Shadows of Mars (Broken Stars Book 1)

by I. O. Adler

  Carmen opened her eyes.

  She Who Waits had the translation light hanging between them. “There is a second communication coming through from the Cordice. They are begging you not to—”

  A sharp bang sent She Who Waits reeling, knocking her over. She bobbed back up high enough to reveal a gaping hole in her shell, which leaked gas and a fine gray powder. Quivering tentacles probed the air beyond the open hole. She collapsed and didn’t rise again.

  The bomb.

  The Primary Executive had detonated it.

  The worm blurted a short command. Then the monster leaned over Carmen’s bed and reached inside to grab her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Primary Executive took hold of Carmen with four hands and shook her.

  She braced herself as she felt the connection to the simulation slipping. The historian’s voice kept chirping but it had lost all its meaning and it finally faded as the contact was severed.

  “Let go!” she cried. “Let go of me or I destroy it!”

  She clung to a rail inside the bed. When he tried to dislodge her she bit the worm’s hand and instantly regretted it as an acidic burn filled her mouth. But it let out a surprisingly high-pitched yip and flinched, releasing her. The worm reared back and brought up its weapon.

  “I’ll crash it into Mars.”

  It pressed the barrel to her head.

  “I’ll do it,” she whispered.

  Would it even understand her? A display on his wrist popped up, which he scanned. The worm’s body shook. It began a series of short wheezy coughs. Foul steam erupted from its helmet vents. Was it laughing at her again?

  Even if she could reconnect to the harvester, it would take more than a moment to do anything. Crashing it would require more than the flick of a switch. There were fail-safes to avoid destruction. And all the worm had to do was pull the trigger.

  It knew that and the thought of her threat had made it laugh.

  Her mom’s voice spoke from the Primary Executive’s wrist device. “I asked it not to hurt you. But there’s no more time for this. The encryption is a scan of your nervous system. If you can’t find how to reset it so the Primary Executive can take control, then disconnect. It will take it from there once you’re up. You won’t be hurt. Do you understand?”

  “I hear you, Mom.”

  She had seconds left before the Primary Executive lost patience and tore her from the bed. With a thought she found the encryption key. Deleting it would be a simple command now that she was examining the proper virtual menu. Then she would only have to log out.

  But her exchange with the historian had been troubling. Something continued to feel wrong with the Cordice. He was in a sudden hurry when before they had been engaged in lengthy deliberation. She felt certain they remained divided and the decision to surrender the harvester was being made under duress.

  And her mom had joined the side that was willing to shoot Jenna and murder She Who Waits.

  “I’ve found the encryption commands,” she said. She heard her mom reply but the words were muddy as Carmen let the medical bay fall away.

  Carmen navigated the ship controls. Focused on the sphere still lodged between the home ship and the Melded vessel. So many commands. But some of what the ship could do was automated with strings of programming that would require little of an operator or no input whatsoever once set in motion.

  The harvester, as it turned out, could harvest.

  It only required a thought and the sphere began to change shape. Each component of the harvester could act as a section of a broad gathering web to collect particles and gas from a variety of mediums ranging from an atmosphere to the vacuum of space. It could also dismantle space rocks.

  The surface of the sphere opened like a metal palm with a dozen fingers. The sphere blossomed out and curled backward, the tips of the fingers clamping down on the Melded ship’s hull.

  “Mom, if you’re listening, if anyone is listening, tell that fat worm to back off or I tear its ship to pieces.”

  Her mom was on board their frigate. So was Agent Barrett and any number of Melded. She guessed they had emergency measures. But once her harvester got to work, the Melded ship wouldn’t stand a chance.

  A hand had her by the throat and was squeezing. The worm shouted. Raged.

  Carmen lost touch with the harvester as the Primary Executive tore her away from the com node.

  The worm shook her. Threw her down. The gun popped as a projectile exploded next to her head. The floor was covered in a sticky residue that continued to ooze from the shattered remains of She Who Waits’ translucent shell. One of her tentacles had emerged as if reaching for something but now lay limp, the skin darkening and mottled.

  A steady vibration ran through the floor.

  Carmen’s throat ached and she could only speak in a whisper. “Say goodbye to your ship.”

  The Primary Executive thrust a wrist in her face. Her mom’s voice said, “Carmen, stop the harvester.”

  Another shudder, this one more violent.

  “No,” Carmen said. “The worm wants it so badly? I’m disconnected. Go ahead and take it. I hope it can hack the encryption in time. But you’d better evacuate their ship.”

  “This isn’t a game!”

  “I know that, Mom. Do you? What’s to stop him from killing all of us?”

  “Because we have a deal with the Melded Primary—me along with many of the Cordice. He lets you and Jenna live inside the simulation if I get him the harvester. He sets aside resources so their ship continues to function. It’s the only way.”

  A muffled boom caused the other Melded in the medical bay to freeze in place and stare at the ceiling as if it was all about to come down on top of them. And it might. Would the harvester stop after tearing the Melded vessel apart, or would it continue to dissect the Cordice home ship?

  New bright screens lit up on the Primary Executive’s display. The symbols in each window had gotten larger. Most were flashing.

  The worm snatched her up. With its weapon slung, the creature had her with all six hands. She fought but it was no good. The Primary Executive was strong enough to tear her limb from limb. Its foul breath choked her as it pulled her close to its helmet.

  She saw her own terrified reflection in the visor.

  The worm pressed her down into the medical bed. Barked.

  “Stop it, Carmen!” her mom’s voice shouted.

  “Not until all of them get out of this room and put me in touch with the Cordice engineer.”

  “There’s no time—”

  “It’s not a request. If they’re not back in their airlock in five minutes, the harvester is going to eat not only their ship but this one. No one gets what they want.”

  The worm reared back for a moment. Had her mom relayed the message? With a grunt it surged towards the exit door. The rest of the Melded followed. Carmen didn’t wait to see if they left. She reconnected.

  The harvester had scalped a portion of the hull off the rearmost hump of the Melded ship. Numerous arrays and one freestanding tower lousy with antennae had been pulverized. The harvester had breached one of the ship’s center sections, which had been under pressure. Gas vented from a gaping tear, shooting a white cloud of crystallized air into the black. An external rack had been torn open and nearly detached, revealing several long tubes.

  Other harvester fingers had closed onto new sections of the hull. They started scraping. Armor plating and an external tank broke free as easy as peeling the skin off an onion.

  Stop.

  With the command, the harvester froze in place.

  The airlocks and retractable passageway between the Melded vessel and the home ship remained intact. Moments later the worm retreated to the Melded ship, followed by the guards.

  She had done it. They had withdrawn.

  Though she knew she should keep watching, she disconnected and fell as she climbed out of the bed. Her mother was over there. She had tried to save her. Had she
been infected or brainwashed? There was no knowing. But their conversation had felt as frustrating as any Carmen had had with her mom before the mission.

  She got up and hurried to Jenna’s side. Her sister lay on the floor. Still breathing, but it was weak. Blood continued to seep from the wound in her belly. Whatever first aid green-eyed Ovo had administered either wasn’t working or needed more attention. Jenna’s skin was clammy and sweat beaded her face. Carmen scooped her up and placed her in the bed. Waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Where were the little robots that would make her better?

  Carmen looked helplessly up at the ceiling as if someone might be watching. If there was an automated system in place, it was ignoring her.

  “Is anyone there? How do I turn this on?”

  She walked around the bed, a growing sense of helplessness twisting inside her. She had come so far, found her mother only to lose her, and now she was about to watch her sister die.

  The only noise came from the soft hum and clicks of whatever machinery worked behind the walls. Her stomach growled obscenely. She was alone and she could only guess as to what would come next. Maybe no one would come. She would be allowed to starve. Or the Cordice historian, still in control within the simulation, would just open a hatch and blow her into space, or vent the air and suffocate her.

  If the worm returned, would she even fight? She didn’t know if she had the strength to rush back to the bed and reconnect to the harvester. They had called her bluff. She wouldn’t murder them and she wouldn’t kill her mother.

  And who was she to stop any of it? An enemy who could devastate worlds? A culture of billions divided and living inside a computer, and she had the audacity to tell them how to use their spaceship? And the Melded…whatever they were. Warrior-like opportunists? Bullies? And why had her mother even thrown her hat in with them?

  She gripped Jenna’s hand and tried to remember anything from church that would console her.

  Motion caught her eye.

  Next to She Who Waits’ body, the two drones bobbed at ankle level, like obedient dogs waiting for their master to rise. The limp tentacles had shriveled further. The translator had helped them beyond her “designation” and that had cost her everything.

  Carmen went to her and touched one of She Who Waits’ slack limbs. It twitched.

  “You’re…alive?”

  But even as no answer came, Carmen pushed the broken suit pieces aside. They were as light as plastic. A residue of the sandy stuff was scattered around her. The tentacle was attached to a thicker stump or stalk that had multiple limbs attached. There was no visible head, no face, no obvious eyes or ears or anything. But this was She Who Waits, and she was as light as a child as Carmen pulled her free of the shell.

  Carmen took her to the medical bed she had used to connect with the network and placed her inside.

  “Tell it to help you. The Cordice will listen. Hello? You have to help her. It’s She Who Waits and she’s dying. Is anyone there?”

  When she didn’t get a reply she slapped the frame of the bed. Whispered, “If you’re still alive, you’ve got to tell this thing to fix you like you did for Jenna.”

  The twitching through She Who Waits’ body subsided. She had been denied the atmosphere within her suit for so long. And what other damage might she have suffered from the explosion?

  Carmen kneeled and leaned on the bed frame. She barely noticed one of the floating bots close in. A red light popped up on top of the tiny metal blimp. She backed away from the bed as the top sealed. A thick mist filled the compartment around She Who Waits. Carmen tried to see anything through the congealing air. Did the Cordice medical technology know what to do?

  She yelped with fright when Jenna’s bed also closed. The cockroach bots were back and they began to swarm over her sister’s body. Carmen hurried to the bed and watched as they started to fill the projectile wound with the white gauze threads.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she babbled. Her eyes burned with tears.

  She Who Waits’ voice came from the light on top of the little robot. “What is your designation, Carmen Vincent?” Her voice sounded softer than before, distant, and dreamy.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your designation. While on Earth.”

  “What do you mean? You know my name.”

  “I understand what designate Sylvia Vincent calls you, and what designate Jenna Vincent and designate Agent Raymond Barrett call you. But what is your purpose?”

  What did she want to hear? A job description? That she was a wastewater tech in her last attempt at gainful employment? A musician? A caretaker?

  “I’m happy you’re alive. But I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a daughter and sister and maybe you and I are friends if that’s possible.”

  “I’m trying to sort my responsibilities in light of your actions. You hold the power of the harvester and could have utilized it to destroy a threat to yourself and your family. You showed mercy with unassigned acts of consideration while also demonstrating you’re not a pacifist, unlike the Cordice. While they are splintered, their morality and oaths prevent them from acting overtly against any sentient or each other.”

  “I did what I had to do. That doesn’t answer you. I’ll have to think about it. Will you…survive?”

  “Yes. I communicated with the Cordice. They were able to activate their medical facilities. Designate Jenna Vincent will recover. But they remain split on what action to take.”

  Carmen brushed a film of mold dust from the translator’s bed. “Their home ship is still theirs.”

  “At limited capacity unless their caretaker is repaired.”

  “So this place is really broken. What does that mean for them?”

  “It means they will have to listen. And with the harvester in your possession, you have the voice.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “It’s your ship. I returned it to give to you. It’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”

  Carmen surveyed the assembly of Cordice. It felt like facing down a topiary garden. Hundreds of green and brown shapes had gathered into the virtual round amphitheater and sat or stood on all sides of her. The air was warm and held the aroma of forest soil. Orange sunlight filtered through the vine-covered latticework above.

  At the front of the council sat the only two Cordice who had spoken since her arrival in the simulation.

  One was the engineer, and the other the historian.

  The engineer was a mossy centipede coiled about itself with his head held high and slightly cocked as he listened. The historian was a deep green with patches of brown mustard laid out on a bipedal form. He had his arms crossed and Carmen could only wonder if body language carried between their races.

  When the historian spoke, there was only a small gap between his clicking words and Carmen hearing them in English. Whether She Who Waits had a role in this was unclear, as she hadn’t manifested within the simulation and there was no red light.

  “It is as you say, Carmen,” the historian said. “The ship belongs to us. Relinquishing it is the right thing to do.”

  The engineer snapped his mouth. “Relinquish it so it can be immediately handed over to the Melded, dear colleague? Our disparity continues. We have no agreement. You allowed Sylvia Vincent to steal the harvester in the first place. It’s the very heart of our disagreement and an issue we haven’t solved.”

  Were the patches of moss on both Cordice standing higher or was Carmen imagining it? They had been at it for what felt like an hour and she was tired of repeating herself.

  The historian snapped back, a rat-a-tat-tat of clicks. “Sylvia Vincent made it clear she would bring us and the Melded together if we allowed her to rescue her children from the doomed third world of this system. She’s fulfilled her role. She accomplished what we could not. The Melded are here. We can make amends, assist with their repairs, and detail a plan which will allow those on the Framework who wish to re
d shift from here to join us. And those of us who would support the fight can remain.”

  “You’d split our colony,” the engineer said. “The hardware requirements alone in duplicating our simulation would take as much time as helping the other marooned on the Framework to restore their vessels. And our home ship’s automation is broken. We need our own repairs if we are to survive.”

  “As always, you exaggerate, my spore brother. With the harvester, all things are possible. And we made an agreement. We grant the Melded the harvester and allow them to repair their ship first. And we fully restore Sylvia Vincent. These are her daughter’s wishes.”

  Carmen stiffened. “Hold up. One, you don’t get to say what I wish. I made it clear what I want before I hand the harvester over. And what are you talking about, restoring Sylvia Vincent? The Melded have her now. She’s out of your simulated world.”

  The engineer answered. “She was removed without proper supervision. The process is lengthy. When she was allowed to steal the harvester by my colleague, her consciousness remained seated here. My colleague and his supporters didn’t think to inform any of the stewards who know their craft that she would have her body taken and disconnected. It was…abrupt.”

  “So where is my mom?”

  “Her body, as you know, is with the Melded. Most of her consciousness is there. But there are parts left behind and possible damage.”

  Carmen looked at the historian. “You hurt her.”

  The historian clicked before formulating his reply. “She insisted on departing. My spore brother overstates the danger and harm. Whenever she wishes she can complete the process of consciousness retrieval.”

  Her stomach hurt. Whether this was a phantom pain or a real manifestation of what her body was feeling, she didn’t know. She needed to see her mother, the one who had her body and was on board the Melded vessel. Talk to her. Let her know that she wasn’t well and had to come back. But then a thought occurred to her.

  “Part of her is here? Is it just data?”