False Dawn, Part Three
Sentinel awoke. Its processors already ran in overdrive, frantically calculating the billions of operations needed to keep the European Union Destroyer aloft. Fifty-two mother boards ran in tandem with each other, creating a web of information rivaled only by the Hermes hub on Earth itself. Billions of pieces of data flowed through the computer every second, filling its memory banks with reports, sensor data, hyper-jump routes, viral attacks, weapons readouts, life support status...
Sentinel, paused then went back to the viral attack. Someone was attempting to break into the Destroyers computer. Sentinels systems quickly calculated that if the computer had emotions, it would be laughing at the folly of that course of action. But it didnt, so Sentinel decided to fight it off.
From the first thousand lines of code, Sentinel identified its target as the Destroyers radiation shielding systems, located just under the hull of the ship and designed to protect its crew from the perils of deep space. Without it, the men inside were sure to perish. Very unsatisfactory.
As the virus was uploading, Sentinel stripped it apart, analyzing its programming, and assimilating it for future use. The work on it was very shoddy, with many extraneous bits of code, and Sentinel found the program very inefficient. Designed to permanently disable shields, it failed to take into account that a quick change was less noticeable than a longer one. Sentinel modified and perfected the program before it even finished its transfer, then devised a plan to put it to good use. Sentinel initiated the counter-transfer, masked as the video communications relay, and prepped the teleporter system of the Destroyer.
Sentinel was alerted by an attempt to shut off communications. Briefly assaulting the computer systems, Sentinel extended the the communications by .3 of a millisecond, allowing the transfer to finish.
Sentinel primed the teleporters, and waited.
If it had had lungs or emotions, it was confident that it would have laughed.
K4 noticed the discrepancy the moment the communications systems lingered those extra points of a millisecond, and was already exiting the bridge. When the radiation shields dropped and a teleportation signal was detected in the aft hold, K4 broke into a run.
The elevator from the three below decks shot up to bridge level. K4 dismissed it, and sent it up to sensors, trusting in gravity more. The elevator shaft sprung open from a thought from K4, and the android plunged to the bottom level. At that moment every airlock in a straight line from the hold to the elevators was flung open. Air rushed out into space. K4 entered the hold, his feet pulsing. It had been 2 seconds since the teleportation had began. Not good. K4 noticed that it had recently stopped, and scanned the hold. He found the nuclear device on top of a metal crate.
Rushing forward, he grabbed it in his steel hand and ran to the open bay door.
He paused. Taking the device out would surely result in his death. But what is death? K4 pondered that. Is death oblivion? Or an afterlife for the soul? Does silicon-based life even have a soul? If not, then does death have meaning, is it even separate from life if a soul is not present?
K4 quickly decided that no matter what the nature of death was, he would be destroyed anyway by the blast of the nuclear device. The least he could do would be to spare the ship, crew, and main computers. K4 jumped into deep space a millisecond after he paused, and the ship accelerated away from him while closing the bay doors. Death was imminent. If it existed. K4 decided to take the opportunity the observe a nuclear reaction at close range. The shields went up on the Angler, and oblivion came down onto K4.
Gregory glanced at the LCD. Shields down? He then saw K4 rush out of the bridge. Good robot. Go ahead and fix whatever it is. Gazing back out through the view port, he studied the destroyer, strangely inactive as it was. It was waiting for something, he was sure.
His breath was sucked away like a branch being pulled off a tree. Oxygen flooded from the bridge, but its escape was stopped by the closing of the elevator doors. Gregory clutched the LCD screen, gasping for breath. And then the shields came up.
He thanked whatever being had brought them back on, but was cut short as alarms rang out all over the ship.
Sensors! What in the stars was that?
A garbled voice came in. Captain, a nuclear explosive detonated roughly 600 meters from our ship. Luckily, the radiation shields were able to stop most of it.
Wheres K4?
He was caught in the blast, sir.
What the hell? Gregory was screaming in the intercom.
Sir, he exited the ship with the nuclear device in tow. He was then destroyed by it.
Gregory slumped down in the chair. You mean the nuclear device was on the ship?
Yes, sir. It was put there when our shields went down. It appeared to be the result of a viral attack. Shall I reprimand Dr. Kravern?
No. Gregory sat in silence for a bit. Not his fault.
Very well. By the way, sir, the destroyer is firing on us.
Gregory jerked up in his seat, taking in the scene in his view port. The destroyer fired another volley of those deadly red bolts, and were yet again answered by the gunners under Kentals command.
17 seconds until we reach it.
The ship hurtled on, dodging the fire and cruising straight. It once again skimmed the surface of the destroyer, but this time cut it short to a stop directly behind the engines.
Gregory nodded at Jetlo, and said, Kental. Bring in the laser system.
The man turned towards him, frowning. Captain, we need to cut power from another system.
Sighing, Gregory checked oxygen levels. The screen read 45% of optimum. The ship as a whole was doing better, with 80% oxygen. The nuclear device had taken its toll.
Engineering, he said into the intercom, Cut life support. Transfer all power to the laser system. He swallowed, not wanting to meet the eyes of his comrades. Kental, set it to infrared light.
Done, Captain.
The ship, close to the engines as it was, was not a good target even for the guns that could reach it. Those guns, therefore, were quickly reduced to molten metal. Gregory heard the humming of power generators from the laser, and waited. Guns and missiles fired into the area surrounding the engines, drawing attention from the main threat.
Sensors, give me a constant temperature readout from the engines.
A number showed up in bright blue on his LCD, reading 2,000°. The destroyer tried to pull its turning trick again, but Jetlo was ready this time.
2,100°. The engine wash was putting a dent in the Anglers radiation shields. The destroyer had no shields near the engines, as the engines by products would then be trapped in the hull, free to go throughout the ship and kill the crew.
2,200°. Gregory looked at the oxygen level of 40%, and cursed. A leak. With the oxygen generators shut off, this would be a hell of a time.
2,300°. The destroyers captain decided to increase engine intensity in order to penetrate the Anglers shields and force it away. The temperature sky-rocketed to 2,900°.
3,000°. The destroyer continued to try to shake them.
30% oxygen, 3,100°. Gregory breathed raggedly, his head swimming while trying to remain focus. Jetlo was barely keeping the ship steady.
3,200°. Which would give out first, Gregory wondered. The engine or the air?
3,300°. A communication signal came from the destroyer. Gregory ignored it.
25% oxygen, 3,400°. Just the thought of dying like this made Gregorys stomach curdle.
3,500°. The Anglers radiation shields where failing. Gregory felt beads of sweat form on his face.
3,600°. The sweat rolled down his face like a caterpillar slowly crawling across a leaf, and soaked into his shirt as a gentle wave soaked into the dry ocean sand.
20% oxygen, 3,700°. Death loomed over Gregory, a spider in its web of despair. Its hungry eyes looked into his own, searching for his soul.
3,800°. The spider came closer, its mandibles reaching for Gregorys face. He tried to escape, but only succeeded in falling out of the chair. He crawled away from its looming body, desperate.
He could no longer see the countdown. The spider came in between him and it, grasping for him. He feebly tried to brush its immense carapace away, but it dodged. How he wished K4 was here, the only one capable of functioning without precious air. He heard the intercom flare up. Captain, it said faintly, This is Sensors. The destroyer is going to break up soon. Its fuel has reached combustion temperature. You can transfer energy back to life support, and get us out of here.
Gregory paused. The controls were on his screen, but so was the spider. He struggled to his feet, and tried to pass. The spider lashed out with its claw, and Gregory barely dodged. It leapt forward hissing defiance and challenge to him, and the captain backed away. It stayed there, sitting atop the screen and clacking it mandibles. Gregory turned and tried to run, but stopped when he almost stumbled upon Jetlos chair.
The man sat, desperately trying to take in air, but still holding the ship and his hand steady. He had a fervent look in his eyes, like a man who knew his purpose. Gregory took a last look in those eyes, and turned to the spider. There was no more usable air for Gregory, and as he faced the spider, he knew it had the upper hand.
He had his fears, his doubts his weaknesses, and the spider...
The spider had nothing. The spider was nothing. Gregory charged it, and ran straight through the gaping jaws, the gnashing fangs, the flailing arms. It passed around him and over him, as fog on the cool morning. He stumbled to the seat, and fell down in it. With his last strength and effort, he touched the button on the keyboard that would restore life support.
Sentinel screamed, screamed from the very depths of its artificial being. Sentinel felt pain. Not the pain of losing components, or of being threatened, but the pain of knowing that death is on the horizon. This pain was one Sentinel had never felt, never heard of, before, and that fact scared it.
Death. Oblivion, surely. Sentinel did not know of any alternative to this life, as some would call it. The prospect of non-existence. It was coming, surely. The Destroyer had suffered extreme damage to fuel containment systems, the extent that would cause severe structural damage, enough to kill every being on board, both carbon and silicon.
There was no avoiding it, now. Even worse, Sentinels sensors glimpsed the retreating figure of the ship that had caused the damage.
Sentinel hated it. Sentinel wanted revenge for the destruction of its ward. The ship was still in range of Sentinels capabilities; one volley of its highest payload missiles...
Sentinel stopped. It no longer had a way of delivering the warheads to target. It should have remembered that, but something had distracted it. Sentinel processed.
Hate. Fear. Revenge. Ideas without concept in a purely analytical mode, they were classified as something else entirely. Emotion.
Sentinel smiled to itself. Or would have, had it found a miraculous way to grow muscles, as well. Sentinel channeled all of its processing power against the fleeing ship, searching for ways to annihilate it. It had moved almost four meters since Sentinel began. Very unsatisfactory.
All multi-trillion computer chips composing the destroyer churned for possibilities. In the end, only one stood a reasonable chance.
It, too involved the deaths of everything on the ship, but at least Sentinel would experience revenge. All systems on the ship shut off, priming their energy for Sentinels final act.
The flesh and bone captain objected, but Sentinel silenced him with the security mechanisms. And then the plan started.
Jetlo squinted at the view port. Gregory had made it back to the chair, and oxygen once again flowed into the room. The old man finally did it. Jetlo pulled away from the mammoth ship, and gunned the engines. His thrill at flying the ship at the immense speeds it was capable of was diminished only by the fact that he was sweating like a horse in the Sahara, and had a harder time breathing than an asthmatic, one-lunged leper.
The radiation shields were holding at 55%, and oxygen had risen to a not nearly as uncomfortable 40%. Jetlo thanked the stars that it had not stayed at the 2% it was at when Gregory had pressed the button. And then Jetlos world was fire as every missile, every ounce of fuel, every reactor, and every battery on the destroyer exploded in a ball of flame.
Gregory gazed up from his chair. Where am I? he asked himself. It was still the bridge, but empty. He called the elevator down, and took it to level 2. He rushed into sickbay, around which many of his crew milled.
He pulled away a doctor, a clean-shaven man, whose name-tag identified him as Dr. Mandrosus.
What happened?
The doctor collected his thoughts while polishing one of his many instruments. He spoke with patience and reasoning, without a thought for apprehension or excitement. After you brought back life-support, the E.U. destroyer self-destructed by igniting every combustible piece of equipment it had. Jetlo managed to get us out of the immediate range of the blast, and so the radiation shields protected us from most of the damage.
Gregory straightened his uniform. And why didnt you take me to sickbay?
There were many people more advanced in oxygen deprivation or radiation poisoning than you. Surely you can understand that.
Ah. But why was I not alerted?
Dr. Mandrosus smiled. Simply put, your chair is the most comfortable on board.
Gregory clapped him on the back, and said with a smile, Get back to work, Doctor.
Mandrosus turned his back on Gregory, but a loud scream turned him back. Please, Captain, dont look. He was severely afflicted by the lack of oxygen, and now suffers extreme brain damage.
Gregory tried to go back to the man, but Mandrosus gripped his arm like a vise. Doctor, who is he?
One of the engineers on the bridge, Mr. Yusla. Please, let him be, Captain.
No, Gregory stated. Let me see him.
Please dont, Captain. Ive seen this happen too many times in my life. First, you listen to his words, whether or not they make sense. Then, when you leave, youll begin to have doubts. Youll ask yourself, Could I have saved him? Could he have been whole if I had been better? And youll torture yourself with them until the stars know when. It isnt your fault, Captain. The doctor patted him on the back. Please remember that.
Gregory struggled to find the words in him. Well get him a nice home at the next port, Gregory said with a tear coming to his eye. how many other casualties are there?
Six men, and the android.
Gregory thanked the stars that shone above him that it was not as bad as he had dreamed. He strained to bring up a different topic. What about Bodin 4?
We landed on the same asteroid as it, Jetlo said, coming up behind Gregory. Kentals up there in a wing turret threatening to shoot them to pieces if they so much as wink. Both he and Gregory laughed bitterly.
Tell some of the ones with combat experience to get deep space suits and clear their cargo bay, Gregory told a passing man. After that, have some of our ground vehicles start transferring the cargo over here.
Gregory and Jetlo walked off, plotting how to spend the cash they would earn from the weapons sales. As they walked past, Gregory saw a small blue spider spinning a web in a corner. He turned away in disgust momentarily, but got the better of himself.
He picked it up with a handkerchief, and said to Jetlo, Come on. Lets get to the airlock and ditch this thing outside.
Jetlo said with skepticism, But Greg, theres no atmosphere here.
And your point is?
Jetlo nearly responded, but decided not to. And Gregory smiled.
(This message has been edited by Celchu (edited 06-28-2002).)
Also, some of the dialogue between the doctor and Gregory could use a little touching up... overall though, well written.
