The Ghost Mine

by Ben Wolf

  Captain Mitchell ordered a couple of his IPMs to check the corridor, and they cleared it. The IPMs led the way out and brought up the rear with everyone else in the middle. A few more mutations emerged, some from the corridor and some from the ceiling, but the IPMs dispatched them with ease.

  When they reached the grav lift again, it still had no power, so they proceeded down to the access door. The IPMs formed a wide perimeter as Garth and Etya worked to open the door.

  Eventually, Captain Mitchell ordered one of the IPMs to cut it open. Before long, the IPM had cut a hole in it large enough for everyone to squeeze through.

  Pipes, conduits, and steel formed its four long walls. The space was wide enough to fit his dormitory, Garth’s suite, and the entire medbay inside and still have space leftover.

  Inside, Justin shined his repeater light up the interior of the grav lift shaft. In the near-total darkness, it looked ominous. His vision started to swirl, and he braced himself against the nearest wall and looked away.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and Shannon’s voice sounded in his ears. “You okay?”

  He turned. Even in the low light, she looked incredible. “Yeah. Just don’t like heights.”

  She nodded. “I’m not a fan, either.”

  “No,” Justin said. “I mean, I get vertigo. And flight-sickness whenever I travel.”

  “Well, take it easy, alright? It’s better than the alternative.”

  Justin sighed. “Isn’t that the truth.”

  “Grav lift platform’s at the top, where the loading docks are,” Stecker said. “It’s supposed to rest here at the bottom.”

  “Maybe it got stuck up there when the power issues started,” Harry said.

  “Maybe.” Stecker rubbed his chin.

  “There are two service ladders, not one.” Harry pointed to a smaller shaft adjacent to the grav lift shaft. “They’re mounted to opposite walls in there. We’ll be climbing back-to-back.”

  Captain Mitchell focused on Garth and Etya. “Can either of you get the lift working?”

  Garth glanced at Etya, but she didn’t say anything. He refocused on Captain Mitchell. “There’s power running through the lights, but, inexplicably, the power isn’t reaching the grav lift. There’s nothing either of us can do because there’s no power.”

  Captain Mitchell leaned in close. “No offense, son, but next time I ask you a yes-or-no question, I’d like a yes-or-no answer.”

  “Yessir.” Garth gulped. “Sorry.”

  “Up the ladders, same formation as we used when we left the cavern: Marines first, then civilians, then more Marines. It’s thousands of feet up. Anyone think they can’t make the climb?” Captain Mitchell scanned their faces with his hard eyes.

  No one replied in the negative. Justin had his doubts, but if it came down to climbing or getting shot in the head, he’d force himself up the ladder. At least he wasn’t claustrophobic, too.

  Captain Mitchell nodded. “DouPonce, Samson.”

  They hurried over to him.

  “Flares.”

  Private DouPonce and Corporal Samson pulled small, cylindrical devices from their belts and pointed them up the maintenance shaft. The cylinders each spat pink, glowing projectiles up the shaft. They stuck to the shaft’s walls at incremental points and cast bright pink light that illuminated a large stretch of the shaft.

  Justin raised an eyebrow. Good. Now I can see while I’m falling to my death.

  Captain Mitchell nodded toward DouPonce and Samson. “Start climbing, Marines.”

  The climb took more than an hour, and Justin didn’t look down once. He made sure he was smack-dab in the middle of the group. That way, he had to keep going. There was no stopping.

  Plus, if he did fall, maybe someone would grab him on the way down.

  As they climbed, Justin noticed access points between the edge of the grav lift and the maintenance shaft, and they continued upward as well.

  His arms burned, and his legs grew sluggish and heavy, but with every step, the end drew nearer. For Justin, it couldn’t come soon enough, but it did eventually come by way of Stecker and Harry helping to haul him out of the shaft and into a cramped room at the top of the maintenance shaft.

  Finally, DouPonce and Samson helped the last two IPMs up to the top, then they pointed their cylinders down the shaft. The flares dislodged from the walls and zipped upward until they lodged inside the cylinders again, and their pink light faded to nothing.

  Aside from the maintenance shaft they’d just climbed up, the room’s only other exits were an access door comparable to the one they’d cut through on the bottom level and the massive grav lift shaft to the left.

  “Beyond this door,” Captain Mitchell pointed to the access door with his thumb, “lies your freedom. We’ll enter the area, find a way to get the loading dock doors open, then radio for our pilot to come pick everyone up. Crystal?”

  They all nodded. Some of them said, “Clear.”

  The IPMs cut a hole in that door as well, and again, everyone squeezed through. When Justin stepped through the door, he shined his repeater light around.

  The room was massive—even bigger than the cavern in Sector 6, but made of steel and concrete instead of blue rock. Mammoth shelves, packed with mining and various other equipment, lined the walls and divided most of the space into long rows.

  Occasional lights mounted to the bottoms of the walls at regular increments shined soft blue light toward the ceilings, but it wasn’t nearly enough to light the entire space. Maybe emergency lights. Or maybe the place had power.

  Where there weren’t shelves, cube- and rectangle-shaped shipping containers sat in rows near a set of huge doors wider than the grav lift—probably the loading dock’s main doors for loading and unloading mass shipments. The container stacks towered at least fifty feet high at their tallest, and a single shipping container stood about ten feet high.

  “So how do we get out of here?” Captain Mitchell asked.

  Harry pointed beyond the massive shipping door. “There’s a smaller version of that door over to the right, and past that, there’s at least one person-sized hatch over there. We can’t see it from here, but it’s there. The planet’s atmosphere is harsh, so if your ship can land near either of the loading doors, then we don’t have to brave the elements for long. It’s not safe to stay outside longer than a half-hour.”

  “Our transport is hovering nearby. I can have it here within five minutes, so I’ll call when we get out of the mine,” Captain Mitchell said. “How do your employees work the loading docks when the atmosphere is so volatile?”

  “We mostly use androids and other robots up here. It’s primarily unskilled labor. Lots of basic numbers, lots of heavy lifting. Not complex enough to require much human intervention. And the few employees who did work up here had access to protective suits.”

  Harry pointed at a massive, elevated cube that protruded into the space from the wall. It sat atop two metal pillars, and glass formed the majority of its wall space.

  “The human foremen used that office to oversee the androids,” Harry said.

  Justin recognized the setup. It looked exactly like the science office protruding into Sector 13—and what remained of the office in Sector 6, only it had to be at least twice as large.

  “It’s probably the easiest gig in the whole mine, except when the androids break down,” Harry continued. “They also oversee the androids’ maintenance throughout the complex.”

  “Fine. Which door can we open?” Captain Mitchell asked.

  Harry pointed to a small hatch on the far side of the office. “Best bet is probably that hatch. Per code, it should have a manual override. External doors typically do. Sometimes it’s a lever, sometimes it’s a hatch wheel. I haven’t used that one, so I don’t know.”

  “But either way, it should get us out of here.”

  “Yes. It should.”

  “Then let’s—”

  Clang.

  The sound came fro
m the far side of the loading docks. Everyone’s guns and lights jerked toward the sound, casting a spiderweb of shadows through the network of shelves.

  “Quiet,” Captain Mitchell hissed.

  No one moved. Justin didn’t even breathe.

  They stood there, gradually shining their lights around that area, but Justin neither saw nor heard anything else.

  Captain Mitchell held up his hand and waved everyone forward. His voice low, he said, “Marines, form up around the civilians. Advance.”

  The IPMs obeyed, and Justin found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Dirk near the outer edge of the IPMs’ perimeter. Dirk’s scowl hadn’t faded since they’d left Sector 6.

  Justin couldn’t blame him. He’d worn a comparable expression in the wake of Keontae’s death, and for much longer.

  In order to reach the hatch, the group had to progress around the rows of shelves to a main thoroughfare. Arrows, lines, and numbers on the floor glowed in reflective yellow paint.

  The group entered the rows of shelves and progressed through them at a quick, steady pace.

  Clang.

  Everyone stopped again and whirled back. This time, the sound had come from behind them.

  “You seem to know a lot about this place,” Captain Mitchell muttered to Harry. “Any explanation for that noise?”

  Harry shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Sir?” a voice said from ahead.

  Captain Mitchell turned toward the IPM who’d said it, then he froze. His gaze fixed on the dog-sized thing in the aisle ahead of the group. “What the hell is that?”

  Their lights illuminated its boxy head, mounted to a base of black, tactical treads. Twin miniature cannons pointed at the group from either side of its head, and light glinted off the exposed steel on its head where its olive green paint had chipped off.

  Justin recognized it as the first security robot he’d encountered on his first foray into Sector 6. He’d thrown a stone at it to see if it was functioning and chipped its paint in the process. What was it doing up here?

  “How did it get there?” Captain Mitchell asked, his voice hushed.

  The IPM shook his head. “It was just there when I turned back around.”

  Justin’s heart rate sped up, and the sense that something was terribly wrong racked his nerves. He glanced around them, looking for something, anything else out-of-place, but he didn’t know the loading docks. He didn’t know what did or didn’t belong.

  He returned his attention to the guard bot.

  A tiny green light blinked on just to the left of the chip in its paint. Then it turned red.

  That can’t be good.

  The guard bot’s cannons extended out, and its head angled up at them.

  31

  Gunfire crackled from the guard bot’s barrels and shredded the IPM next to Captain Mitchell.

  Shouts tore through the loading docks, shattering the last remnants of calm and stealth. The IPMs at the front returned fire along with Captain Mitchell, all while scrambling for cover in the middle of a row of shelves.

  “It’s on the fritz!” someone yelled.

  “Pulses aren’t hurting it!” another voice shouted.

  “Use your grenade launchers!” Captain Mitchell’s gruff voice pierced the clamor.

  A hollow thunk preceded a fiery explosion that left Justin’s ears ringing. When he turned back, little remained of the guard bot except for one of its cannons, pieces of its treads, and smoldering chunks of rubber, Plastrex, and metal.

  Justin’s repeater beeped at him. He looked at it. It was down to ten percent.

  “Casualty report?” Captain Mitchell ordered more than asked.

  A moment passed, and then one of the IPMs pointed at the corpse of the IPM who’d been killed first. “Private Franklin is dead. We also lost one of the workers.”

  Justin’s heart skittered as he looked around. Was it Shannon? Connie? Candy?

  Dirk knelt next to a body, just as he had back in Sector 6.

  Justin scanned the remaining faces. Reggie was still alive, so it must’ve been Paul, Dirk’s other friend.

  Harry went over to Dirk and placed his hand on his shoulder, but Dirk rose and swatted it away. “Get off of me.”

  Harry balked. “I was just trying—”

  “I don’t care.” Dirk’s voice edged with ice. He shifted his grip on his pipe. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Collect Private Franklin’s weapon and harvest any other resources you can from what’s left of him,” Captain Mitchell ordered his remaining IPMs.

  As the IPMs complied, Stecker stepped over to Captain Mitchell. “Why don’t you let me carry one of those rifles? You’ve got two extras now.”

  Captain Mitchell stared at him. “You got any military training?”

  “GA. Made gunnery sergeant and saw my fair share of skirmishes in the last two copalion wars before I mustered out.”

  “Hey, if he gets a rifle, I want one too,” Dirk spoke up.

  Captain Mitchell shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  When Private Samson finished stripping the equipment from Private Franklin’s body, Connie immediately headed over to it, and Candy followed. While Connie bent down, Candy stood nearby with her arms folded, as if trying to block anyone from watching Connie.

  Justin watched them and glanced around to see if anyone else had taken notice, but they all remained focused on the heated gun discussion between Dirk, Stecker, and Captain Mitchell.

  “What do you think, Mr. Andridge?” Captain Mitchell looked at Carl.

  “Give one to Noby, and let Stecker have one also,” Carl replied. “They’re both capable, and Stecker has proven loyal enough thus far.”

  Connie pulled a chrome, egg-shaped object from Private Franklin’s belt. Justin glimpsed some sort of mechanism on its top. Then Connie stood and tapped Candy’s shoulder. Candy nodded, took the object from her, and tucked it in the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.

  Then they noticed Justin watching. Connie put her index finger to her lips as if to shush him, and Candy stared daggers at him and shook her head slowly.

  Justin nodded and looked away.

  Captain Mitchell looked back at Stecker. “DouPonce, give this security guard one of those rifles. Give the other one to Mr. Andridge’s bodyguard.”

  “This is horse shit.” Dirk spat on the floor near Captain Mitchell’s feet.

  “Enough sneaking around. Anything else in here would’ve heard us by now. We’re heading straight for that hatch, double-time,” Captain Mitchell said. “Anyone who slows us down gets left behind.”

  The group resumed its formation, with Stecker and a trio of IPMs in the lead and Captain Mitchell hanging back near Carl, Noby, and the remaining IPMs. Justin and the other workers straddled the middle.

  They rounded the end of the shelves into a major thoroughfare that ran perpendicular between the rows of shelves. It spread four times as wide as any of the spaces between the rows of shelves, and reflective yellow paint marked lanes on the concrete beneath their feet.

  One right turn would take them onto another main thoroughfare that ran in front of the loading dock offices overhead. A quick left turn toward the hatch, and they’d be out of there.

  The group took the right turn, but the IPMs at the front halted and raised their weapons.

  Their lights shined on a massive, wheeled machine, painted construction-site orange. Red and white strips of reflective material edged its extremities. Two gray blades, scratched and scraped and worn, extended from its front. It pointed away from them and sat across three of the four lanes in a diagonal line.

  “It’s just a forklift,” Harry said. “We can go around it.”

  “There’s one behind us, too,” one of the IPMs said.

  Justin looked back. Another one sat behind them, blocking off the other end of the thoroughfare.

  Captain Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

  As if in response to Captain Mitch
ell’s words, a small white light began to emanate from within the loading dock offices above. It started as one solitary light that shone through the window, then another joined on the opposite end. More lights appeared, alternating in succession from one end to the other and working toward the center of the office’s expansive windows.

  Blue lights. White lights. Yellow lights. Red lights. They all shined from the other side of the glass. Then the lights branched out, each like a constellation of stars against the blackness behind them. While the first lights remained, secondary lights emerged above them. Tertiary lights appeared next, one at each side of the original lights.

  The lights advanced forward, and the office windows shattered. Glass rained down on the group, and they shielded themselves from it as best as they could. Some of them yelled and screamed, and they took cover under the offices.

  That was a mistake. Justin realized it as soon as the first android dropped from the offices and landed in front of them.

  Two-dozen more androids—blue-light custodial androids, white-light medbay androids, red-light kitchen androids, and what Justin presumed were loading dock androids with yellow lights, landed in rapid succession behind the first androids.

  The ghost was controlling them. It had to be.

  The androids charged toward the group with abandon.

  “Open fire!” Captain Mitchell’s voice accompanied the roar of rifle and repeater pulses that tore into the approaching androids.

  Like with the guard bot, the pulse rounds punctured the androids’ bodies, but they did little to stop them from advancing.

  As Justin fired his repeater, a medbay android leaped past him and landed atop an IPM, who shouted. The android grabbed the IPM’s head and crushed it in his hands, silencing him.

  To Justin’s left, a loading dock android, thicker and larger than the other android types, plowed into Corporal Samson and tackled him to the floor.

  Samson, not a small guy by any measure, grunted and repositioned his rifle. His pulse blasts sheared off one of the android’s arms, and he managed to shift out from underneath its girth.