Battle Station (32 page)

“The human eye is not designed for these pressure levels,” he said in that calm, clipped voice of his. “Colonel Riggs will experience blindness at the very least, due to the malformation of the eye.”

“Is that permanent?”

“No. But it will incapacitate him. Humans have a poor level of functionality while blind. I’ve conducted a number of—”

“Studies,” I finished for him. “Yes, we know Marvin. But what about returning me to normal afterward? Is that possible?”

He squirmed for a few seconds without speaking.

“He’s working up a good lie, Kyle. Don’t trust him.”

I had to agree with her assessment. “All right,” I said. “Is there another way to protect my eyes? Some kind of heavy goggles?”

“That wouldn’t be desirable,” Marvin said.

“To whom, robot? You just want to work every freaky change you can so you can study Kyle like a bug.”

“There might be another way,” Marvin said at last. “Recall the metallic content of the aqueous fluid after an injection of nanites?”

“Ah yes,” I said. “We’ve all experienced that. Are you saying that a lot of nanites swimming in my eyes could protect them?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But they blinded the subject, at least temporarily,” Sandra objected. “I remember it well.”

“They were untrained. They were not disciplined, and thus blocked the critical path through the fluid to the optic nerve.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Sounds like a choice between an eyeful of nanites, or some serious alteration of my vision by Microbes. I’ll take the nanites. At least that way, I’ll know what to expect.”

Marvin seemed crestfallen. “It represents an entire study lost, a bath unused. But I suppose there’s no sense wasting more time.”

“An entire bath?” I asked. “You mean I’m taking more than one plunge into a mud puddle?”

Marvin looked at me in surprise. “Of course. If you examine my facility, I now have seven experimental environments. Each has a specially-bred Microbial colony.”

“I’m taking seven mud-baths?”

“No, only five. One bath contains the base species, the raw stock used to grow the other cultures. Another will go unused, as you have opted for a different solution for your optical organs.”

I heaved a sigh. Within another twenty minutes, I found myself submerged in the first tickling, bubbling pool. It felt like tiny fish swam all over my body. I wasn’t sure if that sensation was real, or only psychosomatic. Either way, I wasn’t happy.

As I lie there, I saw Marvin’s strange, spider-like form working over me. He tirelessly adjusted temperature probes and tapped at screens around us. The steel walls of the pens that separated the pools were riddled with tubes, equipment and nanites. I truly felt like Frankenstein’s monster.

It occurred to me, as my nude, off-balance form was cleaned off and dipped into another pool, that Marvin wasn’t that different from me. For him, these Microbes were like the Nano production factories. I liked to program, to take thousands of nanites and shape them as I willed. The creative process was intensely satisfying when some new piece of hardware I dreamed up worked. The only difference was that I used tiny machines to build other machines. Marvin used tiny Microbes to build new biotic creations.

Disturbed by my thoughts, I endured the baths until their ultimate conclusion. All the while, Sandra frowned down at me in concern. I knew how she felt. When the Microbes had rebuilt her, I’d been very nearly panicked. She had every right to worry.

-32-

Two days later I was well on the way to Eden-12. I took the time to make my final preparations. First, I had
Socorro
fill my eyes with nanites. The expected period of blindness passed, and afterward, my eyes flashed occasionally, but functioned. I suspected I was seeing a stray nanite up close as it swam within the aqueous fluid.

Ahead, the fleet of Nano ships floated above the gas giant’s dusty rings. They’d halted precisely where they’d destroyed my scoop-ships. From my perspective, they appeared to be waiting for me.

They were my first hurdle. I’d talked to
Alamo
on several occasions, requesting permission to approach and visit the Blues. In all these conversations, the Nanos had never actually offered me any assurance I would not be fired upon. All they did was threaten me, by providing lists of actions I could not take in the presence of the Nano ships. I came to believe this list of possible hostile actions had been violated by our scout out in the Crustacean system. Perhaps the pilot had freaked out when a cloud of Nano ships had approached without communicating their intent. I didn’t think he’d fired upon them, but there were more strict rules of conduct than that. A simple radioed warning was enough to mark yourself down as a target.

“Alamo, this is Colonel Kyle Riggs requesting permission to pass your fleet and approach the planet you are orbiting.”

“Kyle Riggs is no longer command personnel.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know that. I am not giving you an order. I am requesting you to let my ship pass your formation. Do you give me your permission to pass?”

“No.”

I pursed my lips tightly. This was the answer I’d expected. The ship had been refusing to give me permission for two solid days now. It was frustrating. First, it had insisted I must get to the Blues and talk to them about my plans. Since then it had proceeded to block my every attempt to do exactly that.

“Will you fire on my ship?” I asked.

“Any ship marked as hostile will be fired upon.”

I massaged my forehead. Ever since the baths and the nanite injections, I’d gotten frequent headaches. The nanites in my eyes were the culprits, I was fairly sure. They’d been trained to stay out of the central region of my eye so as not to block light traveling through the aqueous fluid to the optic nerve. Sometimes, a nanite or two strayed and blocked my vision with their microscopic metal bodies. As floating debris, they sometimes interfered with my vision.

I’d waited until now to discuss matters with the Nano ships partly because the delay between each transmission was annoying. Now that I was close, I could at least have a real conversation.

“Will I be marked as hostile if I fly by your fleet?” I asked after opening a channel to my old ship.

“Insufficient data provided to make the requested assessment.”

“Would you fire upon my ship if I attempted to…collide with one of your ships?”

“Yes.”

“Would you fire upon my ship if I came within a range of one mile and took no other hostile action?”

“Insufficient data provided to make the requested assessment.”

I groaned. What other data did it want? “If I fly up to your fleet and halt, matching your orbit at a range of one mile, and I do not take any other hostile action, will I be fired upon?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. I looked up sharply and sent golden specks floating into my vision again. For the first time,
Alamo
wasn’t sure of the correct answer.

“No,” it said at last.

I thought about that. There were only two specifics I’d given it: an estimate of speed and range. I wasn’t sure which had gotten a firm response out of the Nano, but I was glad one of them had.

“If I maintained a range of one mile from your fleet and traveled past your fleet at a relative speed of one hundred thousand miles per hour, would you fire on me?”

“Yes.”

I frowned. Was it the specific speed that was tripping its defensive code, or something else? Proximity seemed to definitely be a factor. I could have circled the planet and approached from the far side, but I wasn’t sure yet if that would save me.

“Could you just list all the conditions which would cause you to fire upon my ship?”

There was no response for several seconds, then: “Query generated too many responses. Processing aborted.”

I shifted in my chair and tried to think. “If I approached the planet, but was out of your range as I did so, would you move to my position to intercept my ship?”

“Yes.”

I began to think I was getting the picture, and I didn’t like it.
Alamo
didn’t want me to pass her by. Her fleet was at a boundary line, and if I took a step over it, they were going to attack. It didn’t matter how fast I went or how slow. It didn’t matter if I fired or not. It didn’t even matter if I crossed the line on the other side of the world. If I got to close to the gas giant, they would attack.

“Socorro,” I said, “reduce speed and halt in far orbit over Eden-12.”

The ship slewed around to direct its engines toward the world I was fast approaching. I’d been using repelers to gently reduce my approach velocity, but now I was worried. There might be more defensive triggers, other than the one I thought I had uncovered. What if they decided I’d crossed some other line over the next hour and flew out here to meet me? That was how they’d behaved when defending Earth from Macro invaders, I recalled. They did nothing until a certain threshold had been met, then they all launched in unison, formed a swarm, and attacked the target relentlessly until it was destroyed, or they were.

Socorro’s
engines applied significant thrust. I was aware of the G-forces, but they didn’t make the flesh of my face distort. My vision didn’t blur. There was no heavy rush of blood in my temples or difficulty breathing. Most of the time, I was able to forget about the changes the Microbes had made to my body. But right now, I could tell the difference.

I’d been avoiding mirrors lately, as I knew I’d lost most of my hair. I didn’t even want to know how much of it was gone, or if it would ever grow back or not. What was done was done for now. After this mission, if I should be so lucky as to survive it, I figured I could spend some time returning my body and my appearance back to normal.

“Alamo,” I said loudly over the noise of the engines. “Let me see if I have interpreted your requirements: are there any circumstances by which I will be allowed to pass your current orbital distance from Eden-12, without triggering defensive action?”

“Yes.”

“What would allow me to pass your defensive perimeter?”

“Kyle Riggs must become command personnel.”

Having my answer, I cut off the channel and thought about it as I made my final approach. A few hours passed, and I continued my hard deceleration.

The approaching surface of Eden-12 was a misty greenish-white. At the outer limits of the atmosphere, conditions were surprisingly dense and warm. The world was closer to the local star than gas giants in our system, but that could not entirely explain the warmth. I figured the unusual level of thermal flux must be generated somewhere within the planet’s interior.

The temperature of the world’s thick envelope of gases was something close to that of ice water. The upper levels were a mix of helium and hydrogen with traces of methane. Being denser, the methane became more common as you went down. Ammonia and hydrocarbons were found increasingly as you went deeper still, but our sensors reported no data past a depth of about three hundred miles. I would have to dive into that stormy soup to find out what was farther down.

The ammonia worried me, as it was a powerful alkaline substance, but Marvin had assured me my new body would survive it, unless I ingested or breathed a large quantity. Still, I didn’t relish exposing my flesh to the stuff. I’d never liked the smell.

I finally came to a full stop some two hundred miles from their line. I didn’t try to fly around them, or sneak past. I faced them and they faced me. Nothing was more patient than a machine, and they didn’t even flinch as I examined them at what I’d surmised was a safe distance.

The Nano fleet circled around the equatorial region of the gas giant at an orbital range of about a hundred thousand miles above the upper atmosphere. There were a few moons here, drifting by, and a powerful magnetosphere.

I felt the urge to warn off the Nano ships, to insist they make way—but that could be a critical mistake, as they were set to trigger upon perceiving any hostile intent. I sat there for a time, trying to think up ways to become “command personnel” again, at least in the artificial minds of these ships. In the end, I couldn’t come up with any easy gimmicks, tricky logical arguments or the like. I knew what had to be done, so I opened a channel to the waiting ships.

“Alamo,” I said, adjusting my battle suit over my new, thicker skin. “Are you seeking command personnel?”

“That is my current mission,” the ship said.

“Why haven’t you gone down closer to the planetary surface and sought a suitable being for recruitment?”

“The action you describe is prohibited.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. It sounded to me like the Blues had put a failsafe into the software of these ships. Maybe that was why they were just sitting up here, not doing anything. Like an elevator with an obstacle in the doorway, they just sat in a loop, not able to continue their program until something in their environment changed.

“Would I be suitable as command personnel?”

The answer took a few seconds. “You are not native to this world.”

“No,” I agreed. “But I’m here, and I’m a biotic. Isn’t that your mission? To select a biotic from the local environment?”

“Yes.”

“Pick me then.”

“You are unavailable.”

I chuckled. “I’m not going to play hard to get. I’m getting out of this ship and flying toward your line. I’m not going to cross it. I will be in easy range of your arm though, should you decide to reach for me.”

Alamo
made no response. Thinking maybe Sandra had been right about the poor state of my mental health, I disconnected my suit from the ship and clanked to the airlock. My helmet made a steady hissing sound as it blew oxygen over me. In space, things are either deathly silent, or shockingly loud. There didn’t seem to be many in-betweens. The oxygen hiss was one of those rare exceptions, however. Spacers such as myself came to be comforted by it over time. Breathable air was a wonderful thing to have in the void.

 The airlock dissolved into a shower of silver beads, and I stepped out of my perfectly good ship. I had miles to fly, so I tilted my repellers and began the long dark journey.