Battleship Raider

by Paul Tomlinson

  “Can you control them?” I asked.

  “It’s going to be like herding cats,” she said.

  “But they’re binary cats,” I said, “they sit in one of two locations, you just need to get them off the mat and point them in the direction of the patch of sunlight.”

  “You know how to bludgeon a metaphor to death, don’t you? I’m checking to see if the material structure of the lock was fully reset.”

  If you make a model out of clay and then screw it up into a ball, it may be possible to ‘unwrap’ the ball of clay and see what the model you made looked like. Unless you completely kneaded the clay over and over until there was nothing left. If you imagine the lock as a piece of clay, Trixie was trying to see how much of the model was still discernible. If she could see the residue of the shape, she could try and urge the nanos back into it. The shape, in this case, being a lock that can be opened as opposed to something that looks like a solid block of metal with a key-shaped hole in. If she could reshape the nanos, we wouldn’t need the navigator’s secret code.

  “They’re moving,” Trixie said.

  I imagined video of a melted object being played backwards from a pool of goo back to its original shape. Trixie would have scoffed at the simplicity of this analogy. On the video image transmitted by the drone, I could see the surface of the lock mechanism start to shift. A hair-width gap appeared, extending around until it formed a complete circle around Trixie’s skeleton key.

  “Do you want to reach in and work your magic on it?” Trixie asked.

  “No, let’s open the lock first. You’ve earned the honour.”

  There was a metallic click and a hiss of compressed air. The lid of the Navigator’s casing rose upwards on its metal rods, like a table whose legs were getting longer.

  I leaned closer, peering into the casing. I didn’t want to stick my head inside in case the lid descended again suddenly.

  “Something isn’t right,” I said.

  I used the pliers to lift the robot arm out of the case. The drone floated out after it. Then I used the pliers to grip the mesh that the arm had sat upon. It came away easily – the four screws that normally held it in place were missing. The drone hovered over my shoulder as I peered into the bottom of the case.

  “I’ve never seen one up close,” Trixie said, “but that doesn’t look like a Navigator.”

  No, it didn’t. It looked very much like a Bertie the Bear soft toy. In all probability because it was a Bertie the Bear soft toy.

  “Someone got here before us,” Trixie said.

  I reached into the case with the pliers, intending to pluck the bear out and tear its head off. This proved to be a bad move. As I lifted the toy, something shifted under it and there was a click. An alarm sounded somewhere outside the vault.

  The cameras on the walls all turned towards me. And then the lasers all turned as well. In a fraction of a second, I would be toast. I did the only thing I could. I jumped into the Navigator’s casing, pulling the lid shut as I did. I knocked the pieces of girder out as the lid descended. The last thing I saw before being swallowed by darkness was a bright red flash as the first of the lasers fired.

  Inside the box there was complete silence and I could feel only the slightest vibrations. Outside, I could only imagine that the vault was criss-crossed with bolts of energy. I held Bertie the Bear close and waited for the nightmare to end.

  I was lying on top of the robot arm and I felt it begin to move.

  “Stop doing that,” I said.

  “Why, have you got something better to do?” Trixie whispered in my ear.

  “I need to conserve oxygen,” I said. “I’m not really into that asphyxiation thing.”

  “Kill the moment, why don’t you,” Trixie said.

  “It’s stopped,” I said.

  “You told me to.”

  “No, outside. The lasers have stopped.”

  Trixie’s sensors confirmed this so I decided to open the lid of the box enough to peek out. All I could see was swirling smoke. The drone floated out and scanned the area and it drew no fire from the lasers.

  “All clear?” I asked, ready to push the lid open and climb out.

  “Not quite,” Trixie said. “The security robots are just outside the hatch. Hatch is opening.” She called the drone back into hiding and I pulled the lid back down, leaving a tiny gap to allow the drone to watch what was happening. It fed video that Trixie projected for me to watch.

  Three robots identical to those I had encountered earlier entered the vault. Identical except for the fact that these carried weapons – stubby rifles with long, curved ammunition clips. They scanned the inside of the vault. Apparently satisfied, two of them slung their weapons over their shoulders and reached down to something on the floor. They lifted the smoking remains of the skeleton and dragged it out. Hopefully, they would decide that Mr. Skellington had triggered the alarm in the vault. The third robot scanned the vault a final time and then followed the others out. As it left, I pushed up the lid of the box and jumped out. I wanted to get to the door before it closed. I slid one of the cut sections of girder into the gap to stop the door closing fully.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. I slid Trixie back into her loop on the left shoulder of my jacket. I put the fire axe and the robot arm back into their slots and put my arms through the straps of the backpack. The pliers had been blasted into a molten mess by the lasers. I left Bertie sitting on top of the Navigator’s coffin. Keeping a wary eye on the lasers, I moved to the door. A quick glance showed the corridor outside was clear. I slipped out, allowing the door to the vault to swing shut behind me.

  “What now?” Trixie asked.

  “We leave,” I said. “But not the way we came in.” I was worried that the dragon might still be lying in wait outside the hatch.

  “If we head north,” Trixie said, “there are fewer cameras and sensors active.”

  “Which way’s north?”

  Trixie projected the outline of a compass onto my retina. As long as the arrow was green, I was heading in the right direction.

  “Where are the robots?” I asked.

  “Last known position is a hundred and two metres north-west of this position,” Trixie said. “They’re not showing up at the moment, so presumably they’re in an area where the sensors aren’t working.”

  If we headed north, there was a chance we would run into the security robots. The armed security robots, I reminded myself. And as well as the three robots, there was evidence to suggest that there was someone else on the ship. Another person. Someone had been responsible for the primitive booby traps in the vault and for the Bertie the Bear booby prize in the Navigator’s box. Robots didn’t really do boobies of any kind.

  “Are you picking up any other life signs?” I asked.

  “Negative. But again, I am restricted to data from a limited number of working sensors on the ship. Do you think there is someone else on board?”

  “Somebody has definitely been here. We should keep an eye out.”

  “I would suggest having a drone ten metres ahead of us and one ten metres behind.”

  “Do it.” I drew my pistol and we started forward, heading north.

  As we made our way through the deserted corridors, I started to get a sense of how big this ship must have been. And the chunk we were in was only the middle third.

  At the coming together of three corridors, we found a metal spiral staircase.

  “Let’s go up,” I said. “Maybe the robots will stay down here on the security deck.”

  The hatch at the top of the stairs was locked, but Trixie and I knew our way around the systems now and soon had it open. I felt more comfortable back on the dingy grey metal deck. It was a couple of minutes before I realised that the lights were on. The deck was no longer bathed in red emergency light. Perhaps because we were in a different section. Or perhaps for more sinister reasons.

  If there was someone else on the ship, who might it be? Could
it be a survivor of the crash – one of Old Jack Sterling’s crewmates? I started to imagine a wild-eyed lunatic with a massive grey beard and long hair – a cross between Robinson Crusoe and Ben Gunn. Perhaps this shipwrecked soul would be unaware that the War was over. He would cry tears of joy when he learned the good news. We’d won. More or less. This was all contingent on the fact that he didn’t blow my head off as soon as he saw me. I hoped he wouldn’t mistake me for a Gator spy.

  “Past this point most of the sensors and cameras are offline,” Trixie said.

  This meant there was less chance of us being tracked but it also meant we couldn’t scan ahead and wouldn’t know what we were walking into. I would have to depend on the drones to warn me of approaching danger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The overhead lights dimmed slightly and there was a humming sound somewhere ahead of us.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Something drawing power,” Trixie said. “Possibly an elevator at the end of this corridor, but I can’t be certain.”

  “The security robots?”

  “I don’t think it’s the janitor,” Trixie said.

  I stopped to consider my options. We were in a long straight corridor with no sub-corridors running off it. There were three doors in front of us, one in the wall on the left and two on the right. At the far end were two sets of elevator doors. If the robots appeared there, I was going to be a sitting target. And despite what you see in the movies, robot security guards are excellent shots. Once they acquire a target, they just keep firing at it.

  “Let’s go back,” I said, starting to turn as I said it.

  “Mozzie is picking up motion in the corridor we came down,” Trixie said.

  “Then we take the other fork,” I said.

  We were close to a junction where three corridors met in a sort of Y-shape. If we had robots in two of the corridors, there was only one way left open to us.

  “Send Gnat to check it out,” I said. I didn’t move. I already knew what the second drone was going to report.

  “Movement there also,” Trixie said.

  The ship’s computer had chosen an excellent place to ambush us. But how had it managed to locate us if the sensors were out in this section?

  “Show me the plan for this corridor,” I said. “And try and work out how they found us.”

  I didn’t want to be caught out in the open, but I wanted to know where each of the three doors led before I went through one of them. There were two robots coming up behind me and one in front, so going forward seemed to offer the best odds. I told the drones to keep watch for the robots coming from the rear.

  The explosive rounds in my pistol could stop a security robot. But only if I fired all six at the right spots in its head and chest. Easy to do if you’re shooting at a stationary target on a range – less easy at a moving target that is also firing at you. I didn’t want to face any of the robots head-on if I could avoid it.

  “Ah,” Trixie said. “This is my fault.”

  “It is?”

  “The ship’s computer has been following me. It isn’t supposed to be smart enough to do that.”

  “Maybe it got an upgrade,” I said.

  “I’m disconnecting.”

  I was only half-listening. The floorplans showed that the two doors to my right were for a latrine and a small gymnasium. I didn’t want to mount my last stand in a toilet and I didn’t think I could defeat three armed robots with a couple of dumbbells and a medicine ball. The door on the left was more promising. It was a mess hall – what normal people call a cafeteria. ‘Gunfight at the OK Canteen’ had the right sort of ring to it. And maybe there was a goods lift or a dumbwaiter I could use to make my escape. Failing that, there were probably various bits of kitchen equipment that I could put to good use.

  I heard the ping of the elevator door opening as we ducked into the canteen. When both of the drones were safely inside, I slapped a small explosive against the lock and set it off. With the lock fused, the robots wouldn’t be able to get the door open – they would have to batter it down. It wouldn’t keep them out for long, but it bought me a little time to prepare for their entrance. I left one of the drones watching through the round glass window in the door and went to check out the kitchen area.

  When I’d gone rooting through the Celestia’s stores looking for equipment, I had been preparing for a robbery not a war. I’d taken flashlights and a few small explosive devices for use on locks. There had been some plastic explosive, but it hadn’t aged well so I didn’t touch it. And I took no weapons at all. At this moment I was left with two small palm-sized explosive devices that were marginally more powerful than a sneeze and a beltful of explosive bullets plus the six that were loaded in my gun. In comparison, the rifles the robots were carrying were small cannons that could blow a hole in the side of a tank.

  Ordinarily, if I know I’m going up against robot security guards, I carry the appropriate equipment. They use a combination of vision, motion sensors, heat detection, and sound pick-ups. With the right gear, you can confuse these for long enough to make your escape. You send out a handful of ‘flickers’ to flap around like birds’ wings and distract the robots’ motion sensors. A scattering of mini transmitters to all corners of a space can broadcast sounds that make the robots think you’re in places that you’re not. And I would normally wear a hooded suit that masked body heat, keeping it contained until I could get out – or until I passed out from heat exhaustion. The kitchen offered me none of these things, so I was going to have to improvise. I had the two drones, but I didn’t want to risk losing Mozzie or Gnat unless it was a genuine life or death moment.

  The kitchen was pretty basic, the sort of thing you’d find in a fast food place on dozens of inhabited worlds. It was designed for preparing the usual fried high-carbohydrate goodness plus whatever tasteless proteins a food synthesiser could concoct. The grease in the bottom of the fryer looked like varnish, but I turned on the heat anyway. I also fired up the toaster and the rings on the stove. The robots’ heat detectors would see these as bright spots and in comparison, I’d look cooler. In these situations, it’s always important to look cool. There was an old fan beside the stove – maybe the cook couldn’t stand the heat. I tore off the protective mesh and switched it on. The blades weren’t quite a flicker, but they were motion that the robots would have to check out and discard. For the same reason, I opened a refrigerator and a cupboard door and placed cans of beans to stop them closing properly. The doors tried to swing shut and when they encountered the cans, they swung open again. Then they tried to close and started the process all over again. I also set the whisks on a food-mixer whirling.

  I was checking another locker, hoping to find a can of cooking oil that I could spread across the floor in the canteen’s seating area. A greasy floor might slow the robots down and even if it didn’t, I could set light to the oil and make things difficult for them. But I didn’t get a chance to put this slick plan into operation. Gnat was looking out through the glass panel in the door and he flashed a silent warning. Our guests had arrived.

  I set more canned goods on the ground, ready to set them rolling as visual and audio distractions – and then I opened the door on the food synthesizer so I could cook up a little something else.

  Gnat’s video feed showed me the three robots coming together in the corridor outside. They stood motionless for a moment, engaged in silent communication with the ship’s computer, and then separated. One headed towards the gymnasium. The other stomped towards the latrine – probably muttering to himself that he always got the crappy jobs. The third robot headed towards the canteen door. Finding the door mechanism jammed, I expected that the robot would apply brute force and smash his way in. But it stepped back and raised its rifle.

  Gnat sensed the danger and with a high-pitched whee! sped backwards out of the line of fire. The door exploded inwards, shrapnel and shards of glass filling the air and smoke billowing behind them. The robo
t stepped in through the smoke, scanning the room. I had ducked behind the stainless steel serving counter before the robot fired the rifle. Gnat was hiding in the shadows, still transmitting video.

  The explosion had drawn the attention of the other two robots and they entered and took up positions behind the first, rifles held ready to fire. They stood in their eerie motionless way and then their heads began to sweep left and right as they scanned the room. I rolled a can of prunes across the floor. The nearest robot swung its rifle and the explosion splattered preserved fruit and bits of metal against the far wall. The smell made me think of Christmas.

  Moving as silently as I could, I crawled to the opposite end of the counter and lobbed a can of carrots over-arm into the air. The explosion splattered orange pulp across the suspended ceiling and took out a couple of the tiles.

  Again I shuffled to a new spot, knowing the robots would try and track back to the spot where the canned goods were being launched.

  There was a loud click and then an amplified robot voice echoed around the canteen. “ATTENTION UNIDENTIFIED INTRUDER. THEFT OF THE SHIP’S NAVIGATOR IS A CAPITAL OFFENCE. USE OF LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORISED. SURRENDER OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COMPLY.”

  The ship thought I had managed to steal the Navigator? That was flattering. And also massively inconvenient, since it meant the robots wouldn’t give up their pursuit and would do anything and everything to recover the missing Navigator. The military didn’t go a bunch on all that ‘a robot must not harm a human being’ stuff. Not for the first time, I wondered who had taken the Navigator. Whoever had done it had been smart enough to hide the fact that it was gone – until I had gone blundering into the vault.

  My ten seconds was almost up and the robot was waiting for my response. “Trixie,” I whispered, “help me target the middle robot’s rifle.”

  I raised my pistol above the edge of the counter without looking. It would have been more or less invisible to the robots, I hoped, due to the thick black smoke that was billowing up from the fryer. Crosshairs appeared on my retina and turned green when I had the gun pointed at the target. I squeezed off a round. I thought that a direct hit might trigger the rifle’s own explosive cartridges – perhaps even generating enough force to disable one robot and knock the other two off their feet. I’ve always been an optimist.