Edge of the Abyss: A Space Opera Novella (Max Mars Book 4)

by Tripp Ellis

  “Waste disposal," Max blurted out.

  “Excuse me?"

  “Erickson is in waste disposal. I stuffed him into a dump container.”

  Volta burst into laughter. “You stuffed him into a shit carton?”

  Max shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

  She had taken him from the detention center and put him into a waste dumpster that, under normal operations, would be jettisoned into space. It was the one place on the Aurora where Volta’s goons didn't think to look. Nobody liked to venture into waste disposal. The stench was abhorrent. You wouldn't be able to smell it in a sealed bio-suit, like the T-9000, but most people had a mental aversion to the area.

  “Carter, Perkins… go check it out,” Volta commanded.

  Neither one of them looked thrilled. They marched out of the compartment. The hatch slid shut behind them.

  Volta’s diabolical gaze fell on Max. “I hope, for your kitty's sake, you're telling the truth."

  “What have you done with Winston?" Max asked.

  “The annoying robot?”

  “He’s particular.”

  “Annoying,” Volta countered.

  Max shrugged.

  "I figure we'll wipe his memory and reprogram him. Maybe sell him on the market. Those aren't cheap, you know."

  “Who’s funding your operation?”

  Volta just smiled.

  After a few minutes, Carter and Perkins contacted Volta.

  “We found him," Perkins said.

  “Bring him up here. Let's see if he can access the lab.”

  “He's not in the best condition."

  “Is he alive?” Volta asked.

  “Yeah, he's just… Well, you'll see."

  Volta's attention returned to Max. “You're lucky he’s still alive.”

  Max didn’t feel lucky, and the devious glint in Volta's eyes didn't bode well.

  The creep unlatched Felix's container, exposing him to the atmosphere.

  Max’s eyes widened. She screeched in terror.

  The kitty leapt out of the transport container, unaware of the danger. He had been cooped up in that thing for hours—now was his chance at freedom. He scurried across the deck and disappeared in the maze of machinery toward the rear of the engine room.

  Max’s face filled with rage. Her cheeks turned red, and the veins in her neck bulged. Her eyes brimmed, and she clenched her fists. The lump in her throat ached. She was heartbroken and furious. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. Through gritted teeth, she growled at Volta, “You son-of-a-bitch!”

  A guilty grin flashed on his face as he shrugged, accepting the insult with pride.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?"

  “You’re going to be dead long before the cat. You should be more worried about that."

  “You’re a sociopath.”

  ”No. I'm just really indifferent about most things, I lack empathy, and I can’t form complex relationships."

  “That's a sociopath.”

  “You say tomato, I say to-mah-to.”

  Max was incredulous. "You're a fucking nutcase."

  “Make up your mind. Which one is it?”

  Max was going to enjoy beating the snot out of this insane thug. But she was going to have to get loose first, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  The hatch slid open, and Carter and Perkins dragged Erickson into the compartment, each grabbing onto an arm. Erickson looked like reheated shit—literally. He had been stuffed in a waste container, and was covered with sewage and filth.

  Volta let out a heavy breath and grimaced. “You could have cleaned him up before you brought him to me. Did that ever occur to you?”

  The two goons stared at Volta with blank expressions.

  "I thought you wanted to see him as soon as possible? Time is of the essence, you said,” Perkins stammered.

  Volta had a look of disgust on his face. "Whatever. Doctor Erickson, I hope you still have access to your lab?”

  24

  Dr. Erickson's grimy fingers trembled as he punched the code into the keypad.

  "You assured me everything was going according to plan," Volta said in a perturbed voice. "This looks anything but orderly. What happened?"

  Erickson shrugged. "No plan ever survives the battlefield."

  Volta was not impressed with Erickson’s reply. "The pathogen is loose, and we seem to have a genuine hero aboard."

  "Mistakes happen. But the end result will be the same. We have the virus, and we can deploy it on schedule at the convention. Things may have gotten a little uglier than we anticipated, but it's the result that counts."

  The green light flashed on the keypad, and the automated voice said, “Access granted."

  The hatch slid open. Erickson hesitated for a moment. "The lab is yours. You'll find everything you need inside. There are ample amounts of the virus, along with the delivery systems. The mosquito drones will allow you to infiltrate the conference and spray an aerosolized version. It will enter the upper respiratory tract, and begin incubation. Within 12 hours, the first symptoms should appear, with death following in the next 24 to 48."

  "Excellent work." Volta motioned for Erickson to enter.

  "What about an anti-virus? I think it might be prudent to develop one, just in case."

  Volta thought about this for a moment. "Maybe you're right."

  Erickson looked surprised. Volta had always been against the concept in the past.

  "Go ahead, Doctor. Lead the way. Show me the fruits of your labor."

  "I'd really like to clean up first."

  "Time is of the essence."

  Erickson reluctantly nodded, then he stepped into the airlock. Volta didn't hesitate to shoot him in the back. The blistering plasma bolt tore through Erickson's torso. The good doctor dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. He face planted on the deck.

  Volta barked commands to his men. "Load the virus and the drones aboard the ship. And take the robot. Be quick about it."

  The goons marched into the airlock and went through the decontamination protocol, then entered the lab.

  A squad member hung back in the hallway, keeping an eye on Winston. It didn’t take long for the goons to grab their bounty from the lab and load it aboard the Condor.

  “What do you want to do about the girl?" one of the goons asked Volta.

  “Leave her. She'll bleed to death before long. It's a more painful demise than I could inflict."

  The thugs grabbed Winston and dragged him to the Condor.

  “Are you sure you want to bring me along? I don't think I will be much use to you. I would much prefer to stay aboard the Aurora and wait to be rescued."

  Volta smiled. "Sorry, friend. You are going to become my new personal assistant."

  "Serving you will be a conflict of my basic programming."

  “Would you rather be scrap metal?"

  “As unappealing as that sounds, I think I would prefer it. Continuing my existence in your company seems like a dreadful option."

  “I think you'd get along well with my ex-wife,” Volta said, dryly.

  Once aboard, the tyrant pressed a button on the bulkhead and sealed the hatch of the Condor. He flicked another switch and retracted the umbilical, detaching from the Aurora. Volta glanced back to Winston and flashed a devious grin. "Don't worry, Robot. You might just get your wish. I'm sure you'll get on my nerves before too long. I'll be forced to vaporize you."

  “I look forward to it." Winston tried to act tough, but Volta could see right through him. The tyrant chuckled and strolled to the cockpit.

  The rest of the squad stored their rifles in the weapons locker and took their seats in the cargo bay. Winston watched as they strapped themselves in. He clutched onto the bulkhead.

  Nobody seemed particularly concerned with Winston. It wasn't like he was going to cause any trouble, and there was nowhere for him to escape.

  The pilot plotted jump coordinates, then engaged the slide-sp
ace drive. The bulkheads rippled and warbled. Quantum sickness didn't affect Winston, but his sensors could detect the changes that were typically unsettling to humans.

  Winston's mind was filled with thoughts of Max. He felt immense guilt at leaving her behind. It wasn't his choice. His neural processor made millions of calculations, analyzing the situation, trying to find a solution.

  The Condor was headed across the galaxy on a mission of destruction. If successful, it could wipe out the entire leadership of the Federation, and a significant number of its citizens. This was an unacceptable outcome to Winston. Allowing that to happen would be in direct conflict with his basic programming. But attempting to stop Volta and his band of terrorists by force would also be against his fundamental code.

  There was something special about Winston. He was far more than an ordinary service bot. He seemed to have true emotions that exceeded his original programming. He was a self-aware, sentient being, complete with feelings. He may have been designed and built in a factory, but he wasn't going to let that define, or limit, him. After his calculations were complete, Winston came to the conclusion that he had to do something. Not doing something would be a greater violation of his programming.

  25

  “Do you mind if I sit here,” Winston asked politely.

  The goon glared at him with suspicion. His eyes flicked to the empty neighboring seat, then back to Winston. He shrugged. "I guess."

  “Thank you."

  Winston sat down and reached for his safety harness. But instead, he grabbed a thermal grenade from the thug’s utility belt. Faster than the goon could stop him, Winston had clutched the device and removed the pin. His thumb depressed the detonator—as soon as he released it, the countdown would begin, and the grenade would explode. There would be maybe 6 to 8 seconds of panic, then mass destruction would ensue.

  It was a fragmentation grenade, with an incendiary liquid gel core, S9, that oxidized at over 4000°. It would be safe to say that everyone aboard the Condor would have a real bad day.

  Winston launched to his feet, standing in the middle of the cargo bay.

  The squad of goons reacted by drawing their sidearms.

  Winston stared down the angry barrels of plasma pistols and issued his demands. No one dared to shoot him.

  Winston could put an end to the madness at this very moment. All he had to do was let the grenade explode. It would destroy the Condor, the pathogen, and the terrorists. He would be making the ultimate sacrifice, but it would be for the good of all mankind.

  It was a difficult decision to make. Winston wasn't fond of the concept of death, but he wasn't as concerned with his own well-being. Detonating the grenade would leave Max stranded aboard the Aurora. The ship would likely be destroyed by the Federation to cover up any wrongdoing. This was the biggest decision Winston would ever have to make, and it was certainly taxing his neural processor.

  “Turn the ship around," Winston demanded. "Return to the Aurora immediately.”

  “Hey, Dingleberry,” Volta said in a calm, confident voice. “You're not going to do shit. It's against the rules of robotics to harm humans."

  “I have decided not to play by the rules. Besides, if you shoot me, I might accidentally release the grenade. Through no fault of my own, you would be destroyed."

  Volta grimaced. The walking transistor had a point. Volta’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Winston, trying to read the robot’s poker face.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  The tension in the compartment was thick. Volta let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. You win. I’ll take you back to the Aurora.”

  There was something a little too easy about his concession.

  “Sloan, turn the ship around,” Volta said. “Take us back to the nebula.” He was probably just trying to buy some time until he could figure out a way to defuse the situation.

  Sloan brought the Condor out of quantum space. The ship drifted quietly as the pilot re-programmed the jump coordinates.

  "I get nervous when guns are pointed at me," Winston said. "Have your men lower their weapons.”

  Volta looked frustrated that he had to deal with this nonsense. But he complied. "Put them away, boys."

  The soldiers holstered their weapons.

  “Happy?" Volta asked.

  “Appreciative.” Winston was far from happy about the situation.

  Sloan engaged the slide-space drive and time dilated for an instant. The jump back to the Aurora only lasted a few minutes. The Condor emerged within the nebula at the exact point from which it left.

  An anxious goon lunged for Winston. He attempted to grab the grenade and tackle the robot. But Winston had far superior speed and coordination. His predictive modeling algorithms allowed him to outmaneuver his attacker. The robot sidestepped and thrust his hand forward. His composite titanium fingers pierced the visor of his attacker, drilling his digits into the man's eyeballs.

  A gnarly sucking sound echoed through the cargo area as Winston retracted his fingers from the man's brain. The goon flopped to the deck, a limp bag of bones. Blood oozed from his eyes sockets, filling his helmet. His body twitched and convulsed for a moment before finally growing still.

  The crimson blood dripped from Winston’s metallic fingers, splattering on the deck. It was the first human he had ever killed. But in his mind, all he did was out stretch his arm—the man impaled himself all on his own. It was a gray area, to be sure. Winston would later spend hours pondering his actions, attempting to justify them in multiple ways.

  The rest of the squad thought better about assaulting the robot. They knew he was a force to be reckoned with, despite his diminutive stature. A human just couldn't compete with a killer android. That's why killer robots had been outlawed.

  "Bring us in alignment with the Aurora,” Winston demanded, emboldened by his recent display of prowess.

  Sloan maneuvered the vehicle several meters away from the airlock, lining up the rear hatch.

  “We’re here. Now what?” Volta asked, indulging the robot. "How about we drop you off on the ship, and we both can go about our separate ways?"

  Winston held onto the bulkhead. Volta’s suggestion was unacceptable.

  Winston mashed a button, opening the rear hatch. He didn't bother to depressurize the cabin. Air rushed out of the hatch, sucking out the corpse of the goon on the deck. The force tugged at the squad harnessed in their seats. The gale force winds only lasted a moment until the ship was completely emptied of atmosphere. The T-9000s protected the terrorists.

  Winston glanced over his shoulder at the Aurora, several meters away. His eyes flicked back to Volta's snarling face.

  "Leave the virus and delivery systems behind, and I will allow you to go about your way."

  "Can't do that." Volta's hand gripped his pistol, still sheathed in its holster. Now was his chance. With a quick enough draw, and precise aim, there was a chance he could blast Winston in the forearm and sever his wrist. With any luck, the grenade would drift out into space, and the damage from the blast would be minimal.

  This was Volta’s best opportunity, he thought. He drew the weapon. With blistering speed, he took aim, firing several shots at the robot. Blazing plasma bolts rocketed across the cargo hold, narrowly missing Winston. He dodged the projectiles with lightning quick reflexes. The bolts came within inches of his body panels.

  Winston leapt out of the hatch, launching himself toward the Aurora. He drifted into the hazy nebula and tossed the grenade back into the Condor. One of the goons leapt from his seat, trying to seal the hatch before the grenade cleared the threshold. But his timing was off, and the hatch sealed after the grenade was inside.

  The eyes of the squad grew wide, and their faces filled with panic. There was nothing anyone could do.

  The grenade detonated.

  In a blinding flash of light, scalding liquid gel sprayed the cabin, melting through the composite armor of the T-9000s. Searing shrapnel peppered the bulkheads. The overpressure fro
m the blast tore through the hull. The incendiary device caused a secondary explosion of the Condor’s main fuel-cell. The craft exploded in a giant amber ball, showering twisted bits of metal and debris through the nebula.

  The blast wave thrust Winston toward the Aurora. Bits of metal and debris whizzed past him. He slammed into the exterior hull of the Aurora and bounced away. He was at risk of spiraling into the nebula for all eternity, but he managed to grab onto a recessed area of the hull and secure himself.

  He inched along the hull to the airlock, punched in the access code, and waited for the hatch to open. He pulled himself into the airlock, pressurized the compartment, then entered the main corridor of the Aurora.

  He wasn't sure how he felt about what he had just done. For the first time in his existence, he had taken human lives. It was something that was going to take him a long time to process and come to terms with.

  26

  “Are you okay?” Winston asked.

  “Do I look okay,” Max said in a listless voice.

  “Actually, you look terrible."

  "Thanks,” she said dryly. “Are you going to tell me my ass looks fat too?” Max asked in a sardonic tone. She was still tied to a beam in the engineering room.

  Winston strolled around behind her and surveyed her posterior. “No. Your weight is ideal, and your ass seems to conform to the current standard of beauty.” He proceeded to untie her.

  Max swung her arms free and rubbed her wrists. The rope had left grooves in her skin and had rubbed her flesh raw. Her normally creamy skin was red and irritated, and it stung like a sunburn. But that was the least of her worries. She felt weak and woozy, barely able to stand. Pink slime was oozing from her nostrils. Her sinuses felt stuffed to the brim, and her head felt like it was going to explode. She had a sharp pain behind her eyes that felt like someone was sticking an ice pick through her skull. The throbbing in her temples pulsed incessantly. If she moved too fast, her stomach would rumble and twist in knots. The sour acidic taste of bile crept up in the back of her throat. It was all she could do not to hurl. But all she could think about was Felix. In all likelihood, he'd be going through the same thing before too long.