Giant Robots of Tunguska

by Dave Robinson

  Working with practiced efficiency, Gilly snapped off three photos of each suit, muttering under his breath the whole time. “Nice of them to give us the most busted up ones. Vic really did a number on the breastplate here, but the other one looks good. No smell of hydraulic oil.”

  Gilly snapped his last shot and turned back to Doc. “Thanks for staying out of my way, boss. I’ll try to return the favor.”

  Doc nodded as he went to join Gus who had already rolled the tool chest over to the table. Ever the fashion plate, the gorilla was wearing a starched white lab coat over pressed overalls. Doc had never quite understood why it was so important, but it certainly mattered to Gus. Shaking his head, Doc began his examination.

  The first thing he noticed about the suits was how crude they were. The armors he and Gus had made were precision instruments; each one measured and built to fit its owner like a bespoke suit. In comparison, these suits looked like they’d been made by someone who couldn’t measure closer than an eighth of an inch. There were gaps everywhere; no two pieces fit flush and nothing lined up with anything else. Where his suits had high performance hydraulics driving the exoskeleton; these ones were cable-actuated and so sloppy that every move must have had at least a quarter-second of lag.

  “What the Hell is that?” Gilly pointed at a cable tensioner.

  “From the looks of things, it appears designed to adjust the muscle cables for limbs of different lengths,” Gus explained. He peeled off the damaged breastplate to reveal the interior cavity. “I’d say this suit could fit anyone from about five-seven to a hair over six feet.”

  “So they could just draft any peasant to fill it?” Gilly asked.

  “A bit crudely put,” Gus sniffed, “but I would have to say an accurate description.”

  While Gus and Gilly were discussing the first suit, Doc examined the other. It was in better shape than the first, though the tolerances were just as loose. At least this one hadn’t had to be pried off its wearer. “Have you seen a power source yet, Gus?”

  “Not yet. I think it must be built into the shoulders. I don’t see anywhere else they could put it.”

  Lifting an arm, Doc traced the cable from the wrist back to the shoulder; looking for the power source. The basic layout reminded him of Chevy or Ford cable brakes with plenty of mechanical advantage. Simple and strong, as well as easily adjustable. Taking a small prybar he eased the tip under the closest pauldron and levered it free.

  “What’s that?” Gilly leaned in close and took three quick shots; pushing the flash to the maximum.

  That was a very small electric motor with extremely steep gearing. Only about two inches in diameter and an inch deep, it looked completely out of place against the rest of the suit. Gently lifting it out of its housing, Doc pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and took a closer look. Fine coils with tens of thousands of windings surrounded a perfectly balanced core. Where the rest of the suit was lucky to have tolerances of an eighth of an inch; this motor looked like it was specced to the closest mil. It was powerful, too. If Doc read it right, he was looking at at least two hundred horsepower for one arm alone.

  “It’s the shoulder motor,” Doc finally answered. A pair of eighth inch heavy duty leads led into the shoulder, and Doc traced them the rest of the way under the armor to a horizontal cylinder about eight inches long and three inches in diameter nestled in a complex wiring harness.

  After a fruitless hour tracing circuits, Doc came to the only possible conclusion. This dull gray cylinder was the power source.

  Lifting it out of its housing, he carried it over to the nearest workbench. No sooner had he set it down than a chattering noise caught his attention: The Geiger counter was screaming.

  Faster than most people could think, Doc slapped a lead blanket over the cylinder; cutting off the worst of the radiation. Instantly, the Geiger chatter dropped down to a slow ticking. Keeping the cylinder safely covered by the blanket, Doc moved it over to a radiation-shielded isolation box and locked it inside.

  “What the Hell, Doc?” Gilly asked. “Didn’t they expect those guys to ever have kids?”

  “Even if they didn’t, Kehla and I would like the opportunity to propagate.” Gus returned from the far side of the room; where he’d retreated the moment the Geiger went off.

  Doc shook his head, thinking. “It’s not that bad; maybe three times as much as you’d get at the top of Everest. Besides, the suit’s shielded.

  He headed back over to the open suit and took another look at the wiring harness that had held the cylinder. There were a lot more windings than he would have expected for a simple harness. Some of them didn’t even connect to any of the motors. Doc whistled softly; it was shielding. The radiation generated eddy currents in the windings that shunted the energy into its own shielding. More radiation, meant more shielding. It was brilliant, and completely at odds with the tractor-style design that characterized the rest of the suit.

  “Hey Doc?” Gilly paused his photographic record. “Can you check the other suit with the Geiger? I know this one’s fascinating and all, but the other one’s more banged up.”

  “Sure,” Doc replied. “There shouldn’t be too much, but it never hurts to double-check.”

  Wheeling the Geiger over, he unshipped the wand and opened the other suit’s access panel. This time, the reaction was immediate. This cylinder was throwing off a lot more power than the first one he’d discovered. Without the shielding, this one would be dangerous. He quickly closed the access panel and ran the Geiger wand over the opening. It was safe, barely above background.

  “Gus, grab the lead suit,” Doc ordered. “When I open the isolation chamber I want you to move this suit in as fast as possible.”

  “Affirmative.” The gorilla donned the heavy protective suit with surprising speed while Gilly continued making his photographic record.

  No sooner had Gus got into the suit than Doc moved into position beside the isolation chamber. Nodding to Gus, Doc undogged the seal and flipped open the hatch. The moment the hatch gaped wide, Gus one-handed the suit and crossed the gap in under three seconds. As soon as the gorilla had withdrawn his hand Doc slammed the hatch and spun the lock shut.

  “How bad is it, Doc?” Gilly asked.

  “Not too bad, but not something I’d want around if we didn’t need it. I’d say that would be a lethal dose after a month behind the shielding; less than a week on its own.”

  “So how long before it contaminates the chamber?” Gus asked, settling the radiation suit on his shoulders, and not showing any signs of wanting to remove it. Of course, the hundred-pound suit didn’t weigh down a silverback the same way it would a human.

  “It should be fine for a couple of months; once we’re done we can always seal them in lead-lined concrete.” Radioactive waste wasn’t something Doc thought about much; it was a solved problem for the Archonate and Earth’s nuclear technology had barely entered the theoretical stage.

  Gus finally removed the radiation suit, and came over to the isolation chamber. Between the two of them, they used the internal manipulators to move the damaged suit over to the closest pair of lead-lined gloves so that they could work on it.

  With everything sealed away in the isolation chamber the work went much slower, but Doc was able to focus on the two power cylinders rather than the suits as a whole. Each cylinder weighed about ten pounds and looked to be coated with a thin layer of lead. Taking the less active one as his first target, Doc brought it up to the window. A closer examination showed a tight joint an inch from one end, which appeared to be held on with six countersunk bolts. Luckily, the lead around the bolts was soft, and Doc was quickly able to clear it away from the six heads. It was only about two minutes’ work with a socket wrench and all six bolts were resting beside the cylinder.

  A little experimentation told Doc the end twisted off; interestingly, it was left-hand thread. One more thing for the lab notes. The moment the end came off the internal count doubled. Doc let out a deep breath;
this was the less active sample.

  After motioning Gus and Gilly to the back of the room, Doc thrust his hand into the glove and carefully tilted it over to release the contents. A small black pellet in a wire holder fell out. This was the power source. Moving carefully, despite the protective shielding, he took a closer look at the pellet. It was about an inch long and a half-inch in diameter. On close examination, only one end was truly black; the rest was more a dark gray.

  Leaving the pellet for the moment. Doc turned his attention to the wire holder. Rather than a simple wire basket, it was a complex arrangement of thermocouples and tiny tubes and transformers. Something about it tickled his brain. It was familiar, though he hadn’t seen anything like it in a very long time. The ticking Geiger caught his attention, and it all snapped into place. It was a radioisotope generator. The suit was nuclear powered, and nobody on Earth had the technology.

  #

  Vic woke up with a start, blinking her eyes as she hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep. The ceiling looked wrong, but then she remembered she was in the infirmary instead of her bedroom. She tried to rise, but it felt like she weighed three hundred pounds. Taking hold of the bed rails in both hands, she pulled herself up to a sitting position.

  “Vic?” Ming was sitting in the armchair, looking half awake. “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah, did anyone get the number of that train that hit me?” Vic shook her head, gazing blearily about. Whatever strength she’d gained the last time she woke up seemed to have vanished completely. Her head was pounding like the time she’d tried to drink Gilly under the table and failed miserably.

  “No, you fell asleep around noon yesterday and I’ve just been keeping an eye on you.” Ming smiled wanly, but her red eyes gave it the lie.

  “What’s wrong?” Vic tried to sound like a stern teacher, but failed miserably. “I know that look, why were you crying.”

  “Because we don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

  “I’m fine.” Vic smiled. “I just overdid it in the suit and now I need a few days’ rest to recover.”

  “You’re not fine.” Ming rose and walked over to hold Vic’s hand. “Your blood looks like you have anemia, and you’re barely able to sit up.”

  “Well, if it’s already Tuesday, I’m probably just hungry.” Vic’s stomach rumbled. “Are you planning on starving me to death?”

  “Let me get you something.” Ming kissed her on the cheek, and headed towards the kitchen. “Hope you like liver and onions.”

  Vic laughed, the liver she could do without but grilled onions sounded good. At the very least the liver would be filling; and maybe she wouldn’t taste it if she covered it with enough onions. She glared at the door; at least Ming could have brought her a cup of coffee, or maybe a Coke.

  “Coke’s on the table beside you. Check the ice bucket.” Vic smiled as she plunged a hand into the bucket, ignoring the cold. Ming really did love her. Grabbing the opener, she popped the top and poured the refreshing nectar down her throat.

  She already felt better. Leaning over, she dropped the side rail away from the table and on the second try swung her legs over the side. Holding the bottle of Coke in one hand she pushed off with the other; trying to rise for the first time since Sunday.

  Vic almost made it, too. With her weight on both feet, she let go of the rail expecting to continue upwards. It didn’t happen. Her right knee buckled, followed by the left; before she knew it, she was flat on her face in a shower of glass and wasted Coke.

  “Damn it!” Vic glared at the offending beverage. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Let me help you up.” Two big hands slid under her armpits as Gilly lifted her up and helped her over to the armchair.

  Vic sank gratefully into the cushions while Gilly picked up a stool and pulled it over to sit beside her. She gave Gilly a sideways glance and crooked smile. “It’s a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into this time, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t worry, Doc and Ming will solve it. You’ll be back leaping churches in no time.” He patted her shoulder. “Just eat what Ming gives you and follow Doctor’s orders.”

  Vic raised her eyebrow. “Follow orders? You do know who you’re talking to don’t you? The madwoman who’s never found a rule she couldn’t break.”

  “So that’s why you let me drive and you fly. No speed limits on planes.”

  She tried to punch him in the shoulder, but her arm barely moved. “Argh! I hate this.”

  “Let it go, honey.” Ming appeared from the kitchen, bearing a plate of liver and onions with three eggs on top. She handed the plate to Gilly and grabbed a tray table for Vic. With the table in place, she set out the plate with a flourish that would have done the Maitre’D at Delmonico’s justice.

  “Eat up, and I’ll be back with your coffee and salad.

  Vic watched her go, and then dug into the food. There was only so much that even Ming could do with liver, but once she smothered it with enough onions and egg yolk it was fine. It took more effort than she liked to cut the meat, but she could feel her strength returning. A couple of minutes later Ming returned with a large mug of coffee and a small spinach salad.

  “Don’t forget to eat everything,” Ming reminded her. “You need your iron.”

  “Yes dear.” Vic paused with her fork half-way to her mouth. “Or should that be yes, mother?”

  “Don’t you mother me or I might have to spank you.’

  “Promises, promises.”

  “Didn’t Nana tell you not to abuse the help?” Viktor’s voice came from the doorway, where he stood leaning on a cane.

  “She’s not the help!” Vic surged half way to her feet before crashing back to the chair with a thump. “Ming’s a doctor, and she lives here with me. There is no help.”

  She glared at her cousin as he shuffled into the infirmary. “This is not the Tsar’s Russia. There are no serfs in America.”

  “I am sorry; I didn’t mean anything by it.” Viktor apologized in Russian.

  “Speak English; they need to hear it.”

  Holding his cane with both hands in front of him, Viktor leaned forwards. “I am sorry for my words. I didn’t mean anything by them. I was just teasing my cousin.”

  Ming nodded. “It’s fine. You’re still recovering.”

  “Thank you, you are as gracious as you are kind.” Viktor looked around for somewhere to sit.

  “Let’s move into the lounge,” Gilly suggested. “More places to sit.”

  Vic finished her salad. “Good idea, I’m getting tired of the infirmary.”

  With Gilly’s help and not a few grumbles Vic soon found herself ensconced in her favorite corner of the couch with Ming leaning up against her. Everyone else had coffee, but Vic had a tall glass of Coke instead.

  “I know it’s been a few days, but what happened to you? The last I remember from the night the Bolsheviks came is Nana pulling me one way while the rest of you went the other. I never saw any of you again.”

  Viktor took a slow sip of his coffee. “The Bolsheviks caught us. Your father died fighting; the rest of us were captured. I grew up in the gulags.”

  Vic sunk her head into Ming’s shoulder. She’d always believed her parents were dead, but there was something cold and final about hearing it for sure. Ming’s arm wrapped around her and stroked her back. After a moment, she looked up and turned back to her cousin.

  “You said my father died that night; what happened to my mother?” Vic whispered. “Did they kill her too.”

  “No, she’s still alive, or at least she was when I escaped.” Victor’s face softened. “She raised me after my mother died that first winter. We were in the same camp up until last year; until they pulled me away to work a mining camp up near Tunguska. It was a weird place, more digging tunnels than mining. Lots of people got sick, too. Half the camp wasted away and had to be replaced; they finally shipped the survivors down to a place near Irkutsk. That’s the one the giants destroyed.”

&nb
sp; Vic took a long sip of her Coke, wrapping both hands around the glass so she wouldn’t drop it. Another wave of weakness washed over her, and she struggled to put it down with shaking hands.

  “I don’t feel well, honey,” she whispered to Ming. “I need to go back to bed.”

  #

  “How’s she doing?” Doc asked as Ming walked into the study where he was going over the notes on the suits with Gus and Shard.

  “Not well,” Ming replied as she sank into an overstuffed armchair. “I’ve done everything I know how to do and she’s not getting any better. The next step’s an iron lung, and I really don’t want to try and tell Vic she needs to spend the next few weeks in a metal coffin.”

  Gus laughed. “I’d buy tickets to that conversation.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Ming replied before pouring herself a cup of tea from the gorilla’s ever-present pot. “I’d rather not have to have it if I had the choice.”

  “I can treat her if you’d like,” Doc volunteered. “I know it can be hard treating someone so close to you.”

  “Try that and you’ll be too busy treating yourself.” Ming smiled sweetly, and then took a sip of her tea.

  Doc shook his head. “It was just an offer.”

  “And with any other patient I would accept it.” Ming straightened her back. “Just not with my Vic.”

  Doc nodded, recognizing the strength of her feelings even if he didn’t quite understand them. Ming seemed determined to let her emotions override his logic. Vic would be better off with clear-eyed treatment, not emotion-clouded judgment.

  He was about to tell her so when Gus caught Doc’s eye and shook his head. It didn’t make sense, but Gus was usually better with human emotions than he was, so Doc decided to drop the point. He could always come back to it later.

  Ming took another drink of her tea, and then set the cup precisely in the middle of her saucer. “Why you insist on polluting your tea with bergamot, I will never know. So, what have you found out about the Russian suits. Anything interesting?”