To do that he had to die, at least a little.
Flemming sighed. Such an inconvenience.
He shut down his endoskeleton. His entire internal structure worked via bioelectric switches. This particular switch hadn't been thrown in twenty years. Within minutes, the outer bits of his body cooled and felt lethargic, no longer warmed by the endoskeleton's temperature regulators. Half of a lifetime as a colony of live mold on this particular frame made the next part tricky. The sticky web still clung to his body and clothes. Flemming killed off any part of himself that touched the web. This was an acceleration of what happened continuously throughout any given day without any conscious thought, the passing of the older mold to make way for the new, but doing it deliberately made him queasy. As the live parts of him pulled away from the web, he left behind the outer shell of his hands, head, and neck. Those bits stayed caught, hanging in the sticky white substance like a mask and gloves made of yellowish scum. None of his clothing could be freed, which worked out well, as none of it could be used again until he freed his endoskeleton, reconstituted himself, and regained some of his lost mass. But first to get out of the webs.
He chose the space between his right boot and pants. He oozed forth from the gap, the largest space where no Bunnie web restricted his exit. He poured onto the tile like a flood of opaque honey. The floor of the restaurant was filthy but nutritious, and it took his utmost concentration to not stop and eat for a week to replenish his lost mass. Speed was not a mold colony's forte. Neither was manual dexterity.
The Flemming colony migrated, a conveyor of attached cells flowing at barely perceivable speed. For Flemming, this was a sprint. He ran along like a puddle of syrup to the kitchen. Here he crept up to the top of a prep table and felt his way along, finding a wide selection of manual tools, knives, and cooking utensils. He selected a sharp knife, his goopy form eventually able to pick it up, carry it to the edge of the table, and drop it to the floor. He followed it down, oozing onto the knife and around it, eventually gripping the handle with a clumsy pseudopod. Holding the knife steady was a problem. He practiced making a cutting motion. Tried to saw with it and slice. With each action, the knife shifted in his unpracticed grip. He left the knife behind and explored some more.
Back up on the table, he discovered a hand-held torch for the restaurant's line of fetid cheese brûlée. Again, he was able to pick the tool up and even turn it on for a moment, but his hold on the unit was weak, and he almost dropped it while the blue flame lanced from the nozzle. He released the torch's trigger and put it down to go try something else before he burned himself or the restaurant.
The kitchen featured many other appliances, most too heavy or complex to be suited for freeing other beings from Bunnie webs.
He climbed back to the floor and finished the circuit of the kitchen. He went to an open door that led to an alley, where fresh products came in and began their one-way journey to decrepitude. By the exit stood a pint-size cleaning bot. It looked shiny and new and never used. Flemming climbed onto it and found an activation toggle.
“Wake up,” he said in the language of molds, and the bot did. The bot's translation unit understood every inaudible chemical secretion order that came from the Captain. Flemming couldn't be sure of anything the bot said in response as his own translator wasn't attached to his body but to his clothes and dead skin still trapped under the webs in the front of the deli.
The short canister of a machine came to life. Flemming felt it vibrate. He reached around with his pseudopod and found the bot holding a mop in one arm and proffering a vacuum nozzle in another. Asking the mold colony questions didn't work, so the bot indicated what it had in mind via pantomime and holding each tool out for Flemming to touch and inspect. Flemming declined the mop and vac. He also said no to wax, dusting, degaussing, and an ozone treatment. Flemming perked up when the bot showed him a pressure washer.
“That's what we need,” Flemming said. “Use it on the front of the house.”
The bot beeped, hesitated.
“Disregard any damage you might cause to the property. Direct your cleaning to the wrapped-up beings you find. No harsh chemicals.”
The bot hopped to. Whether it would do no harm was anyone's guess. It clicked and whirred a cadence as it collected supplies and attached a hose to its underside. It moved into the dining room with Flemming clinging to its head, keeping free of any input sensors the bot might need.
There came a vibration followed by a jet of water.
Oliop screamed as the bot blasted his web-covered body with the water and sodium bicarbonate solution. After a few seconds, Flemming powered down the bot.
“When you finish freeing yourself,” Flemming said, hoping Oliop was paying enough attention to hear and understand him, “Would you mind getting my skeleton out of there? We have work to do.”
***
Jeff didn't know what to do next. Here he was next to a machine capable of communicating with every creature in this city in hundreds of languages, maybe thousands, all via an interface that could be underneath clothes, skin, or skull. The power of such technology stunned him more than instantaneous transportation across the galaxy or anything else he had seen that made a city like this possible. The thought of it also frightened him.
For the sake of privacy, he had left one life behind. This tech presented the possibility of someone or something actually looking into his mind. What if there was another translation unit on him somewhere, perhaps even surgically implanted? This wasn't something you could move out into the desert to avoid. Zeroing out oneself from the cyber world would be impossible with this tech in the wrong hands, and he didn't like the idea of this in the right hands, Grey or human.
Jordan said to the glass ring, “Computer, are you there? Can you respond?”
“Response protocol required,” the faint voice said in English.
Jeff grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the ring. “We have no idea what we're doing,” he said, keeping his voice low.
She shook him off. “We have to try something,” Jordan said. “Anything.”
“We don't know any commands. We don't know what this machine can do.”
“Whatever it's doing right now has to do with you and with the Grey.”
Jeff took a breath. “Okay, let me try.” He reentered the ring. He touched a few random spots where the Grey had stood in the ring, but everything looked like smooth glass, uniform and even, with nothing to show where any manual interface might be. He traced patterns on the surface. Tried a square, a circle, a hash tag. Nothing happened.
“Computer, list command protocol options,” he said.
The voice said, “Protocol options include set, set talk, set talk option, recite, recite mood, recite expression, define, define A, define AA, define AAA...” It began to speak faster and faster without a pause, the list of options a machine gun patter of words.
“Stop,” Jeff said. The voice stopped. “How many protocol options are there?”
“Seventeen billion and two,” the voice said.
“I don't think we'll have time for that,” Jeff said. “Now what?”
“Notice the lack of smell?” Jordan said.
Jeff gave the air a sniff. Smelled like ordinary air. He sniffed the glass ring and crouched low and smelled the floor. Clean, with no trace of chemicals or anything else. The place was spotless. Also, the ring wasn't giving off the Grey odors.
“I do now,” Jeff said. “This computer must know it isn't speaking to the Grey anymore. It's just speaking to us. Computer, login status.”
“Logged in,” the voice said.
“Password status,” Jeff said.
“Password set,” the voice said.
“So what does this mean?” Jordan said.
“We have access to the translation computer, but what does that do for us?” Jeff said. “We still don't know what the Grey needed me here for.”
“And he's done with you.”
Jeff shrugged. “
I guess so. But we're going to have to try something else. This is a waste of time until we know more. We shouldn't mess with this right now.”
“If you say so,” she said with no enthusiasm.
Jeff found a simple button keypad that opened the bunker door. The Grey's message continued on its loop over every speaker and echoed from the nearby buildings. Few of the Commons residents moved about the streets nearby, and none came close to the bunker.
“I have no idea where we should go,” Jordan said. “But the Grey went that way, not that it helps us much.” She pointed down towards a narrow route that cut between two rhomboid structures that mirrored each other. Every other street was well lit. The way Jordan indicated was positively gloomy. “We're free. We tried. Let's get out of here.”
“As much as I'd like to, I can't,” Jeff said. He looked down the dark street. “I'd also rather not follow a giant sixteen-legged spider, a pissy little Grey, and its hulking monster of a bodyguard, but here I am.”
“You forgot one thing. The spider's armed.”
“If you're coming with me, let's go,” he said.
They followed a sidewalk in the direction Jordan had indicated. The dimmed street led between the leaning buildings and through a fern garden park with a meandering stream that wound under a number of covered bridges and swam with flecks of gold dust. The water itself glowed, illuminating several trails that vanished into the flora. The street continued straight, and soon Jeff and Jordan were through the park and out on an open concourse that looked out at the busiest intersection of the Commons Jeff had seen. It was the convergence of several avenues that met in front of the main terminal of the elevator system. Information signs both large and small competed with the blinking alerts, none of which made any sense to Jeff without his translator. Commons citizens flooded the street below, all heading for the station.
In the crowd, several bots with flashing lights tried to control the flow of traffic. Most of the pedestrians ignored them. Jeff and Jordan watched the scene for a moment. It was a controlled panic in response to the evacuation message.
“I had no idea there were so many creatures in the universe,” Jordan said. “It's amazing.”
Jeff nodded. “But I don't see the Grey, or Whistle, or the Bunnie from up here. We need to go down and search.”
“Isn't the whole city looking for you?”
“I'm willing to take the chance that no one will notice.”
They descended a series of gently sloping ramps that placed them near the terminal's entrance. Jeff pointed towards one of several side doors leading inside, and they headed that way. Beings bumped, pulled, and jostled. Others grunted and growled and shouted. But no one was particularly alert to Jeff and Jordan's presence in the rush to get out of the city.
“Just try not to touch anything,” Jeff said as they elbowed their way through.
“That's not possible,” Jordan said. She wiped a hand on her jeans.
They made it inside the main terminal. A sea of barely moving creatures pushed, shuffled, and shoved at each other in a mass heading towards the terminal's interior and the elevators that would take them away. The crowd disregarded the signs for where to stand in line. A few creatures floated and flapped above the rest, while others slithered and crept underfoot. Jordan looked on in wonder, oblivious to the panic. Jeff had to stop her from almost treading on an oily black pseudopod belonging to a large black blob. The blob lazily reeled its trailing parts in when other less careful beings stepped on it. The blob squeaked like a mouse. So did the pseudopod. Jordan started to choose her steps more carefully. This became more difficult the further they pressed in as the scrum was increasingly deadlocked, and close contact was mandatory.
A large windowed observation booth sat above the terminal lobby. It looked like an air traffic control tower. At one of the windows Jeff saw a large looming dark mass that looked like it could be Whistle. Jeff led Jordan to the base of the booth, where quite a few other creatures trying to break from the crowd also loitered, either catching their breath or looking for separated travel companions. An open gravity lift ascended to (and descended from) the room above. A keypad on a pedestal with a blinking red light stood by the marked pad where one would stand to ascend. The way inside the booth looked like a pole chute in a firehouse, just without the pole. There was also a stairway and a ladder. All access to the booth above was labeled with warnings and pictographs that needed no translation. Only authorized personnel should pass beyond this point. Jeff took the ladder up. At the top the hatchway wouldn't open, its set of latches and knobs and buttons refusing to budge without a key or proper authorization or someone up in the booth unlocking it.
Jordan came up the ladder behind him. She pointed to the opening at the top of the gravity chute, well out of reach. Even with the din of the crowd below, Jeff could hear the Grey's clipped voice barking an order from inside the booth.
The bottom of the booth had a support beam with flared edges on either side. It ran from the ladder to the upper opening of the grav lift. Jeff touched the beam's surface. Cool, solid, and not too smooth to prevent him from getting a good grip.
“I should be able to shimmy over to the opening,” Jeff said in a low voice.
“And what's the plan after that?” Jordan said.
“See what they're doing, I guess.”
“Hold still,” she said. She climbed up to the rung below Jeff and grabbed his shoulders. She fumbled for his null-space pouch on his collar, his translator cube in one hand. “This might help with eavesdropping.”
“Careful,” he said.
She finished fumbling with his jumpsuit. Something inside his head popped. Information from the world around him flooded his brain, noise now translated into meaning.
She climbed back down and got a firm grip on the ladder. “Don't worry, I won't fall.”
“I meant be careful with putting that thing back in. You may not know what you are doing.”
“Can you now make out what the alerts are saying?”
“Yes.” The evacuation announcement continued to repeat, along with several other notifications instructing people to stay calm, be orderly, and respond to the security bots giving direction.
“Then shut up,” she said. “I got it in right. It works. Don't fall.”
He grabbed the beam on either side, gave it a test as if it might fail, and shimmied out hand over hand away from the ladder. He tried unsuccessfully not to look down. The space beneath him sank away under his dangling feet. Breathe. He took his time, kept his eyes forward, and kept moving. The numbness from the stunner was finally gone. The grav lift chute wasn't far, and once there he found indented handholds that allowed him to pull himself up and into the booth. The Bunnie stood above him within arm's reach. Jeff froze, his legs still dangling. The Bunnie's back was turned, and he was babbling in excitement. He was wearing some kind of purple cloak that disguised much of his large form, but the four visible legs with wiry hair that Jeff could see were unmistakable, as was his excited voice.
“It's time,” the Bunnie said. “It's time, it's time.”
“Yes,” the Grey said from somewhere further back in the booth. “Now be silent.” It spoke as if another interruption might send it over the edge.
Jeff crawled behind a pillar of displays wide enough to provide a hiding place. On the floor under a nearby table, he saw two techs that lay either unconscious or dead. Jeff peeked around the displays to see the rest of the room. The Grey stood at a terminal, intent on a set of screens, a third tech on the floor at its feet. Its fingers pecked away at a keyboard. The Bunnie continued to babble away, bouncing on his four feet like a child that needed a toilet. The spidery creature moved over to one of the windows that looked down at the crowd. If he put his face up to a window and looked down, he would see Jordan. If he turned to the left, he would see Jeff.
“Hurry,” the Bunnie said. “We've waited so long.”
“If you don't stay silent, I'll have Whistle silence you,�
�� the Grey said.
The Bunnie grumbled, said more to himself, “I silence you. You don't silence me. But it's time.” He stopped speaking but continued to bob up and down, still looking out at the chaos below.
Jeff had to lean further out to see Whistle. She stood unmoving at the opposite end of the booth, as quiet as the techs scattered on the floor. Jeff drew himself back in. What Whistle did and didn't see through those tiny beaming eyes was anyone's guess.
The Grey moved to another console. It worked quickly at a control pad. Its fingers clicked and flew from key to switch to knob with certainty, its face still stretched in an odd grin. From Jeff's hiding place behind the displays, it wasn't possible to tell what the Grey was doing, but with the downed techs in the room, the little bugger was playing his hand. But why would it want the city evacuated? Jeff checked the consoles and terminals on his side of the room for anything that might serve to stop the Grey in his tracks. None of the machines had visible plugs nor any labels that indicated “Main power switch” or “Easily thwart foe.” Jeff had to admire the clean wiring of these machines, but he needed to do something more drastic than turn the power off. He took a breath and looked back at the Bunnie.
The Bunnie was still distracted by the view, his back now towards Jeff. Jeff checked the other end of the booth. Whistle might have been asleep. Jeff stood up, careful not to make a sound. He walked over to the Grey in a few quick steps and picked up the tiny alien.
“Wait, what?” the Grey said. “Whistle!”
The Grey thrashed and punched, but Jeff hung on. It felt slick in Jeff's arms, like wrestling a fish that happened to be equipped with arms and legs. The Bunnie turned towards them, his inscrutable face lowering and mandibles spreading wide. He hissed at Jeff. Jeff ran with the Grey clung to his chest. He made it to the grav lift that still wasn't powered on, as indicated by a blinking red light. He stopped and looked down the chute. Far enough down to break things if he jumped.
A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth Page 23
