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Johnson swept onto the bridge, and plonked herself down on her couch. Since Issawi joined the cause, and the Limpopo had returned with the rest of the crew, she had been in a more buoyant mood, and it showed in the occasional slip from primness; at least when no other humans were watching.
Hanke and another crewman entered, nodded formally to Johnson to acknowledge her presence, and made their way across the bridge to the other two couches. All three immersed together. The orange and red swirling stripes of the gas giant Triasson loomed over their heads; below lay the verdant moon Robespierre.
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this disappearing bridge; now I'm casually plugging in. That is still an impressive sight, though.
Moments after they manifested in the simulation, they were joined by Levarsson. A faint reddish glow surrounded her image and, when Johnson focussed on her, the words ‘Limpopo XI Actual’ appeared over her head.
Johnson smiled warmly at her former tactical officer, glad to have been able to reward her with her own command. “Glad you could make it, Lieutenant. I wasn’t sure the freighter’s systems would be able to cope with an immersion feed.”
“Neither were we, until now,” replied Levarsson. “The Republic simulation technology is astounding. But the Limpopo’s charts leave something to be desired. I’ve done my fair share of exploring unsurveyed caves when I’m on leave, but this is ridiculous. Is there anything about the moon in Indie's database? Ours just gives the name and atmospheric mix.”
“That's all we have too. It's why Indie was so excited when he found the base.”
Hanke straightened up from where he had been leaning over the other crewman's virtual console. “Wonder who Robespierre was? Do you think it was named after the person who discovered it?”
“That would normally be on the record. It was probably assigned by a computer algorithm like our... like Congressional ships.”
Johnson reviewed the status reports from each department. Everything showed ready. Still, she ran through the go/no-go with them. She liked to be able to study each person as they reported, and give them the chance to voice any niggling concerns. It was something she’d learned from her mentor on her first tour out from Command school.
“Team One ready,” reported Anson from the Repulse’s old shuttle.
“Team Two ready,” reported Issawi from an assault lander, recently unpacked from one of the Limpopo’s cargo bays.
“Limpopo ready,” reported Levarsson, the glow surrounding her flaring as she spoke.
Johnson looked to the two members of her own bridge crew. They both nodded back.
“I am ready too,” said Indie, appearing at her side.
^Wondered when you were going to show up,^ she sent back.
He stuck his tongue out at her. Somehow, she knew the others would have seen him remain impassive; that gesture was for her alone, one friend to another.
Johnson closed her eyes and centred herself. Everything felt good.
“All teams, go.”
The moment she sent the order, Johnson felt the ship’s centre of gravity change as the shuttle detached. She looked around. Both small craft braked as they started their descent to the moon’s surface; towards the mystery complex. The lander dwarfed the shuttle, designed as it was to carry a tank, or two fully armoured platoons, from orbit into a hot landing zone.
With no space-based threats on the board, Johnson wanted to go down with the first wave; be with them as they explored the unknown base, find out why it wasn’t on the charts. Her officers had managed to argue her out of it, suggesting she would be more useful commanding the combat units remotely. Given her performance on Scragend, she was forced to agree.
The shuttle flared to a hover, and she connected to one of the units as it flung itself out the back. The three robots set up a perimeter around the four human members of the team, crouching in the dust as the shuttle powered away. Johnson was aware subconsciously of the lander dropping Issawi’s team ten kilometres away, on the far side of the complex.
Once the jet blast had died, but before the dust had settled, Anson signalled for them to move. They ran, keeping low, to the mouth of a tunnel. The humans shouldered up against the rock on either side, their weapons trained at the gaping hole. Johnson tasked one combat unit with rear cover, and it scuttled off to hunker down just below the crest of a rise looking over their landing area. She glanced back to check on it with one camera of the unit she was riding, and was satisfied it hadn’t skylined itself.
^As if it would make a mistake in positioning,^ commented Indie.
^I know,^ she replied. ^It would nag at the edges of my mind if I didn’t check, though.^
^I don’t have that problem,^ sent Indie.
^That’s because you’ve got me,^ interjected the Caretaker. ^And you can just spawn routines and trust they’ll report back to you if you need to know something.^
The robot in front of her placed its first leg into the shadow cast by the tunnel.
^Got to go, boys,^ Johnson sent, as the darkness enveloped the lead robot, and hers reached the entrance.
The darkness was only present in her root perception, the one linked to visual wavelengths. She was simultaneously aware of the sensor returns for infra-red, which revealed clusters of bat-like creatures hanging on the roof, ultraviolet, which lit up with markings on the walls and floor, and microwave, which showed a clear representation of the passage ahead, illuminated by the emissions from the first combat unit. By concentrating, she was able to bring each perception to the forefront of her mind. The markings were a mixture of writing, symbols and arrows; unfamiliar styling, but recognisable as the standard fare for any human installation, written in high visibility paint which happened to fluoresce in ultraviolet.
^Team 1 at Waymark Alpha. Entering now.^
^Understood,^ replied Issawi. ^We’re still clearing through the surface buildings. Nothing to report.^
The robots edged deeper into the tunnel, followed by the humans. So far there had been no signs of a military presence; no security checkpoints, no weapons turrets, no deep scanners. The tunnel was wide enough for two vehicles to pass, and curved slightly to the left as it dipped down into the ground.
After completing a forty-five degree turn, they came to the first access hatch in the wall. It was large enough for an average human to enter, if they were careful not to bang their head, and had ‘Plant Room 12a’ written on it. A quick check by one of the crew confirmed it contained nothing but air conditioning pumps, a small table and chair, and a significant amount of grime.
Johnson pulled up the map, a blue wireframe model of the tunnel they’d already walked down, and added a note about the room, prioritising getting the air circulation going again should they decide to stay. She was just about to minimise it when purple blossomed in an area to their west. Zooming in, she saw passages growing and branching, tendrils probing deeper and deeper into the complex.
Issawi’s made it to the smaller entrance and released his spy drones. Shame he didn’t have enough to share, save us doing this the old-fashioned way.
They continued along the passage, checking out occasional small hatches, but found nothing significant. Fifty metres beyond the plant room the passage split, two roadways half the size of the one they were in curved away from each other.
“As we planned,” said Anson. “Check both to the limit of sight. Unless anything makes our mind up for us in that distance, we go left.”
The team paused while one of the robots was sent down each fork.
“The arrows on the floor are in opposite directions in the two passages,” commented one of the crew, studying the ground. “Probably a one-way system from here on in.”
The passages turned and bent sharply towards each other. From where her robot halted, Johnson could see a set of heavy doors blocking the way ahead. The feed from the other unit showed an almost identical sight, save for a large no entry sign hanging from the roof.
“Right it is then,” said Anson.
Johnson waited until the rest caught up before moving her robot to the door. She tapped the metal with the tip of a pointed leg and a dull clang rang out.
That’s thick. No way we’re cutting through this side of next week.
“Guess we’ll have to hack the entrance codes,” said Anson, apparently coming to the same conclusion as her.
A crewmember plugged her pad and an emergency battery into the control panel next to the doors. Johnson felt circuits wake up as electricity surged through them once more, tiny electromagnetic signatures studding the walls. Johnson opened a channel to the pad to monitor the progress, and was disappointed by the utter lack of any. Moments after she connected, the program reported that the operating system was too different to any in its database. Annoyed and frustrated, Johnson pushed against the data stream, and some of her consciousness leaked through the pad and into the control panel. It was not like Indie’s immersion bridge or riding a combat unit. In each of those, her mind remained singular; this time she was still in the robot watching her crew, but a facet of her was also in the door controls.
How come this feels normal? Is this what Indie meant about some people having brains that could cope with extreme data feeds?
The architecture was weird; nothing like anything Johnson had studied before. The team stared at the red flashing ‘Access Failed’ banner on the pad the woman had turned around for them to see. Johnson swam around, looking for anything she recognised. Anson ran his hands along the join in the doors, obviously considering more dramatic ways to breach. Something familiar, it tasted like an access control routine. Anson turned and called to the other marine, requesting a breaching charge. Johnson spawned a hacking program and fed it into the access control. The marine hurried over, swinging his pack off his shoulders and dumping it on the floor. Sharks! Counter intrusion routines. The marine detached something from his kit, Johnson found she couldn’t quite focus on it. The sharks circled closer, but her program was duplicating and churning through possibilities at an ever-increasing rate. The marine fixed the charge to the doors; she tried to tell him to wait but couldn’t remember how to speak. A thrashing of water, clouds of bubbles...
^Olivia!^
The connection dropped. For a moment she stared at the inside of her acceleration couch, then the pathway opened again and she was back in the combat unit.
“Wait!” she shouted, the crew recoiling from the sheer volume of the speakers.
^Calm down,^ came a transmission wrapped in lavender.
“No need for explosives,” she said, more carefully this time. “I think I’ve got it.”
^Your enhanced EIS is still growing,^ sent Indie. ^Its trigger is likely to be unpredictable while it binds to your neurons.^
^You could have warned me!^ she replied, still struggling to free her mind from the effects of adrenaline.
^It was in the documents I sent you before you agreed to the procedure.^
She thought back. The documents had been so dense, and so similar to the ones she'd waded through when she got her original EIS, that she'd skimmed over some of the sections.
^A reminder would have been nice.^
^There is no record of one starting to act this soon after implantation, so a reminder at this time was not indicated.^
Very carefully, she opened a simple channel to the pad and instructed it to link with the hacking routine she had left behind in the control panel. The red banner on its screen was replaced with a green one. The crewmember holding it frowned, looking to the robot Johnson was riding and back to the pad.
Johnson sent the command for the doors to open. With gentle hum that seemed out of place in the large, corroded hallway, the doors cracked open. The other combat unit scurried past the moment it would fit. It broadcast back images of a large hangar full of machinery, three stories of balconies at one end, another large set of doors off to the left.
“Looks like a loading bay,” said Anson. “We’re in the base proper now.”
The team filed in. Johnson checked the password before disconnecting from the pad.
e1nSTe1N! ... Seriously?
#
Johnson was sure they’d been down this passage before. Yet, a quick check of the map showed they weren’t going round in circles.
I wonder if it is due to the remote viewing, if I’m not getting the sense of turns and distance through the link. I know consciously exactly where I am but it doesn’t match where I feel I am.
The team prepared to enter another room. Whilst whoever was on point at any time was still going weapons hot, the rest had slung their rifles across their chests an hour ago, about the same time as they’d run into the bad air and had to fit masks. They had surveyed almost two kilometres of passages and seen no sign whatsoever of recent habitation. Most of the rooms were machine shops or storerooms. The parts and supplies they found were decades old, but still serviceable. The sealed food was within its use-by dates, but then most rations used in space lasted at least twenty years. Most items were civilian; the few military things they found were probably just army surplus.
Johnson barely registered the surge in electricity in the conduits before the lights flickered on, casting stark shadows from the pipework running along the ceiling. The walls were stained green and brown, with grey paint showing through in places.
^Well done Evans,^ she sent on an open channel, as the team around her deactivated the night vision cameras built into their helmets. The robots stepped down their emissions, setting their active sensors to pulse at random intervals in case anything was trying to sneak up on them.
^Thank you, Ma’am,^ replied Evans from the control room they’d left her working in. ^We’re running on battery back-up right now. It’s showing a little under five days worth left, so plenty of time to get the reactor back online. I’m going to take a look at the air-con next.^
Several of the crew perked up at that. The concentrations of carbon dioxide were high enough that they had to use the scrubbers in their helmets. That didn’t do anything for the oppressive thickness of the air, and few people liked operating closed down if they could help it.
^That would be most appreciated down here.^
The team lined up either side of the door, their backs against the bulkhead. One pushed the door beside him open with his arm, keeping his head and body out of the way. Anson pushed through the open doorway, rifle in his shoulder, followed by another crewmember. Johnson watched through their helmet cameras as they cleared the room. It was a large dormitory, perhaps enough bunks for thirty people.
She froze the image of one of the tables placed in the centre of clusters of beds and wardrobes. The chairs were in disarray, suggesting whoever had been sitting there had left in a hurry. The table was covered in sheets of paper.
^Are you seeing this?^ she sent to Indie.
Enhancing the tabletop, she could see that the paper held hand-written mathematical formulae. The multitude of scribbled corrections and additions in different hands suggested that this was the focus of a group effort.
^Yes,^ he replied. ^It looks like jump field theory, though I am not seeing any of the solutions with which I am familiar.^
His weapon slung around behind him, Anson approached the table.
^Can you get me shots of the other pages?^ Indie asked him.
^I’ll see what I can do...^
Anson moved a spanner off a pile of sheets and bent over so his camera pointed at them. One by one he moved the sheets from one pile to another. He was halfway through when the air conditioning came on, the gale of fresh air scattering the paper across the room. He tried to grab them, catching a couple, then gave up.
^How’s that?^ sent Evans.
^A tad on the breezy side,^ replied Johnson. ^Could you turn it down a little?^
^Sorry, no can do. It’s gone into safety mode, I can’t adjust the settings until it’s happy the air’s breathable again.^
Anson and the others scrabbled about on the floor, grabbing sheets and clutching them to their chests.
^Understood. Good job getting it working,^ sent Johnson.
^Thanks,^ replied Evans. ^I don’t think I can do much else from here. Do you mind if I take a look at some of the vehicles in the hangar until you find the reactor?^
^Go ahead,^ replied Johnson. ^Make sure you stay close to Abakov. I don’t want either of you wandering off on your own.^
^Roger that. We’re not planning on doing anything stupid.^
The two teams met in a large hexagonal area full of comfortable chairs, low tables and dead potted plants. One wall held an abstract mural in reds and greens, and large colourful images hung on others. Johnson recognised a couple of the pictures: a stellar ion field in X-ray and an electron micrograph of a virus. A brief wave of guilt passed over her as she remembered her attempt to poison Indie with the ‘Hail Mary’.
I wonder if he knows what I did? What does he think of me?
Six short corridors fanned out from their position, forming a star. Each corridor was lined with laboratories, processor cores, and workrooms. Two of the corridors ended in stairs and lifts, three in conference rooms, and the last in a large lecture theatre.
“I think we can safely say this facility was a scientific station,” said Johnson, the speakers on the robot she was riding moderated down to a comfortable level.
“Agreed,” nodded Issawi. “We’ve come through a couple of workshops on the way here. They had some pretty cutting edge stuff on the benches, one thing looked like a prototype of an atmospheric monitoring satellite I had to take out a few years back.”
“Anything suggest to you we shouldn’t stay?” asked Anson.
“No. All looks good,” replied Issawi.
“Right,” said Johnson. “I won’t make the final decision until we’ve finished surveying the other rocks in the system, but I think we’ll be moving in.”
“Excellent,” said Issawi. “Once we’re settled, I’d like to make a start on refitting the Limpopo. Her hangars are loaded with equipment for upgrades.”