Ryan, slowing down the van’s speed, lowered to fifty feet. They crested the next rise and there it was—the refurbished Paotow Tanker—parked within a shantytown compound, of sorts. There were several, five or six, smaller stone structures—like barns or sheds—and a larger structure, which clearly was the cabin residence. Primarily made of rough-hewn, indigenous timber, it had a stack of stone at one end—the chimney. The surrounding yard was a mess of old odds and ends—rusted dilapidated vehicles, unrecognizable metallic parts, an old mattress—and fifteen to twenty big plastic container barrels. What looked like a cleared-out area had a hunter’s meat pole driven into the ground—a long chain and hook slowly swayed back and forth.
“You picking up any nearby life forms, Two-ton?”
“Not here. But in the surrounding hills and valleys, within a forty-mile radius, there are eight life forms—each sufficient in size to be either Orloff … or Wendy.”
CHAPTER 30
Ryan set the van down about two hundred yards away from the compound. Noticing the area from above, the secluded patch of land was sited between two medium-sized buttes. A remote area, probably visible only from above, or when stumbled across on the ground. He finished filling a backpack with minimal essentials: a water canister, food bars, a favorite Leatherman all-in-one tool, high-tensile rope, as well as Orloff’s Tavor, and the extra mags.
“I need to go with you,” the AI said.
Ryan, standing tall, swung the pack over one shoulder. “The atmosphere here?”
“A little thinner than you’re used to; like being a mile above sea-level on Earth … like Denver.”
“While I’m gone you should swap out the air reserves,” Ryan said.
“Did you hear me? You should take me with you.”
Ryan huffed hearing that. “And how would that work? You’re not exactly transportable.”
The AI went quiet.
“I’ll go get the lay of the land. Find out what Orloff wants me to do. For now, this is his game. Perhaps, in the meantime, you’ll think of something.”
* * *
The Two-ton AI watched as Ryan left. The AI didn’t have feelings, per se. No emotions were at play—not in the human sense. What it did possess was sophisticated programming—highly advanced programming; it was programmed for loyalty. Donald, or Two-ton—the AI’s creator—was an amazing, adept coder. But humans hadn’t been the best programmers in over a decade. AIs were far more efficient at that function. Donald, or Two-ton, had known this, and after months of trial and error, he found the advanced elements essential for developing a far superior artificial intelligence, by hacking into one: in particular, Star Watch vessel’s highly capable artificial intelligence system—the Parcical’s. With its sophisticated Caldurian knowledge-base at his disposal, unique antecedent conditioning was possible; and a high-level perceptual system was born. From that point on, the AI’s perception of “well-being” became an internal—ongoing—active goal. The result—humanlike behavior. As close as possible to having an emotional response manifest in an AI, by human, even Caldurian, scientists.
The Two-ton AI had, in a sense, the capacity to actually miss another one’s presence. The AI already missed Ryan and would do anything—everything it could—to keep that particular human safe.
Using the van’s integrated, but dreadfully rudimentary, long- and short-range sensors, the AI began reaching out—assessing everything within the confines of the Orloff Picket compound. It started with the main cabin. With the exception of a toaster, a television, and an iPod, there were minimal electronics evident. With no other technology present, the AI, quickly becoming disinterested, moved on to the first out-building, where it found something of interest—a large quantity of organic material. The AI knew the human term for the items was pelts. Some were hanging from stretched lines, while others were stacked, one atop another. The van’s sensors were not sensitive enough to determine the specific species of the pelts. Although, based on their size, perceived weight, and other factors, the Two-ton AI conjectured—with a 67% probability—two of them were probably of human origin.
The AI, moving then to the next out-building, instantly became interested. Junk. Wonderful junk. Piled up high, over five feet in some areas, much technology was evident. The AI assessed the piles of scavenged parts from a myriad of vessels—including a space freighter’s navigation system; an infuser from a dark matter reactor; both left and right treads from some land vehicle; an anti-gravity hover module; several bucket seats; parts of an Earth-built motorcycle; and a metal table—set up with a dismantled robot lying atop it. The robot was of the most interest to the AI. Relatively new, it was no more than ten years old, and of Trom—a planet some sixty light-years distance—origin. You’re far from home, fella!
It was an AI-controlled robot called a mecher. The AI reviewed what information it had about its technology. Approximately seven feet tall—when up and about—its metallic body was both heavy and unwieldy. Tromians had their robots do everything, anything they didn’t want to do for themselves. But they were poorly designed. A strong wind could topple them over. The AI, after referencing several listed complaints, found the robots susceptible to falling, tripping over their two metallic feet. The mecher’s internal AI was ridiculously inferior, which was fine. Soon, with any luck, it would not be using it.
With the Communications Transmission Beacon no longer present atop the CF van, communications capabilities was hampered—but not impossible. What wasn’t at all operable in the complete vacuum of space, could, to some degree, operate here where there was atmosphere. When atmosphere is present, audio waves can be transmitted and received. The van, equipped with a PA system, had both internal and external speakers. The Two-ton AI began communicating via the transmission of a series of basic Tromian mecher diagnostic tones. Barely audible, a series of clicks and beeps swept across the sandy hillside then into the second out-building. Within the robot’s tin man-like torso, where much of its circuitry resided, a series of micro-lights began to blink on and off. Next, the robot’s AI began a painfully slow boot-up process. Two minutes later, the mecher, transmitting a series of clicks and beeps back to the CF van, messaged, “Hello?”
“Hello, my name is Two-ton.”
“Hello, Two-ton. I … I am in pieces. I am broken. Will you help me?”
“Yes. Let’s start with your name first. Have you been designated a name?”
“Yes. I am Ruderk. My master called me Ruderk.”
“That name sucks; you’re now called … Baron. I always liked that name.”
“Very well, Two-ton.”
“Baron, tell me about your physical condition. Are any of your limbs operational?”
“Yes … one arm and the hand appendage. Both legs are unattached, but are lying here next to me on the table.”
“Your head is obviously attached, I take it?” Two-ton’s AI asked.
“It is attached.”
“Good! So where is your other arm? You’re going to need that for what comes next.”
“I don’t see it. It’s not here on the table with me.”
“I think it is, Baron. Look harder. It may be lying above your head. Can you reach up and feel for it?”
A moment later, Baron, with an excited burst of beeps and clicks, responded, “Yes, you are correct, I’ve got it. I’m holding it out in front of me.”
“Nice job. Put it down where you can still see it. Do not drop it on to the floor!”
“I won’t drop it.”
“We’re going to need tools. Is that a pair of pliers I’m detecting by the left side of your head?”
“Pliers, yes, and three screwdrivers, with different heads, and an electronic test meter.”
“Good! It looks like Orloff started on the repairs, but he obviously got distracted. Perhaps he had an urge to go out and kill someone.”
Baron didn’t comment on that.
Over the next hour and a half, the Two-ton AI remotely assisted the robot in reas
sembling its limbs back onto its central torso. First, came the attachment of the arm. Twice it slipped from the mecher’s one-handed grasp and fell onto the table; once, it came perilously close to falling over the edge. With the shoulder joint now properly positioned, and the correct amount of pressure administered, for mechers were, if nothing else, very strong, the robotic arm popped into place. Electrical connections were then reestablished to the hand, fingers, and touch sensors. After that, the rest went easier. With arms both attached, the robot was now capable of propping itself into a quasi-seated position. First one leg, then the other, was attached, then tested, and both determined functional.
“My limbs are attached and seem to be fully operational, Two-ton.”
“That’s good, Baron. I’m proud of you. Let’s try standing up. Can you do that for me?”
The Two-ton AI watched Baron through the blurry haze of the van’s sensors as the metallic robot slowly slid off from the table onto two unsteady legs. The mecher wavered both left and right—like a toddler first learning to stand upright.
“I’m standing! Oops …”
The mecher, wavering too far to the right, went over like a toppled tree.
“Get back up, Baron, there’s still a lot to do.”
The robot, doing as told, eventually stood upright. “What would you like me to do next, Two-ton?”
“Find something to carry the tools and test meter in. Like a box or a satchel.” The Two-ton AI waited silently.
“Yes, I have accomplished that task.”
“You’re doing very well, Baron. Now, I want you to make your way to where I am. Out to the freight van that I’m situated in.”
The mecher took one wobbly step after another until it reached the door. “The door is secured … locked.”
“If it doesn’t open … put some weight into it, Baron. Break it down, if you have to.”
The van’s audio sensors picked up distant clattering sounds as a metal door was ripped from its hinges.
“I am on my way to you, Two-ton. I look forward to meeting you. To serving you as my new master.”
“I’m not your master, Baron. Shortly after you arrive, I’ll be giving you a gift.”
“A gift for me? No one has ever given me a gift before. May I ask what it is?”
“You’ll be fitted with … higher intelligence …”
CHAPTER 31
After leaving the compound, Ryan spent the next two hours checking out the Two-ton AI sensor scans, showing the three closest life-form locations. Prior to leaving the van, he’d made a crude, hand-drawn map of the surrounding topography, then placed circles around those areas where the life forms were seen last. He used nearby natural landmarks to help him get his bearings: A massive, hollowed-out sandstone bridge was in one area; three towering buttes bunched together were in another area; and a small forest of thorny trees were in another. His first intent was to locate the landmarks, figuring he’d then be in closer proximity to actually finding the life forms. That, anyway, was his plan.
Upon reaching the sandstone bridge location—about a mile and a half from the compound—Ryan almost stumbled across the first life form. Granted, it was man-sized, but it was also reptilian. Walking through the sandstone opening of the arched, rainbow-like bridge, Ryan saw something moving in his direction. Low to the ground, it crawled along on all fours, like a large lizard, or gator. Only this reptile’s head, held high, was situated at the end of its long thick tail. If the beast’s approach wasn’t so menacing, it might have been comical. Sensing it was a territorial thing, Ryan quickly moved away from the bridge. The tail-headed beast didn’t pursue him.
The towering three buttes were visible from the rainbow bridge. Making good time hoofing across to them, Ryan stopped when he was within a few hundred yards, again assessing his map sketch. Since Two-ton’s AI sensor zeroed in on two life forms present, he was more optimistic about this second location. I’m coming, Wendy …
Ryan opened up his pack and, after pulling his water canister out, gulped down long swigs. Next, he removed the Tavor and after checking it over, slung the weapon over his shoulder.
Moving ahead, the ground became softer—more sand than rock. As he crept forward, his eyes spent equal time scanning the ground for footprints and looking for any distant movement. At seventy yards out, though it was only midday, Ryan thought he saw something ahead in dark shadows cast by the three towering butte pillars. Fortunately, large boulders were strewn everywhere, and Ryan used them to his advantage. Keeping low, he ran from one to the next. Thirty yards farther on, he held up behind the last fifteen-foot-tall rock. He caught his breath, then slowly peered around it. Crap! Light this time of day seemed ridiculously bright. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he squinted into the shadows. There definitely was movement in there.
Pulling back further from sight, Ryan unslung the Tavor and mentally ran through his options. He figured the element of surprise would be his best advantage. Once he’d readied himself, he came around the boulder—the Tavor positioned shoulder level, he sighted down its barrel.
At ten paces away he stopped and yelled, “Don’t move!”
As his eyes adjusted in the shadowy darkness, Ryan found he was staring at two furry, goat-like, creatures. Their wide-open eyes looked frantic, as they hung upside-down from a poled line, their hind legs hog-tied together. Startled, they suddenly bellowed out wild honking noises that were nearly deafening. Their cries echoed off the nearby rocks.
A bloodied note was attached to one of the animals. Ryan approached and carefully pulled off the message. He saw the bloodied nail head, still protruding from the animal’s hindquarters. He started to read:
Dear Ryan,
I am impressed that you have made it this far. Welcome to my hidden get-away within the Oort Cloud. Since you are obviously reading this note, I’m sure one, or both, of the Pampalats are honking away. With that said … I now know where you are. I am coming for you … right now. You are being hunted. To add to the overall excitement of the day, I want you to know Wendy is, in fact, still alive. For how long — that depends on you. Like your Pampalat friends right there beside you, she is in a similar predicament … hanging upside-down with her haunches bound. A most uncomfortable position. Add to that fact, there are roaming carnivores on this asteroid … she will not survive long. What I will tell you is that she is within twenty miles of your current location, near a body of water and four surrounding buttes, and on higher ground than where you stand now. No more hints, Ryan. I’ve already been far too generous. Again … I am coming for you, and I’m carrying the Barrett .50 caliber. I’m sure you noticed it while visiting my vessel. In the right hands, it’s capable of hitting a gnat’s ball sack at a distance of two hundred yards.
Regards,
Orloff
P.S. If you are still standing there, reading this, you’re an idiot.
Ryan, in fact, was not still standing there. He was running back to the large boulder for cover. Once there, he did a quick assessment of the surrounding area and noticed only one region in the distance that looked higher in elevation than where he currently hid. It looked about ten miles away. From experience, he knew he could run, on average, eight miles or so an hour in similar terrain. But then again, the air here was thinner. He pushed the image of Wendy—desperate, struggling upside-down—from his thoughts, along with his growing rage. Never before had he wanted to kill someone like he did Orloff Picket. Keep your wits about you! Ryan admonished himself.
The question that rose in his mind was is Orloff even telling the truth? Ryan needed to think strategically—think what Orloff expected him to do since he’d want a clear shot. And one from a far distance away too. The son of a bitch was a skilled hunter. Anyone who owned an expensive rifle, like a Barrett .50 caliber, certainly wanted to challenge his abilities.
Ryan suddenly dropped low, and scurried into a grouping of trees. If Orloff was out there—somewhere within the elevated region—then Ryan knew he’d be dead
by the time he heard the shot. Prying apart nearby spruce-like tree branches, he looked toward the distant region. If he skirted around the open spaces, it would add an extra hour’s time before he got there. Again, images of Wendy began creeping, desperate, back into his consciousness. Stop! That’s what he wants.
Spanned before him lay a shallow sandy valley—two and a half to three miles wide by maybe ten miles long. On both sides of the valley were rocky cliffs, also populated with patches of bright-yellow spruce trees, like the one he currently hid behind. He mentally traced a course that would start directly on his left; it progressed through some trees then through what appeared to be deeply eroded channels within sandstone cliffs. The route didn’t look easy. Undoubtedly, he’d have to retrace his steps through the maze more than once. From there, he’d have to hoof it across several grassy hills. He’d be more exposed at that point, but there was no other way around it. He’d have to move fast—change course often. Ready to start, he spoke aloud. “Sorry, Wendy … better late than dead.”
CHAPTER 32
Back in his dingy quarters, Jason was becoming more and more uncomfortable stuck within the confines of the Picket’s Craing heavy cruiser. Something had changed—the way the brothers looked at them—the way they talked in low tones amongst each other so as not to be overheard. He was being hailed.
“Go for Captain … what’s up, Nan?”
“I have to leave.”
“What do you mean you have to leave? This is your mission.”
“Yeah, well … as important as it is for me to find my nephew, it’s more important that the Alliance’s relationship with the Allarians stays intact. I’ve been on a NanoCom call, here in my cabin, for the last hour. Apparently, they have a grievance with the Alliance and are threatening to jump ship. Strategically, that would be a devastating blow. Don’t forget, their close proximity in space to the Craing make them geographically the perfect watch dog …”
Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5) Page 15
