
br />
“It will wipe the programming in relation to the virus.”
Ace was getting concerned. “Is it attached to other memories or functions?”
Charles didn’t answer his question. “I will be fine. As long as I can scale the wall and do my task, I am happy with the outcome.”
“I can’t. Not if your memory will be wiped,” Ace said. “Give me the canisters. I’ll go do it.”
“You cannot. The wall is too high, and you lack the climbing skills to make it in time. Plus, my programming won’t allow you to take the canisters at this point. The threshold has been crossed, and I am not to let these be released. I can feel the orders, and the harder I fight, the stronger the program becomes.” Ace could hear the torment in Charles’ voice.
Ace didn’t have a choice. “Three and seven, you said?”
“That is correct.”
“Charles… if anything…”
Charles cut him off. “Ace, it’s been my pleasure getting to know you. You’re a remarkable young man. Give my regards to Wren. Tell her… tell her ‘thanks.’”
Ace stifled a tear and moved a shaking hand to the panel. First he pressed the third light, then the seventh.
“If anyone is listening, I need an extraction. I’ll be coming out the west exhaust vents on the top of the outpost. Five minutes!” Flint’s voice shot into Ace’s earpiece. At the same time, Charles was sealing his suit, and before Ace could question to see if his friend still remained inside the metal man, Charles was running with the canisters toward the great wall of the Watchers’ sanctuary.
Flint
Things were going from bad to worse. Flint entered the handling room but was sure he’d been spotted. Angry footsteps raced toward the door from the outside hall. Flint shot the control panel, getting the desired result. It sparked and stayed closed as the Watchers on the other side bashed at it with thick hands.
The room was tall; whirring units blew and sucked air for this section of the outpost, and Flint knew this was it. He pulled one of the canisters from the bag and ran to the ten-foot-tall fans on the far end of the room. He tapped the canister and counted to five before tossing it inside the fan unit. It hissed as it released the compressed air inside, along with the virus.
The Resistance- The Complete Series Page 46
