Ravagers [05.00] Eradicate

by Alex Albrinck

“We were ready to leave the surface, just prior to the activation. He was to fly us away. Daddy kicked him off the ship, said he could fly it himself, and told the guards to escort him outside the building and lock him out.” She took a staccato, staggering breath in. “I’m sure… I’m sure that… the Ravagers… got him.”

  She could see the glint in their eyes, imagining Roddy dissolved by the Ravagers, and felt the anger rise.

  Yancey nodded at her. “I’m sorry for your loss, but he… he clearly wasn’t what he seemed. You deserved better.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, sniffing.

  “How did you end up here, of all places?” Samuel asked.

  “Well, after… that happened? I couldn’t go. We’d planned so much for our time in space. With him gone… for that reason and in that fashion? I couldn’t bear to walk by places and think about him, feel the sadness yet again.”

  “Wow,” Mark said. Yancey rolled his eyes at the supportive comment.

  “I asked Daddy to let me stay. Give me one of the Diasteel suits and something to do on the surface. He suggested that I tour the fortresses, see how things have been progressing, and let him know. It gave me purpose and focus. I went to New Venice first; it was the closest. Checked out how they’re doing and their level of preparedness for terraforming.”

  “How are they doing?” Jason asked.

  “Okay. Nothing exemplary, nothing disastrous. Plenty of supplies.” She figured out where to go next with this. “But I have to tell you… they did have one thing they really struggled with.” She looked around at the eager faces as the waitstaff entered with polished serving trays adorned with lids hiding the food they’d ordered. “The food.”

  “Really?” Mark asked.

  “Yes,” Deirdre said, watching as the lid vanished to reveal a crystal dish covered with a juicy steak and steamed vegetables. It looked and smelled amazing. “Everything fish. Fish for breakfast. For lunch and dinner. For dessert. I guess if you’re built near a lake, you have to serve fish constantly.” She jabbed her fork into a steamed, sliced carrot for emphasis as the men laughed. The waitstaff joined in.

  Samuel nodded at the items Deirdre had set before her on the table. “Is that the motivation behind the gifts you bring?”

  “At least a portion of it.” Deirdre set her fork down, wiped her mouth, and put her napkin on the table as she stood. “It seems that the trick to liven up dull fish at every meal is to add some spice to it.” She nodded at the jar before turning to the bottle. “And a bit of wine never hurt anyone.”

  “What’s in the jar?” Jason asked.

  Mark leaned toward him, a smirk on his face. “Probably Roddy’s—.”

  “It’s called Sriracha sauce,” Deirdre said, perhaps a bit too quickly. She noted the brief hint of familiarity on their faces as she said the word, though she’d personally never heard of it. “I hear it has quite a kick.” She opened the lid and held it up to her face, inhaling lightly. Her eyes watered. “Yep. Still kicking.”

  “Is it any good?” Mark asked.

  “It’s to die for.”

  “What the hell, pass that over. And I wouldn’t mind trying a new wine vintage.”

  “Allow me,” the head waiter said. He nodded at his crew, and in what seemed an instant they had wine glasses set around the table, the contents decanted into a beautiful crystal, and were offering to pour samples for each of the dinner guests. Deirdre glanced around, and one of the waitstaff handed her a small spoon. She passed spoon and jar to Mark, who ladled a bit of Sriracha onto his plate and passed the jar and spoon to Jason.

  Before long, she heard loud comments about the heat of the sauce—and undercurrents about what else was hot in the room—and everyone had gotten refills on what all declared to be an excellent wine.

  Samuel raised his glass of the fine New Venice wine. “A toast, if I may?” After the others raised their glasses, he continued. “I’d like to toast the successful conclusion to this journey. Though many perished”—here he lowered his eyes for a moment, and Deirdre knew it was for show, to mask the true intent of the Ravagers from the unknowing waitstaff—“we are now relieved of the threat to our species and can move forward once more. Here’s to a successful terraforming effort!”

  Glasses clinked. Deirdre took a small sip and swirled her wine, noting with quiet glee that the others drank deeply. Another round of refills, and the head waiter nodded to have another bottle of a local favorite brought out to the table.

  Deirdre kept swirling the wine in her glass, pretended to take a sip, and then set the glass down. “So, what’s going on around the world? As mentioned, I’ve been stuck alone in a ground car without any reliable communication, so I’m terribly behind on where things are. Terribly frustrating solution to getting me here, I might add; I’m hoping my father sees fit to seriously punish the people at New Venice.” She speared a piece of asparagus and held it to her mouth. “Did everything get underway in the East?” She plopped the asparagus into her mouth and nearly fainted. Someone around here knew how to prepare the vegetable; the taste was divine.

  “Moving along pretty nicely over there at last report. The East was a trickier territory; everything’s more spread out, and Delilah—sorry, your mother—wanted to keep the number of seeding points minimized. They’re using copper cables over there, though, to move stuff between cityplexes. It sucked trying to communicate in good times, and helped silo cities unto themselves. That helped for the activation; nobody would bother trying to alert friends in other cityplexes about the dark ooze dissolving everyone and everything. They wouldn’t care enough to think of that. So no chance for people who might have a chance to run and escape to get away in time.” He finished off his glass of wine and nodded to get a refill. “Outside the mishap at the Enclave, everything’s going well out East.”

  Deirdre, who was just about to take a bite of the piece of steak she’d just forked into her mouth, paused. She pushed the delectable morsel into her cheek. “Miss-shap?” Curse her inability to talk with her mouth full of food.

  Mark looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “That’s right. You’ve been disconnected for a while. Apparently one of your ex-husband’s new colleagues—sorry!—got hold of an old missile. Managed to find a small seeding of Ravagers and loaded them in as the payload, which left them out of communication when the activation code went out. When he realized what was going on, the missile got launched.”

  “At the Enclave?” She’d forgotten to keep chewing, and resumed now. Slowly.

  “Yeah.”

  Deirdre swallowed, sensed the under-chewed meat get stuck in her throat, and washed it down with the cool glass of water on the table. She coughed, wiped her mouth, and looked at Mark. “So… what happened?”

  He shrugged. “Missile crashed. Code says an attack on the Ravagers is to be interpreted as a signal to activate. Plus, once it crashed and cracked open, they detected the activation signal. They activated. They spread out. People died, around a dozen at last check. Lots of people lost limbs, mostly feet. Smart ones bolted into the ocean until the machines got the signal to stop. It was pretty ugly.”

  She didn’t care, but knew she was expected to ask. “Were any of the casualties… ours?”

  Samuel nodded. “Mostly servants, but I’m told one of the deceased was Damien Hyel.”

  Wow. “So… wait. He’s… dead?” Poetic justice; she’d never like Damien, not even before she’d seen the light. Or, maybe, the Light.

  “Yeah. Sounds like Marcia and Meredith were near him at the time—always thought there was something going on with some combination of those three—and they got… well, Ravaged.”

  Mark snickered. Deirdre wanted to punch him, but continued her line of questioning instead. “I hope it was contained?”

  “Yeah,” Samuel said. “They got servants to dig perimeter trenches around the outbreak so the ocean water could flow in and wall it off. Not sure they needed to; the deactivation signal for the Western batch went out be
fore they could get very far. Not long after, the tide came in and washed over all of them. People came in with heavy machinery and just bulldozed most of the beach into the ocean; guess they didn’t want to take chances.”

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine they would.” She started cutting her steak again, though her eyes were on the perfectly cooked asparagus. Too many good choices. “Haven’t had a chance to check in with the folks upstairs. How are things there?”

  Jason, who’d been chewing a bit of the seared fish he’d ordered, swallowed before answering. “Well…”

  Deirdre frowned. “Something… wrong?”

  “Some… chaos, shall we say?”

  Now she stared at him. “Up there? How?”

  “We had hints of some resistance; you mentioned your husband went over to their side, so you’re aware of that as well.”

  She’d mostly known of it because of the two creeps who’d imprisoned her at New Venice. But they didn’t need to know that. “Of course. You’re saying… they got to the space station?”

  “It’s possible they were brought there if their true intentions weren’t known. Not relevant at this point. At any rate, they set off a lot of explosions. Did a lot of damage, mostly minor at first, but then there was a much bigger one.” He shook his head. “The whole docking station is gone.”

  “They blew up the docking station?” She’d been through that area enough to realize the size of the explosion required to destroy it. “How?”

  “Not sure. Witnesses who survived didn’t see anything flammable, and it seemed to come from a ship docked in one of the bays. Might be that they planted a huge bomb inside a ship and smuggled it aboard one of ours before we left. It went off. Lots of ships destroyed, and people are stranded there for now, though not many had planned to leave just yet. Most projects are on hold to either start repairs or build more ships.”

  She swallowed, though there was nothing in her mouth. “How many people were… hurt?”

  Yancey grimaced. “The smaller explosions probably killed a half dozen, wounded twice that many. The prisoners who escaped from the brig took out perhaps thirty more—”

  “What? Prisoners escaped the brig?”

  “Yeah, they targeted one of the bombs at the entry. The major casualty count came at the docking station. So many people passing through as part of normal movement around the station, people working there, people coming and going on ships… they think at least five hundred dead. And…” He paused, then looked down, become suddenly interested in the greenery on his plate.

  The room had grown uncomfortably quiet. Deirdre felt all of the eyes in the room on her, and the motivations were nothing like the lecherous stares from before.

  She felt a chill run down her spine and set her fork down. Feeling suddenly light headed, she asked her question quietly. “What is it you don’t want to tell me, Yancey?”

  He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry, Deirdre. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, escorting a captured prisoner who’d committed some of the earlier atrocities. She was on the docking bay walkway when it happened. There was nothing that could be done for her.”

  She pushed her plate aside, not caring that it knocked over her still half-filled glass of wine, folded her arms on the table, and lowered her head. She didn’t want to let them see her cry.

  No tears came, though.

  She gave herself a moment to regain some semblance of composure before lifting her head. “My father… is he…?”

  “He wasn’t nearby at the time, if that’s what you mean.” Samuel looked as uncomfortable as Yancey. “Oswald is quite devastated, I’m told. He probably tried to contact you while you were out of range, but…” He shook his head. “He wanted to bring her back to the surface, to… to say final goodbyes. But… with so few ships still operational, and his emotional state, and… Well, it hasn’t happened yet.”

  She whispered the next question. “Is this place… next?”

  “We’ve checked everywhere. There are no new people in the facility. We’ve checked every food store for tampering, every supply and piece of equipment for the terraforming effort. Nothing looks amiss. If they’re going to attack again, it will be against a people well-prepared for their treachery.”

  Jason nodded. “You’re safe here, Deirdre. We all are.”

  She didn’t say anything, just pushed her chair back, felt it move more smoothly as one of the wait staff pulled it aside for her. She stood up, holding her head high, letting the emotion of the moment rule her movement and facial expressions. “I’d hoped to spend more time catching up, gentlemen. But… I… I’m still tired from the journey here, and need to excuse myself. And… I need to check in with my father. Tell him that everything here looks to be under control.”

  She surprised herself with the last line; it would keep any of them from contacting Oswald right away, to tell him Deirdre had arrived and they’d told her the horrible news of her mother’s passing. It would give her time to make the call herself.

  She would make no such call. And they’d be dead before they’d think to do it themselves.

  The men stood as she left, with looks of what appeared to be genuine sympathy on their faces. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was this side of them that she’d seen while growing up, a side that seemed more… human. At this instant, if Miriam asked her to kill them again… she wouldn’t.

  Too late to reconsider now.

  “Oswald already knows about the progress made here toward starting terraforming efforts,” Samuel told her.

  “He’s quite pleased,” Mark added.

  “So rest up tonight; you can talk to him tomorrow,” Yancey said.

  “I may contact him anyway. Just to see how he’s doing about… you know.”

  “You could just wait,” Jason said.

  “Wait?” Deirdre, who had nearly reached the door, stopped and turned. “Why would I wait in a situation like this?”

  “Because if you wait, you can talk to him in person. Your father will be here tomorrow.”

  She paused. “Oh.”

  Then she walked out.

  Her father would be here tomorrow. He’d find out that his four friends had died suddenly. He’d learn that his daughter had arrived the previous day, dined with the quartet the night before.

  He’d be suspicious. Angry.

  Deirdre had just poisoned them all, and herself. Her father’s wrath would be fierce.

  She just didn’t know if she’d be alive long enough to face him.

  Chapter 17

  Approaching The Space Station

  The invisible sphere accelerated upward, away from those they’d left behind, new allies and old friends alike. Mary watched as her husband’s frame disappeared beneath wispy, low-hanging clouds. She hoped he’d join her again soon, and they’d fight together to the end, making sure at least one of them survived to care for their amazing children.

  She turned back toward the team. “How long will it take to reach the space station?”

  Estimated travel time is six hours, three minutes.

  “Thanks, computer.”

  You are welcome, Mary.

  “Computer, I need to provide you with an update on the space station,” Sheila said. Mary noted that the other woman’s voice seemed… mechanical. Almost emotionless. Micah said he’d worked with her for quite some time; she wondered how he’d dealt with that aspect of the woman’s personality. She was obviously courageous, though. Mary couldn’t help but wonder how bad the damage had been.

  Please provide your update, Sheila Clarke.

  “A recent explosion has left the primary docking station unusable. There are no working docks available, nor are there pressurized air tubes allowing us entry inside in a safe fashion. Are you able to scan the facility and find an alternative entry, ideally one which keeps us well hidden?” She paused. “And allows us safe entry, keeping in mind we need proper pressure and breathable air. I speak from experience when I say breathable air and adequate pressur
e is very important.”

  A thorough scan of the exterior and appropriate analysis will require approximately four hours, twenty-two minutes. Shall I alert you when I locate a suitable entry?

  “Yes, please do.”

  John chuckled. When the woman looked at him, he shrugged. “Sorry. Machines referring to themselves as ‘I’ just seems… amusing to me. Thinking, analysis, all without direction. Can you imagine a machine emulating conscious thought?”

  Mary shrugged. “Whiskey?”

  John’s smirk straightened out. “Good point.”

  Sheila smiled. Mary wasn’t sure why that point was funny. Unless it was still the liquor-based name triggering amusement.

  They sat down on the cushioned interior seating. “So,” Mary began. “We don’t know where we’re going in, or where we should establish a rendezvous point with the others prior to starting our attack. I spent sufficient time working there, before my capture, that I was able to explore most of the space, and should be able to find my way around.”

  “Same,” John said. “There were a few off limits areas, so if we end up in any of those spaces at the start it might get confusing.”

  “Did you ever figure out what ‘Noah’s Ark’ was?” Mary asked. “Nobody would tell me, and they certainly didn’t let me inside.”

  Sheila smiled. “Noah’s Ark is a large section of the space station used to house seeds, frozen embryos, and tissue samples of everything needed to terraform the surface back to what it was before. Most of the space is occupied by living versions of those more portable types: full-grown trees, grasses, bushes, plants, predator and prey alike. Some of which I do not believe have walked the planet’s surface in centuries.”

  John stared at her. “How did you find that out?”

  “My only trip in and out of the space station took an interesting path or two. Aided by what I was able to do with the gift Micah gave each of you during our trip to New Venice and to meet the old timers.”

  They’d held a quick final meeting on Eden after the robots, led by Whiskey, took the children away to avoid too many painful goodbyes. Micah had apparently collected the internal and external miniature robot swarms, and he’d given each of them a tasteless liquid to drink, explaining to them the general concept of nanobots and naming them, saying that they’d learn how to use them over time as they traveled to their various battles. Mary suspected he’d just forgotten to do that before they’d dropped Wesley off. Then again, perhaps Micah knew that the man’s training made him perform at his best when he knew he could get caught, rather than when he knew he couldn’t be seen.