Bunker Core (Core Control Book 1)

by Andrew Seiple

  “Mombnet of truth,” she told Bantam and groped with one bloody hand, until she felt vegetable sogginess under her grasp. Sogginess that writhed and tried to squirm away. The glow faded a bit inside the bathroom, and she grunted in satisfaction. The things in her blood ate shine. Most shine, anyway. The day they ran into something they couldn’t handle was probably going to be the day she died.

  “We’re good,” Bantam sighed. “Mostly. You know what we have to do next.”

  “Yeah.” She stretched out her arm as far as it would go.

  “Sorry. I’d do it, but it’s just that you’ve got more blood,” Bantam said, using his hands to scale the moldy wall, flapping them like the wings they’d replaced, climbing up to bump his head against her fingers. Then he crept up her arm.

  “I bnow my role, and we’re short ob time.” Foal said. “That bnoise will be bnoticed, so make it quick.”

  His hands folded around her bicep, and Bantam bit into her breast.

  *****

  Hours later, after they were safely away from the houses, Bantam called a halt, and Foal reached down and pulled up the carrying bag she carried slung under her withers. A rain had started, and she’d taken shelter in the remnants of a parking garage, the glow at the back assuring her that no humans would interrupt their stay. “Think we canb look at the haul?” She asked Bantam.

  “I don’t see why not. Cloudy enough and we’re out of direct sunlight. Besides, most of it was sealed. Go ahead and bust it out of the saddlebag.”

  “Bnot a saddlebag,” she snorted and groped around in the pouch. Her head was too large and her arms were too short to coordinate the pair of them. She literally couldn’t see what she was doing. “Nbody gets to ride me. Bno saddle. Bnot gobba wear one.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re all free now. Free to rot and shrivel up. Come on, hand it down and let me see.” Foal felt plastic under her fingers, handed down the pill bottles one by one. None of them rattled.

  “They’re all still sealed,” Bantam said, and she heard a crackle. “Whoops! That plastic’s brittle. Ah… the labels are pretty washed out. Looks like most of this is medicine. Or cosmetic stuff. Or…”

  She handed down a plastic baggie, curled up over itself, old tape crunching into dust.

  “…huh,” Bantam said. “Looks like medicine. It’s white powder. That was the stuff in the false back of the box. Must have been valuable for them to hide it away. Think I should try some?”

  She shook her head, ponderously. “Bno. Too rare.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. That was a lot of shine, and I’m pretty sure it was going after that stuff.”

  Shine hungered to replicate itself. But it needed chemicals and materials of a certain purity, and some of those were fairly rare. Old safeguards that kept the world from turning into gray goo, was how her Creator had explained it, in a rare fit of helpfulness.

  Now it helped them find the substances they needed. By searching out hidden pockets of it, they could steal its food and glean samples that would hopefully save them all.

  “Rain’s about done,” Bantam said, packing the bottles and baggie back into her bag. Which definitely was NOT a saddlebag because she was NOT a horse. “Back to the Farm?”

  “Back to the Farm,” she agreed and waited for him to clamber up her legs and get ahold of her mane, before cantering off into the choked, rusty streets.

  *****

  Southwest of the remnants of the city the fields stretched wide and wild. The grass crumpled beneath her hooves, and Foal felt joy as she ran, her human arms folded to keep her useless, stupid breasts from shaking and hitting her as she trotted. Her harness creaked as she cut loose, bags shifting, blanket fluttering almost like a cape.

  Foal didn’t get to go flat out that often. But it had been a good haul, Bantam judged, so she rewarded herself and didn’t hold back.

  Soon enough, they reached the rusty wire, and she slowed. Then it was through the fence, shuffling in the careful path, around the traps. Unlike her original stock, she could recover from a broken leg if she had to, but that would put her people down one of their farthest-ranging scavengers. Not to mention it would hurt horribly, and she’d be bored and miserable with nothing to do but lie there for at least a week while the bone mended.

  Past the fence the grass shifted into crops, the change gradual and hidden from outside. The tall grass hid their efforts.

  It also hid the tiny form that hopped out from them and launched itself onto her back, sending Bantam squawking and hopping off. “Whinny Sparkle!” A high voice shrieked, and Foal felt the girl’s face rub on her broad back as the girl purred.

  “That’s bnot my bname abymore,” Foal said, feeling her flank twitch where she’d burned that stupid, stupid brand off herself.

  Kit ignored her, purred louder, and kneaded Foal’s hide under her hands.

  “Are you on harvest duty?” Bantam asked.

  “Yes! Kind of. Um.” Kit said, and Foal felt the girl’s legs rearrange themselves, crossing on her back. “Rats! Yes. They’re bad. I’ve been killing them. See? Ahhhhh…”

  “I believe you. Please shut your mouth,” Bantam said, sardonically. “We have to go inside now.”

  “Oh,” Kit said, and just like that, she was gone. Foal turned in time to see the small creature darting into the grass, her brightly-colored clothes clashing as she dove for cover, then peered out at them from the grass. “I don’t like it in there.” Slit-pupiled green eyes stared out, from a flawless human face. Cat’s ears swiveled as she put up a hand and smoothed down messy blonde hair.

  Their creator had gotten her almost nearly human. But she’d come out stupider than any of the rest of them, and so Foal treated her as kindly as she could. It did little good to hold to the old grudges of the past. Besides, unlike many of her peers, she didn’t hold Kit’s appearance against her. “Dob’t worry,” Foal told Kit. “Just stay out here anb do your job. It’ll be fibe.”

  “Okay!” Kit said, grinning, teeth bloody, bits of rat guts stuck between them. Then she was gone.

  “Someday she’ll go feral and kill me, I’m sure of it,” Bantam groused, as he hopped back onto her back.

  Foal hauled up the bag again, and kept it firmly between her hands. “Thenb let’s deliver this anb see if we cab hold that off for a little while more.”

  *****

  Little remained of the old complex. Hollow halls, burnt out and pocked with bullet holes and craters from energy weapons. Sprung traps and nonfunctional turrets and ruined statues, all sat silent and dead.

  The Heronmen had destroyed this place.

  But they hadn’t collapsed the tunnels, and so her people found them good. True, the air circulators no longer worked, but with the door now fragments on the grass outside, the upper levels at least had adequate ventilation.

  Foal nodded to the others as she walked passed siderooms and gave way for hurrying figures in the dark. Some walked upright, some didn’t, others crawled or slithered as best they could.

  It was a long way down into the darkness, the air cloying and stale as Foal moved down the central ramp. As she went, the murals on the walls loomed out at her… pale, sullen figures, a three-headed dog, a ferryman in robes with skeletal hands outstretched. And in each mural stood a lone figure carrying a harp, usually portrayed in the midst of doing something heroic.

  The figure was faceless. They’d taken care to shatter his face from the wall in each and every place it appeared. Foal had given a few of them some good kicks herself, the ones she could reach, anyway. It had been fun, a real community bonding exercise.

  Masker wasn’t in the lab, and with unease, Foal gathered up one of the flashlights, leaving the generator-powered room to go searching for him.

  They poked around through the darkness, her hooves crunching on the bones underfoot, until she found him in the Core Chamber, staring at the ruined containment unit that her Creator had once occupied.

  “Masker?” Foal asked, feeling nervous.

&
nbsp; “Hm?” He turned, painfully, his tiny walker clattering as he brought it around. His gray fur was dusty, save for where the dirty tan of his tool harness crossed it. He wore his neck brace today, the metal wires twisting up to hold his bulging, oversized skull. It was easily a third the size of the rest of his body. “Just contemplating folly.”

  “You don’t want to bring him back, do you?” Bantam squawked from Foal’s back.

  “No! no no no.” Masker spat, whiskers flexing where his gray fur met the black stripe across his eyes. “Fuck that guy. No, wait, don’t fuck that guy, pretty sure that’s why he made some of us. And that’s also necrophilia, at this point, since we killed his ass. But no, the folly I’m contemplating is survival.” He clattered forward on the walker. “But here’s not a good place to talk about it. Can I hitch a ride back to the lab?”

  “Of course,” Foal said, kneeling down on her front legs, and stretching out her arms. Then he was in them, trembling, and she held him tight with one arm as she shone the flashlight back among the corridors.

  Once they were there, she handed over the pack while Bantam gave a summary of the day’s events and their find. The screamer alarmed him. “It was studying you for a few minutes?”

  “Two mibnutes,” Foal said. “About, I thibnk.”

  “Two minutes and thirty seconds,” Bantam spoke up. “I counted.”

  “That’s bad. It means that the Heronmen are getting around to modifying their programming.” Masker sighed. “We know they go by profile and facial recognition. Up till now, anyway. If they’re changing that up, then it’ll put the daylight operations at risk. I’m not sure night squad can even that out.”

  “Did we get good stuff, at least?”

  “Let me see…” Masker dug through the bottles, grunting in happiness as he pulled them out. “Yes… yes… I can render most of this down. This will save some trouble for our neediest cases. Combined with the stuff I’ve got already? You bought us a couple of months, here. Maybe more.” He took a pill bottle in hand, clattered his walker along until he got to a low table, where jars full of dust shone faintly in the firelight. “The swarm remnants should be able to process these easily,” Masker said, unscrewing one of the jars and popping the pill bottle in, still sealed. The dust shimmered as it coalesced around the plastic, which withered slowly.

  Once it was entirely consumed, Masker checked a dented metal box off to the side of the lab, and grinned, showing sharp teeth as he popped out cylinders full of fluid. “Good. Good, good. Thank you Bantam, thank you Foal.”

  “We’ve also got this,” Foal offered, holding up the baggie.

  “Huh.” Masker stumped over, taking it from her hands. “No label. Damned inconvenient.” He moved over, shrugged, and unscrewed one of the remaining jars before dumping it in.

  Instantly the dust vacated the jar, shimmering in the electric lights. A flat, whining alarm sounded from one of the nearby computers.

  Foal reared in shock, but Masker let out an excited yelp and ran to a cracked-screen, stabbing at a keyboard below. It lit up with warning signs and chemical symbols.

  “I’ll be damned,” Masker said, looking at the screen to the jar, where the white powder sat, untouched. “That’s illegal stuff. It’ll take me hours to calm these nanobots down.”

  “Illegal?” Bantam squawked. “Why? Isn’t it medicine?”

  “For medical purposes,” Masker snickered. “Rare medicine. Recreational medicine. Hard to find in this region, if it is what I think it is—” his eyes went wide.

  “Rare,” Foal said, excited. “You thibnk…”

  “I do.” Masker plucked the baggie out of the jar and tapped keys on the keyboard until the nanobots returned to it. “We can trade this. Maybe for a lot.” Bracing on his walker, he leaned back, his oversized cranium straining against his neck brace as he stared up at Foal. “Do you think you can make the journey? It won’t be easy.”

  “Give me the bnight to rest,” Foal said, taking the baggie from him, and replacing it in her bag. “Abd at first light I’ll go off to see the Highbinbders…”

  THIRTEEN

  My bats returned and paid their guano tithe. Cade and his entourage had departed hours ago, claiming a need to return before the screamers came out. I’d spent the time talking over options with Argus.

  I also checked in on the “Tazzel Worm.” He lay there in the dim light, unmoving. I didn’t even see breath passing through his throat. Occasionally his tongue flickered out of his mouth, but otherwise I couldn’t see any sign of life.

  It was a certainty that he wasn’t dead. You don’t get to be that size by being fragile and pockmarks and old scars on his ridged, scaly back showed that he wasn’t lacking will to struggle. I could respect that. Which meant that I had to do something about him before the poor bastard starved to death.

  Besides, right now he was tying up a room I needed. That was valuable bandwidth going to waste! Two whole units worth.

  Fortunately I had a plan that would make it a non issue.

  I figured that this thing was mostly nocturnal and waited until I couldn’t see it moving at all. Then I directed the nanobuilder swarm in and started digging a tunnel upwards, just big enough for my new guest. I gave them the instruction to come back after they’d emerged into the open, and after an hour of quiet work, they did. I stared ruefully at the one whole feedstock they’d gotten for me and shrugged. Feedstock really wasn’t the point.

  Next, I directed them into the main corridor and sighed as I stared at the cross-cut that I’d just filled in a day or so ago. Then I had them dig the damn thing out again, claimed it, and started work on a room of equivalent size to the one my gator mutant guest was occupying.

  “Why are you doing this?” Argus wondered.

  “The symmetry pleases me,” I said. “I’ve got a thing for patterns, I think. Also I’ll need a place to stick the broadcast node. It works better the farther it is from the core chamber.”

  “That’s not far at all.”

  “I’m going to move the core chamber.”

  “Okay, but where are you going to get the bandwidth to do that? You don’t have enough right now.”

  “Not yet, no.” Once the room was finished, I directed the nanobots back to the core chamber and started dissolving the drone turret. “But after this guy goes, sure. And even more so once I pull the next trick.”

  “Is it wise to get rid of our last ditch defense?”

  “I can rebuild it later. Besides, it can’t hurt the worm, and from what our new buddies tell us, we’ve got several days before the Jaspa find their balls to come again. “

  “If his information is accurate.”

  “I think it is.” Cade had confided in me that some of the Jaspa “Sivvies” had a good smuggling operation going with the Arcadians. There were family ties, too. Something I could maybe use in the future, to sow dissension and spike my enemy’s plans… but that would have to come after the next crisis. One thing at a time, one dead foe at a go.

  Once I’d claimed the new room, I smiled at the slight resonance increase… but I didn’t get attached. I wouldn’t have it for long.

  I built a feedstock bin in there, shifted all existing surplus over to it, and dissolved the bin in the Tazzel Worm’s room.

  Then I removed my claim on the Tazzel Worm’s room.

  It… didn’t exactly hurt. But it was like a rubber band snapping back inside my brain, a crack and an unpleasant sensation. I felt diminished, and I hated it. But there was nothing else to do. My mutant buddy had contagious nanos in him, stuff that would be bad to mess with. If he stayed in my bunker, then they might try to spread.

  But if he was in an adjacent, unclaimed cave, from which he could come and go as he pleased, then I had the equivalent of a guard dog in a doghouse. And given how many bodies I thought were out there, he’d have incentive to use that cave in between cleaning up the garbage on my lawn.

  And he might also be a nasty surprise to the Jaspa when they showed ba
ck up again. If he was as territorial as he seemed, then there’s no way a mob of militant assholes wouldn’t trigger his ire.

  Of course he’d be a threat to further friendly visitors, but I had a radio frequency I could use to warn off the few friendly faces I’d met and a strong suspicion that I wouldn’t have too many more potential allies wandering up to say hi.

  Hopefully, the nanos in his system wouldn’t get past the door. I debated sealing it up… no. No, if he got overwhelmed I wanted an escape hatch that I could pop open for him at my discretion. I wasn’t entirely without mercy.

  With a sigh of relief and a nagging feeling that I’d merely pushed the problem down the road, I started work on the broadcast node, setting it next to the new feedstock bin.

  It was, quite simply, expensive. Twenty-five feedstock worth of expensive, and I winced to see it go. But the payoff was immediate.

  Bandwidth improved! +5 efficiency.

  Six units to play with now. A bunch of long corridors, or a handful of small rooms, or some mix thereof.

  And even better, the efficiency would only improve the more distance the broadcast node got from me. Up to a point… it had to stay within a certain radius of my chamber,or nodes that were “connected” to me. Basically, given time and enough space, I could set up a network of broadcast nodes… which at twenty-five feedstock a pop, was going to take a long goddamn time.

  Just like that, I was back to having feedstock supply issues. I ground teeth I didn’t have.

  Well, it wasn’t entirely as bad as it looked. Digging out rooms would gain me some meager feedstock… more if I hit some useful minerals or maybe a buried body. What I really needed were things like those support beams Argus had stumbled across while I was out.

  Maybe that was possible.

  From the grade of the exit tunnel, I was pretty far down. If he’d hit support beams at this level, it was pretty good odds that the structure above me was heavy enough that it needed multiple support beams, before it was obliterated. There were probably more down here at my level. Just a matter of finding them.