Unstable Prototypes

by Lallo, Joseph

  "I'll try, but stay on your toes, hon."

  A burst of bullets punched holes in the storage locker across from her. She began moving backward with slow, measured steps, attempting to remain as silent as possible. With all of the equipment she was carrying, it wasn't an easy task. Ahead, still hidden by the crisscrossing corridors, the enemy soldier moved with equal care and even less success. When he stopped moving, so did Silo. For a few seconds there was only the sound of her own breathing and the distant click of the equipment Garotte was manipulating. Then came a distinctive sound with which Silo was quite familiar. It was like the jingle of an empty key chain bouncing to the floor, followed by a heavy thump and rattle. Around the corner ahead of her bounced a round, red, baseball-sized grenade.

  In a decision made in the heartbeat available to her, Silo took two quick steps forward and punted the fallen grenade with all of the strength she could muster. As it screamed down the long aisle ahead of her, she scrambled to dive into an adjoining row. The blast that followed wasn't nearly as bright or exciting as the flash-bang had been, but it was a lot more dangerous. A clap of detonating explosive splashed the surrounding walls with brilliantly glowing flecks of molten metal. The globs cut through the metal walls like wax, setting fire to whatever the doors had been protecting. The rest pooled on the floor briefly, before eating through and becoming an ominous glow from below.

  "What was that?" Garotte squawked in her earpiece.

  "Thermite grenade," Silo huffed, "I hope you're almost done, because if you aren't, we're both almost done."

  "If you can help me get this door hitched up a few centimeters without having to unlock it, the deed will be done."

  "Coming your way."

  The fire suppression system, a sprinkler that operated independently of power, began to trigger and douse the thermite-afflicted section of the floor. Because of the imprecise nature of the fire system, and thermite's tendency to heat up a much larger area than normal fire would, most of the rest of the heads triggered as well, making the metal flooring treacherously slick and hiding the sound of footfalls behind the steady patter of water. Silo slid into the aisle containing their target, and it was instantly clear that this was the one storage cabinet they actually cared about protecting. The metal of the door was triple the thickness of the others, and there were redundant locks on both sides securing monstrous latches. Beside the door was a panel that Garotte had managed to open. Inside were two shelves of canisters. The top canisters were glass jars filled with something that looked like lime-green, watered down baby food. The others were narrow vials resembling cigar tubes. Each type of canister had a matching socket. The baby food one was properly attached, but the other had been replaced with one of the allergy medication refills.

  Garotte pulled a pry bar from his bag and tossed it to Silo, indicating the near side of the industrial strength shutter. The locks there had been removed, while those on the other side were intact, meaning that only half of the shutter was free to move. Once again making use of the side effects of her high gravity incarceration, Silo hammered the pry bar into the gap and strained desperately. The edge of the door creaked and groaned, budging just an inch or two. Without a word, Garotte pulled an energy pistol fuel cell from his belt and slipped it through the gap.

  "Good enough, my girl," he said, turning to pull the contents of the medical panel into his pack.

  Silo gratefully released the bar. The tension of the door forcing itself shut hammered the bar's end into the floor plating.

  "Leave it! The fuse is lit, we've got to move," Garotte advised.

  The enemy soldier pounded into the hallway and leveled his weapon. They raised their own.

  "Hold it right there!" he barked. "That's enough! You are going to tell me what you are after, what you did, and how to undo it. Then you are going to come with me and we are going to-"

  "Look, if you want any answers, you'll need them pretty quick," Garotte snapped. "See, that panel there is the medication distribution point. It keeps a steady flow of sedative circulating through those tubes. We swapped it out for epinephrine, which is more or less the opposite of sedative. You'll want to pop that vial out and replace it for one of the ones I've got in the bag. It'll only really work if it hasn't woken up yet, though."

  From behind the door, a sound like someone jiggling a stuck silverware drawer became apparent, periodically rattling and shuddering.

  "There goes that idea, then," Silo quipped.

  "Not to worry. The sedative only keeps its brain asleep," Garotte explained. "The primary security measure is the complete removal of all power sources. That thing will barely be able to move until it can get some sort of juice into its batteries. And that couldn't happen unless someone was to, say, toss a plasma clip in there."

  "Did you do that?" the soldier demanded.

  "What do you think?" Silo jabbed.

  There was the groan of straining metal from within the locker.

  "What the hell is in there?" said the soldier, taking a firmer grip on his weapon and inching backward.

  "The last thing you'll ever see," Garotte said with a grin.

  The moment that followed was so crowded with activity it would have taken a documentary crew, a high speed camera, and a few hours of study to reveal every nuance. A hollow whistle, like a big league slugger taking a home run swing with a metal pipe, split the air, followed by a deafening screech of tearing metal and a burst of sparks from the shutter door. The soldier had half an instant to inspect what was now protruding from the damaged door. That was more than enough time to convince him that he would feel more comfortable if it was filled with bullet holes. By the time he opened fire, the far more prepared Silo and Garotte were three steps closer to the exit and accelerating. The soldier finished emptying his clip and began to backpedal while reloading, using whatever wits he had to spare to investigate his target, which was still sticking out of the heavy-duty door that had been crumpled aside like so much foil.

  It looked like a human arm. Actually, more accurately, it looked like a human arm if you were to tear off all of the skin, remove the blood, replace the bones with a dull gray metal, and replace the muscles with a few bundles of charcoal black fibers. The fist was clenched around a mangled piece of equipment which might have been a plasma clip at some point in the past, but was now little more than a smoldering piece of junk. The arm was notably intact, either due to the general lack of precision that comes with panic-firing a fully automatic weapon or due to an immunity to the weapon. There was a blur of motion and the rest of the mechanism revealed itself, but the soldier was probably too distracted watching his life pass before his eyes to notice.

  Down the hall, Garotte and Silo listened to their foe scream and get off a few bullets from the fresh clip before a variety of horribly organic snaps and crackles cut off both noises, leaving just the pound of their boots and the patter of tapering off sprinklers.

  "Bandanas on," Garotte remarked, holstering his weapons and pulling the folded blue square from a flap of his fatigues.

  "Way ahead of you," Silo said as she finished tying the knot to secure it around her soaking wet forehead.

  By the time they reached the door, there was a rapid metallic tapping approaching at terrifying speed down the corridor behind them. It was like the clacking of a demonic typewriter. In brief, red-illuminated glimpses they could see Zerk scrambling toward them in a skittering, four-limbed crawl that leaped from wall to ground to wall.

  "The whole blue bandana thing will only work if he can see that it's blue, and I'd rather be standing in the sun than blinding myself with a flashlight," Garotte gasped.

  "Agreed," Silo nodded. In a continuous motion she pulled her grenade launcher around, readied it, and ricocheted a round though the door they had kicked open when they entered. The blast devastated the emergency shutter, and pieces were still clattering to the ground when they rushed though the gaping hole.

  "You get the Declaration prepped. I'll handle Zerk,"
Garotte said.

  "No argument from me," she said, opening the crew door and keeping a watchful eye on the exit of the depot.

  Garotte carefully positioned himself such that he wasn't directly outside the gap, but he would be the first thing one would see upon leaving. The clattering charge of the robot became steadily louder, and when the spy caught the tiniest glimpse of the thing, he took a deep breath.

  "Bowerbird!" Garotte bellowed.

  If it had been a half-second later, he would have been a pile of broken bones with a hellish killing machine standing on top of him. Instead, the thing dug its hands and feet into the concrete of the depot's footpath, grinding four long lines as it skidded and rotated to a stop. It then stood sharply at attention and turned to him, remaining perfectly still.

  In the light, the device was practically a work of art. Everything about it was minimally but perfectly engineered. The arms, legs, and chest were like an anatomical model built to show off the main muscle groups, though each muscle was represented by a deceivingly lean bundle of black. This was because the synthetic muscle had ten times the strength of human tissue, and anything more would have warped the titanium composite frame it was anchored to, but it made for an almost scarecrow-like build. Where the abdomen should have been was virtually hollow, showing off a heavily reinforced spinal support and a variety of variously shaped ports, meant for utilizing different power sources. The hands were three-fingered, with a built in blade protruding from above the fingers when a fist was made. On one forearm was a silver disk with a glowing blue rim, a directional force-field. The feet resembled the tow-and-heel mockup that shoe-makers used to size their creations, with more of the black fiber woven across the outside to string it together. The least human aspect was the head. Instead of a face was a smooth, curved surface with a brushed metal finish that was pitted with gouges. A pair of V-shaped indents textured the surface, one crossing the point where eyes should be, and the tip of the other ending in a notch where the mouth should have been. They hadn't even had the decency to put the glowing red eyes that one would think were the industry standard by now.

  "The magpies land at three four four," the robot croaked in an even lower quality digital voice than the depot had used.

  Garotte furrowed his brow. "The crows descend at seven one."

  "Call and response sleep mode command confirmed."

  Zerk lowered to one knee and placed a palm on the ground, raising its head until it flipped almost completely upside-down, revealing three buttons and the broken off tube that had first fed sedative, then epinephrine to the sole remaining hunk of human flesh, the brain and spine hidden in the chest. Garotte tapped the yellow button and removed the tube, inserting a vial of sedative and tapping a blue button. The muscle fibers slackened and Zerk collapsed.

  "All done," Garotte breathed, mopping sweat from his brow that owed a lot less to exertion and heat that he would have liked to admit. "Well. That certainly got the blood flowing. Care to lend a hand?"

  Silo hopped down and helped move the inactive war machine into the Declaration. "I'm sorry, explain again why that works?"

  "When you say bowerbird, and you are wearing at least one piece of blue clothing, it stops and delivers the call phrase-"

  "I know what to do, I just don't know why it works."

  "Oh. Post-hypnotic, I think. Or programming. One of those," he grunted, heaving the machine into the cargo bay and climbing in. "That went just about perfectly."

  "Yes, well, we're not in space yet," she said, tapping the ship's radio and beginning to set the course. "Lex, how are things up there?"

  "You guys- No, no, left. You're not getting by that way. Ha HA! - done already? I was just getting- yes, YES – started," Lex's voice crackled over the radio.

  "Is the coast clear, hon?"

  "I've got the defense ships for half of the hemisphere tied in knots. Get a move on!"

  "How about you, Ma, sweetheart?"

  "Busy... jamming... communication... and... sensors..." Ma struggled in drawn out words.

  "Right, let's go," Silo said, sealing the doors and guiding the ship skyward. "I'll see you at the rendezvous in three hours."

  "I'd say that the dress rehearsal was a success," Garotte said, putting his feet up on the motionless Zerk, which was now strapped to the cargo grate. "All that remains is to find the main stage and light the lights."

  Chapter 27

  "Commander," said Marx.

  Commander Purcell was scrutinizing the screen of her datapad, and had been for hours. A mind honed and specialized for combat and strategy was slow to adapt itself to investigation, but the rate at which her own troops were turning up information was unacceptable. These were men and women she knew to be skilled and dedicated, but they were not suited to reviewing data. All of her agents trained in espionage were currently placed deep in organizations they needed to keep an eye on. The people she kept on hand in the station were mostly engineering and combat, and the best of them weren't able to turn anything up on this Trevor Alexander, so that left her. It was a slow, mind-numbing task.

  "Commander," her second stated with a bit more force.

  She looked up in irritation. "What is it?"

  "The engineers have got preliminary results, and would like to demonstrate Karter’s devices."

  "Now?"

  "As soon as possible."

  "Very well," she said, unhooking the datapad from its mount and taking it along as they marched into the narrow hallway.

  "Have you had any luck with your research?"

  "Nothing new," she growled. "I've been over that Modane footage dozens of times, scoured every word of the information you gave me. There is nothing to suggest how he could have gained the skills to take down one of our men, or why he would ever involve himself. He had to have had help, and he must have been coerced into rendering aid. But by whom? And why? The main thorns in our side have been the spy and the demolition specialist, but they were released, and they clearly only care about Karter. They were released to retrieve Karter. There is nothing we have that would suggest that anyone in Karter's history could be that devoted to him, and you've met the man, he is detestable. How could he earn such loyalty?"

  "Have you been through any of the other footage?"

  Purcell sneered, pulling up the playlist of videos and playing it without sound. "Look at it. Shaky video shot by panicked bystanders. Nothing there that the Modane footage doesn't show in greater detail."

  They reached Docking Bay B and stepped inside. It was a comparatively massive space for a space station, large enough to contain five ships the size of the Armistice and their crews. Normally it was occupied by nearly half of the Neo-Luddites' recently acquired fleet of combat and troop ships, and exposed to the vacuum of space. Now most of them were on assignment, and at least two wouldn't be returning. Since it was a large space, fortified against the minor collisions that were a threat of any docking procedure, and designed to be quickly sealed off against decompression, it was the best choice on the station to test potentially dangerous devices. Unlike Karter's lab, it even had artificial gravity. Thus the doors had been sealed, the bay had been pressurized, and it was abuzz with her engineers. Each of the five landing pads had been set up with a different invention, with various safety equipment and testing apparatus included. It gave the area the overall feel of a grade school science fair. And just like in a science fair, things took on an excited hush when the judge walked into the room.

  "We'll start with you. Report," Purcell decided, indicating the rightmost landing pad.

  "Yes, commander," said the attending engineer. "These are the double-jump boots. They operate on-"

  "I've been briefed on their capabilities. Demonstrate them and report on their combat role."

  "Yes, commander," said the engineer.

  He stepped aside, revealing a pair of crude, sturdy-looking boots, reinforced and stiff, like ski boots. He took them down from the pedestal, and began to strap them on, reporting a
s he did.

  "We have found the boots to be stable, and predictable in their behavior. They're tricky, but I've had a chance to practice," the engineer stated. "These are charged to approximately 50% of capacity."

  He walked to the edge of the landing pad and surveyed the five meter gap between the pad and the walkway that ran the length of the Docking Bay. After a deep breath, he ran two steps and jumped the railing, as he began to descend, he slapped a button on the control pad and lurched into the air again, landing on the walkway and stumbling into the wall. When he came to a rest, his feet seemed to suddenly lock into position, barely moving despite his best efforts until he tapped another button on the control pad.

  "There, you see? Fully directable kinetic energy storage and discharge! The potential is endless! At the very most basic usage we've been able to store enough energy to deliver over 40 kilo-newtons of force in a single kick. With training, we theorize achieving anything from safely arresting a terminal velocity fall to achieving short sprints of over 80 kph. There are even potential zero gravity maneuvering applications. I-"

  "Yes. That's fine. Very impressive," Purcell stated. She'd been dealing with these men for long enough to know that they were like puppies with a brand new chew toy when they got their hands on fresh technology. If she didn't cut them off, they would rave for hours over the smallest advances. It was a useful attitude, but tended to waste valuable time during briefings. She turned to the next pad. "You, report."

  One by one, her engineers gushed excitedly about the devices they had been permitted to test. They sprayed barely comprehensible figures and benchmarks, but slowly her strategic mind began to wrap around the possibilities. The "Charge Gun" was an attachment the size of a rifle stock that could turn virtually any light energy weapon into an anti-vehicular weapon for at least one shot. The signal manipulator could make concerns of giving yourself away with radio traffic a thing of the past. Even the bizarre "yo-yo coil" could give battering ram capabilities to any ship with a tractor beam, which effectively meant any ship at all. Any one of the five items on display had the capacity to revolutionize warfare, and they were randomly selected from a list of dozens. Never before had the truth of their stance been so clear. Then came the shield.