by Eric Brown
It turned its laser on the approaching figures and opened fire. Emecheta dodged the vector, but Latimer was not fast enough. He felt the heat of the laser sear through the padding of his EVA suit, scorching his thigh on the way through. To his amazement he was still running.
Then Emecheta reached the drone and kicked out, and where laser fire had failed, the brute efficacy of a boot worked wonders. The rifle flipped from the drone’s grip and hit the far bulkhead. Latimer sprinted towards the opening in the hatch, Emecheta after him.
He ducked through, cursed as the raw steel edge snagged at his suit. He tore himself free and stood. When he looked behind him, Emecheta was squirming though the gap. He went back and hauled the Nigerian out by the arms, and together they stumbled towards the upchute.
Laser fire lanced through the aperture after them. They made the chute, stabbed the controls, and turned in time to see the mutilated upper-half of what had once been a woman struggle through the gap.
They rose towards the circular hatch high above them, and Latimer realised that he had locked it what seemed like hours ago now. He snapped the clasp on his helmet and called out for someone to open the hatch. The plate halted and he reached up with his pistol and slammed it into the underside of the hatch, creating a sound like all the drums in the universe.
Below, he made out the figure of the once-human as it paused, lifted its laser rifle and took aim. Beside him, Emecheta held his pistol at arm’s length.
“May God take pity on me,” he whispered, and fired.
The shot hit the woman between the eyes, and above them the hatch sprang open to reveal the frightened face of Jenny Li.
* * * *
Five
“Cyborgs,” Emecheta said, peeling away his EVA suit and casting it across the room.
Latimer sat against the wall, holding a cold salve to his blistered thigh. He breathed hard and listened to Emecheta. Li passed him a beaker of iced water and he drank gratefully.
“You wouldn’t believe what it’s like down there!” the Nigerian was saying. “I hope that’s the closest I ever come to hell, my friends.”
Renfrew looked across at Latimer, as if for an explanation. “Ted, what happened?”
Latimer shook his head. He decided to keep quiet about the suspected cause of the destruction: they had enough to worry about, right now. “Don’t know whether it happened at the time of the impact, or as a direct result of it later. Central’s lost sight of its prime directive - to serve us.”
“But I thought Central was down?” Li said.
Latimer shrugged. “My guess is that its programming was knocked out a thousand years ago, and since then it’s reprogrammed itself. Evolved.”
Renfrew said: “It found so many units of organic matter in the hangars and used them. Experimented with them.”
The silence stretched, and then Li asked the question that Latimer had been loathe to ask himself: “The thing is ... are we safe? I mean, will the cyborgs come after us?”
Emecheta said: “So far they’ve only attacked us when we invaded their territory. They’ve shown no desire to come after us. Maybe we’re okay for the time being.”
“For the time being?” Li asked, staring at him. “You mean, until they evolve and need to expand, take over all the ship?”
Latimer cut in: “We don’t know they’ll do that. I think we’re okay for now.”
“What about the other sleepers?” Renfrew asked. “Those in hangars Two and Five? The success of the mission depends on their survival.”
Latimer looked up. “You don’t think I hadn’t thought of that?” he asked, despair opening up inside him like physical pain.
Renfrew shrugged. “So what do we do?”
“Maybe the sleepers in Two are okay,” Emecheta said. “They might’ve been saved by the fact that the hangar was blown off the deck. I reckon the drones and roboids have no way of getting to it.”
“And hangar Five?” Latimer said.
He thought of Carrie, and what he’d seen in hangar One, and despaired.
Emecheta shrugged. “We could get in via the emergency hatch and hope to Christ the AIs haven’t got there before us.”
“Maybe they haven’t,” Latimer said, with appalling optimism. “Maybe they haven’t been able to get in through the mangled access tubes ...”
Emecheta nodded. “If it is all clear, we wake the sleepers and arm them. Then we stand a fighting chance of defeating the ... the cyborgs.” He shook his head. “Hell, we might even make a success of the mission yet.”
Latimer nodded. “I’ll go alone. There’s no need anyone else risking themselves.”
Emecheta said: “Don’t you think you ought to take some time out?”
“With Carrie in there?” Latimer snapped.
Emecheta raised both hands, as if to defend himself.
Li said: “I’ll come with you. It’s my turn. I haven’t been out there yet.”
“I said I’ll go alone, okay?”
Li shrugged, looked away.
“Don’t take any risks,” Renfrew said. “If the AIs have got in there, no heroics, okay? Just get back here, and we’ll assess the situation.”
He ate a tasteless meal from stores, high energy concentrates to rebuild his strength. Talk was desultory at the table. No-one made any further mention of the worst case scenario: that the AIs had already infiltrated hangar Five. No one looked ahead and planned what they should do in that eventuality.
If that’s what I find, Latimer thought as he broke out a new EVA suit, then I don’t really care what happens.
* * * *
Six
He left the air-lock and propelled himself through the vacuum, out over the girdered surface of hangar One, trying to shut his mind from the horrors taking place down there.
He was aware of the sound of his heavy breathing. He could see along the length of the ship, the shattered ruins of the superstructure, hangar Five in the distance and Two floating eerily high above.
He hit the deck and paused. Hangar Five stood ten metres to his right, the tube that should have given access to the main body of the ship a flattened mess of metal and circuitry.
Perhaps the AIs haven’t got in there yet, he tried to reassure himself again. Perhaps the sleepers are still alive. I’ll wake Carrie and explain the situation, then rouse the others. We’ll arm ourselves, suit up and repel the cyborgs.
He wished he had radio contact with the others, voices to keep him company. But Emecheta, wisely, had vetoed the idea: the AIs might be monitoring radio communications, he’d warned; better not take the risk.
Latimer felt very lonely, very vulnerable, as he bounced across the deck towards the hangar.
He approached the bull’s eye markings of the emergency exit and tapped in the code. The hatch slid open and he stepped inside. He cycled himself through, raising his pistol in readiness as the inner door slid open.
He was met by darkness, silence.
He took a step forward, cautiously, and peered along the length of the gallery. There was no sign of any AIs. All was in shadow. Ahead, over the main well of the hangar, the dim glow of the pods’ running lights was the only illumination.
Hardly daring to hope, he hurried from the emergency exit towards the rail and peered over into the dimness.
All was still, quiet.
He scanned the pods. The covers were lowered, denoting that their occupants were still inside, sleeping soundly. Then, before he allowed elation to grip him, he saw other pods in the rows beyond, whose covers had been opened, and his stomach turned sickeningly.
He scanned the deck, but there was no sign of the wholesale carnage that had taken place in hangar One.
Okay, he thought: perhaps the AIs haven’t got here yet. Perhaps the covers are up for other reasons. There might have been fatalities along the way - the possibility had not been ruled out by the Omega medics. Or perhaps the slave drones here had detected malfunctions in certain tanks, and roused the occupants while th
eir pods were repaired.
Even as he considered these scenarios, he knew he was deluding himself.
He hurried along the length of the gallery until he reached the flight of metal stairs. He descended step by step, making as little noise as was possible in the clumsy suit, readying his pistol and turning his head constantly to take in the entirety of the hangar.
He reached the first row and lifted the cover of the closest pod, and his heart sank. It was empty. He moved along to the next pod, paused, and then eased up the cover. This one, too, had been vacated.
After that he hurried to aisle B, then counted along the row until he came to pod 46. He paused, his heart hammering, and only after long seconds did he lift the cover. He knew what he would find, but even so, the sight of the empty berth filled him with despair.
He moved across the hangar, checking a few pods on every row. Every one was the same. They were empty. The sleepers had been removed.
The question was: where were they now?
He recalled what Renfrew had said: get in there, and then get out. No heroics. He wondered if he should quit now, get back to his team and report what he’d found.
Or go on, try to find out what had happened to the sleepers? To Carrie ...
Perhaps the bastards haven’t butchered her yet, he told himself. Perhaps, still, there is hope.
He was debating what to do when he became aware of the vibration.
The deck below his feet thrummed with a great, resounding pulse. He paused and stared around him. It came again, and continued every five seconds, lasting for a second or two. He took a step forward, and the vibration grew stronger, as if he were approaching its source. He hurried forward, moving towards the very middle of the hangar, then stopped.
Ahead, perhaps ten metres from where he stood, he saw that the deck had been cleared of pods and a great hole had been cut through the steel plating. He stepped forward, slowly, his pulse racing.
He reached the lip of the hole and peered down.
The AIs had sliced through the deck, through the upper superstructure of the ship, to gain access to hangar Five. Directly beneath were the great, cavernous chambers where the requisite supplies for planetary colonisation were stored. This chamber should have been in darkness, but now the magnesium dazzle of a hundred arc lights illuminated whatever work the AIs were undertaking. The vibration beneath his feet was a constant thrum now, and he could hear the distant roar of heavy machinery.
He paused, considering, then activated his powerpack and stepped into the void.
He sank slowly through the hole in the deck, and as he did so, the scene in the chamber rose into view.
At the far end of the deck, perhaps five hundred metres away towards the front of the ship, dozens of AIs and cyborged humans were operating machinery. It was hard to tell at this distance what exactly they were doing, but judging from the kind of tools they were using, Latimer had a pretty good idea.
They were tearing through the reinforced steel bulkhead that separated the industrial bulk of the starship from the working end, where Central AI was situated and where they, Latimer’s maintenance team, was housed.
He activated his powerpack and rose from the deck. As he shot vertically into the hangar, heading towards the gallery and the emergency exit, he realised that he was crying, but whether for Carrie, or for himself and his team, he could not tell.
* * * *
Seven
“The mission’s over,” Li said. She perched on her swivel-chair, hugging her shins, looking for all the world like a disconsolate gymnast.
It hit Latimer, for the first time, that the mission might indeed be over. Humankind’s first effort to send colonists to the stars might very well end in abject failure: worse, in unforeseen and irrevocable horror.
When he thought of Carrie, all consideration of the mission seemed crass.
Despite himself, he said: “There’s still the sleepers in hangar Two. There’s nothing to suggest they’ve been got at, yet. So long as they’re okay, the mission proceeds.”
Li looked from Emecheta to Renfrew, and then let her gaze rest on Latimer. “So we aren’t going to turn back?”
Emecheta snapped. “How would that help us, for chrissake? Did you hear what Latimer said? Did you listen to one word?”
Li flinched.
Latimer sat on the edge of his pod, at the far end of the unit from the others. They sat in their seats and stared at him. Not for the first time he felt the weight of responsibility, and he didn’t like it.
Emecheta asked him: “What do you think they were doing?”
“They were physically cutting through the bulkhead. Why they were doing that ...” Latimer shook his head. He could guess, but he felt that speculation at this stage might not help morale.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Renfrew said. “They’ve got the majority of the colonists. Now they want the rest of us.”
Emecheta laughed. “I think not. I mean, what are we to them? Less than nothing. Parasites. We’re stranded up here, helpless. We’re effectively cut off without power.”
“We could fight back,” Renfrew said. “They might fear we’ll put up resistance.”
“Renfrew,” Emecheta said with condescending patience, “they’re machines. Machines fear nothing-”
“Okay, so they didn’t fear, theyreasoned. They see us as a danger to whatever they’re planning, and they’re coming for us.”
Into the silence, Li said: “What do you think they’re planning, Serena?”
Renfrew could only shrug. “I don’t know. Perhaps only they know that.”
Emecheta said: “Expansion. It stands to reason. They’ve evolved during the time we’ve been under. They’ve explored new territory, mined resources,” - Latimer saw Li wince at this - “exploited the natives, and now they’re expanding. They want all the ship. After that, who knows? Maybe they’ll realise that there’s a big universe out there, waiting for them.”
“How about this?” Latimer said. It was the first contribution he’d made in a while, and all heads turned to look at him. “Think about where they’re cutting through - the bulkhead in the lower levels of the ship. What’s down there?”
“The manufactory?” Renfrew said.
“What else?”
Emecheta pointed at him. “Central AI,” he said. “The core...”
“As far as we know, it was damaged in the accident,” Latimer said. “Or certain areas of its operating system went down. We don’t know. Chances are, the robots don’t know either, and want to find out. Think of them as drone bees, and Central as the queen. They’re making their way to Central in order to assess the damage.”
“Maybe Central’s calling them,” Emecheta said. “We don’t know to what extent it has contact with its slaves.”
“Whatever. My guess is that they’re making for the core.”
“And then?” Renfrew asked.
Latimer shrugged. “They’ll effect repairs, make themselves more efficient. If Em’s right, and they’re intent on expansion, then they’ll use Central’s knowledge to push out, explore space.”
Emecheta said: “They might even see the ship as a place to get away from, much as some of us regarded Earth.”
Latimer smiled grimly at the irony of that possibility.
“Perhaps then they’ll leave the ship,” Li said, something like childish hope in her tone.
She was startled into silence by the flaring of a screen behind her. She swivelled, along with Emecheta and Renfrew.
Latimer pushed himself from his pod and crossed to the screen.
* * * *
A figure stared out at them. It had been human once - a man, perhaps - but little of his humanity remained, at least physically. If the changes wrought to his face were any indication of his mental state, then Latimer guessed that not a lot of his human consciousness remained, either: it was an amalgam of jagged alloy planes and mismatched scar-tissue. One eye stared out from swollen, bruised flesh.
T
he thing smiled, or rather attempted to. The gesture was hideous on a face so ravaged. Latimer could not imagine someone so irretrievably mutilated ever wishing voluntarily to smile.
Behind the figure, he made out one of the hangars, and the scurrying shapes of hybrid monstrosities.
