by Jake Bible
“Yes, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI replied.
Teffurg had already compiled all of those lists, but he wanted to compare his findings to the AI’s to make sure the artificial intelligence was online and working properly. A sketchy AI was not a good thing to have up and running when trying to get a ship operational and prepared for space travel.
“Here you go, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI said.
Teffurg checked over the lists and smiled his mandibular smile.
“Very good, AI,” Teffurg said. “Now, if you will—”
“There is an incoming comm call from Private Chann,” the AI interrupted. “Shall I put him…?”
“AI? What is it?” Teffurg asked.
“The comm signal is most definitely from Private Chann’s implant, but I am afraid there is an anomaly that I cannot explain,” the AI said. “The closest approximation I can use to describe it would be a shadow.”
“A shadow?” Teffurg asked. “I am not familiar with what that means.”
“Neither am I,” the AI said. “Like I stated, it is an approximation. I have never come up against a reading of this sort from a comm signal before.”
“That is not good,” Teffurg said. “Hold off on answering the comm.”
“Yes, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI replied.
“Rosch?” Teffurg called.
“What?” Rosch snapped.
“Chann is calling me, I assume for the parts list, but the AI has flagged his communication,” Teffurg said. “It thinks there is an anomaly in the transmission. The exact word it used was a shadow.”
“What the hell does that even mean, and why are you bothering me with it?” Rosch asked.
“You are the pilot of the Romper, and it is my duty to inform you of any perceived threats,” Teffurg said.
“You think this is a threat?” Rosch asked.
“Did Chann sound strange to you when you spoke with him last?” Teffurg asked.
“Well, yeah, he sounded bug nuts weird,” Rosch admitted. She sighed. “Give him the test, okay? If he passes, then it’s the AI being off. If he fails, then we have a major problem on our hands.”
“What then?” Teffurg asked.
“Then we try to contact the rest of them and see if anyone answers,” Rosch said. “If you get what I mean.”
“I do,” Teffurg said. “Let us hope nothing has happened to them.”
“Let me know what you find out,” Rosch said.
“I will,” Teffurg said.
He authorized the communication.
“Was there an issue, Teffurg?” Chann asked over the comm.
“No issue here,” Teffurg replied. “The ship is not in the best shape, so I am simply busy tracking down glitch after glitch.”
“Understood,” Chann said. “I was told by Rosch to get the parts list from you?”
“Of course,” Teffurg said. “It isn’t complete yet, but I’ll send you what we know we need right away. If you can find the parts, then we’ll be able to start on those repairs while we continue to assess the total damage.”
“Good, good,” Chann said.
“Hey, Chann?” Teffurg asked. “You still reading that book on daffodils?”
“Daffodils? What are you talking about?” Chann replied. “Do you mean the flower from ancient Earth?”
“Yes, that flower,” Teffurg said. “If you’ve finished the book, I would like it back.”
A long pause.
“You didn’t loan me a book on daffodils, Teffurg,” Chann replied.
“I didn’t? Sorry about that,” Teffurg said. “I must have loaned it to Kay. May I speak with her for a moment?”
“Kay is indisposed,” Chann said. “She ate something bad and is in the latrine. Might be a while.”
“That was more information than I needed,” Teffurg said.
“Sorry,” Chann said. “I’ll ask her when she’s out. Are you sending that list?”
“It’s sent,” Teffurg said as he swiped at the control panel in front of him. “It’s basic, but essential. Let me know if you have any questions or need to know what can be substituted.”
“I will,” Chann said. “Chann out.”
Teffurg waited a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.
“AI?” Teffurg asked. “Was the shadow still there?”
“It grew worse when Private Chann began speaking about Private Kay,” the AI said.
“Okay. Good to know,” Teffurg said. “Get me Rosch.”
“What?” Rosch yelled as soon as the comm connected.
“We have a problem,” Teffurg said.
2
The sentries turned and opened fire on the warped Marines that were running straight for the rear hatch of the drop ship. As one, the armed and armored figures chose their targets, systematically hitting each of the warped Marines directly in the chest, knocking all to the ground instantly.
Nordanski took the hint and dove into the swirling sand as plasma blasts flew overhead. He barely had time to look up before the sentries had zeroed in on him and were firing once again. Nordanski rolled to the right and kept rolling until he slammed into a sand drift that had begun to grow in size as the winds of the storm whipped about him.
From the outside, it may have looked like cowardice, but as Nordanski began to dig his way into the sand drift, he told himself it was simple survival. A plasma blast hit about six centimeters from his head, turning the sand to hard glass. Nordanski didn’t spare it even a glance. Hell, he didn’t even flinch. There was no time.
The wind roared about him, drowning out all sounds. Nordanski kept digging until he was completely enveloped in sand. Then he struggled to shift his position so he could face the way he had come. There was a tiny opening in the sand that was quickly closing, but it gave him just enough of a view to see if he was being pursued.
Nordanski blinked a few times then shook his head, causing a massive amount of sand to cover his helmet. But, before his view was occluded, he could have sworn he saw the warped Marines picking themselves up off the ground. Nordanski told himself he was delusional and it was only wishful thinking. No way anyone could take a plasma blast in the chest and survive. Not if they weren’t wearing armor, which none of the warped Marines were to Nordanski’s knowledge.
An itch began to form at the back of his skull. Not a physical itch, but that itch Marines got when they know their comrades in arms were fighting the good fight yet they were stuck in some dumbass place instead. A dumbass place like a sand drift. That simple survival instinct began to lose to the kick-everything’s-ass instinct that true warriors possessed.
Nordanski liked to think of himself as a true warrior. The reality was he just enjoyed messing shit up.
“Dammit,” he swore as he started digging his way back out. “This is stupid.”
He was out of the drift in seconds and could barely believe his eyes. The warped Marines were engaging the armored sentries hand to hand. Nordanski watched as a warped Marine took a plasma blast in the right thigh, but still managed to finish the right hook he’d been aiming at the sentry’s head. He collapsed onto the ground only after his fist connected with the sentry’s helmet, sending the armored figure flying backwards a good couple of meters.
“Sweet hell,” Nordanski said as he picked himself up and began walking towards the fight.
One of the sentries saw him coming and was about to open fire, but the rifle was yanked from his grip and then jammed through his belly, the barrel coming out his back. Blood and goo dripped from the barrel as bits of spine fell to the ground. The warped Marine that had perpetrated the violence on the armored figure began to laugh. Right before it grabbed the sentry’s helmet and gave it a hard twist.
Even with the storm raging around him, Nordanski heard the snap of the sentry’s neck.
The warped Marine lifted the corpse above his head and shook it while ululating wildly. Then his face exploded outward and he fell to the ground, his trophy corpse falling on top of him. A sent
ry stood directly behind, rifle raised, tip glowing red-hot.
Nordanski dove and rolled as the sentry saw him and opened fire, peppering the ground around him with plasma bolts. The sentry moved forward, step by step, and adjusted its aim as Nordanski continued to roll until he slammed up against the two corpses. Without pausing, he reached out and plucked a blade from the dead sentry’s leg sheath and threw it.
The blade embedded itself into the chest of the firing sentry.
Nordanski screamed as he took a bolt to the shoulder. His hand went to the wound as the sentry fell to his knees, the rifle tumbling out of his hands and onto the ground. The armored figure reached up for the blade as Nordanski reached out for the fallen rifle.
Blade came out; rifle came up.
The sentry’s helmet’s faceplate was tinted black, so Nordanski had no idea what expression the man wore when the rifle’s trigger was pulled. Didn’t matter much anymore what expression the sentry had; it had been obliterated along with the man’s face as the plasma bolt ripped through the sentry’s helmet.
Nordanski groaned as he got to his feet. He spun to his left, movement catching his eye, and lifted the rifle once again. But it was one of the warped Marines coming for him, not another sentry. The Marine gave him a huge grin and a thumbs up then held out his hands. Nordanski handed him the plasma rifle, the weapon feeling very heavy in his grip.
“Ooch na wahta!” the main warped Marine shouted from the hatch’s ramp.
The warped Marine in front of Nordanski slung the plasma rifle over one massive shoulder then slid an arm under Nordanski’s armpits and basically carried him around to the ramp.
“Stig wapna gool,” the warped Marine carrying Nordanski said.
“Gip la va cax,” the main warped Marine said.
“I hope you’re saying I should be taken directly to the med bay,” Nordanski said.
“Tippa hoo,” the main warped Marine said and nodded at the one holding onto Nordanski.
“Excellent,” Nordanski said and looked up at the warped Marine keeping him from falling down on his ass. “Get me to the lift. I’ll show you where the med bay is.”
“Gaka wha boo,” the warped Marine scoffed.
Nordanski knew Marines well enough to tell when he was being scoffed at by one.
“Right, sure, of course,” Nordanski said. “You know where it is. A drop ship is a drop ship.”
“Bava ta,” the warped Marine said and carried Nordanski up the ramp, through the cargo hold, and to the lift doors. “Tapa la.”
“I hear that, brother,” Nordanski said. “Tapa la for the win, yo.”
***
The groan bubbled up and passed his lips before he could stop it.
“Sergeant Manheim, hello,” Taman said.
Manheim didn’t respond. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, didn’t do anything except take shallow, irregular breaths.
“Sergeant Manheim, please stop this childish behavior,” Taman said. “It is obvious you are awake. My sentries informed me that you were awake the entire time they carried you down here. So, if you wouldn’t mind opening your eyes, perhaps we could have a brief conversation about yours, and your fellow Marines’ role in the next phase of my plan.”
Manheim held his eyes closed for a second more then took a deep breath and opened them wide. Taman stood directly over him, a smug grin on his face. He waved down at Manheim and the grin widened.
“Hello there,” Taman said. “Can you hear me alright? I could use your comm implant, if you would prefer. I know you have suffered some hearing damage when you were subdued by the stun signal my sentries assaulted you with.”
“I can hear you,” Manheim replied, which was true, although everything sounded like it was wrapped in cloth and covered in bees. “Good thing, because I am not ready to go deaf.”
“Most warriors your age are already hard of hearing,” Taman said. “All that time spent on the battlefield while explosions raged around them. So hard on the ears.”
“That’s why they invented med pods,” Manheim said.
“Ah, yes, except that even med pods can’t bring hearing back one hundred percent,” Taman said. “At least not for humans. Did you know that? The human sense of hearing is a fine-tuned instrument. There are very small hairs that line your ear canal. Those help transmit sound. When they die, you lose a good amount of your capacity to distinguish details within a soundscape.”
Taman rubbed his hands together.
“Soundscape. I like that word. Ironically, it brings to mind visuals of fields of sounds. Think of that: a word that describes sound triggers a visual response. It is absolutely amazing how organic brains work. I do not think I would have had that leap when my mind was contained within circuitry.”
“What do you want?” Manheim asked.
“You sound parched,” Taman said. “Let me fetch you some water.”
Manheim lay there as Taman left his field of vision. He took the opportunity to study his surroundings. More precisely, he studied the ceiling far above him since he didn’t seem able to move his head from side to side.
He concluded that the space he was in must have been massive. The ceiling far above was more shadow than detail. He could see it up there, but had no idea if it was made of tile or plastic composite shields or metal. It could have been painted bright green, for all he knew, it was so far up.
“Here we go,” Taman said as he produced a water bottle with a flexible straw attached. He placed the straw between Manheim’s lips. “Not too much and not too fast. I wouldn’t want you to vomit then choke to death. Getting your head free of the bolts is not a fast process.”
Manheim swallowed then pushed the straw from his mouth with his tongue.
“Bolts?” Manheim asked.
“Yes, bolts,” Taman said. “You have a total of eight inserted into your skull. One at each temporal bone, two at the base of your occipital bone, two inserted between your coronal suture, and two coming in just above your mastoid process.”
“I don’t know what half those words mean, but get the damn bolts out of my head, whoever the fuck you are!” Manheim snarled.
“Dear me,” Taman said. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’ve been going through your teammates’ memories for a while now, so I feel like I know you. What a rude oversight. My name is Taman.”
“Are you the psycho leading this hellhole of an outpost?” Manheim asked. “Your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired.”
“We have no leaders here,” Taman said.
“This some sort of commune then?” Manheim grunted. “You one of those crystal worshippers?”
“While I am fond of crystals, mainly for their processing power, I would not be delusional enough to worship one,” Taman said. “In fact, being that I am more than certain I lack a soul, I do not worship anything. Deities are for the fearful flesh-born. And why do you all insist that when there is no leader, we must be a co-op or a commune or some organization like that? Can we not simply be a community looking to exert our right to live our lives in peace?”
“You have bolts in my skull,” Manheim spat. “I don’t think you get what peace means.”
“No, no, you are wrong, Sergeant Manheim,” Taman said. “I get exactly what peace means. It has nothing to do with the bolts in your head. That is simply procreation which all sentient beings have a right to, as well.”
Manheim’s blood went cold and his stomach did backflips. “Procreation? What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“I am not explaining myself, well,” Taman said. “I did the same thing with Private Chann. You see, Sergeant Manheim, my people are AIs that have procured flesh and bone bodies for our superior consciousnesses.”
“You’re mad, is what you are,” Manheim barked. “Loony bunches of people living out on the fringe for too long. AIs cannot inhabit bodies. Maybe synthetic ones, like androids do, but not flesh and bone.”
“That is not
true, Sergeant,” the AI said directly into his head. Not Taman, but the drop ship AI. “The human brain is perfect for hosting an artificial intelligence. There are other races that are just as compatible, but humans make the best hosts.”
“How do you know that?” Manheim thought.
“The idea has been around for a long time, Sergeant,” the AI said. “And, well, AIs talk.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Manheim muttered.
“Oh, no, I am not kidding you,” Taman said, thinking Manheim was speaking to him. “And I am not mad. What I am telling you is very true.”
“Where are the rest of my Marines?” Manheim snapped. “You said you have Chann. Where’s Kay? Ma’ha? Nordanski?”
“Kay is down here with us,” Taman said. “Although, she has not fared as well as Chann. Her mind resisted the probing we must do to assess a host body’s compatibility. I fear she may not make it. But I have the best people working on her right now. Brilliant minds that will repair the damage, if it can be repaired.”
“Ma’ha? Nordanski?” Manheim asked.
“Ma’ha is dead,” Taman stated. “I am sorry if that upsets you. You probably passed each other in the corridors as his body was taken to the outer building and yours was brought in. Nordanski, I do not know.”
“I do,” the AI said.
“Where is he?” Manheim asked. He cringed inwardly, meaning to have thought that question in response to the AI, not say it out loud for Taman to hear.
“I just said I do not know,” Taman replied. “Please pay attention. He left to return to your drop ship at one point then disappeared. I believe he was taken by the Marines that used to occupy this outpost. If that is the case, then he is dead. Those Marines are pure animals. Savages of the worst kind.”
“He is not dead, they are not savages,” the AI said. “Well, not quite. They are extremely brutal, yes, but not savages.”
Manheim winced as images of the drop ship, the warped Marines killing the outpost sentries, and Nordanski being carried up the ramp, flooded his mind.
