by Scott Baron
“Good news and bad news,” Franklin said.
“Spit it out, George,” Daisy replied.
“The facility AI was infected by the virus during the initial attack. Its systems are fried, and all connecting links are likewise damaged beyond repair.”
“And what’s the good news?” Tamara asked.
“Oh, that was the good news.”
“Why did I know you were going to say that?” Daisy grumbled.
“Because you’re a particularly clever woman, I suppose,” he answered. “In any case, this all means we don’t have to deal with any active countermeasures in the entire facility.”
“But?”
“But that also means we have absolutely no access to the silo from anywhere but the main doors, and those are sealed tight, down at the bottom of an elevator shaft. One with no power.” He paused.
“And?” she asked, not wanting to hear the rest.
“And partially flooded.”
“He wasn’t kidding about the bad news.”
Seriously.
“So what do we do? We can’t turn back.”
Daisy thought quietly for a moment.
“How much water are we talking, George?”
“At least twelve feet deep.”
“Contained solely in the elevator shaft?”
“Affirmative. The doors are hermetically sealed. I’d wager the elevator must’ve lost power with the topmost doors open a crack. During the snow melt-off, it likely filled up.”
“At least the silo door at the bottom of the shaft is sealed.”
“Correct.”
“So, the facility is still intact inside. That means the mission is still on.”
“Ideas?”
“We get that shaft open, jury-rig a siphon to start pulling the water level lower. Once it’s mostly drained, I’ll drop in and begin working on the door mechanism.”
“But he said the power was out,” Thomas said.
“Up top, yes. But sealed facilities run off of their own independent power. I’d guess geothermal and maybe some solar for this particular site. Should be more than enough to operate the door. But first, we have to get to it. Hit the stables and farmhouse. We need hoses, buckets, anything we can use to empty the shaft.”
The team fanned out in a hasty search of the buildings. Whatever resources they could find, it wouldn’t be easy.
“You could always have them do a bucket chain,” Sarah suggested.
I could, but that would not only take forever, especially hauling the water up one bucket at a time from thirty feet below the surface, but it would also wear out an already tired team.
“The cyborgs aren’t tired.”
No, they aren’t, but we can’t expect them to do all of the work. Who knows, we might get lucky.
“Wishful thinking.”
Sometimes it’s not a bad thing.
“Hey, Daisy! Come check this out!” Thomas called out.
“What is it?” she asked, trudging toward the shed he was digging through.
“I don’t know, but it looks like some kind of pump.”
“Pump?”
You were saying about wishful thinking?
Daisy’s eyes fell on a filthy oil cloth, grease long ago soaking it into a nasty mess.
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Thomas pulled the material back, the damp burlap letting out a sticky suction sound as it came free.
“Holy shit. Is that a sump pump?”
Yep. And a hose too.
“Packed in grease. It might actually be functional.”
Looks that way. Sealed up and protected from the elements for all this time.
“Someone did us a solid a few hundred years ago, Sis.”
Yeah. Now let’s see if we can scrape all that gunk out and get this thing operational.
The pump took a good half hour to clean and make functional, but once the grease had been removed and the surprisingly sound hose run the thirty feet down the shaft, it made relatively quick time of the water at the bottom.
“You sure we’ll have enough charge to drive back?” Daisy asked Sergeant Franklin as he monitored the power cells feeding the pump.
“This unit draws a very small charge, all things considered. We should be fine to get back, barring any unseen complications.”
“One hell of a spot of good luck,” she said, allowing herself a little grin.
“Indeed. After this, however, it’s all up to you. Are you sure you can get past the security protocols? It is designed to be impenetrable, after all.”
“With the workarounds Joshua gave me, unless there’s something he didn’t know about, I should be able to get us in.”
“Timeframe?”
“Less than a day, more than an hour?”
“So, you don’t really know.”
“No. But this is just grind work. Not so much a puzzle, as a lengthy series of interconnected keys and ciphers. So long as I follow Joshua’s instructions, eventually, it should work.”
Eventually was a full seven hours after she began the task. With the sun well below the horizon and the rest of her team taking a much-needed nap, Daisy finally felt the click and hiss of the silo’s elevator door as it strained against centuries of neglect.
“George!” she called up the shaft.
“What is it, Daisy?”
“Wake the others. We’re in.”
In just a few minutes the entire team had descended the shaft and was standing beside her inside the silo’s subterranean doors.
“Okay, spread out and find those keys. You all know what we’re looking for,” Daisy said.
“What about weapons?” Thomas asked.
“Anything down here is far too outdated to be of much use against the aliens,” Franklin replied.
“Yeah. What we need is modern arms,” Tamara added.
An optimistic smile teased Daisy’s lips.
“Hopefully that’s being taken care of,” she said, then strode into the dimly lit hidden facility.
Chapter Seven
The Chithiid munitions stores were attended by two fervent loyalists, Craaxit noted as he crossed the barracks toward the weapons storage depot. He didn’t know them by name, but seeing as how the Ra’az faithful had their own quarters, it wasn’t surprising. He knew there were spies tucked away in the regular barracks as well, but he learned long ago to never say anything of importance within those walls.
He approached the guards, confidence in his stride. As it had been each time he had run his little scam––always at different depots––it would not be easy, but a little bluster could go a long way. Given the new situation with his unlikely human allies, the gains, he thought, far outweighed the risks.
“Craaxit, sir,” the nearest guard said in greeting as the older Chithiid approached, his posture not softening in the slightest. “Your work team has already checked out their allotted weapons and pulse charges for the day. Why have you returned?”
“One of our pulse packs was distributed to my team with a reduced charge,” he replied. “I have brought it back to replace with a properly charged unit.”
The guard bristled.
“Are you saying we distributed inadequately charged equipment?”
“No, of course not,” Craaxit replied, diplomatically. “I would not make that accusation. However, given the recent disturbances within the work area, should my team be forced to utilize their weapons, a reduced charge could potentially endanger them.”
“It is a dangerous job,” the guard replied with a little sneer.
“You are correct, it is a dangerous job,” Craaxit replied, a thin, cold flash of steel sharpening his words. “And if productivity were reduced due to an avoidable oversight, the Ra’az would certainly wish to know the reason.” He stared unflinchingly at the loyalist. “If you wish, I am perfectly willing to file a requisition report and send it through Ra’az command, of course.”
The guard remained expressionless, but a slig
ht twitch in his eyes betrayed the concern hiding beneath the surface.
“But really,” Craaxit continued, “there is no need for us to burden them with unnecessary reports over something so easily rectified, wouldn’t you agree?”
The guards glanced at one another, knowing full well any disruption in productivity would not only reflect poorly on the team in question, but also on any who may have played a role, however small, in the problem.
“How low is the charge?” the guard finally asked.
“Not very,” Craaxit replied. “It is currently at seventy-two percent.”
“Well…”
“It is just a single pulse pack. I would be inclined to say it is just a defective unit, and no fault of any one individual. There is no need to lay blame over something so insignificant.”
The guards looked at one another, their body language saying what their mouths would not.
“Give me the defective unit,” the guard finally said.
Craaxit did so, graciously accepting the fully charged one returned to him.
“Thank you for your professional handling of this unforeseen situation. May the remainder of your shift be uneventful.”
“And may your work detail be safe and productive,” the guard replied.
Craaxit tucked the full pulse pack into his pouch and walked back to gather the rest of his gear from the barracks, moving slowly and deliberately as he did. Only once he was out of their line of sight did he allow himself the slightest sigh of relief.
The pulse packs handed out that morning had in fact all been fully charged, but Craaxit and his small group of hopeful rebels had been scavenging damaged, depleted, and just plain lost packs for years, swapping them for topped-off units whenever possible.
Their hidden cache was still nowhere near enough to support a full-fledged rebellion on their own, but the weapons thought lost in attacks had accumulated to a respectable number over the decades. If Daisy was true to her word, the time to use them in support of a larger assault could very well be coming, and quite soon at that.
The barracks were cool, now that the majority of their Chithiid residents had vacated for the day’s work details. The remaining few dozen were enjoying some rare downtime. Even conscripted workers needed time off, though it was infrequent, at best.
Eyes turned toward Craaxit as he walked to his storage locker. He acted nonchalant, gathering his tools and heading out the way he came in. He didn’t dare hide the pulse pack anywhere within those walls for even a minute. Prying eyes could be watching, and more than one worker had been discovered to be a Ra’az loyalist in the past.
Even in the other barracks across the globe, the pattern was the same. Scores of Chithiid housed in massive barracks, and invariably at least one spy in their midst.
It was beneath several already-gutted office towers not too far from their barracks that the secreted weapons caches had been hidden many years prior. Safely off-scans, yet conveniently nearby, rebels had surreptitiously deposited their hauls on their way to and from work, if not during breaks, when possible.
Craaxit exited the barracks, the fully charged pulse pack warm under his work clothes. Momentarily, it would be safely tucked away with the other weapons and supplies, and then he would go about his usual work routine, as would be expected of him.
Soon, if his human ally was successful, he hoped that routine would change, and for the better.
The lights in the silo hidden deep beneath the surface were running on low, a power-saving protocol when the facility went into standby mode after years of inactivity. Once the motion sensors were given something to do, they buzzed into action, fully illuminating the facility for the first time in centuries.
While stale from being hermetically sealed, the air lacked any trace of off-putting smells. Whatever bodies had expired within the thick walls had long ago been reduced to dust, sparing them the stench of decaying flesh.
“Systems seem to be operating normally,” Daisy said. “I’d wager I was right that the place has a geothermal power source keeping the power cells charged.”
“That appears to be the case,” Sergeant Franklin agreed. “There are twelve levels in this facility, each serving different functions. We should split up, each person taking a level.”
“A dozen? For a two-man silo crew?” Tamara said. “Seems excessive.”
“Only four of them are really meant for regular crew use. The remaining eight are more for accessing and maintaining the missile and its launch systems. Remember, this is essentially one giant underground tube,” Franklin noted. “My guess is we’ll find what we’re looking for on those four levels.”
Daisy skimmed over a basic facility floor plan mounted on the wall near the service stairwell.
“Found the workshop level. You all run the search for the keys. I’m going to see if I can rustle up something to fix up our friend here’s leg.” Daisy pointed to the tin-man’s appendage. “Mind if I get a better look at it before I go digging for bits and bobs?” she asked.
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Ugh, enough with the ma’am. Just Daisy, please!”
“Sorry, ma'a––Daisy.”
He rolled up his pant leg, revealing the damage to his metal limb.
“Seems relatively straightforward,” she said. “Okay, you can roll your pant leg down. We’re good.”
“That fast? Are you certain you don’t need a better look?” he asked.
“Nope. Photographic memory,” she said, tapping her head. “Side benefit of frying your brain with a neuro-stim. Now y’all get a move on. If you need me, I’ll be on level six.”
Tamara was the first to find the remains of one of the silo crew. She nearly tripped over the pile of clothes just inside the doorway to the command room as she entered, sending a small puff of dust wafting from the empty uniform.
“Oh, nasty. I’m breathing dead guy,” she grumbled, pulling her shirt over her nose and mouth.
She bent down and opened the collar of the shirt. All that remained of its owner was a pile of fine dust. With a reluctant little shudder, she stuck her fingers into the powder.
“Gotcha!” she crowed triumphantly moments later as the hefty key and its thick neck chain came free in her grasp.
The others were having less success, spreading out across the levels, searching everywhere they could. The second crewmember, however, was nowhere to be found.
Daisy, in the meantime, was having a field day in the repair shop. She had quickly sourced a few components that would get her tin friend’s leg back in working order, at least long enough to get back to Joshua’s much more extensive repair facilities.
Digging through the wealth of high-tech components at her disposal, Daisy had felt an unexpected burst of inspiration, her hands quickly slapping together nearly a dozen shiny orbs from the parts at hand.
“Whatcha doing?”
Had an idea. Something for the trek back.
“Are those what I think they are?”
Yup. And since I’m not having to make them from totally scavenged scrap parts this time, I think these oughta do the job just fine.
“Jeez, Daze. How many are you making?”
As many as I have these old power cells for. They may be outdated, but they’ll hold a charge, and getting through Billings again is going to be a shitty road to travel. All the better if I can help clear it somewhat.
Within forty-five minutes, Daisy had eleven of the simple, yet deadly devices fully assembled. Shifting in her seat, Daisy’s stomach gurgled uncomfortably.
“Ooh, that’s not good. Guess I got a little distracted there. You see the head anywhere, Sis?”
“Yeah. It’s down the left corridor, second door on the right.”
“Thanks. Gotta pee something fierce.”
“I don’t need the play-by-play, Daze. You forget I’m stuck riding along with you, even on bathroom breaks.”
Daisy laughed and walked down the corridor.
“Oh, fuck me
,” she said as she opened the door.
“Is that–?”
“Yep,” she replied, nudging the dust-filled pants resting at the base of the toilet with her boot. “Looks like our friend clocked out on the shitter. Lovely.”
Daisy bent down and quickly dug in the pile of dust, but there was no key to be found.
“Seriously?” she grumbled, dusting off the toilet seat where the uniform top rested. “This is so not right.”
Reluctantly, Daisy reached her arm down into the muddy mess of toilet water and dead guy remains.
“Nasty. I hope he didn’t drop a log in there before he––”
“Not helping, Sarah!”
Her fingers tickled a sturdy chain at the bottom of the bowl.
“Got it!”
Into the sink the key quickly went. Daisy flipped on the water and scrubbed her hand and forearm clean of the sticky muck, then set to the task of washing off the key. After a bit of scrubbing, the stubborn bits finally rinsed free, and Daisy hung the clean key on the door to dry. She then turned to the dusty toilet.
“Sorry, dude. When nature calls––”
She gave a little salute to the fallen man, then flushed the bowl. Daisy then thoroughly wiped the seat down with a damp towel before drying it and then flushing once more. Only then did she take a seat on her throne.
Man, what a day. When it rains…
“Hey, guys,” she said as Franklin, his damaged cyborg associate, Tamara, and a pair of young men entered the workspace. “Any luck?”
“Bingo,” Tamara said with a grin, dangling the key by its chain. “You have any luck down here?”
“As you said, ‘bingo!’” she replied, holding up the other key.
“Well done, Daisy. And I see you have a pretty sizable assortment of parts on the workbench. Do you think a repair can be effected?” Sergeant Franklin asked.
“Yeah, we’re good,” she replied, then turned to the injured man. “Hop up on the table and roll up your pant leg. This should only take a few minutes.”
She quickly set to work on the injured leg, swapping out parts with swift efficiency. Franklin noted the other devices lining the workspace.
