Sunshine

by T. C. McCarthy

  Despite her proximity to the now-awake creatures, she risked another question. “When are you to self-destruct?”

  It took the computer a moment to answer. “It was supposed to occur when your chances of falling into Chinese or North Korean hands exceeded ninety percent or if you found this facility. I should have destructed when you fell.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “The fall disrupted the charge so that it is no longer functional.”

  Kyung didn’t know what to think, the reality of what she had just learned creating more questions than it answered. “I thought you said that you didn’t know about this place or what it was.”

  “That’s not accurate, Miss Kyung. I indicated that my data on the facility had been removed and that such an occurrence was unusual. But general data existed. And Dr. Leonard was quite clear in his instructions.”

  The news shocked Kyung. He tried to kill me? She was about to follow up with another question when the creatures moved.

  All three dog-things rose from the floor and loped toward the production hall, one of them nipping at the other two to hurry them through. A few seconds later Kyung was alone. She had almost died—been blown up after surviving a fall that could have killed her but didn’t—and part of her was furious with Leonard for having tried to murder her, but mostly she was furious with herself for ever trusting him, for having let her guard down to the point where she hadn’t bothered to interrogate the computer fully before landing on Koryo. Kyung should have known better. John didn’t make director by being an idiot, and in his business covering one’s tracks on the wrong moves was almost as important as making the right decisions on new product lines, maybe more important, but neither was as important as the golden rule of weapons sales: watch your own back. It would have been easy for her to run a simple check just by asking as many questions as she could have on any topic related to systems that could have killed her. When she saw the stupidity of it, Kyung had to stop herself from pounding the floor, enraged by her own carelessness. But anger helped. Slowly she inched her way from under the carpet, moving through the wide hallway to where the dog-things had slept, until ten minutes later she had drawn even with the production hall entrance where she peered in using the carbine’s sight.

  “Movement, Miss Kyung,” the computer warned.

  Kyung hissed her response. “No shit, movement. I can see them myself. How many are there?”

  “I count three hundred of the largest size, four hundred of what could be juveniles, and another four hundred of the small ones; these last are identical to the ones we first encountered at the bone pile. I assess that these small ones are newly manufactured huli jing.”

  Kyung didn’t see how she could make it. The entryway was at least three meters across, having been designed to allow the movement of heavy equipment, and it would take her a minute to traverse if she went all out, ignoring what was sure to be excruciating pain—the kind that could make her pass out. But for now, none of them looked her way. Kyung watched as the things sat on their haunches, even the young ones, each of them staring at row after row of vats. Kyung had only seen them in pictures but knew that the metallic cylinders contained a nutrient solution, kept at exactly the right temperature, in which organisms grew to the point where they could be safely released. Beside each vat, two medical robots swayed on their trunks, their spidery arms moving to maintain production. How long would this continue, she wondered, without humans in the loop? How many would be manufactured?

  “John Leonard created this,” Kyung whispered. “It was him. He was the one colonist who got away.”

  She hadn’t been talking to it, but the computer responded. “Correct. According to the Sunshine files, this was his first project and was conceived of during a period when relations between North Koreans on Paegam-737 and the Chinese hit a low point, when the Unified Korean government convinced the North to conduct joint military exercises, thereby pressuring New Beijing to halt mining in an area claimed by Pusan.”

  “But why break with the convention?” Kyung asked. “With Korea’s treaty obligations?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not in the files, Miss Kyung. But I did learn the main reason for working with the North Koreans.”

  Kyung figured she’d regret knowing the answer, but at the same time wanted it more than anything—like passing an accident and having to look. “Why?”

  “Human test subjects. Two of the North Koreans were scientists; the rest were used in live tests for the creatures’ combat abilities. All North Korean test subjects died long before the accidental release of creatures, but tests involving them were deemed successful.”

  Kyung felt sick again. Leonard knew. And now the Chinese were here on Koryo. Kyung wasn’t worried about what would happen to the planet’s inhabitants if the creatures got loose because that was a short-term problem, the longer term one a question of what would happen once the Chinese took this place and added Sunshine to their repertoire of horror. She imagined armies of creatures moving undetected into UK territory because to everyone they’d look and act like UK soldiers, citizens, or even its politicians. Kyung also admired it. She had to give credit to John for having conceived of something so brilliant, and for a second lost herself in thought, imagining what would have happened had the project succeeded, created a new kind of weapon that didn’t reveal itself as a weapon until it was too late. These things would be ruthless; Kyung had seen the evidence of that already.

  Another howl brought her back to the present. The vats hissed, and their lower section lifted on hydraulic pistons to drain a viscous orange fluid, along with which came one of the small rat-like creatures. At first she thought the other ones fed on the young. All of them converged on the newly emerged to surround them in a sea of growling dog-things, their teeth bared and growls audible even from that distance, but then Kyung saw they were cleaning the newborns, licking the remnants of fluid from pink bodies that squirmed on what must have been a cold floor.

  Kyung had seen enough; it wouldn’t be long before the things turned their attention back to the entryway. “I’m trying for the door. How are you coming with those command codes?”

  “Still not cracked, Miss Kyung. But I have made progress.”

  “Keep working on it but get ready. In a few minutes, you may have to open the maintenance area door for me.”

  Kyung scooted forward, doing her best not to make noise as she passed the production hall. Her suit slid along reluctantly. Each sound, the scrapes of ceramic armor against the floor, magnified in her mind until it was a gunshot, the creatures sure to hear her sooner or later, until finally the stress made her cry in silence so tears streamed down her nose and fogged her faceplate. She was open. Exposed. Nothing now could prevent them from seeing her, although ironically, she thought, her slow movements most likely prevented them from noticing the human who had emerged from the darkness of the outside corridor. Three quarters of the way there, Kyung started to think she’d make it. Then once she’d passed to the other side, she couldn’t believe she’d made it and cried harder, the pressure release palpable when breath came back along with a pounding heartbeat she hadn’t noticed a minute before. Kyung reached the door and found it unlocked. It was open! She swung the door wide, looking for any creatures that might be waiting on the other side, and then pulled herself through before slowly working her legs out of the way so she could shut it behind her. Kyung was almost home free when it came. A lone creature. The thing had walked silently out of the production hall and stopped, its head turned directly toward her and yellow eyes trained on what felt like an invisible spot on her forehead. Neither of them moved at first. But then, at the same time she flung the door shut, the creature leaped and screamed, its shriek echoing throughout the underground chambers.

  “I need you to lock it!” Kyung screamed.

  The computer clicked in at the same time the creature slammed into the door. “Done, Miss Kyung.”

  “Where is the power conduit?”
she asked. “The tunnel?”

  “Fifty meters ahead, five meters off the floor.”

  Kyung couldn’t believe what she had heard. “What? Five meters where?”

  “Off the floor, Miss Kyung. In the middle of the far wall.”

  “My fucking legs don’t work!” she screamed. “How am I supposed to climb a goddamn wall?!”

  By now the thing had been joined by others, and Kyung thanked God the maintenance door was solid steel, thick, so that it looked like it would withstand more punishment than the glass ones had. Still, they slammed into it over and over. Kyung stared, transfixed by the fact that tiny cracks had begun to appear in the concrete surrounding the frame, before she turned and looked around.

  It was an underground power substation. Her skin tingled, electrified by the potential in the air, as huge transformers hummed and switched her faceplate from normal to infrared, the power equipment showing in bright white, making it hard to see. But near the transformers, a narrow set of metal stairs rose to a catwalk, which turned around the far side of the substation and disappeared behind it.

  Kyung started for the stairs. She flipped onto her back to watch the door as she moved, her carbine unslung now and dragging beside her so she could grab it more easily.

  “I’m almost through the encryption, Miss Kyung,” the computer said.

  “I don’t care about the damned encryption.”

  Somehow, at that moment, the computer managed to sound insulted. “Oh. Perhaps I should stop?”

  “No,” Kyung said, her breath coming in gasps now, limbs running on adrenaline. “Keep working on it, and deactivate my infrared vision; it’s in the way. I found some stairs, and I’m trying to get up to the tunnel.”

  Pain threatened to end everything. Kyung’s breath came in hisses and each bump of the stairs felt like explosions, sending billions of needles throughout her legs, and she fought the urge to stop and black out, the loss of blood now making her feel weaker with each movement. Her last bolus of medication was tailing off, useless legs leaving twin blood trails as she pulled herself upward. Finally she was up. Kyung reached the catwalk and wanted to stop, to rest for a moment, but she saw the door shake in its frame while clumps of concrete clattered to the floor. She dragged herself as fast as she could and rounded the corner, getting her first glimpse of the tunnel.

  Four major power conduits emerged from a rock wall, their lines about half a meter thick before branching into smaller ones at steel towers, and between them Kyung saw her exit: a narrow space barely large enough to fit her body. Beyond the opening was total darkness. Kyung shivered at the sight and then winced when a wave of agony washed upward, making everything go dark for a moment before she clenched down on her cheeks so hard that she tasted blood.

  A short stepladder led upward to the space, and she cursed at it silently, wondering as she pulled herself backward if she’d be able to make it. “I’m here,” Kyung said, her back resting against the ladder.

  “Well done, Miss Kyung. Power at thirty percent.”

  “Listen to me. I’m losing blood again. Is there anything you can do?”

  “No, Miss Kyung, and judging from your vital signs, it appears that soon you will go into shock. I would suggest stopping to administer a tourniquet.”

  Kyung had worked her way onto the first step when she heard a loud crack and the steel door groaned as both it and the frame began to dislodge from the wall itself; she reached the tunnel, dragging herself into its darkness at the same time the door slammed to the floor below. The things howled. She gave three last pushes, moving about ten meters deeper into the tunnel before stopping to lift the carbine, resting the weapon on her chest so she had to lift her head to aim, pointing the barrel between her feet.

  “I need light amplification,” Kyung said.

  Instantly the tunnel became visible, along with her legs; it was the first time she had allowed herself a close look. Shattered ceramic encased both of them so they looked like a pair of sausages that had been mixed with splinters of wood, and she tried to figure out which splinters were her leg bones and which were ceramic before the computer chimed in, breaking the trance.

  “Movement, Miss Kyung. Multiple targets approaching the tunnel entrance.”

  Kyung tried to slow her breathing until the reticle steadied. “How many?”

  “The number keeps changing, Miss. At least a hundred, but more are moving in range, and I—”

  The first one leaped into the tunnel as the computer spoke, and Kyung opened fire, her screams competing with the noise of snapping fléchettes and the dog-thing’s howl. Another one came, then another, until finally the three blocked the tunnel, their bodies lodged on top of each other.

  “…But that shouldn’t be a problem,” her computer finished. Kyung didn’t bother to ask it to repeat what she had missed and continued moving backward, not knowing how long she’d have before needing to open fire again; the others were already tearing up the corpses of their brothers, trying to remove the blockage.

  “I’m not going to make it,” she hissed.

  The computer tried to cheer her up. “Statistically it’s unlikely, but in actuality your odds have not decreased much since the last I checked. Would you like to know them?”

  Kyung didn’t have the strength to shout. “No,” she whispered.

  “Here they come, Miss.”

  She had moved another twenty meters so that by now Kyung saw everything in green, the tunnel completely dark except for small patches of light from where she had entered. Whatever came now was different. The things weren’t large, and at first Kyung thought a couple of pups had come after her, but then they got close enough for her to see. Babies. An army of infants, their gurgles coming clearly through her helmet pickups, crawled toward her with smiles, each of them connected to the others by a string so thin that Kyung almost didn’t pick it up.

  “Those aren’t children,” the computer said.

  Kyung lifted her carbine and aimed, but the reticle trembled on her heads-up display. “I know.”

  “Five meters. Open fire, Miss Kyung.”

  “I know they’re not babies.” Now she was crying again. It seemed unlikely that Kyung would make it; why did she try so hard in the first place? A few hours ago and she could have let the suit administer a lethal dose of painkillers to put her asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of narcotics so that one of the dog-things could have gnawed her leg off and Kyung wouldn’t have woken up. If she had only fallen headfirst through that shaft, it would have been over even sooner. Why? she wondered. What point was there in making it all unfold like this so that Kyung would almost escape, only to be forced to experience the end firsthand, to watch them bite and bite until finally it was over?

  “Three meters,” the computer said. “Open fire, Miss.”

  And she did. This time the things fused into two animals, and both of them died horrifically, screaming and flailing in the tight space, their limbs pounding against the power conduits to make a deep drumming sound.

  “I’ve got it, Miss Kyung,” said the computer.

  Kyung had already started moving, but she went slowly now, the last of her strength fading, and she was surprised to find her fear disappearing too. Everything was slipping away until eventually she thought it might not be so bad. Dying.

  “I broke the codes, Miss Kyung,” the computer insisted. “It was very difficult. There were, in fact, several layers of encryption, and the data—”

  This time the things didn’t bother to try subterfuge. Three of them howled and pushed their way through the bodies so that all she saw were sets of teeth so huge that Kyung could make out the saliva dripping from each one. She fired. Her arm felt like lead, and Kyung didn’t know if she was aiming in the right direction, but she kept her finger squeezed tight on the trigger and waved the barrel back and forth, almost not noticing it when a fléchette slammed through her right foot. A second later she ran out of ammunition, but the creatures were dead.

  “Wha
t data?” she whispered. “Who cares about your data?”

  The computer sounded surprised. “Miss Kyung! I think you might want to use it. I found one phrase that identifies you as a friend, someone who the creatures aren’t supposed to attack, and it would probably be a good idea to at least try it.”

  “What are they supposed to eat?” she asked. Kyung started laughing, finding it suddenly hard to concentrate, and the rock floor began to feel warm. So warm, she thought. Like Pusan in the summer when the hot winds blew in from the north and everything was dry…

  “Excuse me, Miss?”

  “These things, what do they eat? They couldn’t have been designed to eat people; there wouldn’t have been enough corpses to feed all of them for however long the production line has been on. It’s so funny—all of it.”

  The computer paused for a moment before answering, “Complex proteins, Miss Kyung. Synthesized by Samsung. The fact that their own proteins are extremely long and elastic means that the Sunshine organisms have unusual requirements when it comes to amino acids, but as a backup they have also been designed to consume animal flesh, including that of humans. Probably after winning a battle.”

  Kyung laughed. It should have made her vomit, the thought of these things standing over their foes on a battlefield and cracking Chinese armor to lean over and feed, pausing every once in a while to howl. But it didn’t. Nothing bothered her now, and she was surprised to find that she had stopped moving.