Up Against It

by M. J. Locke

  Jesse and the first two henchmen had disentangled themselves from the net by this time and bounded back toward them, firing their guns. Chunks of bullet-struck ore scattered into the black sky.

  Xuan’s rescuers reached the front of the shuttle and headed straight for the mine entrance. Xuan thought, This won’t work. They will not be able to stop the bikes, enter the code to get the doors to open, and close them again before Mills and his henchmen are on top of us. But the bikers did not slow as they zoomed past the shuttle cockpit.

  “Now, Amaya!” the driver shouted.

  A woman’s voice in their headset said, “Heads up on your left—there’s a tank!” As she spoke, the massive door lifted, slowly, only meters away … and Xuan thought he was hallucinating. Skeletons came pouring out—leaping, capering, rising up—tumbling over one another like demented acrobats, out of a tank in the airlock.

  There were so many—they were everywhere! Xuan shielded his eyes against the impact. The skeletons burst at the slightest touch. Beads went flying like buckshot, glimmering in the rays of the sun that now rose above the horizon. Both bikers blasted through the skeletons and skidded, ducking low, into the airlock. Xuan ducked, too, to avoid being struck by the still-ascending door.

  Jesse and the two remaining mercenaries stumbled, slowed, took swipes at the advancing wave of skeletons. But Mills waded right through, ignoring them as they exploded all around. He was only meters away now, and leveled his gun at Xuan. “No, step out of the airlock, or die.”

  As he said die, a projectile struck him in the midsection. He went soaring backward and slammed into the shuttle’s giant tire. His gun went flying, too, and skittered across the stroid’s metallic surface. Orange goo covered Mills’s chest and faceplate, crystallizing.

  Someone stood at the airlock entrance—someone named Amaya? She dropped a big pipe, picked up another.

  “One of you get the door!” she said. “I’ll hold them off.”

  She pointed the pipe at Jesse and fired. A big orange projectile struck Jesse’s shoulder, causing him to fall backward. The orange blob sailed up, wobbling—goo spattered the shuttle on the “Ogilvie & Sons” logo.

  “I’ve got the door,” the second driver said, and sprang from his bike toward the emergency shutdown switch. Amaya picked up and fired a different pipe gun, this one smaller, at the hired hands, who ducked, while the second biker hit the switch. The door reversed itself, started closing. The girl picked up yet another small tube and fired it. Xuan could not figure out what she was shooting. Balls of putty? Chemicals? Whatever they were, the makeshift launchers expelled them with enough force to knock the attackers down.

  Xuan saw through the haze of churned-up dust, assembler grapes, and gravel that Mills had gotten to his feet again. He shuffled toward them, swiping at the crap on his faceplate, batting skeletons and other sky-borne debris out of the way. Then the door locked into place.

  While they waited for the lock to pressurize, Xuan turned to his rescuers. “I think you just saved my life.”

  “Glad to help, Professor Xuan,” one of them said. Xuan peered at the one who had spoken, the driver who had picked him up.

  “I know you. Are you one of my former students?”

  “No, sir. I’m Geoff Agre. A friend of your son, Hugh. These are my friends, Kamal Kurupath and Amaya Toguri.” The other two waved.

  Xuan belatedly recognized the young man. “Of course! It’s been a long time. How did you happen to be here? How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “This is my stroid. We come out here sometimes just to hang out,” Geoff said.

  Amaya added, “We were suspicious when we saw the shuttle. They never contacted Geoff or asked permission to test our rock.”

  Kamal said, “Geoff and I were just heading over to ask what you were doing here when the big man started shoving you around and threatening you with a crowbar. We figured that was our cue to intervene.”

  “And what are those?” Xuan asked, gesturing at the pipes Amaya had used to fend off Mills and Jesse. “What did you use as projectiles?”

  He caught a flash of a smile. “They’re spud launchers. Well, the big ones actually launch larger vegetables. I used spoiled pumpkins.”

  Xuan coughed out a surprised laugh. “Excellent choice.”

  The clearance light came on. They removed their helmets, and yawned, equalizing the pressure in their ears, as the inner door slid open.

  The young men walked their bikes in, and the woman shut the inner airlock door. “Tread carefully,” Amaya warned. “Assembler grapes are all over the place. I’ve got the ventilators on high, but a lot are still airborne.”

  “Clever idea with the bone dancers,” Kamal remarked, as he and Geoff parked their bikes. “How did you get the tank into the lock?”

  “I pushed it in with one of the ore haulers,” Amaya said, with a gesture at the towing vehicles lined up near the back of the chamber. “I figured you guys could use a distraction. I peeled the top off the tank so they could get out. It sure didn’t take long to fill up the airlock, either. Geoff, you’d better figure out a way to kill that program, or we’re going to be up to our asses in skeletons again in no time.”

  Geoff said, “But at least they came in useful for something.”

  “You made those?” Xuan asked, bemused.

  Geoff gave him a sheepish look. “Don’t tell anybody, OK?”

  Xuan suppressed a smile. “I could be persuaded to remain silent. Under the circumstances.”

  He moved further into the main chamber. It was the typical mine entry cavern, with walls and roof gashed out by minerbot tooth and claw. The ore was primarily nickel-iron, showing signs of rust in spots—an indicator that this mine had been around awhile—and ribbed with veins of white quartz. On the cavern floor, conveyors and tracks extended into various passages. Air circulation fans, ducts, and mine gas sampling and testing gear hung from cables attached to the metal-ore ceiling. Of course, the occasional capering skeleton that scrambled up out of small pools of liquid was non-standard issue. These, thankfully, were smaller, shorter-lived, and fewer in number than the ones outside.

  “I think we’d best keep our helmets and ponies close,” he said. “And let’s get our air tanks charged up in case we need to make a getaway.”

  “Well, we do have plenty of supplies, farther down the mine,” Geoff said. “But it doesn’t hurt to get them charged.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Kamal said. He gathered everyone’s airpacks and bounded over to a set of recharging racks nearby. Xuan clipped his helmet to his suit, then pulled his pony bottle out of the pocket in the leg of his suit, and hooked it up to the main line under his arm. Geoff went over to the security panel, and Xuan and Amaya joined him, treading carefully on the assembler beads. Bots were already cleaning them up, but there were a lot.

  Visibility was still poor outside, from all the stuff kicked up in the fight, but surveillance cameras outside the mine showed Mills and the others appeared to be heading back into the ship. Geoff fiddled with some controls.

  “They’ve changed comm channels,” he said. “What are they up to?”

  “We should send out a distress signal,” Xuan said. “Right away.”

  “Good thought!”

  Geoff typed in the code. In a second or two they heard the tones of an automated distress call. He leaned back against the console with folded arms. “And now we wait.”

  Amaya pointed. “Um, what’s he doing?” One of the hired hands was bounding down the ramp carrying a tubular object. It looked a lot like a spud launcher, only the object in it was metal and had a pointed tip. He pointed it at the mine entrance. Geoff swore.

  “It’s a missile launcher! Get back!”

  A concussion shook the cavern, knocking Xuan down. A parts rack toppled over and pinned him. The inner lock door puckered.

  A breach alarm sounded, and they could hear the hiss of air being released from the cave through a crack in the airlock seal. Rocks fell�
��slowly but inexorably—all around him, and crunched into the big tanks and equipment. He twisted around, tried to push the rack off his torso. Pain shot through his chest and arm.

  The others were still dodging debris. A big machine fell over onto the security console, which spat sparks. Carboys were knocked over, and solvents sloshed out, forming big, floating, toxic blobs. Air contaminant alarms started whooping. Xuan could barely hear the others over the noise. The stench was overpowering and Xuan coughed.

  The others leapt over the rubble toward him. Kamal found a pipe and pried the rack off of him, and Geoff and Amaya pulled him out. “Are you all right?” Geoff shouted, over the din.

  Something sticky was dripping in Xuan’s eyes. He put his hand to his head, and it came away red. He had a gash on his forehead. He swiped at it. Much higher gee, Xuan realized, and I’d have been crushed. Kamal handed him a cloth. He pressed it to his wound.

  “A little banged up,” he said. “Hurts to breathe or move my right arm. I’ve broken a rib or two, I think. What happened?”

  “They’ve taken out our radio. And our surveillance cameras.”

  “We have to get out of here! Can you get the airpacks?” Kamal asked Geoff and Amaya, gesturing. “We may need them.”

  They set the air recharging rack upright and extracted the airpacks from the rechargers. Meanwhile, Kamal helped Xuan over the pile of rubble.

  “We’d better hurry!” Amaya shouted over the alarms. “If they fire another missile, the inner lock will go.”

  “There are some supplies we need!” Geoff replied. “I’ll get the bots to grab what they can. Amaya, take the airpacks and lead the way to one of our bolt holes!”

  “West Spider Way is best!” Amaya yelled.

  “Meet you there,” Geoff shouted back. “Go!”

  Xuan did not like the idea of Geoff staying behind, even for a moment, but he trusted the young man’s judgment that they needed certain materials here, and arguing would only waste time. Besides, it hurt too much to talk.

  Kamal helped him into the side passage, while Amaya carried the airpacks. The main lights were out, but emergency lighting gave plenty of light, to Xuan’s eyes. Amaya led the way down. They passed other passages and chambers, and through several locks. The air smelled dank, like rotting vegetation and dust. They came to a large room. Amaya dropped the airpacks into a recharging station by the door.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and dashed out. Kamal helped Xuan to a chair, and went for a medkit.

  Xuan looked around. This room had been outfitted as a waystation: it had firefighting equipment, air, and medical supplies. It also had bunks, a kitchen, and a console. Kamal brought the medical kit over and cleaned and bound Xuan’s head wound.

  “I think I have a broken collarbone,” he said, “and a cracked rib.”

  “We have nanomeds. Nothing fancy but enough to accelerate the healing.”

  “Good. Let’s also immobilize my arm and use some tape around my rib cage. That should do for now.”

  Kamal obliged. “You’re lucky,” he remarked, as he worked. “You might have been killed.”

  No argument there, Xuan thought.

  A big whump! shook the walls and the floor. It knocked them tumbling into the air. A second, louder one set off more alarms. Choking clouds of dust rolled into the room. Xuan coughed spasmodically, twisting in the air. Jets sprayed icy water, which stung his exposed skin, mixing with the dust. He began shivering. Xuan could not see well out of his right eye. He settled to the floor, and gingerly poked at the sodden bandage with a finger. Bloody water dripped onto his hand. He looked over at Kamal. Muddy water ran down the young man’s face, too.

  “Wait here, I’ll go check,” Kamal said. But Amaya and Geoff entered, wearing their helmets and pony bottles. A platoon of small robots followed them, carrying more supplies, drinking water, and tools. Last came the rocketbikes, driving themselves. Geoff used a controller to park them in a corner, and then shut off the dust suppression stream at the console.

  While Geoff and Amaya removed their helmets and started putting the new supplies away, Kamal finished taping Xuan’s arm and redid the head dressing.

  “What happened?” Xuan asked Geoff. “What were the explosions?”

  “They launched another missile,” Geoff said. “It took out the inner lock and explosively decompressed the entry cavern. But we were ready.”

  Amaya said, “I had a minerbot rig a charge at the West Spider Way shaft entrance. They’re programmed for that. I triggered the cave-in as they entered—after Geoff and his bots made it into the shaft.”

  “We collapsed the back half of the entry cavern,” Geoff said. “That should keep them out for now.”

  Amaya gave Xuan and the others a troubled look. “I think at least one of them was hit by flying debris. I saw blood.”

  “What do we do now?” Kamal asked. “We’re trapped down here. The distress signal didn’t go on long enough for anyone to hear it before they fired a missile at us. Nobody knows where we are.”

  “Yes, they do,” Xuan said. “My trip out here was logged at the docks.”

  “And I called Sean Moriarty,” Geoff said, “and let him know we were on our way out here. Remember?”

  Amaya said, “We could dig our way out, if we had to. Use one of the little tunnelers.”

  Kamal shook his head. “Not if we wanted to get away. They’d hear it. They’d feel the vibrations. And where would we go, anyway?”

  “If we could get a distress signal out,” Geoff said thoughtfully, “that’d do the trick. If it wasn’t detected and shut off, or destroyed…”

  That all seemed too much to hope for.

  “Are there any other ways out?” Xuan asked after a moment, “other than tunneling our way out?”

  Geoff hesitated. “There’s a venting shaft for heat and waste emissions. Amaya can get through it, but just barely. The rest of us won’t fit, though, and neither would any of our bots or mining equipment.”

  Amaya said, “Which means I could climb out through the vent again, and go for help. My bike is still out there.”

  “They probably already found it,” Geoff replied. “And you’re low on fuel.”

  Kamal went on, “And the launch ramps are right next to the shuttle. It would be too risky. They’d see you go.”

  “I might be able to tap the fuel tanks up top.”

  “Amaya…”

  “We have to do something!” she snapped at Geoff.

  Xuan said, “I appreciate your willingness to risk your life, Amaya, that’s very brave, but I got a good look at their cargo hold. They are armed with heavy munitions. Smart weaponry. They could shoot you out of the sky without even having to think about it. And they would.”

  Amaya looked away, distress straining her features.

  “What if we just sit tight?” Kamal asked. “They can’t get in. Eventually they will just go away.”

  Again, Xuan had to shake his head. “I don’t think they’ll be going away. They can’t afford for this rock to be discovered by the authorities.”

  They all looked at Xuan. Geoff said, “It’s because of the ice, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Have you taken your own measurements?”

  “No, but we figured it had to be a lot—several tons at least.”

  Xuan looked at him askance. “Multiply that figure by about a billion and you’ll come closer to the actual figure.”

  The three youths all spoke at once: “What?” “That can’t be!” “Are you sure?”

  He answered the last. “Not absolutely sure—there may be large pockets of vacuum. Have you explored? How extensive are the tunnels?”

  “There aren’t that many,” Geoff said. “Most are sealed off.” He got a strange look on his face.

  “With ice?”

  Geoff nodded. “My God. You honestly believe this is a real live sugar rock, don’t you? I mean, like the original? Gigatons’ worth?”

  “I think that is a very real po
ssibility,” Xuan answered. “And Mr. Mills suspects likewise. I jury-rigged the gravitometer to suggest that this mine is still heavy with metals, not yet tapped out, but he did not trust my results.

  “Eventually,” he said after a moment, “they will either use the big mining equipment up on the surface to dig in after us, or use explosives to ensure we can’t escape. They’ll want to know we’re good and dead.”

  They all looked sick. “What can we do?” Kamal asked.

  “We can’t fight heavy munitions,” Xuan replied, “but we can fight the men who wield them. Let us rest, and take stock, and we will figure out a plan.”

  * * *

  Once ensconced in Sean and Lisa’s guest room, Jane forwarded to Harbaugh the evidence of Glease’s meeting with Kovak, with a note: “As promised. Attached herewith, proof Nathan Glease was responsible for the ice disaster.”

  Even if they managed to catch Glease, he—or the Ogilvies—would find a way to reach out and harm her, her family, or some other innocent Phocaean. So next she spent some time on the monitoring software the Viridians had given her. She created a macro she called DeadMan: the software saved the video stream to a private archive of hers here on Phocaea. Every ten minutes the macro requested a sequence of microgestures, and waited thirty seconds. If the gestures were not forthcoming, DeadMan then beamed the video to the usual wavesites and e-mailed it to the local news media. She tested it to make sure it worked. Then she went to sleep.

  In the middle of the night, the bell rang. Jane lofted herself into the living room, half awake, and opened the door, expecting to see Xuan or Sean. It was Glease, standing in a dustfall of dying “Stroiders” motes. He had a gun pointed at her. Jane glanced at her heads-up—precisely two a.m. Of course; the blackout window. Her heartbeat leapt. She activated DeadMan with a flicker of an eyelid.

  “I can’t begin to tell you,” he said, “how irritating it is, the way you keep interfering with my plans, Commissioner.”

  Lisa came out of her room, belting her robe. “Is that Sean?”

  Jane triggered the door lock and stepped into the corridor, forcing Glease to take a step back. “It’s business,” she said over her shoulder as the door slid shut. “Go back to bed.” The door latched behind her.