Sightless: The Survivors Series #2

by Jason Letts

  “The plan is to get in range, fire a few shots to get their attention, and then draw them closer to the Magellan to finish them off,” he said.

  “I’ll warm up the plasma cannons,” Redhook said, thoughtfully stroking his beard. “I’ve tweaked the ionization for a little extra sizzle.”

  In typical Silica fashion, their squadron rushed right in with no hesitation or thought to strategy beyond what their formation provided. The three ships kept a safe distance, preparing to retreat once they were in range. With their targets lined up, they launched a smattering of plasma and photon blasts.

  “Let’s start working our way back to the station,” Loris said, wondering before their shots landed if getting the Magellan involved would even be necessary. A volley like that had always been good enough to cripple a Silica squadron.

  But a glance through the window was enough to show that it wouldn’t be so easy this time. The rings around the Silica ships seemed to absorb and then radiate the impact of the energy weapons. The ships were completely unscathed.

  “That’s not going to cut it,” Redhook said, drawing a look from Lopez.

  “Is this ship the Obvious? Because you must be the captain.”

  Panic’s voice came over the com.

  “Bring them around. We’ll set the blasters aside and queue up the Detonan missiles,” she said.

  Without wasting any more fire, the fleet swung closer to the station, attempting to keep their enemies in a tight cluster before spinning out and leaving them open to missile fire. The projectiles came in fast and hit hard, immediately knocking out two of the larger ships and a number of the fighters, but the rest advanced through the cloud of debris and began firing directly at the Magellan.

  “We’re going to have to take the gloves off,” Loris said. “Let’s target the remaining cruiser.”

  The Cortes, Hudson, and da Gama coordinated their attack, sending a half dozen of the alien-made weaponry sailing toward the largest oval-shaped vessel. Loris prepared for a satisfying explosion that would allow him to immediately turn to cleaning up the rest of the fighters, but the missiles all detonated well before striking their target. Loris scowled, spotting the telltale signs of a proton shield not too different than what they had. He grew frustrated.

  “I wonder if they’ll do as well defending against their own weaponry. Redhook, use the hacking program to break into one of the fighters. Take aim at the cruiser, and if that doesn’t work send it on a kamikaze mission. Something’s got to work here.”

  A few moments passed as Redhook fumbled with his console.

  “I’m not able to gain access,” he said, drawing an exasperated sigh from Lopez.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, but his taps grew increasingly belligerent. “They’ve modified their system. We have no way of getting in.”

  “I knew what I was doing,” Redhook grumbled.

  “Enough,” Loris said, stopping the argument dead. “The Hudson and the da Gama can take care of the fighters. We’ll move on the cruiser.”

  The fighters were already within throwing distance of the Magellan, firing indiscriminately and likely to hit something vital sooner or later. The da Gama was outfitted with powerful electro-magnets normally used to ferry freight and shells of compacted matter that could be fired fast enough to tear a hole straight through the Magellan. Together they worked brilliantly. The da Gama swooped around one of the station’s lateral extensions, locked on to a Silican fighter attempting to turn out of sight, maneuvered into position, and took a pot shot that reduced their target to rubble.

  The bulkier Hudson couldn’t cut so many close angles around the station and even then almost knocked off an antenna. Missiles this close to home were out of the question. It didn’t seem like it’d be of much use in this fight, but when the da Gama chased another fighter around the underside of the station, the Hudson was parked right in the way and took the impact without a scratch.

  Confident that the fighters were taken care of, Loris directed the Cortes to approach the cruiser in a wide arc. Avoiding blaster fire was the top priority, and they ended up circling their target three times before finding a suitable blind spot they could exploit. The Silican cannons couldn’t rotate toward the rear fast enough.

  “We’re not going to be able to slow down,” Loris said. “Once we get in position, you’re going to have to pluck them out of the air.”

  “I’m on it,” Redhook said as the ship accelerated to make their approach.

  “Don’t forget to compensate for the proton shield,” Lopez added.

  “I know what I’m doing!” Redhook shot back.

  The Cortes approached the cruiser close enough to look into the windows and see the ugly purplish Silicans manning the controls. A second later the Cortes’s arms had latched onto the cruiser’s rear. The momentum sent both vessels spiraling.

  “Get us stabilized. Nothing high-tech or fancy necessary here. Just tear it apart. My guess is there are ten or twelve of them on board. Lopez, keep our nose up so they can’t get on top of us.”

  The pincher-like extensions at the end of the Cortes’s arms closed tight to form a drill and began cutting into the smooth exterior. Before long gashes several meters in length ran along the top. The drills continued their work, slicing through more of the fuselage until a section had been torn away completely and began to float nearby.

  Keeping an eye through the viewer, they watched a handful of the lanky creatures emerge through the gaping hole and attempt to continue the fight against their warship barehanded. Once they showed their heads, the arms plucked them out and flung them away into empty space, where they would drift for weeks until their lungs gave out. A mechanical arm reached into the ship and began rummaging around like someone searching for the last potato chip in the bag.

  “The engines have been damaged beyond repair. This thing isn’t going anywhere,” Redhook reported.

  “Finally. Let’s get…”

  Something smacked against the windshield in front of them, making Loris flinch. Two thick, long legs dangled in view as one of the Silica struggled to make it to a hatch along the spine of the Cortes. The hatch was locked tight, and the sharp knee pounding against the windshield wasn’t much of a concern.

  “I think he leapt onto the floating hull piece and sprung from there onto the cockpit’s exterior,” Lopez observed.

  “We can shake him off and leave him for dead,” Redhook said, reaching for his console.

  “No, wait a minute. Do you see that?” Loris said, removing the harness and getting out of his seat.

  The light from the cockpit was enough to give him a glimpse of something on the alien’s leg. Stepping closer, he confirmed his suspicion that something had been carved into it, some jerky letters.

  “Rasher. This is the one that had been kept in stasis at Unified Command. After the carbon freeze wore off, he broke free when we were returning with the first probe. He broke my leg and would’ve killed me if I hadn’t been able to get back on board.”

  Rasher appeared to lose his grip and started drifting downward until he caught a protruding edge near the windshield. His head, with its stiff, almost blocky features, was in full view. Loris looked into white beady eyes that had all the intensity and rage of a cornered dog. They grew all the more wild when they discerned Loris through the glass.

  “I can pluck his arms and legs off for you. A little payback. It’d be nothing to me. I had an uncle in the fleet lose his life to one of these bastards,” Redhook said.

  “Actually, since he dropped in on us unexpectedly and all, I’ve got something else in mind for him,” Loris said.

  While the maintenance crew looked over the Magellan in search of any damage from the firefight that would prevent them from proceeding with their journey, Loris seized the opportunity to take a shuttle over to the Incubator to see how Brina was doing with her missions. He had his special cargo stored securely in the back.

  The airlocks had been installed at Quade’s requ
est shortly after they began orbiting Detonus, and now Loris passed the Balboa to claim the second one and get his first in-person look at the inside of this celestial monolith. The sheer size of it made him feel like it had swallowed him whole even before he’d docked.

  The airlock exited right into a narrow hallway marked only by food wrappers and other bits of trash that the new crew had discarded. Brina, Quade, and a few of his men met him there.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Brina said, hugging him tightly. It was almost as if they hadn’t seen each other over the com a few hours earlier.

  “Are you feeling good? You look great,” Loris said to her. She forced a smile.

  “Welcome aboard, Commander,” Quade said, extending his hand.

  “Quite a ship you’ve got here. You know how to pick them,” Loris said, looking up and down the hallways. In neither direction could he be confident that he saw the end.

  Quade smiled and leaned against gray walls that had the color and texture of graphite.

  “I’ve been here long enough that I’m starting to call it home. My castle in the stars.”

  As he waxed poetic about it, Brina rolled her eyes. Loris pressed on with the business at hand.

  “I’ve got a new resident for your castle,” he said, looking with the others through the airlock and toward the back of the shuttle, where hints of bluish purple peeked out from a large collection of cords and binds attached to a wheeled platform. Some of Quade’s companions recoiled.

  “Are you sure having that here is a good idea?” one of them asked.

  “I’ve sprayed him with carbon monoxide, so he can’t move a muscle. Just do that every once in a while and it’ll be fine. After Chief Quade told us all about how the Silica are engineered to revile humanity, I thought it might be useful for our research project to have one around. Who knows, maybe there’s a way to reverse it and have the Silica fighting with us rather than against us. Could be interesting, don’t you think?”

  “I’m intrigued by the possibilities,” Quade said.

  Getting a positive response out of Quade was often harder than it needed to be, so Loris was glad to have found a way to help.

  While some of the underlings reluctantly wheeled the towering monster onto the ship, Loris accompanied Brina and the others on a tour. While seeing all of the oddities the Incubator had to offer would’ve taken weeks, Loris got a peek at the command room’s strangely simple interfaces, miniscule quarters that made him feel sorry he’d sent Brina here all over again, and a large open area toward the center where criss-crossing bridges extended across the vast space. They called it the echo chamber, and colorful targets on distant walls suggested it was for some kind of sport.

  There were also countless dead Detonans, but after a while Loris got into the habit of ignoring them. A faint smell of rotten eggs was more difficult to overlook. He wondered if that contributed to Brina’s nausea, but he thought it better not to ask.

  Finally, they visited the large vats that could be used in the production of more humans. He got a sample of the soup inside, which was apparently edible and proved to be the source of the smell. Brina showed them to an adjoining room where bright white lights shined down on a floor covered in wires and cords. There were so many of them plugged into a machine in the corner that they had been molded into a chair.

  “This is my glamorous work station,” Brina said with a wave of her arm.

  Quade ordered his crewmembers to get back to work before he followed Brina and Loris in.

  Looking at the dreary environment, the harsh conditions, and the company, Loris wondered if he’d asked too much of her. Ever since the catastrophe, she’d developed an unmistakable fragility, and seemingly anything around could’ve been enough to make her snap.

  “Do you feel like you’ve done all you can do and it’s time to get back to the Magellan? You’re probably tired of being here,” he said, looking for a tactful way to put it.

  “Absolutely not,” she said sharply. “I know it doesn’t look great and I couldn’t imagine being here in six months when I’m huge, but in all honesty this work has been fascinating. Here, take one of these.”

  She handed him something that looked like a mask attached to a cord.

  “What’s this?”

  “The program has a virtual component to it that’s really quite ingenious. It’s ridiculously fun and I can see how someone could get carried away with it and start making crazy creations. Go ahead and put it on,” she said.

  He slipped the band over his head and set the mask in front of his face. It was dark for a moment, but then it activated, possibly by sensing the warmth of his skin, and displayed an image of a small clearing in some mountain woods. Tall deciduous trees and dusky sunlight made it seem like he was in heaven. Suddenly Brina and Quade appeared nearby, their faces fully visible.

  “This is beautiful,” he said. Considering how dreary the Detonan ship was, an escape like this would be intoxicating.

  “These scenes are incredibly detailed and immersive, yet you can access the controls by waving your hand in front of you,” Brina explained.

  When she did so, a few white lines and circles took shape in the air. She adjusted them, and two primitive looking humans wearing animal skins sat on the ground. A fire crackled between them. One of the humans had a number of persimmons while the gaunt companion had none.

  “There are hundreds of scenarios like this, many of them very obscure about what is actually going on. This one is pretty simple. Does the well-fed person share? And if so, how much?” she asked.

  “He’d give away half,” Loris said.

  “Maybe a few, enough to keep that one from starving,” Quade added.

  “Aha, now you see what a pickle it is. After all, we wouldn’t expect every single one of us to behave in the same way. My guess is that the task at hand is to set an average or a most common decision, but I really don’t know. What makes it tougher is trying to sort out the difference between how we think of ourselves and what we actually are? I can get help from my reference texts, but there isn’t a study that measures the human propensity to share in such stark terms, forcing me to make inferences and guesses. I can adjust the controls and play out the scene.”

  Brina slid one of the circles all the way to the end and then wiped away the controls. A flicker accompanied a change in the two models, one of whom was now slumped over on the brink of starvation. The richer model was eating a persimmon and hoarding the rest between his legs.

  “But wouldn’t you try to fight for something to eat or steal if someone wouldn’t give you any?” Quade asked.

  “You would think so, and there’s another scenario for something like that. The more I’ve worked with these, the more I’ve noticed how interlinked they are. There’s got to be some kind of equilibrium that makes sense and accurately represents our species. This evolutionary formula attempts to reduce our interactions and decision-making to its roots.”

  Brina brought up a new scene where the two males, now both somewhat younger and in full health, were joined by a young woman.

  “What is happening here?” Brina asked.

  “These two men are competing for a mate,” Loris answered.

  “And how do they do that?”

  “They try to impress her,” Loris said.

  “They fight each other over her,” Quade said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You’d think it would be something along those lines, but those aren’t opposite poles, like sharing or not sharing, or are they? Does conflict with each other become less violent until they begin reaching out to the woman? And where does humanity really lie here? I’ve known guys who would’ve killed a rival for a chance with me, but I found them repellent. What is the norm I should be shooting for? And how does she play into it? How much say does she have in the matter?”

  Loris scratched his head, starting to feel a little embarrassed, and that only increased when Brina skipped to the result where one of the me
n was engaging in intercourse with the woman while the other stared blankly into the fire. Another flick of the controls and the models vanished.

  “I’m starting to understand what a tough task I saddled you with,” Loris said.

  “The Detonans are using this same program to produce untold multitudes of themselves. The more I look at this, the more I believe they have no qualms about it, no reverence for life. It can be made and discarded like a clay figure. Let’s look at one more scene.”

  The scenery they were in changed completely. Instead of being in the grasslands, they were on a peak overlooking an expansive mountain chain. Clouds drifted by and Loris thought he could even feel the breeze. It was all so vivid. Two men stood on opposite sides of a waist-high stone with a tiny gold nugget on it. Dozens of others sat silent in circles around them.

  “It took me a while to figure out exactly what was going on here, so I’ll spell it out for you. It’s about power. These two are vying for it with equal claim, and the question is how the victor gets decided. What’s interesting to me, other than the lack of female representation may be a bias we’ve inherited from the Detonans, is that they are competing for something so insignificant and useless in the grand scheme of things,” Brina said.

  Loris took a step forward to try to get a better sense of what was happening. The faces moved only enough to give the impression that they were breathing. The two men were of equal stature, though Loris hoped even in a less civilized time the victory wouldn’t have gone simply to whichever one could’ve physically intimidated the other.

  “It’s that one,” Quade answered, making a vague open-handed gesture.

  “Which one? And that doesn’t really answer the question of how it gets decided,” Brina said.

  “Or that one,” Quade went on, now picking out figures in the audience at random. “Or this one. Why not any of them? The gold could go to anyone here who is smart and organized enough to take it.”