by Greig Beck
But Grey had been emphatic in his warning – the humanistic logic models were still very much experimental. The emotive patterning they inserted could work as hoped and provide independent as well as team-based thinking, or it could retain vestiges of the baser types of human emotions, such as pride, envy, hate, and even love and anger. It would feed off Alex’s psychology patterns – he would be its supercharger.
Hammerson had joked about his pair of Colt 1873 single action handguns at home, and how he loved them and was sure they loved him back. Grey didn’t pick up on the joke and had sounded anxious, bordering on panicked.
Hammerson smiled grimly, as he recalled the scientist’s agitation.
“Jack, the technology is more than just a weapon. It could think for itself. It might simply decide to become overly protective, and stop Hunter doing what he needed to do. It might even turn on him.”
Hammerson could picture the small scientist wringing his hands, as he spoke.
“The risks are enormous,” Grey had said.
“Everything we do has risks. Even not acting has its risks,” Hammerson had responded softly.
“We just aren’t ready to …”
“Stop talking now, Walter. Generate the neural link to Captain Hunter, and lock it in, that’s an order.” Hammerson sighed. “You wanted a field test? So now you’re going to get one. If it works, my team might just be given a lifeline. And if it doesn’t, then it’ll be just another piece of shit to add to the great steaming pile the mission has turned into.” Hammerson’s voice became rock hard. “And my team will all be dead. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, I do. Good luck, sir,” Grey had said. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”
“Will do.” Hammerson closed out the call.
Now he was focused on the screen, counting down way too fast – there would be a vacuum bomb burn on the crater top, now in t-minus 183 minutes, just over three hours. There’d be nothing left in that crater but ash.
The HAWC data squirt was translated onto his screen. He looked at the time stamp and grunted – it was good the Arcadian had anticipated the drop, but he didn’t know they were already executing it.
The problem was, Alex had wanted an extra hour, that they didn’t have, and what they had left was already counting down. Minutes and seconds counted in this job. Hammerson just prayed his care package wasn’t going to arrive too late to make a difference.
Goddamnit, his HAWCs better be out by then.
CHAPTER 34
“Weapons check,” Alex ordered, and Sam, Casey, and Monroe started to quickly run their eyes and hands over their gear. Morag was mesmerized as it was done almost in unison, their fingers deftly checking triggers, shielding, guards, and ammunition. In another few seconds, they were done.
Morag felt a fluttering in her stomach at the thought of going outside. She eased her head around to gaze out the Orlando’s window. It was now impenetrable out there. Condensation ran down the glass, and from time to time they’d all seen small things flit past, like tiny birds, but with carapace-covered bodies and wings that beat faster than the eye could follow.
Outside against the skin of the space shuttle it sounded like hail hitting a tin roof, as things plinked against the fuselage. As Morag stared, a dot came out of the mist, grew to the size of a fist and then slammed onto the window with a solid thunk, and stuck there.
“What the hell?” She raised an arm to point.
The group followed her gaze. The thing on the window had a long body with dozens of legs. One end had long, red pincers that tried their luck against the hard glass, and at its other end there was a wicked-looking glistening spike. Its wings continued to flutter, and after a moment it turned its head so a single bulbous eye could regard the people inside.
“Holy crap, man. Check this out,” Monroe said.
“That might just be the source of the buzzing we could hear,” Sam said and narrowed his eyes at the thing.
“Jeee-zuz. Bet it’s a stinger.” Monroe leaned toward it and then knocked against the glass with a knuckle.
The thing responded by lifting its tail and jabbing it down where the HAWC’s knuckle had been.
“Told ya.” He yanked his hand back, but the thing kept drilling down with its tail.
“Don’t worry, nothing is getting through that – the fused silica outer panes can withstand micrometeorite strike and reentry temperatures.” Russell Burrows carefully made his way toward the bug on the cockpit window. “If it can keep out the vacuum of space, we can certainly keep out a big, ugly insect.” Russell leaned closer to peer at the thing, and it responded by once again jabbing its barb at him.
“Amazing. Insectoid, but also has some arachnoid features. And I can see what looks like fur on its body.”
Another bug smacked violently onto the glass, and it caused Russell to instinctively jerk his head back. “Whoa.” He turned and chuckled nervously.
Morag heard Alex make a deep sound in his chest and walk toward Sam Reid, where the pair then engaged in a quiet conversation. She turned back to the group and hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold. She didn’t want to go back out there, but also knew that though outside it might mean death, staying inside meant certain death.
Anne sat staring at the bulkhead door, her eyes glazed over, and Morag tried to imagine what the NASA woman was thinking – perhaps she was wondering if the man she loved was somehow still trapped inside the mind of the monstrous thing that lumbered about outside, or whether he was already dead and now fully replaced by the beast.
A third bug thudded against the window, and Russell tilted his head. “Well, well, seems they’re attracted by something.”
“Yeah, us,” Casey snorted. “Hey, Monroe, got any bug spray?”
Monroe held up his RG3. “Yep, my universal fly swatter.”
She bumped knuckles. “I heard that.”
“Stop worrying, they’re not getting in.” Russell turned away from the window.
“That’s true, Russell. But we’re not staying inside here, are we?” Morag gave him a lopsided grin.
“This is not a good idea.” Russell spoke through gritted teeth. “We haven’t got a chance.”
“Focus,” Alex demanded. “Form up.”
On Alex’s command, the HAWCs fell in on either side of the door. There was no fear in their faces, just an eagerness to engage and win against any adversary.
Another bug smacked onto the glass and regarded them hungrily. Then another, until the window was becoming crowded with bristling legs, working mandibles, and jabbing spikes. The sound of them trying to drill their stings into the glass was beginning to sound like the clack of a furious typewriter. The already weak outside light was beginning to be shut out, making it gloomy in the cockpit.
Morag drew in a deep breath to try to calm herself, but now she felt physically ill.
“Priority one, we need to be above this atmosphere line before we run out of breathable air or this place is turned to ash – four hours. Not four hours and five minutes, or even four hours and five seconds, but four hours.” Alex waited until each of them nodded before going on.
He turned to his remaining HAWCs. “Soldiers, we need to be over the rim at time of detonation – not at the rim, or on the edge of the rim, but over it. The crater wall even at the top is about fifty feet of solid granite and will contain the blast and hopefully vent the heat and force upwards. Even the heat discharge will be deadly if we’re too close.”
“And what priority are our lives?” Russell’s jaw was set.
Alex’s turned his unblinking eyes on the NASA engineer. Morag noticed they seemed to shine silver in the dark of the cockpit. Like those of a wolf or some other large night predator. “You just worry about staying alive, got it?”
“Or not,” Casey sneered at Russell. He muttered as he looked away.
“Questions?” Alex looked along all of their faces.
Morag had too many to count, but kept them behind her teeth.
&n
bsp; Alex turned back to the door. “Medium projectile range, free fire, shoot to kill.”
“HUA!”
“Shields up.” Discs of air whirred to life on the HAWCs’ arms.
“On my order.” Alex put his hand on the spinning lock wheel, and turned back to the group. His eyes found Morag.
“Stay at our center at all times.” He smiled, or so she hoped.
Morag sucked in a breath, conscious of her heartbeat. “Sure.”
Alex waited for a few seconds, spun the wheel and then shouldered the heavy door open. Thick fog wafted in.
“Go, go go!”
Sam, Monroe, and Casey flew out through the hatch door like they were a single being. Morag jumped through after them and Alex grabbed Anne and Russell and threw them out. They hit the squelching ground, rolled and came up fast, immediately running hard behind the HAWCs.
CHAPTER 35
Zlatan felt the animalistic urges run through him again like a wave. He was the largest and most advanced of the Kurgan, and perhaps that was why he had been able to resist the undeniable changes for so long. His remaining team had shed their clothing, or simply burst from it, and now stood swaying before the meteorite fragment as though it was some sort of religious icon they needed to pay homage to.
He grimaced from the gnawing in his gut. He hungered for meat, red meat, raw and dripping. He tilted his head back, and would have closed his eyes but he had no lids anymore. He saw and heard everything, and felt connected to the life inside and out.
He looked back at the meteorite fragment. It sung to him, caressed his brain, and urged him to leave this former life behind, and to once and for all be free. It promised a new world with a new beginning and a new order. He would be part of it. He heard his men’s thoughts, still vaguely human. But the others outside did not think at all like them. They were now part of some sort of growing hive mind.
Zlatan stared at the beautiful thing nestled in the rocky cradle of the fragment. It had been searching for them for a billion years, after being blasted free from its home world. It loved them, but knew it needed to make changes for it to adapt, and change them to adapt to it.
A ghost from his past life still haunted him – a lovely Russian girl. He struggled to remember her name – it came back in a rush – Rahda, yes, that was it. He tried to recall her voice, but when he searched, the insect-like buzzing in his head just grew louder as if it were trying to wash away all trace of her.
The singing in his head grew more insistent, almost painful. He lifted an arm and saw that the material of his suit was splitting, showing the weird mottled flesh and bony plates like on those of his men. How could he ever go home now?
Zlatan’s eyes traveled up to his hand and he examined it closely; the fingers were becoming fused together into just three sharp prongs, more like those of some sort of burrowing creature. He would have laughed if his mouth permitted that action now.
“You all look like crap,” one of the Americans had said. Zlatan felt his face. There were strange lumps and fissures, and the size and shape was grotesquely wrong. The American was right; they were being made sick and strong at the same time, more and less human with every breath they took in this hellish place.
His attention was drawn to the American soldiers as they burst from the space shuttle with the women. His men didn’t care anymore, preferring the siren call from the thing inside the asteroid fragment. He knew what the Orlando crew had become, and also knew soon enough they would fully transform too. They had lost everything, and could never return home.
He lifted a grotesque arm to wave to the fleeing people and tried to call to them, but all that emanated was a mewling sound from a throat not designed for words anymore.
The irresistible singing pulled at him, but his Herculean will kept his gaze on the ever-thickening mist. There was something else that drove him on that was far more compelling than the entity inside the Orlando. Something he desperately needed to do.
He began to follow the Americans.
CHAPTER 36
Sam Reid bullocked through the strange growths as all around them the dense fog was alive with sound and movement.
It’s like some sort of weird alien jungle, and it’s growing. Out in the speckled air things called, squealed and buzzed in a mockery of a real jungle, and each of the noises was strangely similar to something earthly but then foreign enough to not be identifiable.
One of the long bugs from the Orlando cockpit window alighted on Sam’s shoulder, and before it had a chance to stab at him with its stinger, he reached up with an armored-gloved hand, grabbed it and squeezed. Green mush burst from each end, before he threw it to the mud.
He briefly looked down to where it had landed, but already the weird slime had closed over it, sucking it down and swallowing it completely.
If we fall, there won’t be a need for a burial here.
The HAWCs were a wall on either side of the remaining civilians, and he and the other soldiers fired at things big and small that tried to take a run at them. The RG3s made a soft spitting sound and in return, there came screams that could not possibly have come from human mouths.
Sam never saw the things clearly, and frankly, he didn’t want to. One thing he knew for sure, there was no way he was going to end up like Steve Knight, peeled from his armored suit and devoured right down to bones.
The constant zumm of insects grew louder, and things flitted overhead, darting in and out of the soupy air, perhaps attracted by the sound, movement, or their body heat. Some of them were the revolting bugs from the Orlando shuttle, but others were the size of small dogs and looked assembled from overlapping plates, spikes, and too many eyes.
Underfoot things crunched like seashells and he remembered what Morag had said about the giant roach and imagined that if he left a foot on the ground for too long something with sharp, bristling claws would latch onto it. He lifted his feet a little higher as he charged onward.
Around them, towering columns rose where he was sure there had been none before, and they loomed from the fog like silent sentinels, dripping with the slime, but now also wriggling with life, as though under the coating of mucus. There were countless worms moving up and down their trunks. Or perhaps they were internal organs, drinking or digesting, or excreting strange materials they feed upon.
He glanced at one of them a moment longer, and he was sure a single grapefruit-sized eye opened stickily on the trunk. It was milky white, and it watched them pass by before the entire column leaned after them, like a revolting finger trying to touch them.
Sam put his head down, trying to focus; the trunk-like finger things were all around them – hands – that’s what they were. Wanting to grab at them as if the entire disgusting mess was trying to stop them from leaving.
Then, it was like they had fallen into a vacuum – there was no more sound or movement, and immediately Sam sensed danger. Behind him, Alex Hunter roared a furious warning. Then they were hit.
Sam swung his rifle around, but something big came out of the mist like a freight train and took him out of the line. He felt weightless as he flew through the air, landing in the slime.
Huge bodies came from both sides, moving so fast that they seemed to defy physics. Each of the HAWCs was smashed, and he saw Morag dive to the mud, roll and then grab at Anne who was down with her hands up over her head. They huddled together on the ground.
Sam launched himself back to his feet, engaged his shield and backhanded one of the massive beasts who should’ve been knocked a dozen feet, but instead just skidded backwards and then immediately came at him again, loping on all fours to gather speed, before rising on two and then leaping at him.
The hugely powerful HAWC with the power-assisted MECH armor took it head on, but was no match for the size and strength of the thing. They went down together, locked in a death roll.
Right beside them, Franks cursed as another of the massive bipeds ripped at her weapon, tearing it from her grip and pulverizing it in
massive clawed hands. That elicited more curses, followed by her pulling a long, dark blade and swinging with all her upper-body strength to bury it hilt-deep into the meat of the thing’s neck. It screamed and pulled back, and then dragged at the knife in its flesh.
Chaos ruled, black blood spurted, and the nightmarish noise was near deafening – Sam felt they were in hell.
* * *
Morag spun about. “Where’s Russell?” Anne had her head down so Morag shook her and repeated the question at a shout. This time Anne just jerked her head and tried to crawl further under Morag’s arm.
Morag started to drag Anne away from the fray when she suddenly felt huge hands grab her shoulders, and she was lifted and then flung away like she weighed nothing. Even as she tumbled through the air, she saw Anne being seized by another creature.
Morag hit the ground and slid, but was immediately caught by the back of her suit and pulled through the slime. She glanced up, knowing what she would see, but was still terrified by what was there – the thing that had her was a monstrosity from a madman’s nightmare. She fought at it, remembering when they found the missing HAWC’s helmet, bloody and broken open like a fruit – she didn’t want to end up like that.
She pummeled at the hand, but her knuckles bounced off plating that felt like hard plastic. The thing looked down, and multiple eyes regarded her dispassionately. Its mouth worked feverishly with tiny arms and feelers on each side that opened and closed like some sort of crab.
Morag screamed. In turn there came grunts, clicks, and a sound like a whistle, and then the attack on the HAWCs was abandoned. She knew why – they had what they wanted – her and Anne.
CHAPTER 37
“Sound off, people.” Alex walked among his battered team and threw out a hand to pull Drake Monroe to his feet. Alex held up his RG3; the barrel and casing were crushed. He cursed and then tossed it aside.
