Against The Middle Page 9

  When they reached the lift, the light on Boldin’s neck flashed red and emitted a dire tone for ten seconds before there was a muffled whump from behind them, followed by the most incredible, grating sound Lu Bu had ever heard. All but she and Hutch had exited via the lift at that point, so she risked a glance behind her and saw what could only be magma flowing into the cavern in which the transmitter had been housed. She knew the transmitter had been there because no sooner had the explosion occurred than her suit registered the jamming signal’s disappearance.

  And she also knew that the magma would seek to fill every nook and cranny of the underground compartment, which meant that she needed to leave if she wanted to live.

  She turned back around just in time to see Hutch—who had already sent the woman he had carried up the lift system—be enveloped by the quasi-intelligent-looking liquid which then whisked him upward.

  Lu Bu quickly laid Boldin’s body down next to the pool, knowing that even if there was a small chance of reviving her, she needed to take it. This mission was about gathering intelligence; there was no equivalent of ‘no man left behind’ in the mantras of any self-respecting Recon unit. If she needed to die so that her crewmates could have a small chance to recover much-needed intel on the enemy—intel which would most certainly save many of her crewmates’ lives at the inevitable future conflict—then she would gladly lay her life down for them.

  The fluid rose up into its usual, slightly terrifying shape, and enveloped Boldin’s lifeless body before whisking her up and leaving Lu Bu alone. Lu Bu stood and fought against the fear she felt as waves of heat began blasting into the chamber, and she turned around to face the fires which may well end her life as she backed up toward the edge of the liquid pool.

  The magma had nearly reached the chamber’s entry, but she defiantly stood her ground. She knew that Storm Drake armor was durable and incredibly thermal-resistant, but she could not conceive of a material that was flexible enough for her to move freely within that could withstand the awesome power of such molten fury. If she was going to die, she would do so facing her killer.

  And then the world went black.

  Lu Bu’s body rose up through the iris in the floor and Fei Long rushed to her side after the liquid substance deposited her on the floor. “Fengxian,” he cried, shaking her vigorously for a panic-filled moment before she stirred and shook her head as if to clear it.

  She scrambled to her feet, brushing his concern aside as though it was an annoying fly—and in this particular instance, he was only too happy to receive the cold response to his concern since it meant she was fine. “Move out—move, move, move, move!” she roared, and Fei Long complied—but not until slapping the portable workstation the archeologists had used to access the doorway’s control mechanisms. His expert knowledge of that particular unit had allowed him to prep the unit’s data storage module for quick removal, and just as he had hoped, the one inch by three inch by five inch data storage module popped out into his waiting hands.

  With it secured, he moved as quickly as he could—which was not very fast, even he was forced to admit—but with his girl’s loving support at his back in the form of not-so-gentle shoves to the small of his back, they exited the chamber and found open sky above them just as there was a muffled screeching sound from the area of the chamber.

  Seconds later, the entire series of twisting, labyrinthine tunnels began to glow with heat, and he watched in morbid fascination as the entry to the only known structure fashioned by nonhuman intelligence was covered in fifty feet of molten minerals. It was only when the heat became dangerously powerful that he—and Lu Bu, who had been watching at his side—moved to a safe remove.

  “Mission accomplished,” Lu Bu said over the mission’s designated com-link channel. “Deathbacker: prepare for extraction.”

  Chapter VIII: Clues

  “There was nothing I could do for her,” Jo said after emerging in failure from the surgical suite. “The neurological decay was too great by the time she got back to the ship.”

  Middleton nodded, having known that successfully reviving the Raubach operative was a long shot. Jo had diligently worked toward that purpose for nearly two hours before finally conceding defeat, and Middleton briefly marveled at how Jo could work so hard to save the life of someone who had very likely contributed to her own personal misfortunes in recent months.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” he said officiously before gesturing to a nearby bed. “What about her?”

  Jo nodded and moved to the side of the disheveled, horribly malnourished, woman’s side. “She’s been starved, that much should be obvious,” she said, “but her blood chemistry didn’t take much work to stabilize. I’ve given her a mild sedative which should wear off in two or three more hours; she was barely conscious when they picked her up, and the shock of moving her aboard the shuttle was almost more than her system could handle. I’ve introduced a series of muscle-regeneration modules which should get her back to functional strength after a few days of bed rest.”

  “Will she survive?” Middleton asked, hoping for a reply in the affirmative.

  Jo nodded, “Aside from the malnourishment there doesn’t appear to be any major physiological trauma. I can’t speak to her emotional state, though,” she added grimly. “Everyone copes with these kinds of events differently; some of us go into a shell and are never seen from again, while others just need a few weeks to catch their breath before going about their lives. My professional opinion is that any questions should wait until she’s ready to answer them; I can’t condone a stimulant-driven interview of this woman.”

  Middleton nodded, having already arrived at the same conclusion. “Of course, Doctor. We already have a course to follow; there’s no need to put this woman under any more duress than she’s already experienced.”

  Jo nodded and relaxed fractionally. “I honestly can’t believe it,” Jo said, shaking her head and removing the last of her surgical garb, “we had actual evidence of a nonhuman civilization right beneath our feet, but now it’s gone. It strains belief, doesn’t it?”

  “I suspect that won’t be the most unbelievable thing we encounter in the coming weeks,” Middleton said, having made peace with the idea of nonhuman intelligence several years earlier when studying the Elder Protocols. The Elder Protocols were a series of computational algorithms which were, for lack of a better term, ‘poisonous’ to any form of artificial intelligence. Humanity had used them to great effect as a means to end AI domination of the galaxy, but the Protocols had defied logic and reason as far as any human expert who claimed to study them could tell. They were clearly not the product of human intelligence, which left only one other possibility.

  Besides, as far as Middleton was concerned, the fact that humanity gave rise to artificial intelligence meant that life was nowhere near the unique occurrence which many humans seemed to so desperately want to believe. If humans could make a form of life—one which was, by nearly every available measure, vastly superior to human life—then it seemed inevitable to him that the universe could create, and almost certainly had created, other forms of life on humanity’s basic scale. The only people who seemed adamantly opposed to the notion of nonhuman, ‘spontaneously-arisen intelligence’—meaning that it wasn’t uplifted by humans—were elements of the Imperium of Man.

  “You’re probably right,” Jo agreed as she adjusted some of the intravenous medications being given to the disheveled woman on the bed. “If she seems up to it, I’ll notify you as soon as she regains consciousness.”

  “I’m inclined to follow the ship’s doctor in this matter, Doctor,” Middleton said with a gracious nod. “There’s no need to push her.” He turned to leave, paused briefly as he considered whether or not doing so would be rude, but then he continued when he remembered there were at least six pairs of eyes on them at that moment and he needed to set a professional example for the crew.

  “What have you found, Mr. Fei?” Captain Middleton asked as soon as Fei
Long had stepped through the door to his commander’s ready room.

  “I have found further evidence of my rival’s activity here, Captain,” he replied, holding up the data storage module he had retrieved from the portable workstation. “Bits and pieces of my source code allowed her to overcome the relatively light encryption protocols which the archeologists had used to protect their data,” he explained, placing the module on the table before seating himself opposite his Captain. “Additionally, whatever information had once been contained on that unit has since been wiped clean. Either the data has been removed and stored elsewhere—likely on the Red King, or in the subterranean complex—or it was simply destroyed to prevent it from falling into enemy hands such as ours.”

  Captain Middleton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before his nose—a gesture which Fei Long had come to learn was his Lord and Master’s way to enhance his focus. “So you were able to find absolutely nothing of value pertaining to the archeologists’ operation here?”

  Fei Long suppressed a wince at the disappointment in his commander’s voice, but he grudgingly nodded, “That is correct, Captain. I have failed.”

  Captain Middleton shook his head. “Nobody said you failed, Mr. Fei,” he said dismissively, but Kongming knew that his commander’s mind had already moved past the subject and he was contemplating the next course of action the ship would take. If Fei Long knew his commander’s mind—and he believed he did—they would resume course for Commodore Raubach’s hidden base, which was still several weeks’ travel from their current position. “Thank you, Mr. Fei,” Captain Middleton said with a nod. “That will be all; send in Lieutenant McKnight, please.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Fei Long replied, collecting the useless data storage module and leaving the ready room feeling no small measure of disgrace. It seemed his rival was thwarting him even now, years after their most recent interaction, and he found his waking moments filled with plots to exact his revenge. “Lieutenant Sarkozy—my apologies,” he said, bowing as he realized that his tongue had been ‘on autopilot’ as his crewmates would say, “Lieutenant McKnight, Captain Middleton requests your presence.”

  The Pride’s XO nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Fei.” She then handed off her duties to a subordinate before answering the Captain’s summons.

  Fei Long sat at his station, checking the chronometer and finding that his current shift would not end for two hours, three minutes and fifty four seconds. He knew he would be unable to focus on anything but his planned revenge, so he called up the wiper code he had found on both the data slate and the data module he held in his hand.

  He knew there was a weakness somewhere in his rival’s surprisingly improved technique, and Fei Long was determined to find it so he could right a wrong which had destroyed his entire life.

  “The best we can figure it,” Garibaldi said from beside the conference room’s main view screen, on which was arrayed a series of images taken by Lu Bu prior to the subterranean facility’s destruction, “is that this was some kind of a shrine.”

  Middleton’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “A shrine?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Jo interrupted, “the geometry of the domed structure doesn’t seem to serve any purpose, and the markings we managed to find from the various picts and vids were etched into the stone. No species capable of building such a powerful transmitter—if that’s even what it really was,” she said pointedly, “would bother to etch those symbols into the walls. There are far better, longer-lasting methods available to a race of that technological level.”

  “The prisoner,” Sergeant Gnuko leaned forward, gesturing to Lu Bu at his side since it had been her team which had captured the man, “corroborates this, as does the archeologist down in Medical.”

  “You ran this by her?” Middleton asked, knowing that if anyone had done so without his permission it had been a flagrant breach of protocol, and a blatant disregard of his standing orders regarding the away team’s compartmentalized findings.

  “Not exactly,” Jo said with a wry shake of her head. “As soon as she woke up she started running her mouth at the speed of light. It would seem she’s more resilient than most would prove to be, given her situation.”

  “And she volunteered that the structure was a shrine of some kind?” Middleton asked, more to clarify that nobody had broken protocol.

  “She did,” Gnuko replied confidently. “I was there when the tranquilizers wore off, and it wasn’t but five minutes before she started spouting off all that gobbledygook tech jargon,” he said with clear amusement, slicing a look at Fei Long—a look which the young man studiously ignored.

  “You’ve verified her identity, Mr. Fei?” Middleton asked of the prodigal computer specialist.

  “I have,” Fei Long replied with his usual confidence. If Middleton was being completely honest, the three day ‘leave’ period he had given the young man had done him some good. He still wasn’t the razor-sharp, laser-focused person who had first revealed himself so many months before, but he was still far and away the best at what he did on the ship. “She is a xenobiologist who was working on her doctoral thesis regarding divergent evolutionary paths which life might take, foremost among them a most fascinating dissertation on the possibility of life forming within gas giant envelopes…” the young man trailed off upon seeing Middleton’s impatient look. He recomposed himself and finished, “Her name is Felicitous Serendipity, but her style name is ‘Trixie.’ All of her identification checks out, Captain.”

  “At least she won’t be a special security risk,” Middleton said. “And the signal that this ‘shrine’ was pumping out,” he gestured to the screen, “it’s been completely shut down?”

  “Best we can tell,” Garibaldi replied, to which Fei Long nodded his assent. “It’s too bad we couldn’t get down there for a closer look at it, that’s for sure.”

  “Speaking of our guest in Medical, Trixie,” Sergeant Gnuko said hesitantly, “she’s been asking to speak with you since she awoke, Captain. At first I thought it was just the standard ‘take me to your leader’ stuff, but she gets cagy when I try figuring out what it is exactly that she needs with you. It might be worth a few minutes of your time to go see her?”

  Middleton nodded, “I agree. But I think we need to get out of this system; the Harmony Droid Tribe probably knows about this place, and there’s no telling if there are Droid…survivors down there,” he chewed the word ‘survivors’ as he spoke it, unable to ratify the word’s usual meaning with a condition for a mechanical being, “who managed to get a signal out after the jamming field went down.”

  “It is a distinct possibility, Captain,” Fei Long admitted.

  “And these code fragments,” Middleton said, pulling up a series of computer code strings onto the main viewer, “did you discover anything else about them?”

  “It would appear,” Mr. Fei replied, “that my rival used this particular collection of code to activate the transmitter—or, perhaps a more accurate term would be ‘beacon’ since this was likely a religious site—and send out a seemingly random, scrambled field which is essentially uncrackable without access to the source code. This makes me doubt it was the originally-intended application, and that the operatives from the Red King were merely attempting to ‘buy themselves time,’ as the saying goes.”

  “How could your code interface with that?” Middleton asked skeptically, tilting his head toward the lone remaining image of what they now believed had been the transmitter itself, situated in the center of the dome-shaped chamber.

  “That is an…interesting question, sir,” Fei Long said hesitantly. “I originally designed the program to…well, for lack of a better term, ‘adapt’ itself to the target system’s architecture. It would seem that I programmed it more effectively than even I had anticipated,” he said finally, not sounding entirely convinced by clearly having considered the matter at some length, which meant that Middleton was unlikely to poke any holes in his reasoning with off-the-cuff qu
eries.

  “All right…I’ll go speak with our guest, Trixie, in Medical,” Middleton said after a moment’s consideration. “Lieutenant McKnight, have Navigator Strider work up a jump solution,” he said, turning first to his XO and then to Chief Garibaldi. “Are the jump engines ready for a point transfer, Chief?”

  “We’re green across the board, Captain,” Garibaldi said smartly. “You give the word and we’re outta here.”

  “Then let’s prepare to jump, but wait to begin the final spin-up until after I’ve spoken with our guest,” Middleton said, knowing it was possible—however unlikely—that this ‘Trixie’ would possess information which could alter his plans. “Dismissed.”

  “How are you feeling, Miss Serendipity?” Middleton asked after pulling up a stool at the woman’s bedside. Her skin was ashen, but she sat upright in bed and gave him the full attention of what was clearly a keen mind.

  “Are you Captain Middleton?” she asked, her words coming more quickly than he had expected. “I have heard so much about you from your crew, but I haven’t even seen a picture yet. Don’t you think that’s odd? Shouldn’t there be a picture of you up somewhere? Then again, that might be a bit ego-centric, and I’m not exactly an expert on military hierarchy. But still, I’ve been here for over twenty four hours—such an arbitrary number, isn’t it? Natural human circadian rhythms are set closer to twenty five hours than they are to twenty four,” she explained tangentially, and Middleton suppressed the urge to groan as he realized he had opened a conversation with a dyed-in-the-wool motor-mouth, “so wouldn’t it seem, I don’t know, efficient to toss out the old number and replace it with something that doesn’t require our neurophysiology to reset itself every single time we wake up—to say nothing of the symmetry between the number one hundred and the number twenty five, which would make calculating long periods of time that much easier than doing so with twenty four hours to the day, no? Then again, what’s with the whole chronometry system we use? I’m sure you’ve asked yourself the same question: haven’t we outgrown a metric of time based on the arbitrary behavior of water and gravity in a ‘one gee’ environment? And the ‘standard day’ we use—don’t even get me started on that one. Although,” she said ponderously, tapping her chin as she spoke, “I suppose it might just be more efficient to abandon sleep altogether; the human brain doesn’t really need it any more, not with advanced pharmacolo—“