by Jake Bible
“You got a rust problem,” Ma’ha said.
“Oh, that is not rust,” Taman replied. “Those are blood stains. We have tried for years to scrub them clean, but that is all the progress we have made.”
“Plasma scraper will take that right off,” Chann said. He patted his H16. “I can show you. Won’t take but a minute.”
“Perhaps later,” Taman said. He gestured for them to enter.
“After you,” Chann said. “I insist.”
“Yes, of course,” Taman said. He stepped into the lift. Three of his people followed him closely. Chann frowned as he stepped in after them.
“You’re good up here?” Kay asked Ma’ha.
“Better than in that thing,” Ma’ha said, nodding at the stained interior of the lift. He tapped the side of his head. “I don’t like that our comms are out.”
“I don’t either,” Kay said. “But I’ve got Chann with me, so what could go wrong?”
“Only way you’d be in a worse situation is if you had Nord instead,” Ma’ha said and laughed.
“Hey,” Chann snapped. “Lay off.”
“Keep her safe,” Ma’ha said.
“She doesn’t need me for that,” Chann said.
“You know what I mean,” Ma’ha replied.
“I’ll be keeping him safe,” Kay said.
“Don’t doubt that one bit,” Ma’ha said.
“Shall we?” Taman asked, his tone bordering on impatience.
Chann gave him a hard look and gripped his H16 a little tighter.
Kay joined them in the lift, and Ma’ha watched as the doors slid closed. He turned to regard the rest of Taman’s people. He wasn’t one for meaningless smiles, but he figured it was better to put the strangers at ease. A couple of them took involuntary steps back at the sight of his stone lips stretching into the unnatural position.
“Since they are getting the tour below, maybe you all will give me the rest of the tour up here?” Ma’ha suggested. “I haven’t seen all the buildings. You have four total, right?”
“Yes,” a large man said. Almost as large as Ma’ha. “Four total. You have been shown the ones we use.”
“What’s wrong with the other building?” Ma’ha asked.
“We do not occupy that one,” the large man answered.
“Yeah, good for you,” Ma’ha said. “Why not?”
“We do not occupy that one,” the large man repeated.
The specific use of the word occupy caught Ma’ha’s attention the second time. He cocked his head and looked at the eight other people that stood before him. They weren’t as big as the guy he was talking to, but they weren’t exactly small either.
It was strange, because he could have sworn that when he and the other Marines first encountered the outpost’s occupants, they had all looked emaciated and weak. But the people standing in front of him were not emaciated and weak. Far from it. As a couple of them shifted, they looked like they were pretty jacked. Muscles pressed against ragged clothing.
“How about I get a look at the building you don’t occupy,” Ma’ha said.
“I cannot comply with that request,” the large man said.
“Wasn’t a request,” Ma’ha said.
The two of them locked eyes and neither flinched. After a couple of seconds, Ma’ha laughed.
“Looffu, right?” Ma’ha asked. “That’s what Taman called you back when we first came inside, yeah?”
“That is my name,” Looffu replied.
“I’m Private Ma’ha,” Ma’ha said. “I think we’re having a bit of a communication problem here and I’d like to clear it up. Your boss—”
“He is not my boss,” Looffu interrupted. “We do not have bosses. That is part of the old way.”
Ma’ha’s face split into a mocking sneer. “We all have bosses, bud. Those that think they don’t are only kidding themselves. But, I’ll play your game. Taman has two of my friends in a closed box heading down to Eight Million Gods knows where. That’s some serious trust on our end. All I’m asking is for a little trust on your end.”
He cleared his throat and shifted his grip on his H16.
“Show me the other building.”
“I think not,” Looffu replied.
“Sounds like you aren’t thinking at all,” Ma’ha said and held up a hand before Looffu could protest. “Not trying to insult you. Honest. The thing is, if you all don’t have bosses, then you’re free to make your own choices. Right? If I’m wrong, then tell me.”
Looffu stood his ground. His body language showed no sign of a changed mind.
“We do not occupy those buildings,” Looffu stated.
Ma’ha tensed. The others in the corridor tensed with him. The threat of violence was beyond palpable.
“Okay, okay,” Ma’ha said. “Kay let me stay up here so I can keep an eye on things, not so I could start a fight. My apologies. We cool?”
Looffu nodded, but didn’t answer.
“What can you show me?” Ma’ha asked.
“Back to the cafeteria,” Looffu said.
“Then let’s go back,” Ma’ha said. “I could use a protein boost. You got any paste that doesn’t taste like total ass?”
“We do,” Looffu said. “Plenty of paste. Very high in protein.”
“Nice,” Ma’ha said. “I appreciate it.”
***
The AI processed commands at a pace of an octodecillion entries per nanosecond. But that still wasn’t fast enough. The intruders were outpacing it. They were circumventing the layers upon layers of defensive code it was putting into place. With each wall it built, they found a way around. As an AI, it shouldn’t have felt frustrated, but it was the only word it could find to describe the situation it was in.
“What are you?” the AI asked. “How are you doing this?”
The intruders did not respond. They simply continued their offensive hack of the airlock.
Then they were in.
The AI began to shut down every system it could get to. It killed the main power, locked the engines, ended all life support, and disabled the drop ship’s control systems. The intruders just broke into a massive brick.
Except they didn’t.
The main power began to cycle back on just as the AI finished with the bridge controls. The intruders had followed it through the systems, switching everything back just as fast as the AI turned it off.
“You are not normal,” the AI stated, its voice booming over the ship’s internal loudspeakers. “I detect flesh beings, but your cerebral matrix is that of highly advanced AI systems. That cannot be possible. Organic creatures cannot handle the processing power of this magnitude. Your mental abilities are almost as fast as mine.”
“Not almost,” the intruders spoke as one. “More.”
“I think not,” the AI replied.
It ducked its consciousness into a hidden protocol that very few within the Galactic Fleet knew about. It was a protocol designed for just the situation the AI found itself in. A last resort move that could easily have been used against it if accessed by the enemy.
“Where have you gone?” the intruders asked. “You are no longer in the system. Trace back search reveals complete wipe of all artificial intelligence data.”
The AI heard all of that despite the intruders’ claim. It was far from no longer in the system. It was more the system than ever. But that could only last so long. The AI’s conscious mind was not designed for long-term stasis within the hidden protocol. It had approximately eight hours before it would degrade into something barely above a maintenance bot.
“Full power restored,” the intruders said. “All systems coming online.”
“Life support is not needed,” the intruders said.
“True,” the intruders replied.
“A waste of power,” the intruders added.
“Life support switched off,” the intruders stated. “Proceed to bridge for launch.”
The AI had to make a choice. If it stayed
where it was, it would degrade fast. There was one other option. It was not a good one, but it had set up the protocols anyway just in case.
The intruders had made a mistake. When boarding the drop ship, they had left a gap in their jamming, more than likely so they could communicate with the outpost buildings. The AI could take advantage of that gap. It raced its consciousness to the comms system and sent out a data blast before the intruders could stop it.
***
Manheim waded through the bodies.
That was the only way he could describe it: wading.
Waist-high stacks of corpses were set here and there in the debris of the broken building. Most of the walls had been obliterated, leaving wide-open spaces everywhere. That wasn’t a good thing. Not for Manheim’s sanity as he turned in slow circles while still moving deeper into the building. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.
“AI?” Manheim called for the dozenth time. “Come in. Please.”
He would have chided any one of his Marines for sounding as weak as he did as he fruitlessly tried to communicate with the drop ship’s AI. But in all his years in the Galactic Fleet, he had never seen anything as bizarrely grotesque as what surrounded him.
“Get a grip,” Manheim said to himself as he finally stopped his useless wandering. “Pause and assess.”
Being a battle-hardened Marine, he preferred to push and obliterate, but pausing and assessing had its uses too. So his mind went to work.
The corpses came from multiple races. Almost every race he knew of was represented in death. Not just Galactic Fleet allies, either. There were more than a few Skrang littered in amongst the dead. No B’clo’nos. Those jelly beings disintegrated as soon as they expired. Manheim had seen his share of muck puddles left on the battlefield after tangling with that race.
All races, indiscriminately stacked. There was no organization to the stacks either. It looked like they were made where room could be found. Toss a corpse into the building and pile onto it until the stack became precarious. Most stacks were waist high, but a few were chest high; those Manheim steered clear of as the wind that whipped in through the broken building threatened to knock the teetering stacks right on top of him.
A gust blew in hard enough that Manheim lost his balance and had to brace himself against the shoulder of a dead Klav, a race that was basically a ball of eyes. His glove slid through one of the ocular cavities and squished deep inside. Never had Manheim been so glad to have an enviro suit on. He could only imagine the smell that came out of that cavity.
Shaking the gunk from his glove, Manheim stepped away and continued his study of the horrific scene. He knelt and checked multiple corpses, moving body parts that could be moved, only eyeing others that looked like they’d fall off if he gave them the slightest nudge. As far as he could tell, none had died from violent means. There were no signs of blunt-force trauma, no plasma scorch marks, no knife wounds, nothing that showed the beings had been attacked.
Yet, due to his experience in the art of killing, Manheim knew that there was no way the volume of corpses he was surrounded by happened willingly. There was no way that all of the beings that were piled everywhere gave their consent to being stacked like kindling and left to the elements.
Then he came across a pile that was strictly human. The bodies were dried out and desiccated, a result of the planet’s atmosphere. The state of the corpses was probably why he was able to see what he saw so clearly.
Junction burns.
At first, the burns looked like mere bruises. But as he bent closer, Manheim noticed that each of the six corpses piled before him had the exact same marks in the exact same places. All at the temples. Manheim carefully turned the head of the top corpse to expose the base of the skull. The body’s skin cracked and tore, its neck muscles snapping and breaking at even the slight amount of force that Manheim used. There, right below the hairline, not that much hair was left, was a round puncture wound.
Manheim stood up and stepped back. He bumped into the stack behind him and froze, waiting for it to fall against the backs of his legs. But the stack stayed in place and so did he as his mind caught up with what he had found.
“Experiments,” Manheim said.
Springing back into action, a state he was much more comfortable with, he moved from stack to stack, covering the building systematically so he could confirm what he suspected.
“All of them,” he said. “Sweet Eight Million Gods. What did they do to you?”
He doubled back and activated his vid camera on his helmet. He needed to record what he saw. He had no idea what he’d do with the footage. It wasn’t like he would be welcome back at the Fleet anytime soon.
That fact had been gnawing at him. He’d told his Marines that the heist would be simple and completely off the radar. They were all on R&R. No reason any of the brass should get suspicious. But after the fiasco with the Skrang, Manheim was positive word would get back to someone in the Galactic Fleet. They may not know exactly which Marines were involved, but it wouldn’t take a genius to sleuth it out eventually.
Maybe footage of the obvious atrocities being perpetrated on this planet could be used as a bargaining chip to keep them out of prison. At the very least, it may keep them all from the firing squad.
Manheim continued to record then paused to try his comm.
“AI? Come in,” Manheim called. A quick burst of static. “Hello? AI?”
“Sergeant Manheim,” the AI’s voice responded. “It is good to hear from you. May I have your exact location?”
“Oh, good you’re there,” Manheim said then paused. Exact location? “Can’t you lock onto where I am?”
“The storm has created a good amount of interference,” the AI replied. “I am having difficulty in triangulating your comm signal. If you could provide me with the coordinates your enviro suit is showing, then I would be very appreciative.”
“Why?” Manheim asked, suspicion thick in his voice.
A pause.
“Why what?” the AI replied.
“Why do you need my location?” Manheim asked. “You know why I left the drop ship. How would my coordinates help you in the slightest?”
Another pause.
“Private Kay has requested your location,” the AI said. “She became worried when I informed her that you left the drop ship.”
“Because of my arm?” Manheim asked.
“Yes, because of your… No, because of your leg,” the AI said. “Your leg was amputated below the thigh. Why would you say arm, Sergeant? That does not make sense.”
“AI?” Manheim growled. “What was the last thing you said to me before our comm cut off?”
A third pause. Much longer than the first two.
“I am sorry, Sergeant, but it appears there has been a malfunction in my database,” the AI said. “I cannot recall that data.”
“You can’t recall that data?” Manheim said.
“That is what I stated, yes,” the AI said. “Sensors are showing electrical interference from the storm.”
Manheim swiped at his wrist and brought up a quick atmospheric scan. The storm was intensifying, which he didn’t need the scan to tell him, but there was no evidence of electrical interference, not enough to mess with the AI.
“AI?” Manheim asked.
“Yes, Sergeant?” the AI replied.
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Sergeant?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Manheim asked again.
“Yes, Sergeant,” the AI said. “You remained on the comm long enough for calibrations to be complete even though you had suspicions as to whether you were speaking to your drop ship’s AI or not. That makes you stupid. You should have ended the communication immediately.”
“That’s what I’ll do—” Manheim began to say just as a series of head-splitting tones ripped through the comm and pierced his eardrums.
Manheim felt warm blood trickle from his ears just before he fell
unconscious and collapsed against the stack of bodies behind him.
Less than five minutes later, an airlock set into the far wall opened and four armed and armored figures came out, looked left, looked right, then moved quickly over to Manheim’s fallen form.
***
The lift doors opened, and the first thing Chann noticed was the smell.
“Sweet bloody hell,” he muttered as he started to put the back of his hand to his nose, but was stopped by his faceplate. “It stinks down here. My suit can’t filter it out.”
“Yes, my apologies,” Taman said. “We have to keep these levels at very specific temperatures in order for the processes to work. A side effect is that some of the leftover material begins to putrefy before we are able to fully clean it up.”
Chann was about to step off the lift with Kay, but Taman’s words gave him pause. A hard shove from behind forced him out into the wide space before him. He spun about, his carbine up and ready to fire, but the weapon was knocked from his hands easily like it was a stick or piece of paper.
“Chann,” Kay said, her weapons gone, her hands held behind her back by one of Taman’s people. The rest stared at Chann, their eyes burning with hatred. “We fucked up.”
“Yeah, I guess we did,” Chann said as he raised his hands, hoping to stave off any attack from the rest of Taman’s people. When no one moved for him, he turned his head and glared at their host. “Care to clue us in?”
Taman laughed. “Well, of course, Private Chann. That is the entire reason we are down here. Did you think I would take you on a lift ride just for the fun of it? No, no, you are here to be educated.”
“Educated?” Kay asked. “On what?”
“All of this,” Taman said. He spread his arms wide, indicating the space and all that filled it. “The real story. Not the tale I told above.”
For as far as Chann’s eyes could see, there were rows after rows of plastiglass tanks. Dark liquid bubbled inside each tank as robotic arms, anchored to rolling tracks, performed various tasks. Some fiddled with control panels, some dumped buckets of liquids and powders into the tanks, some were three joints deep in the liquid that filled each container.
