“Seen anything weird?” Enrique asked him after some time.
“You mean other than what we’re both looking at right now?” Dodds replied. “No.”
“Do you think they’re really dead?”
Dodds wasn’t actually sure. That had been his first thought, but there could well be a number of explanations. They’d never been into the core systems of Imperial space before, never seen what the former Mitikas citizens were like when they were on stand by. Parks’ alternative explanation could well have been right. “I hope so,” was all he could answer.
He swung around again, looking over the scores of warships and fighters, and trying to choose where to go from here. He selected one of the frigates that was of a different design from the others. Even before he saw the designation, he knew it was a commandeered Independent warship.
“Here’s one to send back to Kelly,” he said to Enrique. “La Machine Infernale 1800”
“Not bad,” Enrique replied. “Not quite up there with Your Place or Mine?, though.”
“That one was a classic.”
“What’s the 1800 all about?” Enrique asked.
“No idea,” Dodds said, after considering it for a time. “Maybe the year it was constructed? Some of those Independents used to run on completely different calendars to the rest of us.”
“Maybe the eighteen hundredth one they built?” Enrique suggested.
“I hope not,” Dodds said, looking once more over the stretch of vessels, “but I wouldn’t put it past them. Probably some more interestingly-named ships out there, if we were to look hard enough,” he added.
“Fancy making a game out of it? See which of us can come up with the best moniker?”
“Sure, why not? Let’s see what we can find.”
Dodds returned his full attention to the Infernale before starting off. It was a patchwork of different materials, appearing to have been stitched together from whatever suitable parts could be found. Absolutely no consideration had been made to match colours or texture. So long as it did the job, the engineers had seemingly been satisfied. He remembered the first time he had seen such a hack job on a ship. It had initially felt as though he was looking at a nightmare of a vessel, something that was on life support, alive because someone had decided to sew together whatever they could to breathe new life into its crippled form. He’d imagined that Frankenstein would’ve been proud. The Infernale had clearly seen some action and been lost in a direct encounter with the Pandoran army. The soldiers would’ve busted their way inside somehow, either by latching on to the side with a Leech and burning their way in, by attaching a boarding tube from another vessel to an airlock, or by blowing a hole directly in the hull.
He paused as the thought ran through his head, slowing his ATAF as something about the frigate caught his attention. An airlock, and it was swinging wide open. At the sight, a feeling bubbled up within him. Here was an opportunity for him to see for himself what was going on, get closer to understanding what was happening here. If the soldiers were no longer alive, if they truly were dead and not asleep, hibernating, or in some self-induced stasis, then here was his chance to find out. He should really wait for the team that Parks was assembling, but something inside him needed to know, and needed to know now. Maybe after that, the nightmares that had been plaguing him would stop.
Dodds looked to his radar. No one else nearby. Enrique was off on the other side of the midfield from him, and Chaz was quite a long way further still, investigating those craft that were at the edge of Parks’ specified exploratory range. Good, no one would see him. And unless the fleet were keeping very close tabs on him, they wouldn’t see him vanish, either.
Drawing close to the Infernale, Dodds activated the ATAF’s cloak, slipping away from both visual and electronic detection. Now hidden, he approached the open, inviting entrance of the Independent frigate and disembarked. It had been many years since he had performed a similar task at Arlos starport, and with that in mind he took added precautions, making careful note of his orientation and where his ATAF was, taking into account various reference points that would help him get back into the cockpit. That done, he slipped into the airlock, taking with him the plasma pistol that now lived in the fighter’s cockpit at all times. How they could’ve done with those back at Arlos.
The controls inside the frigate’s airlock chamber were easy enough to decipher, and very soon he had resealed the outer door and was safely within the vessel. Then, ensuring he understood how to exit the ship and that his pistol was still operational, he began to make his way deeper inside.
*
Though it seemed that life support was operational – there was gravity inside – he wasn’t so sure he wanted to remove his helmet. It might make his life a little easier, in that his peripheral vision wouldn’t be masked, but the presence of the helmet might also serve to protect him from a blow to the head. Of course, the other problem was that he couldn’t hear all that well with it on.
He proceeded carefully, keeping his pistol steady and making his way down the numerous corridors of the ship. He avoided making too many turns. If he needed to run, it would do him good not to get lost on the way out. And he had neglected to bring any string along with him. The light level was low on this deck, not as bright as he’d have liked. Perhaps that was to conserve energy; the Pandorans had no use for bright light, not with their eyes.
He came to a junction, proceeded left and headed towards what he assumed was a lift, one that might allow him to reach the upper deck. He discovered otherwise, finding that the door he was making for led into some sort of storage room. Somewhat to his surprise, it appeared to be stacked high with boxes of food. He couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of all the contents, but certainly the ones closest to him declared themselves to be full of tinned goods, pastas and rice. If they hadn’t yet perished, then it might well end the fleet’s supply problems. He imagined it likely that each of the thousands of other vessels out there would have food and water. Some of it would be consumable. That lifted his spirits a little. But first things first – he needed to find out if these guys were playing dead. He turned around …
… and came face to face with the man standing directly behind him.
Ah, hell! This one clearly wasn’t! How had the man crept up on him so easily? Why hadn’t he …? His helmet! As Dodds had feared, he hadn’t heard the man coming. He considered calling for help, though he knew there was no way that anyone would get to him in time. He considered attempting to shoot before his opponent did, though he knew the man would easily have gunned him down before he brought his pistol even halfway up. He awaited the blast that would end his life, hearing his own heavy breathing as his heart pounded in his chest.
The man, however, did nothing except stand where he was.
What was he waiting for? It was then that Dodds overcame the shock of seeing the figure before him and started to make sense of what he was actually looking at. The man wore no helmet, his hands, neither of which held a weapon, hung by his sides. Nor did there seem to be any weapons anywhere about his person. No guns, knives or other means of attack or defence. He wasn’t clad in one of the usual black suits either, his attire appearing to belong more to a regional military force. The man continued to look straight ahead, a vacant, absent stare. It was as if he wasn’t quite aware of his own surroundings. His mouth hung a little open, not gaping, but not shut. Unlike the usually vicious, fast and quick-thinking members of the Pandoran army, this man seemed totally gormless.
The man stood for a moment longer, then began to move forward.
Dodds retreated instantly into the storage room, keeping his gun trained on the man’s head. Something inside was telling him not to fire. Not yet, anyway. The man followed him in, but where Dodds fell back into a corner, the soldier walked straight ahead. He no longer stared at Dodds as he had done; his focus remained fixed on what was immediately in his way. Halfway in, he stopped, turned about, wobbled on his feet, reached out to on
e of the containers for support, and then collapsed. There he remained, half propped up against a container, looking like a puppet that had been flung into a corner.
Dodds approached, training his pistol on the torso and doing his best to keep his breathing calm and his aim steady. He looked about as he waited for signs of movement, but after a minute of waiting there were no indications of life in the soldier at all. One moment he had been standing, and the next … Was he dead? He’d thought that before, many years ago, and had received a nasty shock …
“Ha! One for the Road. I’ll drink to that!”
The voice made Dodds jump, his steady aim leaping high. Enrique. He ignored Enrique for the moment, bringing his weapon back down to focus on the man on the floor.
“Dodds?” Enrique said. “Dodds, where the hell are you?”
“I’m okay, Enrique,” Dodds came back to him. “Don’t worry.”
“Why have you cloaked your ATAF? What’s going on?” By the sound of it, Enrique had swung over Dodds’ way after not hearing from him for a while. The communication was being relayed to him via his own ATAF. The audio wasn’t as strong as it might’ve been had he been closer to the fighter, but at least it wasn’t echoing. The tech boys had fixed that issue.
“I saw an open airlock,” Dodds responded, “so I disembarked to take a look.”
“You’re inside one of the ships?”
“Yes, the Infernale.”
“Anything interesting to report?”
“A couple of things,” Dodds said, glancing about the food containers. He really should get back to his ATAF now. His eyes then rested on something else – a second body. He hadn’t seen it before. “Make that three,” he added. This one was clad in the familiar black suit and the all-encompassing helmet. The ruby-red eyes lacked their piercing glow. The power to the optical enhancements must’ve run out quite some time ago.
“What have you seen?” Enrique asked.
“Hold on a minute,” Dodds said, moving to the soldier. Dodds noticed this one was armed, a pistol lying on the floor, inches from his fingers. A knife was stashed in his belt. Despite this, Dodds somehow knew that he was safe. He studied that dull helmet for a moment, and wondered if the soldiers still maintained their flawless skin and incredible model-like looks after they had died. Only one way to find out.
He reached for the helmet, detaching the feeds and cables that linked it to the main suit, and slipped it off the soldier’s head.
“Urk!” Dodds recoiled.
“What?” Enrique asked. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Dodds said, “Fine. Can’t say the same for who I’m looking at, though.” Here was a woman, her face pale, her dry eyes open and staring blankly ahead. Like the man slumped down opposite, her mouth hung open slightly. Her skin appeared loose and cold, and Dodds didn’t need to take his helmet off to know that she most likely smelt quite bad. In fact, he was now quite thankful that he still had it on, as the corpse appeared to be rotting in places. Something told him that the entire vessel probably stank. “Looks like this one’s been dead for some time,” he added.
“Any sign of what killed him?”
“Her,” Dodds said, “and, no, I’ve no idea.” He moved away from the corpse and returned to the corridor. He contemplated making his way to the bridge, to see how things were up that way.
“Commander Dodds, what the hell are you doing on that ship?” a new voice then shot into his ear. It was Parks, and quite understandably he didn’t sound happy. He must’ve been tipped off by one of Griffin’s bridge crew, who had been listening in on his communication with Enrique.
“Admiral,” Dodds answered. “I saw an open airlock and decided to take a look—”
“I gave you explicit instructions to cover the area, Dodds, and not do anything else without authorization,” Parks came back. “I don’t recall giving you permission to exit your fighter, Commander!”
“I’m sorry, sir, my curiosity got the better of me.”
“Return to your craft at once,” Parks said.
“Yes, sir.” He’d decided that he’d seen all he wanted of the Infernale, anyway.
“But as you’re there now,” Parks then added, “what did you find?”
“Two dead soldiers, Admiral, one of whom collapsed right in front of me.”
“There are live soldiers on that ship?” Dodds could hear concern creeping into Parks’ voice.
“I’d hardly call what I saw ‘alive’,” Dodds said, turning to look at the man who was slumped on the floor, before summing up what had occurred in the corridor. That seemed to ease Parks’ temper, if only a little.
“Any others?” the admiral asked.
“I’ve not had time to investigate further, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same story across the entire ship,” Dodds said, starting back towards the airlock. “Aside from that small incident, I’ve not met any resistance or hostilities at all.”
Parks conversed with someone else for a time, before coming back to him. “Dodds, I’m going to send a landing party round to your location. Wait for them by the airlock and lead them to those two bodies. Once they’re retrieved, get yourself back to Griffin.”
“Understood,” Dodds said, and made for the airlock.
*
“Probably the only time I would ever tolerate having one of these things on my ship,” Parks said, as Griffin’s head physician concluded his examination of the corpses that lay on two infirmary tables.
Dodds glanced around the small room at the numerous security staff that filled the cramped interior. All of them brandished firearms, keeping them trained on the bodies, seemingly quite ready for one to leap up and attack, however unlikely this was. The corpses themselves were enclosed within some kind of acrylic glass containers, both, Dodds guessed, to protect those in the room from disease and infection, as well as to save their noses from the smell emanating from the woman. Certainly those containers weren’t there to prevent the soldiers from attacking. They would slow them down, but that would be about it. Enrique and Chaz stood alongside him, all three having insisted on discovering what had happened. Their insistence hadn’t been challenged.
“So, doctor, have you reached a diagnosis?” Parks asked.
Tunstall nodded. “Captain, this man and this woman are dead,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “And what I mean by that is that neither of them is ever going to get up again. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d be a lot more comfortable working if I didn’t have a load of guns being pointed in my direction.” He indicated towards the security team. “I feel a great deal more threatened and intimidated by them than either of these two.”
Parks let the security detail know they no longer needed their guns, and the men reluctantly holstered their weapons. “So, what killed them?” Parks wanted to know.
“Loss of blood to the brain, caused by internal bleeding,” the physician said, simply.
“Bleeding?” Parks said. “Someone hit them over the head?”
“No,” Tunstall said, walking around both bodies and indicating various parts of their heads. “No external pressures or blows have been applied. The skulls are in no way fractured or otherwise damaged.”
“Dodds, is your story accurate?” Parks turned to him. “You did nothing to that man at all?”
“Never put a finger on him,” Dodds answered.
“There is some slight external bruising present on the man, though this can be attributed to the fact that he collapsed shortly after the stroke occurred.”
“A stroke?” Parks said, sounding quite perplexed.
The doctor nodded. “Both suffered strokes, as a result of aggressive cellular breakdown and degeneration, mostly targeted around the major internal organs. Hardly surprising when you think about how these guys were being run for the last ten years or so.”
Parks looked even more bemused. “And what exactly caused that?”
Tunstall worked a console nearby, activating displays above both tables on which the corpse
s lay. The images were that of x-rays of the bodies, organs and bones colourized. Tunstall indicated the brains of both. “If you look here, you can see the areas where the haemorrhages occurred,” he said. “The white spots indicate the areas where the leaks appeared.”
“There’s rather a lot of them,” Parks said, as he studied the image. “Is that normal in a patient?”
“No,” Tunstall said. “The damage is several times greater than one might normally expect.”
“And you believe this has been caused by the nanites within them?” Parks said.
“I’m absolutely convinced,” Tunstall said. “Let me show you …”
He tapped again at the console, updating one of the screens to show an image of what looked to Dodds like a tadpole. Actually, more like an octopus. It appeared to be swimming around, with what looked like six or seven tails flapping along behind it. The oval-like head – or perhaps that was the body – seemed to have a number of little protrusions on it.
“Here we have one of your normal, working nanomachines, as found in your typical Pandoran soldier,” Tunstall said. “The main body has a number of nodes on its surface that it can alter to suit various requirements, such as disguising itself from the host system, attaching to tissue, and communicating with other nanites throughout the body. The flagella – that is to say, the tails you see here – are actually multi-purpose limb units that can fulfil a number of different roles. They can be used for everything from the construction, alteration and de-construction of motor neurons within the central nervous system, and nodes and synapses in the brain, to the building and repair of their own units. Groups of nanites can form nets by linking their limbs together, preventing blood loss at a far more effective rate than the host body’s own natural system can, as well as use electrical and chemical signals to influence cells and synapses within the immediate vicinity. And, as we see here, they can also be used to propel the nanite through the body, with plenty of freedom of control.
“A message can even get from one end of the body to the other in well under a tenth of a second, at its slowest. They’re very effective little buggers, I must admit. They can even build their own proteins as needed.”
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 94
