“I’m a little afraid of what she’ll say.”
“The truth is the truth regardless of if you’re aware of it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, this shit isn’t all over your hand. What if it keeps going?”
Miranda looked over the dark, almost glossy material again. What was it doing to her skin under there? “There’s no reason to think it will stop.”
“Well that’s just fucking brilliant. How long before it’s all over me?”
“That’s impossible to guess. It depends if there are any limitations on its growth or if we could slow it down somehow.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Not really. Seon-mi is the medic.” The truth was the bots, whatever they were, had already survived on a comet in the harsh environment of space for who knew how long. It was unlikely anything they could do would slow them down in the slightest.
Petra looked over her hand and frowned. She curled her fingers slowly into a fist. “I’m not going to let her cut if off.”
Miranda barely restrained a sigh. They’d already tried every solvent and corrosive they had on the sample with no change at all in the adhesion of the material. Amputation was the only plan that had any hope of success, but she knew better than to suggest it. “Bruno, go get Seon-mi.”
She had to repeat herself twice before he actually moved. After several false starts, Bruno pulled himself into the companionway and disappeared.
“Seon-mi won’t change my mind about this,” Petra said, when enough time had gone by for Bruno to be out of hearing range.
“I don’t really think that matters unless I can find a way to stop them.” She gestured at the terminal angrily.
Petra had pulled herself closer to the divider with her left hand. “We should blow the comet to bits, along with the platform.”
Miranda took a calming breath. “Assuming we had the firepower to accomplish that, which I’m not sure we do, how do we know that would disable them? For all we know, blowing the comet up would just send them out in every direction. Right now, at least they’re contained here with not much chance of escaping.”
“Who cares if they escape? We’re already dead.” She was too unhinged to see sense at the moment. Hopefully once she calmed down a bit Miranda could talk her out of blowing them all up.
The terminal in front of Miranda chimed. She pulled up the report of what her scan had found. “Maybe not.”
There was a spike in the near ultraviolet range that couldn’t be explained by any nearby natural feature. Miranda dialed in the frequency and instructed the computer to translate it into something audible. The computer adjusted the output slowly, producing only static at first. After a few moments there seemed to be a pattern under the noise, a cadence that shouldn’t have been there if the radiation was being generated randomly. As she listened it became more pronounced—a sub-aural thrumming that set her teeth on edge. “Hot damn. I found it.”
* * *
All four members of the crew were in the instrument bay. They’d confirmed that the nanobots had already infiltrated the ship’s water supply, so there was no longer a reason to keep Petra quarantined. Miranda had been listening to the three others argue since she’d shared the news that she’d found the frequency the nanobots used to communicate. Each had a different plan for how to deal with the issue, and none of them wanted to back down.
Bruno wanted to try to talk to the things. As if they had some kind of motivation and could be convinced to try something else. He didn’t have an idea for how to establish that communication, of course. He wasn’t a linguist; none of them were. That also assumed their signals were a language at all, which Miranda thought was probably a mistake. She was pretty sure whatever had made the things hadn’t been human. They had no reason to believe the bots were doing anything beyond what they were programed to do, whatever that was.
Seon-mi wanted to blast the nanobots with all the ultraviolet radiation they could muster, which was actually quite a lot. The ship had banks of UV lights used for water purification that they could turn on the bots.
Petra still wanted to blow up the comet. The rest of them had taken turns explaining to her what a terrible idea it was to spread a self-propagating adhesive material with an explosion that wouldn’t necessarily destroy it, but she didn’t care.
Miranda wanted to try jamming the bots. It would take time and subtlety, but she felt like it had the best chance of working. Predictably, none of her crewmates supported her idea. They’d made no progress in the discussion so far and four opposing plans wouldn’t get them anywhere.
She could stubbornly hold her course and hope that one of the others changed their mind, but she didn’t think that would happen. Unfortunately it was far more likely that one of the others would support Petra’s mad plan than hers. So that left Miranda with choosing one of the other options and swinging the vote that way.
In truth, there was no choice at all. Seon-mi’s was the only plan that had a prayer of working, though Miranda believed overloading the bots with UV had just as much chance of making them do something unexpected as deactivating them.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Miranda said as loudly as she could. Her voice echoed in the small bay and managed to quiet the others. “Let’s blast them with UV.”
Seon-mi raised a triumphant fist. “All right!”
Petra glared at Bruno, as if that could make him change his vote to her side, but for once, he wasn’t budging. The presence of the bots inside the ship had finally turned him against her, it seemed. Her hand was heavily wrapped now, and tucked into a sling tight against her stomach to prevent her from contaminating anything else. Miranda wondered how far up her arm the sticky substance had climbed and what was happening to her arm under there.
Seon-mi had taken the silence for confirmation that her plan was now officially their plan. “We should start adjusting the lights so we get the best coverage.”
They spent the next two hours setting up the lights and rerouting power for maximum output. Seon-mi checked the preparations one last time while Petra positioned the portable UV light in the quarantine bay. They’d decided they should hit as much of the substance as they could all at once, including the sample box and Petra’s hand.
Seon-mi glanced toward Miranda. “Set the timer.”
Miranda set a sixty second countdown and nodded.
“Close the hatch,” Seon-mi said to Bruno.
He complied and then nodded to her.
Seon-mi brought up the channel to the quarantine bay. “You ready?”
Petra slowly removed her arm from the sling. She opened the top of her coveralls and slid her arm out. She put on eye protection and stood in front of the light. “Ready.” Miranda couldn’t take her eyes off the gray substance that covered Petra’s arm to just past her elbow.
“Start it up,” Seon-mi said.
Miranda snapped to attention and glanced over the subroutine once more before starting the timer. She watched the numbers count back from sixty with a knot of anxiety building in her chest. This was probably their only chance.
Thirty seconds. A distant hum vibrated through the hull as the lights powered up.
Ten seconds. Miranda looked at Petra. She was holding together, barely. The fingers of her right hand shook where she held them under the light.
Five seconds. Doubt plagued Miranda. She battled the urge to cancel the countdown in the final seconds.
Zero. For what seemed like a long time, but could only have been moments, nothing happened. In the odd silence, Miranda thought everything had worked as planned. Bombarded with UV, the bots had stopped doing whatever it is that they were programmed to do.
Petra’s scream broke the trance.
The dark gray line surged upward to consume her biceps, then her shoulder, then her chest. Miranda stared in horror as the nanobots climbed over Petra’s face.
Miranda had to do something. Fast. Or they were all dead. “Kill the lights!”
For what felt like
an eternity, no one moved. Finally, Seon-mi pushed off toward another terminal. “On it.” The lights powered down a few seconds later, but the damage was already done.
Miranda typed as fast as she could, rerouting the power to vent the airlock. When the cabin suddenly went quiet, Miranda glanced up. Petra still stood in the airlock screaming, but no sound came out amid a flood of gray pouring from her mouth and engulfing the floor. Miranda hurried to finish the commands, fingers flying over the terminal.
Airlock management was generally a delicate procedure, but after removing the safeguards she could force a full pressure evacuation that she hoped would send most of the nanobots out the hatch and back toward the surface of the comet before they could fill the quarantine area.
By the time she finished, Petra was an unrecognizable lump under a writhing mass of gray. She started the override sequence and watched. There was no change for a few seconds, and then when the outer hatch popped everything not attached to the bulkhead blew outward. Miranda was glad she couldn’t see Petra’s face under the gray sheet.
“You killed her,” Bruno whispered.
“Shut your mouth.” Seon-mi glared at him. “She was already dead and Miranda’s quick thinking just saved our lives.”
Miranda didn’t feel much like a hero. She thought she was about to be sick, but managed to keep her lunch down by distracting herself with the routine of securing the airlock.
Seon-mi stared into the quarantine bay. “There’s still some in there, but it seems to have stopped spreading for the moment.” She looked back at Miranda. “What do we do now?”
“We can’t risk that any of this survives and spreads.” She paused and locked eyes with Seon-mi. She didn’t know if the other woman would back her play, but something had changed between them when Petra had been overrun. The stakes had gone up. Left unchecked, the nanobots could consume an entire planet. Hell, they could devastate the entire system. “We put the whole thing into the sun.”
Bruno exploded into profanity-laced, almost-incoherent protest.
Seon-mi only nodded slowly.
* * *
ULTRA LOW FREQUENCY COMMUNICATIONS MONITORING REPORT
Location: HUB DEEP SPACE ANTENNA DELTA
Source: WATER MINER CORDERA, Transponder code WMC938254
Status: Approaching outer system markers
Message: HAZARD. Do not approach our position under any circumstances. Comet C/2099 D12 is to be considered highly infectious and any debris found should be handled accordingly. An infestation of self-replicating nanobots on the surface of the comet has overrun our ship. Growth of the colony is unchecked by conventional means. We are directing the comet on a course into the sun. Stay well clear. HAZARD.
*MESSAGE REPEATS*
THE GOD EMPEROR OF LASSIE POINT
Daniel J. Davis
Laundryman 3rd Class Tad Billings stood alone in his quarters, trying not to look like he’d just hidden several kilograms of contraband in the air return. He wasn’t sure he was succeeding.
He straightened his dress uniform, picking an errant piece of dark lint from the white fabric. For at least the fiftieth time, he checked the position of his ribbons: two rows of three, exactly one millimeter spacing between rows, perfectly straight and aligned with the second button of his jacket. The rest of his uniforms hung in his wall locker, starched and spotless. The deck, the bulkheads, and the ceiling had all been scrubbed clean. He’d even touched up the chipped spots with that awful “navy gray” paint that was used for everything aboard Lassie Point.
No, he corrected himself. Not “Lassie Point.” Laundry and Sanitation Support Station Three. He’d made the mistake of using the station’s nickname during the last inspection and Chief Klienman had hammered him for it.
So where the hell was Chief Klienman?
Tad shot a furtive glance upward. The air return grate bowed outward slightly, but the bolts affixing it to the ceiling still held. He was surprised. Like anything else in the Federated Space Force, the bolts were made by the lowest bidder. It was an impressive performance under the strain, all things considered, but he hadn’t intended to keep his stash there for more than a few hours.
Tad checked his watch. 1045 Standard Time. He frowned. Klienman was a stickler. If he said 0800 inspection, he meant 0800 exactly. This wasn’t like the old man at all.
Unless he’s trying to make me sweat, Tad thought. He’s probably standing outside with the Master at Arms. They’re going to haul me to the brig the second I open the hatch.
No. That was crazy. The chief didn’t know about Tad’s supplementary business dealings. And besides, he wasn’t the only man to steal things from the pockets of the uniforms that came through Lassie Point. Everyone did it.
Tad just happened to be the best.
His stomach rumbled. Afternoon chow would be starting soon. He could be standing around for nothing, he realized. The inspection could have been pushed back. Wouldn’t that be just his luck? Tad walked to the hatch. He touched the access pad and stuck his head out into the passageway, looking for somebody to ask.
Kneeling on the deck, filling the passage in both directions, was the entire crew of Lassie Point. Chief Klienman and Captain Park were up front. The rest knelt behind them in a disorganized gaggle. They’d all torn their uniforms into rags, and retied them into strange robes. Several, including the chief, had made rosary-like prayer chains out of their ribbons. Culinary Technician 1st Class Morrison, kneeling close to the back, had fashioned a large headdress out of coffee filters.
“Master!” the captain cried.
“Master!” the chief echoed, counting on his ribbon-chain.
The rest of the crew took up the chant behind them. “Master! Master! All hail the Master!”
* * *
It wasn’t some elaborate prank. That much became clear in short order. Tad paced back and forth in front of his bunk while Chief Klienman and Captain Park knelt on the deck. They crowded the closed hatch behind them, leaving as much floor space between themselves and Tad as possible. Considering the size of his room, there wasn’t much to leave. Park kept his forehead pressed to the ground, only raising it up when expressly told to do so. The chief raised his head whenever Tad spoke, but he kept his eyes averted. The rest of the crew waited outside.
“Run it by me again,” Tad said. “Please.”
“I’ve been elected to speak to you by our most unworthy captain,” Klienman said. He was still counting on his ribbon-chain. “I was chosen because I had more contact with you in the before time. I was the closest to your divine grace, Master.”
“You used to chew me out and make me scrub toilets.”
The chief’s counting stopped. He seemed on the verge of tears. “The before time was terrible, Master. We didn’t see your grace and wisdom. I will always carry the mark of shame for what I did then. If you wish to send me into exile, I will go down to the teleporter deck at once.”
Tad quickly shook his head. Teleporters couldn’t handle live organisms. They were too hard for the computers to reconstruct on the other end. Supposedly, only one in five hundred people survived a teleporter accident. The other four hundred ninety-nine ended up looking like flesh-colored gelatin.
“No, no. That’s okay. Nobody’s exiling anybody.”
The chief did cry now. It seemed like tears of joy. “I will serve you the rest of my days, Master. I swear it.”
Tad still couldn’t wrap his head around it. He sat heavily on the bunk. “So sometime in the last few hours, you all just decided to start worshipping me?”
Klienman clapped his hands together. “Yes. We have seen the light, Master!”
“We have seen the light!” the captain echoed.
Tad glanced up at the bulging air return. It’s that weird thing that came in during the late shift. It has to be.
“I want to be alone for a while. Is that okay?”
“Of course, Master. Anything you say.” The chief bowed and groveled, nearly knocking his head
against the deck as he did so. He and the captain scuttled backwards. “I’ll keep an ensign posted outside the tabernacle. He will be at your command.”
“The tabernacle?”
The chief, still bowing low, spread his hands to indicate the tiny quarters. “The seat of your divine wisdom, Master.”
“Ah. Um, good. Carry on then?”
The captain and the chief disappeared, closing the door behind them. Tad slumped all the way back on the bed. This, he thought, was going to be an enormous pain in the ass.
* * *
Sometime later Tad stood on the desk chair, carefully lowering his stash of goods out of the opened air return. He stepped down and spread the items out over his desk. It was a pretty good haul this month, one he’d been expecting to unload on Tau-Ceti when his next scheduled furlough came up. There were eleven gold Academy rings, ten with precious stone insets. A pair of diamond earrings. Two solo gold studs. He also had six wedding bands, an engagement ring, and twenty-three silver religious medallions.
Aside from the jewelry, Tad had collected fourteen different mini-tablets and personal holo-screens. About half of them were broken, but Goro down at the Pawn and Loan would still pay a premium for them. Even when he couldn’t extract anything good from the hard drives, the old Tau-Cetian could always make some money from the gold used on the circuit boards.
The biggest moneymakers by far, though, were the Federated Space Force IDs. Tad had collected thirty-nine since his last shore leave. Each card had personal information, identity codes, and detailed genetic profiles written into the nanostrip. Credit scammers, hackers, and other less-desirables paid good money for a legitimate Federation ID. He could probably make almost twenty thousand from the cards alone, after Goro’s “finder’s fee.”
Alien Artifacts Page 31
