Cybership

by Vaughn Heppner

  Da Vinci wept with relief.

  Jon watched his HUD. The second of the two space marines went down as a casualty of the terrific explosions.

  The last Black Anvil continued to move, his exoskeleton legs taking huge bounds. He activated a plasma satchel as he went.

  “Get ready,” Jon told Gloria and the marines on the supply vehicle.

  Jon watched through his HUD. Robot bullets struck the marine’s battlesuit. It shook the man. Grenades struck. One burst through his armor, leaving a gaping hole. Still, the marine kept charging the robots. They fixed on him, and the bullets centered on him like hail. It was too much even for a fully stimmed marine.

  He pulled the detonation switch.

  The plasma satchel exploded.

  The special bomb had been built for just such moments. The plasma blast shredded fifty or more of the floating robots. Others smashed back and forth. It was mayhem.

  “Now,” Jon said. “Go. Take down any survivors.”

  Gloria revved the supply vehicle. The sick marines readied their weapons. Jon walked beside them, using his magnetized boots to keep from floating.

  Although they were a mere handful, they used concentrated fire and the main cannon. They caught the surviving robots at precisely the right time.

  The marines exhausted their ammo packs, but finally, the last robot drifted as useless junk.

  ***

  Jon and Sergeant Stark hooked their suit lines into Gloria’s supply vehicle.

  The Centurion secured the front of the regiment. The Old Man secured the rear.

  “The aliens hit us hard,” Stark growled. “I have twenty-one dead and twice that in wounded.”

  “The Centurion reported thirty-two dead but not as many wounded,” Jon said. “The Old Man hasn’t finished counting. That’s at least sixty dead marines out of five hundred and fifty-three. No. That’s not right. We lost eighteen coming in, and another fifteen before that.”

  Stark’s mirrored visor regarded Jon.

  “We’ve lost almost one-fifth of our numbers in dead, Captain. We probably have twice that in wounded of some sort. At best, we have a little over two hundred effectives. And how long are they going to last with the radiation poisoning?”

  Jon had been feeling better because they had fought off the heaviest assault so far. But as Stark outlined the numbers, a grim realization hit home. The regiment was losing. They’d driven possibly one-third of the way into the center of the giant vessel. They were guessing the AI brain was in the exact center. Maybe it was a mobile AI. Maybe it wasn’t a central brain at all but a cybernetic collective.

  “Suggestions?” asked Jon.

  “I have one,” Stark said quickly. “We do something different. If we keep going like this, we lose.” He paused a moment. “I know you’re doing your best, sir. But that may not be good enough. Hell, maybe the colonel would have lost in here. You got us this far. Maybe the aliens are too powerful for us.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Sergeant. We are the Black Anvils.”

  “Save it for the men, sir. We’re advancing, but if the aliens hit us again with a similar kind of attack… How are we going to win, sir?”

  “Mentalist,” Jon said, “I hooked us into the supply vehicle for a reason: so you could hear this and view it as a mentalist. You heard the sergeant. Do you have any assessments?”

  “None positive, I’m afraid,” Gloria said. “Logically, the sergeant is correct. We can’t win.”

  “What do you suggest then?” Jon asked.

  “This isn’t a suggestion so much as an observation,” Gloria said. “The aliens just used Neptunian military hardware against us. Why? Don’t they have their own ordnance? First, they sent Neptunians at us, modified people. Now, they sent Neptunian machinery. Were the fighting robots freed slaves in the aliens’ thoughts? Did it give the robots a chance to show their gratitude?”

  “How does that even work?” Jon asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gloria admitted. “It is a mentalist question. I attempt to consider every possibility. Still, the use of human-constructed hardware is interesting. I wonder if the aliens are collecting the hardware from the nearby warships.”

  “That’s an interesting speculation,” Jon agreed. “I would expect a suggestion from you, though.”

  Gloria looked away.

  After Jon waited a time, he asked, “Da Vinci?”

  The Neptunian’s head snapped up. “You’re asking me for advice?”

  “I’m not quitting until I’m dead,” Jon said. “If you have an idea, tell me. It doesn’t have to be logical. I just need hope, and that means I need to do something positive.”

  “We could test my signal,” Da Vinci said.

  “Instead of heading for the center?” asked Jon.

  The Neptunian shrugged. “You got to trick the aliens, right? First, though, you have to know what your enemy is thinking. Maybe whatever is making this signal will help you figure that out. Otherwise, I’d say you make a dash for the center with the healthy marines.”

  Jon glanced at Stark and then Gloria. He was surprised one of them hadn’t suggested the latter idea.

  “Where’s this signal coming from again?” asked Jon.

  Over the secure link, the little Neptunian thief downloaded it onto their HUDs to show them.

  -11-

  Jon could feel the hope dwindling from the regiment. Too many had died in the past hour. Too many wounded found it difficult to keep up. The ammo supply would not last at this rate of fire.

  Jon turned to Stark. “Pick two squads, no more. We’re heading off for the signal.”

  The big marine kept his visor aimed at Jon. “Do you think that’s wise, sir?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe I’m grasping at straws.”

  Jon quit talking. In his mind’s eye, he could see Colonel Graham shaking his head. He forced himself to laugh, and he clapped an armored glove against the big marine’s shoulder.

  “Do you buy that, Sergeant?”

  “Sir?” asked Stark.

  “Of course it’s wise,” Jon said. “We keep the aliens guessing. So far, we’ve stayed together. That allows them to choose where and when they hit. Now, though, we’re splitting up. That should buy us a few minutes. It might even help the main party.”

  “I guess,” Stark said, sounding dubious.

  “Two squads, no more,” Jon said. “I’ll give you three minutes to get them.”

  Stark kept the visor aimed at him for another few seconds. Finally, he turned and began issuing orders.

  Jon remained hooked to Gloria’s supply vehicle. “I’ll be back.” He looked at Da Vinci. “I’m tempted to take you with me. Do you have a spacesuit?”

  “Me?” the Neptunian squeaked. “I’d only get in the way, sir.”

  “Hurry up,” Jon said, deciding. “Get into your suit.”

  “But sir…” Da Vinci whined.

  “Jon, do you think that’s wise?” Gloria asked.

  That was the second time someone had asked him that. How did he know what was wise or foolish? This was a madman’s quest.

  Jon straightened. A madman’s quest. Maybe he’d been going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should attack like a madman, a berserker. Maybe the regiment should split up… They would each strike out—

  “Da Vinci!” Jon shouted. “Hurry your butt. If I have to wait for you, I’ll drag you along in an oxygen bubble.”

  The Neptunian hurried, and it turned out he could don a spacesuit quicker than a top-notch marine could.

  Da Vinci used a tiny locker, soon poking his bubble-helmeted head out of the supply vehicle.

  Jon glanced behind him. Stark had the two squads. He turned back to Da Vinci and saw that the Neptunian had his tablet.

  “We’re doing this on the fly,” Jon told the commando group. He stepped near Da Vinci and tethered the man’s suit to him. “Now, follow me.”

  ***

  By targeting Da Vinci’s strange signal, Jo
n soon led them through smaller pitch-black corridors. The bulkheads were nearer on either side of him, and the ceiling practically bumped down against his helmet. It felt as if the corridor throttled his equilibrium. The threat of the unknown grew stronger the farther he left the regiment behind.

  Two squads of space marines seemed like a paltry number to face whatever the interstellar invader would throw at them next.

  As they marched, their helmet beams washed over meter-wide portals. Strange symbols were etched beside each circular hatch.

  “What is this place?” Stark whispered.

  They were using short-link, which should be immune to alien eavesdropping. Jon had purposely cut communications with the regiment.

  Da Vinci’s signal led them to the side, in relation to the center of the ship. “There,” the Neptunian said.

  Jon had to twist back to see Da Vinci pointing at a larger hatch in the ceiling.

  “Stark,” Jon said.

  The first sergeant looked up at the ceiling where Jon pointed.

  “Open it,” Jon said.

  The sergeant summoned two marines. They hoisted him. Gingerly, the sergeant’s gloved fingers roved across the portal. It didn’t seem as if there was a way to—

  Stark shoved two fingers into two depressions in the hatch. The hatch shivered and slowly opened. Stark indicated the marines should raise him higher. The sergeant’s helmet disappeared from view.

  “You gotta see this,” the sergeant short-linked. He hoisted himself through the opening.

  One by one, the marines went up. Soon, it was Jon’s turn to pass through the ceiling hatch. He stood with them on a vast curved floor, inside what might have been a dome. Unlike the pitch-black corridors, dim illumination allowed them to see without having to use their helmet lamps. The size of this place was maybe half as big as the original hangar bay. Dotted along the interior curved sides were hundreds of hatches.

  “It’s like a giant aviary,” Da Vinci whispered.

  “What’s an aviary?” Stark growled.

  “A bird preserve, or a sanctuary,” the Neptunian said.

  “Do you still have the signal?” Jon asked Da Vinci.

  The Neptunian pointed upward along the curved wall at a hatch halfway up.

  “We got to float up there?” asked Stark.

  “Unless you want to crawl like a fly,” Jon said.

  “This seems like an enemy trick.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jon said. “Everyone get set.” He waited a few seconds. “Ready?”

  A few squad members muttered that they were. Those marines seemed to soak up the first sergeant’s unease. Likely, these were his favorite two squads.

  “Follow me,” Jon said. With the Neptunian still attached to him, Jon leaped with the battlesuit.

  He drifted upward at velocity, given the size of the chamber. Using his suit’s comp to see that he indeed headed for the targeted hatch, he inwardly patted himself on the back for his jumping skill. A glance behind showed him the other marines drifting up after him.

  Jon had a moment to himself as he continued to drift. He wondered if the aliens could destroy the regiment by simply accelerating the vessel at seventy gravities. Wasn’t that how fast the vessel had been going the first time humans had seen it?

  As Jon floated, he realized the latest stim was beginning to wear off. If he took another hit right away, he risked an overdose. That wouldn’t be so bad, but he might get jittery, and he needed to think clearly.

  “We’re almost there,” Da Vinci whined. “I’m just in a spacesuit. I don’t have any padding worth mentioning.”

  Jon maneuvered the attached Neptunian behind him. He readied himself to hit the bulkhead and magnetize at the same instant. He would indeed act like a fly. Fortunately, as NSN space marines, they’d all practiced the tricky maneuver.

  “See anything, Sergeant?”

  “We’re clear so far, sir,” Stark said.

  Jon breathed in and out. The curved bulkhead loomed before him. He hit, magnetized—one arm bounced from the wall. The second one bounced too. Luckily, his feet stuck to the wall. He’d attached.

  He waited for his marines. All but one of them attached. Stark used a line, throwing it to the bouncer.

  “What’s wrong with you, Kowalski?” Stark said. “This isn’t fist-ball.”

  A few other marines laughed, but it had a nervous quality.

  “Circle the hatch,” Jon said.

  It took a few moments for the magnetized marines to maneuver themselves around the hatch.

  “Kowalski,” Stark said. “You open—”

  “I’ll do that, Sergeant,” Jon said.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s no task for a captain.”

  “It is today,” Jon said. He’d started feeling guilty about ordering marines to their deaths. For this one mission, he was going to take point. Maybe it was militarily foolish, but his conscience forced him to it.

  “Sir—”

  “That will be all, Sergeant,” Jon said.

  Several of the marines glanced at each other. Stark swore softly, so softly that Jon couldn’t make out exactly what he’d said over the short-link. Jon didn’t know it, but the marines thought he’d sounded just like the colonel at that moment.

  “Detach,” Jon told Da Vinci.

  The Neptunian did so, anchoring himself onto the bulkhead. Then, very slowly, the Neptunian maneuvered farther away from the hatch than anyone else.

  Jon readied a pistol gyroc. He reached for the hatch with his other hand. Would it open? Would he have to force his way in?

  He twisted a handle, and it moved with a click.

  A few marines readjusted their aim.

  Jon swung the hatch open. Bright light poured out. Then he demagnetized and swung into the chamber. As he looked around, the gorge rose in his throat. He almost vomited.

  He’d entered a chamber of horrors. This was crazy. Insane.

  -12-

  Humans lay in the vast chamber, men and women in various stages of...of reassembly. Some were face down on a conveyer belt. A robotic arm guided by a camera eye carefully buzzed away an area of skull as the individual stopped at its station. Afterward, the person continued along the belt. Another robot arm sprayed something pink over the exposed brain. Yet another arm with a shiny scalpel inserted into the cavity, making deft incisions. The person moved again. A mechanical arm shoved in a small metal unit. Stiff wires sprouted from the part inserted firmly against the brain tissue. Despite heavy restraints, some of the victims twitched at that point. One bellowed incoherently.

  The antenna on the other side of the inserted disc shined with a tiny red light.

  The bellowing man immediately settled down, allowing the grisly conveyor to continue its journey.

  The marines landed in the chamber behind Jon. A few made exclamations of horror.

  “Look over there,” Stark growled.

  Jon glanced back, seeing the sergeant point somewhere else in the chamber. Jon followed the pointing finger.

  A different conveyor system moved naked people front-side up. Clampers restrained individuals while scalpels deftly sliced here and there on the front torso. Another arm teased off skin. A different robot arm moved muscles and internal organs to the side. The third-to-last modification was a robot arm inserting what appeared to be a landmine into a body cavity.

  Jon shuddered. The conveyor system inserted bombs into the captives. This was the place that turned people into battle-drones.

  As the individuals continued on the conveyor, other robot arms rearranged the peeled skin back into place. Mists wet the area. No doubt, that was quick-heal medicine.

  “This is inhuman,” Stark said.

  Nausea threatened Jon’s composure as the full scope of what went on in here hit home. He felt soiled and sickened. The aliens were blaspheming humanity.

  Jon made a low growling noise in the back of his throat. A red mist seemed to haze his vision. A throbbing desire to commit ma
yhem grew with each heartbeat. He didn’t just want to defeat the aliens. He wanted to find their homeworld and nuke it into oblivion.

  “There’s the control node,” Da Vinci squeaked.

  Jon had to work to focus. He found that he was gripping his weapon with manic strength. His finger had strayed to the trigger. With a start, he realized he’d almost gone berserk.

  The thinking part of him clamped down on his emotions. He had to ride his hatred. He couldn’t let the hatred ride him.

  He studied the Black Anvils. Some of the marines seemed on the verge of mayhem.

  “Sergeant Stark,” Jon said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “You will control your squads. On no account will anyone fire until I give a command. Sergeant, are you listening to me?”

  The gorilla of a battlesuit gave a start. He turned to the marines and began snapping harsh orders.

  As Stark regained control of the men, Jon beckoned Da Vinci.

  “What were you saying?” asked Jon.

  The spacesuit fabric crinkled as the Neptunian raised his left arm, pointing at a bulky contraption in the center of the vast chamber. It was a cubic pyramid with what seemed to be a human head on top.

  “The signal is coming from there,” Da Vinci said in a trembling voice. “We have to leave. What if the machines capture us, sir? That’s too awful to think about. Please, Captain. Let’s get out of here.”

  There were indeed machines moving about the chamber. They were robot vehicles, each with treads, a tubular body, several robotic arms and a camera up top. Some added frozen people to the beginning of the conveyor system while others removed the finished products from the end of the conveyors. None of the robots appeared interested in the Black Anvils.

  “I think this whole area makes…drones,” Da Vinci whispered.

  Did the Neptunian mean just this room? Or could Da Vinci mean the entire interior dome area they had floated up to? That would be ominous, as it would mean thousands of drones instead of mere hundreds were being readied for possible battle.

  Jon took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly. He did this three times. It felt as if fire had scorched the tips of his nerves. The deep breathing helped settle him enough to think.