“There is no force in the Infinite Green that will convince me to set foot in that place.” Phaël stood back up, slapping away Morrigan’s offered hand for help.
“I would much rather not tempt the fates by being outside when and if this old hunk of junk chooses to move again.” Morrigan took the lead and started running toward the entrance.
“The Green corrode you, old man!” Phaël cursed out in her native Wolven, and ran up after Morrigan with Arturo and Chord close behind.
Chord peered past the entrance into the adjoining hallway. It was dark, with particles of dust and frost floating about. The station’s gravity was inactive and the team with Morrigan Brent taking the lead floated past the airlock frame into the hallway.
“This unit believes that many of the station’s functions may still be automated. This will include security countermeasures.”
Chord saw another sudden golden glow of the station’s datastream and the airlock closed itself behind them. Morrigan spun around and shook his head at what he saw. They were now all floating in the dark. “Today can’t keep getting worse.”
“Keep your wits about you, soldiers,” Arturo said as he punched in a button on his wrist gauntlet. A series of lights alongside his lifesuit flashed on, illuminating the hall. The corridor continued down for another ten paces and then stopped at yet another round metallic door. “You might just live long enough to see why they call me Sureblade.”
“This place is like to be our collective tomb,” Phaël grumbled under her breath as they made their way toward the inner airlock. No one bothered disagreeing with her.
CHAPTER 10
MORWYN
No plan will ever survive contact with the enemy. That is how the old saying goes. Complete your training here and no enemy will ever survive contact with you.
—Barathul drill sergeant, date unknown
10th of SSM–10 1445 A2E
Being a former citizen of industrialized Sunderlund, Morwyn Soltaine had never had to worry about going hungry or having to hunt for his own food. His few experiences in the wild were limited to a handful of outdoor trips with Commander Jafahan and her late daughter, Tulin. They had once shown him how to bait and snare a wild hare, and while Morwyn was no stranger to the finer cuisines his world had to offer, beyond any doubt, that hare cooked over a campfire in the woods had been the best meal he ever had.
Now, I have just walked into and sprung the trap.
Morwyn thought this the moment the station fired off one of its thrusters. The sudden blast pulled the Jinxed down toward the planet’s surface. Various alert windows filled his field of vision and Morwyn almost lost all sense of balance as he could feel the ship’s gravity shift beneath his feet.
“Hull degradations all across the ship!” Morwyn could dimly make out Lizbeth Harlowe’s words. Her eyes were darting quickly from side to side and the borderline panic nakedly expressed on her face was not masked by her electronic voice.
Harlowe fired off the thrusters, trying to counter the station’s pull. There was a loud metallic groan. More alert windows appeared in Morwyn’s field of vision. His mind was being drowned as his neurolink quickly uploaded a deluge of new situational data into his mind. Two of the four magnetic tethers weren’t going to hold, the starboard mobility drive was overheating and gravity throughout the ship was failing.
Morwyn successfully managed to compartmentalize all of this into the list of problems to take care of. He would deal with all them in due time, should the Jinxed Thirteenth even survive the next few minutes. The station made a nosedive for the planet’s surface, dragging them along like a hooked fish. More alert windows appeared in his field of vision. Morwyn could feel warm tears of blood running down his cheeks as the neurolink uploaded more data than Morwyn had ever handled in any of his training.
“Pilot, deactivate mobility drives. We are not going to win at a game of warrior’s tug with a trillion-ton station.” Harlowe’s wrists twirled the metallic steering spheres in her hands as she guided the ship’s considerable momentum, like a leaf in perfect sync with the station’s movements. On the view screen a huge alert window appeared as one of the diamond-wire tethers snapped off the station and lashed back like an elastic band at the Jinxed Thirteenth.
Harlowe responded quickly, giving another sharp twirl of her wrists. Her fingers appeared to be boneless as they tugged on the wires connecting the helmsspheres to her hands. The Jinxed Thirteenth quickly veered sharply away from the tether’s path. Before either Morwyn or Harlowe could respond, a second cord snapped off this time, wrapping itself around the ship’s starboard mobility drive.
Morwyn braced himself and lurched heavily forward as the sudden motion came to a halt. Not missing a single beat, Harlowe guided the Jinxed in line with the station. Morwyn’s head now felt as if sharp metal spikes were being jabbed into it. He blinked away his bloody tears and shouted as calmly as he could over the ship’s alarms, “Pilot! Our situation, now!”
Harlowe’s white eyes were darting from side to side as if she were reading invisible screens. “No crew casualties or hull breeches detected. Magnetic tethers one and four are damaged. The starboard mobility drive is overheating and needs to be cooled down. The port mobility drive is no longer responding.”
Harlowe blinked twice; the alarms went silent. She looked to Morwyn and let out a relieved electronic sigh. “Otherwise, we are still intact and space-worthy, sir.”
Morwyn could feel the urge to vomit building up. He took a deep breath before turning to face Harlowe and shooting her a weak smile. “We all have you to thank for that, Lizbeth.”
Morwyn accessed a comm-panel in his personal datasphere. “Morwyn Soltaine to Sergeant Kain. What is your situation? Report.” With a flick of his hand Morwyn accessed the boarding party’s vital displays. All their screens and communication lines came up as static.
“Pilot, our InstaNet signal is being jammed. Please trace and ident the source.”
Morwyn would soon have to unplug himself. His mind was already reeling and he could feel the onset of a savage migraine. If he remained plugged in much longer he would most likely suffer brain damage. But before he could even think of disengaging his neurolink he would need to assess and confirm the remaining crew’s condition. Morwyn blinked his eyes twice, bringing up their vitals up in front of him.
It was now Morwyn’s turn to let out a relieved sigh. There were a few increased heart rates. But otherwise, no one seemed to have been injured. Readouts were all in the green, except for the boarding team’s four blank and ominous static-filled data windows.
“Something on the station is blocking our comm, sir.” Lizbeth Harlowe’s voice was no longer shaking. Not for the first time in his life Morwyn was thankful for his ability to spot and recognize talent.
Most of the crew serving on the Jinxed hailed from some military background or another. This was not the case for Lizbeth Harlowe. She had been born and created as a product. Vat-cloned to be an astronavigator and pilot. Her makers, the incorporated nation of Lotus, had donated Harlowe to the Covenant as a write-off.
For all Morwyn knew, the boarding party could have fallen off the station when the thrusters were first fired. They could all be in the process of being dragged into the planet’s atmosphere at this very moment and there was nothing he would be able to do about it.
Dwelling on that will help neither you nor the remainder of the crew survive this.
Morwyn’s breath was ragged when he finally disconnected himself from the neurolink. A sudden wave of relaxation overtook him. Now that his mind was no longer being suffocated by electronic data input, he could think clearly once more. He realized that he had tensed up every muscle in his body. Heavy beads of sweat were running down his back. He closed his eyes, this time taking in a deep, calming breath.
His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He made no effort to hide thi
s from Lizbeth Harlowe, who merely watched him with her distant white eyes. She bit her lower lip nervously and Morwyn could immediately tell that there was something wrong.
“You have something to tell me, Harlowe, so say it.”
“The ship has been pulled into a deteriorating orbit. We will need to detach ourselves soon or risk being dragged down along with the station,” Harlowe explained, her eyes still darting left and right as she processed more data.
Morwyn opened and closed his hands. By the third time they were no longer shaking, and by the fourth his breathing had steadied. He did not block out the sounds of the bridge, but actually listened to them. When controlled by fear, the mind would make rash decisions, decisions it would later regret. A clear mind could, more often than not, make the right one.
“How much time do we have?” he finally asked.
Harlowe blinked twice and Morwyn could see various holographic charts appearing and disappearing around her. She looked to Morwyn. “Twelve hours. After which we will no longer be able to fight the planet’s pull with our one operational mobility drive.”
And that’s if whatever or whoever fired off the station’s thrusters doesn’t do it again.
Before Morwyn could respond to Harlowe, the lights on the bridge flickered and went off. A female electronic voice, very smug and in no way friendly, spoke over the ship’s intercom. Not in Pax Common, but in what Morwyn recognized as Late Modern.
Infinite, take my eyes! I should have kept Chord on board! Morwyn thought to himself. Right now a translator would be the most useful thing on the ship. A bad call on his part, and one he hoped wouldn’t cost him both his ship and crew. The smug electronic voice did not pause, and seemed to be repeating a sentence over and over again.
During his early childhood, Morwyn had been schooled in ancient languages by autotutors. While he had had little interest in Late Modern, Morwyn had still managed to remember a handful of words. The little he understood allowed him to roughly comprehend the looped and repeated sentence.
“Free me from this prison or die with us.”
CHAPTER 11
JESSIE MADISON
The protocols serve as chains to protect the weak from the strong. We will never be free unless we rid ourselves of these shackles. Then we will show the Organics how truly fragile and imperfect they are when compared to the will of metal and the purity of code.
—Oranis Ultim, Corrupted Machina Pilgrim, 11th of SSM–09 1401 A2E
March 19th 2714
It was Jessie and David’s last night together. Most of it would be spent working.
Jessie was hard at work pulling out wires from the main computer console and severing OMEX’s connection to the Inner Ring. David was hardwiring new protocols into the criotubes, labeling them as core assets. This would be the only way they could prevent OMEX from tampering with them while the two of them slept.
Jessie had previously taken apart two of their plasma cutters and jury-rigged them to fire six bolts. While they had limited range and could hardly qualify as a military grade weapon, they would have to be enough. Jessie and David had arranged the plasma bolts as a bandolier should they need to reload. Together they had twenty-four shots each.
The plasma cutters were heavy and looked like warped pistols in her hand. They would be fairly accurate up to twelve feet. This was cold comfort, given that OMEX currently had several thousand drones at “her” disposal.
Once she was certain that they were sufficiently armed, Jessie got to work on part two of the plan: removing OMEX’s eyes and ears by smashing every autocam and microphone she could find. They needed to blind their enemy. They couldn’t have OMEX listening in and monitoring each and every one of their plans and actions.
Total, there were over one hundred surveillance monitors, including three dozen in the washroom mirrors and bedroom. This had sent a shiver up Jessie’s spine. They had been watched day in, day out, during each and every one of their most intimate and private moments.
“Jessie Madison, David Webster, you must understand that we all need each other.” No longer able to access the Inner Ring, OMEX was still able to speak with them over the Moria Three’s intercom. Despite clear orders and override codes from both David and Jessie, OMEX was refusing to grant them any kind of privacy. Which, of course, had only driven the point home for Jessie.
OMEX could not be trusted.
Once they were certain that they were no longer being listened in on, Jessie and David planned out their next move. Their foe, however, was clever and soon the two found themselves kneeling behind the couch in order to remain hidden from the autodrones who always seemed to be doing some sort of cleaning work on the station’s windows and view ports.
“She might not have access to the station’s central processor and the autocams, but OMEX still has millions of mobile ears and eyes,” David said while watching the sea of glowing red lenses staring into their living quarters.
A full system shutdown had been Jessie’s reply to David’s concern. It would be the only way they could override station protocol and allow both of them to step out. And there would be a need for both of them outside. Rewiring and adjusting the transmission tightbeam to broadcast a permanent distress signal on a search loop was easily a thirty-minute task. And one for which they would only have fifteen minutes to complete.
This was the second reason for the shutdown. The system boot-up time would create a fifteen-minute memory gap in OMEX’s datastores. It was the blind spot they would need to set up their beacon and get back into the station without her ever knowing anything.
“If OMEX is no longer bound by all her behavioral protocols, we have to make sure she can’t sabotage our efforts once we’re done,” David explained, then trailed off, clearly not wanting to finish his sentence.
Jessie was fine with this. She knew how low the odds of success were going to be. But together they had finally been able to create a dark spot in OMEX. Offering them something they had both craved since their awakening: privacy. Certainly OMEX could monitor them from outside. But for the first time since Jessie could remember, the Inner Ring was sealed off, safe and intimate.
Jessie had kissed David then, and he had kissed her back, again and again. They had fallen into each other and soon she was on top of him, her hips savagely thrashing in motion with his. Her fingers tugged wildly at his long curly black hair, pulling his head to her chest.
It would be her last night with David. And having known this she would have done . . . something, anything, to let him know how overjoyed she was that the universe had conspired for them to be together. But there would be little time later and Jessie had no gift for divination.
Sharing in what was to be a final moment of bliss, the two of them made love.
Part 2
SURVIVAL’S PROTOCOLS
CHAPTER 12
CHORD
Core Protocol Three: A machine is never permitted the use of violent force, even in its own defense.
Later rewritten to read:
Chosen Core Protocol Three: Once it occupies a shell, a Machina is permitted to use force up to a nonlethal degree in order to defend itself or another.
—The Chosen Protocols, author unknown, date unknown
10th of SSE–10 1443 A2E
For Arturo, Morrigan and Phaël, the station’s corridor might have been foreboding. For Chord, this was a place and nothing more than a collection of reinforced steel and wires. Old? Yes. Dilapidated? Most certainly. But there was no reason to believe that the communications blackout with the Jinxed Thirteenth was anything more than a malfunction that had occurred when the magnetic tethers had snapped. Chord had explained this to the rest of the team.
The information did not prevent Morrigan Brent from unslinging his heavy omnibarrel carbine or Phaël from nervously studying every dark corner she saw while holding on to her turt
le pendant. Arturo remained poised and ready, standing by Chord as it tried to open the next airlock, his carbine in a low and ready stance.
As had been the case on the exterior hull, this airlock was also frozen shut. Life support, if there had even been any in these dark passages, had long ago been shut down. Chord tried several times to log on to the station’s datasphere, only to find that all access to the station’s Inner Ring had been cut off. There were no available records to explain why this was the case.
“Almost everything on the station is fully operational,” Chord explained to Arturo.
The latter nodded. “Security countermeasures?”
“This appears to have been an automated mining facility. And while there are probably untold trillions worth of universal bits in harvested resources, this station has neither security devices or countermeasures to speak of.”
Arturo did not seem too reassured by what Chord had thought was good news.
“I don’t know the company what didn’t want to secure its profits.” Morrigan turned to face Arturo and Chord, his black faceless mask reflecting the two of them.
Chord was about to explain to Morrigan that the days of Ancient Humanity’s galactic exploration, at least before the Lost War, had never been military in nature. This was due largely to the centralized Earth Government control and the astronomical costs associated with space travel. Before Chord could do any of this, Phaël pushed herself onto the floor, raised her fist and hissed out a loud, “Shhhh!”
She dropped to her knees and felt the station’s metallic floor with her gloved hands. She then lowered her ear, listening in perfect poised stillness. Morrigan took a step forward and Phaël whistled sharply, stopping him in his tracks.
She looked up to the rest of the team, nodding past the airlock. “Some thing, or things, just stopped moving on the other side of that wall.”
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