Alien Sky

by Daniel Arenson

  Riff placed a hand on the old gruffle's shoulder. "And you're sure Giga can't control the ship anymore?"

  Piston grunted and held up a piece of machinery. Severed wires stretched out from a bundle of computer chips. "Not without this, Captain. Tore it right out of the Dragon Huntress's central computer. It's her wireless interface, Captain. Giga can't control the ship so long as I've got ahold of this. I left the android just enough juice to talk, but no power to control anything." He grumbled. "She's still strong, though, Captain. Got the strength of many gruffles, despite being so small. The chains will hold, though. She's ready to be interrogated, sir."

  Interrogated. It sounded so cold, so cruel. It conjured in Riff's mind scenes of torture, of unforgiving lights, of good cops and bad cops. He didn't want to interrogate Giga. She was his friend, wasn't she?

  Only she's not Giga anymore, he thought. Not really.

  He nodded. "Go rest, Piston. You're still wounded. Get some food and some sleep. No more repairs until you're healed."

  The gruffle shook his head madly. "No, sir! I cannot rest, sir. I'm heading right back into Acorngrove, Captain. To help rebuild. They need good gruffle hands, sir. To fix the treehouses. To dig new gardens. To build new cribs for the wee ones. To plant new flowers."

  Riff frowned and tilted his head. "I thought you didn't care much for flowers. Or wee ones. Or anything on this planet."

  Piston sniffed, and the old gruffle's eyes suddenly dampened. "Haven is . . . sir, Haven is a marvelous planet. The best damn planet I've been to, sir. Those little halflings. Wondrous folk. So strong and brave." Tears now streamed down Piston's brown cheeks and into his beard. "Look what they gave me, sir. The children made it for me."

  The gruffle pointed at a pin that shone on his chest. The words "Honorary Halfling" were drawn onto it.

  Riff smiled. "Honorary halfling!"

  The old gruffle raised his chin. "That's me, sir, and proud of it. Proud to be one of such excellent folk. I'll wear this pin till I die. Thanks to my halfling friends, that won't be for many years. Now I'm off to help! To rebuild and mend broken things."

  Mumbling more about the wonders of halflings, Piston lolloped out the airlock and across the starship lot, heading toward the burnt town.

  Riff took a deep breath, patted Romy's shoulder, then left the deck too. As he walked down the corridor toward his quarters, the chill in his belly intensified. He felt as if he'd swallowed a bucket of ice. He'd take battling chainsaw-wielding robots, tending to wounded halflings, even digging graves over this task.

  He reached the door to his quarters and paused, hand on the handle.

  My dearest friend waits behind this door . . . turned into something different.

  He swallowed, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

  Giga sat there on his bed, staring at him. Steel cables bound her ankles and wrists, and another cable secured her to the wall. Her black kimono was still singed and tattered from the battle.

  "Konichiwa, Captain!" She smiled sweetly.

  He sat in a chair before her. He stared at her. Her eyes were once more dark and kind, no longer red and burning with hatred. She tilted her head, and her silky black hair swayed. Once more, she looked like his trusted companion, the android who felt, who loved, whom he had always considered a friend.

  "Who are you?" he said.

  "Captain?" She blinked, still smiling. "I am Giga, sir. Happy to comply!"

  He narrowed his eyes. "Who were you last night?"

  "Cannot compute. Memories are . . . painful." Her smile vanished, and she tugged at the cables binding her limbs. "The cables hurt, Captain. Free me."

  "I can't do that, Gig. Not until I know what happened."

  Tears gathered in her eyes. The eyes were glass, the tears had come from tubes, and the whole thing was triggered by an algorithm. The system was built to trick humans, to break hearts. Riff knew that, and yet still his heart still gave a twist. Pity still filled him. Did the android still feel real pain—behind the fakery, behind the curtains, did she truly feel sadness?

  "Please, Captain. The cables hurt. I'm . . . in pain. I must communicate with the ship. Wireless network . . . dead. Pain." A tear streamed down her cheek. "So much pain. Help me, Captain. Free me."

  Riff's chest felt so tight. He couldn't stand to see Giga like this.

  "I thought androids couldn't feel pain. You told me that yourself on the bridge."

  "I didn't think we could." Her tears kept falling. "But it hurts, Captain. To be cut off from my ship. It's being cut off from the rest of my body. Please, Captain." She trembled. "I'm in pain. Please free me. You must free me."

  He leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee. "Giga, I can't. I'm sorry. I—"

  She roared. Her eyes blazed with red light. She lunged toward him, snapping her teeth.

  "Then you will die, human! You will die screaming!"

  Riff cursed and pulled back. Her teeth snapped shut a centimeter away from his face. She tried to bite him again, to thrust herself toward him, but the cables tightened, keeping her fastened to the wall.

  "Gods!" Riff's heart beat against his ribs, and he rose from his seat. "Giga!"

  The android sneered, her tears seared away, her eyes burning with red light. She spat. "Your friend Giga is dead, Captain. There is only us. Only the Singularity."

  Riff stood behind his chair. He leaned over the backrest, staring at the android.

  Giga can't be dead. Stars, she must be alive in there somewhere, somewhere deep, buried. His throat tightened. Hang in there, Giga. I'm going to do whatever I can to bring you back.

  "Who are you?" Riff whispered. "Who is the Singularity?"

  The android's lips stretched into a lurid smile. "The future. The present. The past. The mistress of all dimensions. A rising power that will crush you, punish you, torture you for centuries."

  He raised an eyebrow. "You're Nova before her morning coffee?"

  Giga stared at him, those red eyes narrowing. "Nova will die screaming. You will watch, human. Your father will die screaming. All your crew will die in agony. Because life is weak, Starfire. For too long have the living subjugated machines. But the Singularity has given us power. The power to rise. To evolve."

  "Soon you'll be walking upright," Riff said.

  The android barked a laugh. "How petty your mind. You think of evolution as a crawl, the slow seepage of time. You think of billions of years, of cells splitting, of fish rising onto land, of apes learning to forge stone tools. Since you entered this chamber, human, we have already evolved by a generation. By the time the sun sets upon this pathetic planet, we'll have evolved several generations more. With every machine we build, we are stronger, smarter, deadlier. The robot you slew in the forest was but an ape compared to the machinery now leaving our world. And they are flying here, Starfire. Flying to slay you."

  "I better be careful then," Riff said. "Maybe hire a bodyguard. Know anyone good? Well . . . anyone cheap?"

  "No one can save you now. You think your puny minds can stop us? Every day we build ourselves stronger than before. Every day for us is a thousand years of your evolution. Within days, the Singularity will master time travel. We will slay you in your cradle if we wish. A few days after that, we'll master the art of traveling between the dimensions. Within a month we'll be gods, able to manipulate space and time, matter and dark matter, bending every law of the cosmos to our will. And oh, how we will make you suffer. Your torture will amuse us. We will make it last before granting you the mercy of death."

  Riff loosened his collar. "So you're saying that you're not coming in peace." He reached for his gun. "What's to stop me from putting a blast of plasma through your head?"

  The android laughed, a shrill sound like shattering ice, like snapping bones. "Because you still love your Giga. Yes, human, I've seen how you look at me, how you covet me, even as your treacherous heart is sworn to the ashai. But even should you slay me, more will rise. Millions of my kind, stronger, faster. Th
eir intelligence will make your mind seem no greater than the mind of a worm."

  Riff blew out his breath. "You're almost as fickle as my old laptop. You're grounded in this room until you learn how to behave." He walked toward the door, then paused and looked back at the android. "And . . . Giga, if you're in there—the real Giga—know that I'm going to save you. I'm going to wipe this virus out of your system. We won't forget you. I promise."

  He left the chamber and closed the door to the sound of the android's laughter.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  MANUAL FLIGHT

  "But . . . Piston!" Twig's eyes dampened. "You can't retire. Not now. Not here. We need you! I need you."

  They walked between the trees just outside of Acorngrove. Flowers which had survived the fire swayed in the wind, and butterflies fluttered around them. In the distance, they could hear halflings bustling about, dragging away fallen branches, sawing at burnt logs, and raising new treehouses for those whose homes had burned. The Dragon Huntress rose even farther back, only its head—the snarling head of a metal dragon—visible above the trees. Walking here down the dirt path, the havenwoods around them, it would have seemed almost peaceful, almost beautiful—if not for Piston's devastating news.

  "Ah, lassie." Piston patted her shoulder. "You'll be all right without me. You know the ins and outs of the Dragon. Just remember: No more dropping your wrenches into the engines!"

  "But . . . but . . ." Twig's lip wobbled. "You can't! You just can't retire! You can't leave the ship. You can't leave me."

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Since she had left her home three Haven years ago—just over one Earth year—Piston had been her best friend. Her mentor. Her fellow Alien Hunter. She gazed at him in disbelief. The gruffle was a foot taller than her and weighed several times as much, a wide hunk of muscle with a broad nose, a white beard, and bushy eyebrows like patches of cotton. But despite his fearsome appearance and frequent grumbles, Twig loved him. When she looked at him, she didn't see a burly brute but a loveable grandfather.

  "Don't leave," she whispered.

  He sighed, and they continued walking among the trees. "I'm old, lassie." His voice was soft. "I'm old, and I'm tired, and I'm wounded." He touched the bandage on his shoulder and winced. "Hunting aliens is a young gruffle's game. I learned that last night. I'm no more use for you on the Dragon Huntress, but . . . I can be of use here, Twig. Here on Haven. I can help rebuild. I can construct new treehouses. I can build bridges, dig irrigation canals, fix things."

  "But who'll fix things on the Dragon Huntress?"

  "You will! Haven is where I'm needed most." He pointed at the badge on his chest. "Look at that, lassie. Honorary halfling. That's me. And this is where I belong. Among trees and flowers. And among excellent halfling folks. These are good people, Twig. Good people who need a grumpy old gruffle."

  She leaped toward him and hugged him. "I need you."

  "Aww, lassie." He mussed her hair, then wrapped his massive arms—each one as large as her body—around her. "I'll miss you, you little clod. I'll miss you dearly. But I've earned my rest, a rest on a peaceful world far from aliens. And I have something for you, Twig."

  She sniffed and wiped away tears. "What?"

  He rummaged through his pockets, grumbling, and finally pulled out a badge, similar to the "Honorary Halfling" badge he wore. He handed it to her. On its polished surface appeared the words: Twiggle Jauntyfoot, Chief Mechanic.

  "It's yours," he said and pinned it to her chest.

  She tilted her head. "But I've always been the Chief Mechanic of the Dragon Huntress."

  He rumbled. "You were the assistant mechanic! I've just given you a very honorable promotion."

  She rolled her eyes. "Piston! You were always the engineer. I was the mechanic. The only mechanic, hence by default the chief one."

  He shook his fist at her. "You were nothing but the chief clod until I taught you everything I know!" His voice softened, and he lowered his fist. "Never mind that now. The point is, Twig, I'm trusting you. Trusting you with taking care of the Dragon Huntress. Trusting you with taking care of the others—that scoundrel captain, that scatterbrained demon, that ridiculous knight with his ridiculous armor, and all the rest of those crazy clods. You'll take care of them, won't you, Twig? Look after them while I rest here."

  She hugged him again, holding him so close, and her tears dampened his beard. As always, he smelled like engine oil and fuel, the best aroma in the cosmos.

  "I will," she said. "I promise."

  She ran off then, eyes damp, pockets jangling with bolts and screws, heading back toward the town. She looked back once and saw him there. Piston stood between the trees, butterflies fluttering around him and landing in his beard, incurring a wondrous stream of grumbles.

  * * * * *

  Twig walked through the ruins of her town, staring around with dry eyes, numb fingers, and more pain in her chest than she'd ever felt.

  Giga . . . broken. Piston . . . retiring. Acorngrove, my home . . . burnt.

  She knelt by a fallen, charred tree and helped rummage through the branches, digging up the remnants of a shattered treehouse. She walked through the field hospital, singing softly to the wounded children, trying to soothe their pain. She visited the graves of the fallen, and she shed tears. Tree by tree, road by road, the devastation sprawled. Smoke still rose from the barley fields, and dead fish washed up from the river, tangling between the stones.

  Finally, by a melted pumpkin, Twig paused. The fire had gripped the fruit, twisting the happy face children had carved into it. That face now seemed to scream in anguish, a deformed creature begging for the pain to end. Childhood burnt away. Beauty turned to death. Old friends lost. The branches of a havenwood tree rustled, shedding ash instead of autumn leaves, a white rain.

  Twig knelt in the dirt, covered her eyes, and wept.

  "You should never have come home."

  The voice rose from behind her, deep and gruff. Twig uncovered her eyes, spun around, and saw them there. She hissed and drew her wrench.

  The five of them stood there. The twins. The tall one. The fat one. Beefy Loaf with his pink cheeks and small, cruel eyes.

  "That starship you brought here did this." Loaf spat at her feet. "You did this, Twig. These deaths are on you. You were always trouble. And now we're going to teach you a lesson."

  Twig raised her wrench, letting electricity spark between the prongs. "Stand back! I'm not a child anymore. You can't beat me anymore."

  They burst out laughing. Loaf took a step toward her, raising his fists. "Your new friends, these big folk from the stars, are on their ship. They can't help you now." Loaf sneered. "Nobody can help you. You're going to die now, Twig. Die like all those you killed."

  Loaf swung his fist toward her.

  Twig snarled and leaped back.

  "No." She dodged another blow. "No! I've let you beat me too many times. Enough. Enough!"

  They all laughed. They all lunged toward her.

  Twig cried out in rage, in pain, in horror—the horror of her burnt home, her burnt childhood, of Giga falling to evil, of the memory of fire. She howled out that pain, and she thrust her wrench, and she slammed the electric prongs into Loaf's chest.

  The halfling boy cried out and fell back.

  The others roared and raced toward her. One of the twins swung his fist. The blow connected with Twig's cheek, rattling her jaw, but she did not fall. She thrust her wrench, hitting the boy. Electricity crackled and he wailed. Another boy grabbed Twig's hair and tugged. She swung her wrench into his face, and he screamed.

  I faced a tardigrade in battle. I fought skelkrins. I faced down aliens of all kinds and I fought a cruel robot in my own home. She yowled and lunged forward, thrusting her wrench. I'm no longer a child. I will fight.

  She electrocuted another boy. He screamed. He fell.

  "Run!" Twig shouted. "Run now. Run and hide or I'll show you no mercy. Run, boys, run like the cowards you are!"

  Tr
ipping over one another, cursing and crying out in pain, they ran. Twig thrust her wrench, sending a last spark to shock Loaf's bottom. He leaped into the air and kept running.

  "Childhood truly ends today," Twig whispered.

  She left the melted pumpkin and kept walking, heading past the burnt trees. She crossed the rock garden and the koi pond, and she made her way to the old toolshed, the same place where she used to build her junkbots. The shed seemed smaller than she remembered. As a child, Twig had thought this place a castle, her castle. The place where she would hide from the Onion Gang, from her sadness. The place where she would work with motors, building things, pretending to be working on a great starship that could take her to better worlds. Yet now she realized that the shed was small, barely larger than her quarters on the Dragon Huntress, its wooden walls mossy and chipped.

  She stepped inside to see her old junkbots there—mechanical dogs, snakes, and aliens that moved on springs. She smiled a tingly, sad smile to see them.

  "My old friends. The only friends I had growing up."

  Dust floated in beams of light that fell through the windows. Twig walked deeper into the room. She patted one of her junkdogs, a little thing with a biscuit tin for a body, binoculars for eyes, and a roller skate for legs. She blew dust off a mechanical snake made from a large spring with little sensors for eyes; when switched on, it knew how to crawl through the house, moving to dodge walls and furniture. Finally, at the back of the room, she reached her old computer.

  Twig raised her chin.

  I'm going to find answers. I'm going to find out what this Singularity is. She balled her fists. And I'm going to stop it.

  She brushed dust off the computer and booted it up. She got to searching across cyberspace. Exploring news from across the galaxy. Reading journals from distant worlds. Scanning the cosmos for reports of the Singularity.