The psi-marine was fighting.
The Spider shook. Kodiak looked up and saw it was balanced on just four legs, the other limbs raised as the massive alien machine prepared to move toward them. But it had stopped, frozen in mid-stride. The orange optics on the Spider’s front flared brighter. The machine was fighting too.
It shook again. Tyler gasped, his whole body going stiff, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables, and the Spider shook again. The pincer that had been aimed at Kodiak hit the deck where he had been lying, then pulled back, gouging a jagged tear in the metal hangar floor.
The Spider wobbled on its legs. It took a step backwards, rebalancing. Its optics shone brighter still.
Kodiak, eyewitness to a psychic battle between man and machine, glanced at Tyler. He’d left the marine’s sniper rifle down in the gallery by the sleepers, but Tyler still had spare ammunition in a belt across his chest. Kodiak’s jaw dropped as he recognized them. Staser power packs. The sniper was just a larger version of Kodiak’s own pistol.
Thanking the stars for the Fleet’s modular efficiency, Kodiak pulled at the ammo belt, unclipping a staser magazine from Tyler’s front. Then he got to his knees and ejected the clip from his staser’s grip and slammed the new one home. He disengaged the safety, took aim, and fired.
The stun bolts tore into the Spider’s optical array, the energy skittering over the surface like oil on a hot pan, arcing between the orange glassy sensors. He squeezed the trigger, keeping the fusillade going.
The two largest optics, each a meter across, exploded. In a chain reaction, power arced between the array, the smaller optics popping and sparking, exposing circuitry beneath. Kodiak yelled as he stood, raking the innards of the sensor array with staser fire.
The Spider took another step backwards, shaking the hangar, venting exhaust. Beside Kodiak, Tyler stood. Hands clenched into fists by his side, the psi-marine took a step forward, and then another, his face red, teeth clenched, as though he was walking into a hurricane wind. Kodiak matched Tyler’s pace, the pair advancing on the machine. Blood dripped from Tyler’s hands as his nails dug into his palms and sparks and flame erupted from the front of the Spider as Kodiak drained the staser’s new power pack.
The Spider shuddered one final time, then fell backwards as it lost its center of gravity. It hit the hangar deck, the impact throwing Kodiak and Tyler off their feet. The floor of the hangar buckled and tilted, Kodiak and Tyler sliding back toward the Spider. Then the hangar floor beneath the machine began to fail, slowly tearing open with an ear-splitting roar.
Kodiak got to his feet and reached for Tyler. The marine lay on his back, arms outstretched, coughing as he regained the breath that had been knocked out of him.
“Come the hell on!” yelled Kodiak, grabbing Tyler by the front of his jacket. Tyler pushed with his feet, and the pair scrambled backwards toward the door through which they’d come.
Smoke poured from under the Spider as it sat partially embedded in the damaged floor. Its legs clacked, the sharp tips of its claws sinking deep into the metal as it tried to lift itself up. The floor groaned and sagged, the machine twisting as it sank into the framework beneath the hangar.
Then the floor failed completely, the section beneath the Spider collapsing. The JMC orbital relay and Kodiak’s shuttle slid toward the Spider, smashing into it. Then all three vanished through the gaping rent in the hangar.
Kodiak and Tyler wasted no time. They turned and fled, heading toward the hangar door. Kodiak opened up with the staser to clear a path through the drones, scouring a wide channel, knowing that his weapon had all the power he needed. They ran, ankle-deep in the smoking remains of the drone swarm, deep into the corridor. There was no time to close the bulkhead door. The hangar probably had a blast shield too.
No time, no time.
Kodiak ran, Tyler by his side.
Then the explosion from the hangar billowed out into the corridor, throwing them through the air.
* * *
A dozen pink trails streaked away from the Ultramassive as the ship unloaded its torpedoes at the Spider. The giant machine swatted two of them with one leg, but it was shattered by the resulting explosion. Maybe it had been weakened by the Q-Gen nova after all, Avalon thought as she watched from Gartner’s chair. That was something, perhaps. The captain herself remained at the edge of the command platform, hands clasped behind her back as she coordinated the attack in slow, measured tones.
The remaining torpedoes hit their mark, the entire viewscreen flashing pink and blue. Immediately Captain Gartner called up a status report, and a holodisplay appeared in front of the command platform, floating over the control pits. It showed a schematic of the battlefield, the Ultramassive’s computers outlining and labeling everything within sensor range. The open space between the Spider and the U-Stars attacking it was filled with a confetti of debris and wreckage spilled from the Fleet ships and the Spider, as well as the clouds of drones the alien war machine had spewed out as soon as the arrowhead had attacked.
That same arrowhead was actually holding up. Avalon sighed in relief, although she knew that feeling might only have been temporary. The White Heat was drifting, but awaiting rescue at a safe distance. The Monolithic, Thor’s Hammer, and Gallo had sustained heavy damage, but were still operational.
And the Spider was damaged. Bright red light shone out from the edges of the interlocking panels of its hull, around where the broadside of torpedoes had hit. The Fleet didn’t know much about where the Spiders came from, but Spider anatomy had been well studied. At the heart of the machine was a furnace, in which burned a core of plasma, held in check by a powerful magnetic laser containment field. Usually that core was fueled by stellar material, swallowed by the giant machine. But this Spider must have consumed a huge quantity of gas from Jupiter itself, compressing and igniting the material to form its power source.
The red light from around the separated panels came from the Spider’s core—they’d opened a chink in the machine’s armor.
Avalon stood from the Ultramassive’s command chair and joined the ship’s captain at the edge of the platform. She clenched her fists. Was this their chance? Was victory in sight?
Gartner nodded at Avalon’s unspoken assessment, a smile playing around the captain’s thin lips.
“All U-Stars, target mark, seven point seven,” said the captain, reading the sensor data off the holodisplay. “Throw everything you’ve got left.”
Around them, the other ships fired at the same weak spot—the torpedoes streaking toward the machine in trails of smoky pink and green, along with beams of blue and green and red energy as the arrowhead unleashed its full payload at the enemy. The viewscreen flashed as the ordnance tore into the side of the Spider, the holodisplay plotting and replotting sensory data at dizzying speed.
The main screen cleared and showed the Spider tumbling backwards, end over end, light spilling out from the impact zone in a bright cone of red energy as it fell toward Jupiter.
Gartner and Avalon looked at each other. Then Gartner moved to stand over the comms position.
“Open all channels.”
“Acknowledged.”
There was a click as the comm activated, and the bridge was filled with a low rumble, echoes of the huge discharge of energy in the space around them.
But it was otherwise quiet. The roar of nothingness and the ever-present crackling of the Spider was gone.
Avalon looked around the bridge. In their control pits, the FlyEyes turned their multifaceted goggles toward one another, the bulky headsets exaggerating the movement.
Was that it? Had they won?
On the forward viewscreen, the Spider continued to spin, a comet-like trail of gas and debris streaking out behind it now as it hit the upper atmosphere of Jupiter.
Avalon glanced at Gartner. A small smile flickered around the captain’s lips as she watched their enemy fall.
They’d won. Avalon grinned, her breaths short and shallow.
They’d won.
The comm crackled, and a new voice called out across the ether.
“Hey, little help here!”
Avalon gasped. “Von?”
“Special Agent Kodiak reporting, Chief,” said Kodiak. “Did you get it?”
Gartner folded her arms. “This is Captain Henrietta Gartner of the U-Star Ultramassive. The Spider threat has been neutralized, Agent. Do you require assistance?”
“Oh, hi, Captain. We need extraction, yes.”
“Where the hell are you?” asked Avalon.
“We’re on Europa, better known as eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno. If you come in close, you’ll pick up a local beacon that will lead you right to the door.”
“We?”
“I’ve got Tyler Smith here too. It’s thanks to him and his sister that we got out of this.”
The hulk of the Spider receded from view as it fell into the gas giant in front of them. A glow came from the clouds of Jupiter as the Spider’s superstructure began to burn up.
Gartner nodded at Avalon. “Confirmed, agent. Sit tight, we’re on our way.”
“Thanks.”
Avalon smiled. She needed to sit down. Damm it, she needed a drink. “I’m glad you made it,” she said.
Kodiak laughed. “I’m glad I made it too. See you soon.”
The comm clicked off, and Gartner turned to Avalon. “Commander?”
Spider threat neutralized, they were back on Bureau business. But it was an unnecessary courtesy, Avalon decided. She’d seen firsthand what a brilliant commander Gartner was.
Avalon smiled and gave a small bow. “As you were, Captain.”
Gartner smirked and looked down at her pilot.
“Engage, Mr. Button.”
47
Kodiak and Avalon stood in the primary hangar of the U-Star Ultramassive as the battered shuttle Cassilda was floated into position on a hoverbed. The ship had been collected by tractor beam on the Ultramassive’s return loop from collecting Kodiak and Tyler Smith on Europa, and it looked intact, with just some minor burns on its hull where it had been caught in the wash of the Spider battle. Kodiak rolled his neck—he still ached from where he and Tyler had hit the corridor wall, but he was thankful that the ceiling of the passageway had partially collapsed when the Spider exploded, shielding them from serious harm. After pulling themselves from the debris, they had quickly found a control room with a functioning comms deck and had used that to call to Ultramassive.
Kodiak turned to Tyler. The psi-marine was standing next to him, guarded by two armed marines from the Ultramassive’s complement. He was under arrest—Kodiak had been surprised when Avalon gave the order, but of course, until everything had been cleared up, they had to follow procedure. Tyler himself had agreed immediately. But at least Avalon had decided to forgo the manacles.
Shuttle in position, a hangar deck technician punched the shuttle’s ramp controls and the ship’s sloping entrance gradually lowered.
Kodiak turned to Tyler and gestured to the ramp. “After you.”
Tyler looked at Kodiak, and then at Avalon, then nodded in return and walked up into the shuttle. Kodiak and Avalon followed him aboard.
Inside the cockpit, Glass looked up from where he stood over the sleeper pod.
“Mr. Kodiak, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.” The android nodded at Avalon. “Commander Avalon, of the Fleet Bureau of Investigation, I presume.” Then he turned to Tyler. “And you must be Tyler Smith. It is an honor to meet you at last.”
Tyler wasn’t listening. He fell to his knees, his hands playing over the window of the pod. Inside, softly lit by the pod’s blue stasis field, lay his sister, Caitlin. Her eyes were closed, and she looked peacefully asleep.
“As soon as it became clear that the threat was over, I thought it prudent to engage the stasis field,” said Glass. “Ms. Smith requires medical attention, and I didn’t know how long it would be before we were collected.”
“That’s good thinking,” said Avalon.
Tyler looked up at the servitor. “Thanks.”
Glass nodded and operated a control on the side of the pod. The blue light faded from the window, and there was a click as the lock disengaged.
“Help me with this,” said Tyler. Kodiak and Avalon moved to opposite ends of the pod and, together with Tyler, swung the pod cover back.
Cait took a giant whoop of breath, her eyes wide. She sat up and coughed violently, then cried out, her shoulders hunched over in pain.
“Fucking ow.”
“Easy now, sis.”
Cait looked up. “Tyler?”
“What, you were expecting someone else?”
“Oh, my god, Tyler!”
The brother and sister hugged for a long, long moment. Then Cait pulled away and began to laugh as tears coursed down both their faces.
“I guess you two have a lot to catch up on,” said Kodiak.
Tyler stood and helped his sister stand from the pod and step over the rim. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Part of the arrowhead is remaining in Jovian orbit to start the cleanup on Europa,” said Avalon. “We’ll all return on the Memphis.” She nodded at Tyler and Cait. “If you both think you’re ready, we can start the debrief en route to Earth.”
Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Earth!” he said, then he turned to his sister, leaning against his shoulder. “Hey, sis, you hear that?”
He looked up at Kodiak and Avalon. “I’m going home.”
48
The Europan facility was filled with personnel from both the Fleet and the Fleet Bureau—heavily armored marines methodically worked their way through the levels, mopping up the remaining spider drones not fried by the psychic attack from Tyler and Cait, while engineers worked to stabilize the upper levels and other areas damaged when the Spider fell into the hangar substructure and exploded. Meanwhile, analysts from both the Fleet and the Bureau had begun poring over the systems, digging into Caviezel’s secrets while, on the lowest level, technicians in dry suits examined the sleeper pods, still submerged in the Europan ocean pools.
Up on the gallery overlooking one of the storage facilities, two men and a woman appeared from a doorway. They were dressed in purple high-collared uniforms and caps of the JMC, and they walked in perfect unison toward the Bureau agent who stood overlooking the technicians as they worked in the pool below. The agent looked up as the trio approached.
“Finally,” she said. “They said your company was sending reps to help with the cleanup, but you should have been here an hour ago.” The agent paused, looked around. “Where’s your escort?”
The man at the front of the group smiled and adjusted the cuff of his tunic. “I apologize for the delay. There seems to have been some kind of mix-up. Shall we proceed?”
The agent frowned, then nodded. “Fine. Follow me.”
She turned and walked away, down the gallery and then into a doorway that led into a small control room. The others followed. Then their leader turned and closed the door behind him.
From inside the control room the agent screamed, but outside, the technicians working in the pool below didn’t hear a thing.
49
Kodiak nursed his Scotch and looked out from the chief’s office at the bullpen. It was late. It felt quiet after days of chaos, but in reality it had just gone back to normal, non-crazy levels of activity as the night shift went back to the standard roster of personnel.
His eyes roved from his own desk—the bathrobe from the safe house still on the back of his chair—and settled on the one next door, the desk that used to belong to Special Agent Mike Braben but now sat empty, every item on it and in it having been packed up and secured as evidence.
He took a sip of his drink. It was real whisky, distilled from barley cut from the rich fields of Svalbard, aged in real wooden barrels made with real genetically reconstituted oak. It somehow didn’t surprise him that the chief kept a bottle of the fabulously expensive drink
in the bottom of her desk.
“Von?”
Kodiak rolled his neck. They’d been in the chief’s office for the whole of the last cycle, going over the events of the past few days. The scale of what they had uncovered made the mind reel. It was going to take months, years to get to the bottom of the Caviezel operation. Repatriation of the Fleet’s war dead was just one logistics contract the company had held with the Fleet. Glass, the last remaining sentient aspect of the JMC computer, had been co-opted by the Bureau and had already started organizing the Fleet’s extrication from his creator’s affairs. Not only that, it—no, he, Kodiak thought—was working on a way of isolating the sliver of the Spider AI that they now knew resided inside the minds of every psi-abled member of the Fleet who had ever gone into battle. But as far as they knew—so far, at least—it was asymptomatic, a consequence of the psychic battles that were so vital to the war effort. It was only Caviezel’s developments in transference technology that had allowed him to extract a workable program from the minds of his sleepers—from Tyler, as the first experiment. But still, it was a concern. The Fleet wasn’t going to withdraw the Psi-Marine Corps from battle, but the idea that the Spider AI had “infiltrated” their ranks, even in an apparently inactive, benign way, was understandably a big concern. And, again, as far as they knew, no Fleet systems had been infected by the transmissions from Jupiter, relayed via the shuttle or the Fleet arrowhead, the signal having not yet built up enough power to make it past the U-Stars’ computer defenses and flip back to Earth.
But Kodiak, almost to his own surprise, found he had learned to trust Glass. He was sure the servitor would find a way to remove the infection safely.
That wasn’t the only thing that needed attention, of course. The Europan facility was being dismantled, piece by piece, the sleepers woken under controlled conditions, one at a time, and given a full briefing.
And there was the matter of the Fleet Memorial. The Bureau was already working to ascertain how many exhumations would be required to determine how many of the graves actually contained remains and how many didn’t. It was going to be a long and traumatic process for a lot of people.
The Machine Awakes Page 34
