Mind Warp, page 6
And Cronos is right. The juicy green stuff, the meaty brown stuff, the creamy yellow stuff . . . I don’t know what it is, but it’s all fantastic. Food has never tasted so good.
Belle and Dextra join us at the table just as I’m washing down my last bite with a mouthful of dark spicy bev.
‘The life-pods have been downloading everything you experienced in the memory banks,’ Dextra says. ‘But they cut out just at the end of the mind-tomb ceremony . . .’
‘I saw him . . . it! The bad robot, Mark. I’m sure I did,’ I tell them all excitedly. ‘I was about to follow it when everything went black.’
Cronos shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says. ‘We’ve been experiencing power cuts and we suspect the zoids of the Outer Hull are responsible.’
‘The life-pods have been damaged,’ Dextra adds. ‘It’ll take some time to repair them. I’ll get the Sanctuary droids onto it straight away.’
‘In the meantime,’ says Cronos, ‘there are some people I’d like you to meet. York, Belle, come with me.’
As we walk down a long corridor towards the entrance, I look out of the visiglass windows on both sides. It’s amazing. So much has been achieved in the eight days since I was last here.
Everywhere I look, modified humans and Sanctuary-dwellers are working together to repair and maintain the bio-zones. In the savannah region, the perimeter fences are being repaired. Beyond that, I see the polar region, where white-furred animals are prowling ice floes. Squawks and howls echo from the rainforest region. And when I look up I see the dome of the Sanctuary gleaming far off in the distance.
Working alongside these humans are droids. Lots of them. Shiny and sleek, just like the robots from before the Rebellion. Not surprising really, because when the robot rebellion started, the three levels of the Biosphere were sealed off by humans. These Mid Deck robots and droids were never contaminated by the glitch – or whatever it was that turned the others against humans.
‘We have re-activated the inter-level transportation unit,’ Cronos says. ‘I personally led a group of us to make contact with the Outer Hull-dwellers. We managed to bring a number of them back to the safety of the Mid Deck. But the zoids detected us.’ He sighs. ‘We had a narrow escape—’
At that moment, the quiet is shattered by a deafening siren.
‘Perhaps I spoke too soon,’ Cronos breathes.
Suddenly, through the windows, it looks like the whole place has gone crazy.
Great clouds of dust are flying up inside the fenced-in zone just ahead, as herds of horned creatures stampede. They’re hurtling over the dried-out grassland, bellowing and snorting, then crashing into the perimeter fence, desperate to escape something I can’t even see. A striped creature with flapping ears and a long tail seizes her cub in her mouth and dashes off. Small brown furry critters scrabble frantically at the sand before disappearing into the holes they’ve dug.
And the people. Sanctuary-dwellers. Modified humans. They’re acting as terrified as the critters, all racing off in the same direction, glancing back over their shoulders. They’re being helped by the droids. The tiny lens-head droids are guiding them as best they can, while tripod droids are carrying the injured to the safety of the Sanctuary dome.
But why? What is happening?
Some of the people, I notice, are already wearing safe-suits. Some have dark visiglass visors on; others, padded ear-protectors. Others are putting on oxygen masks as they run, or are helping others to do so, pulling them over their faces.
There’s something wrong out there. It’s affecting both critters and humans. And everyone is trying their best to keep themselves safe from whatever it is . . .
A stocky gill-man lumbers past close to the window I’m crouched behind. In his hands is an oxygen mask that he’s struggling to unfasten so he can put it on. All at once though, he trips, stumbles, falls and the mask bounces off across the hard earth. He scrambles towards it.
Then something else happens. Something bad. Face twisted up with pain, he clutches at his head. His eyes roll back and he slumps down heavily to the ground, his body rigid.
He does not move.
A wing-man flying overhead swoops down. He’s wearing a helmet complete with goggles, ear-protectors and a breathing tube. Landing next to the gill-man, he tries to shift him. But the body is too heavy and, clearly frightened, the wing-man flies off again empty-handed.
‘What do you think’s going on, Belle?’ I ask.
But she doesn’t answer me.
I turn to see her staring intently at one particular person. A girl, one hand fluttering at the face mask she’s wearing, making sure it’s securely in place. She’s running towards us at the head of a group of some ten or twelve people.
They’re not dressed like Sanctuary-dwellers. Instead they’re wearing hooded flakcoats, with grenbolts at their belts and backcans on their shoulders. They reach the entrance, the door slides open and they come tumbling in. The door closes behind them.
The girl reaches up, unclips the mask, raises her tinted visor and lowers her hood. Long blonde hair tumbles down over her shoulders and face, and she pushes it back to reveal a pair of large blue eyes.
My heart misses a beat.
‘York!’ she exclaims.
‘Lina!’
The two of us fall into each other’s arms. It’s been such a long time since we last saw each other.
Lina is one of my oldest friends. We grew up together at the Inpost. I haven’t seen her since Belle and I left the Outer Hull and set off for the Mid Deck.
We hug tightly, and it feels good. At first. But Lina clings on for too long and I start to feel awkward. And when I try to pull away, she just hugs me all the tighter.
‘You’re . . . crushing . . . me . . .’ I grunt, putting on a kind of being-crushed voice.
And still she doesn’t let go. It’s only when someone else comes across to us, and I hear, ‘Lina, put him down!’ that she finally releases her grip.
‘Dek!’ I exclaim. ‘You’re here too!’
Dek is my best friend! He’s looking good. Beefier than before and with a sharp new haircut. And as for his false arm, he’s got this new one that looks much better than the one Bronx made him. With the synth-skin and fingernails, it looks just like the real thing.
‘These are a couple of the scavengers we encountered on our mission to the Outer Hull, York,’ Cronos says, turning away from the window. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see them . . .’
‘Oh, York,’ Lina cries out, suddenly grabbing hold of my hand, ‘you don’t know what it’s like up there. Humans are either being killed or turned into the zoids’ slaves. And we can’t hold out much longer. Bronx needs you. We all need you.’
‘The zoids have gone through several upgrades since you left,’ Dek says, and grimaces. ‘And each time they do, they make themselves bigger, more powerful. They’ve become pretty much invincible . . .’
I release myself from Lina’s grip and turn to him.
‘No zoid’s invincible,’ I tell him. ‘We’re cleverer than them. Always were, always will be. Hot swarf! You and me, Dek, we’re scavengers. The zoid doesn’t exist that we can’t zilch.’
‘Not any more,’ Lina says desperately. She looks close to tears. ‘All those experiments they did on us humans – uploading our minds into their computer banks – they’ve learned things about us.’ She shakes her head. ‘Half the time they don’t even use weapons any more. All they need to do is make it too hot or too cold, or cut off the oxygen supply . . .’
‘Or release some kind of knock-out gas,’ says Cronos darkly, casting an eye outside. ‘If that’s what they’ve done.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the air,’ says Dek. ‘Any toxic gases would have shown up on our detectors. And yet—’
‘It’s like there was something inside my head,’ Lina interrupts. ‘I couldn’t hear anything.’ She pauses. ‘But I could feel it.’
Dek’s nodding. ‘Kind of scrambling my brain.’
Just then Dextra comes running in, her face pale. ‘There’s been some kind of sonic attack!’ she says. ‘Sound waves used as a weapon. The upper frequencies we recorded are off the scale.’
‘Enough to knock a person out?’ asks Cronos.
‘Enough to kill a person if it goes on long enough,’ says Dextra, her wings shuddering. ‘Thankfully it’s stopped now.’
‘Maybe it was just an experiment,’ says Cronos. ‘To see what would happen.’ He shakes his head grimly. ‘The zoids are learning more and more about us all the time, and—’
‘Which is why you’re wanted back in the Outer Hull, York,’ Lina interrupts. ‘Now. The humans up there are in such danger, and you could help them. The survivors. According to Bronx, you’re the best scavenger we’ve got.’ Bronx?’ I say.
Lina’s face flushes. She looks down. ‘Now he’s a Half-Life,’ she says, ‘I get to talk to him all the time.’
‘And he mentioned me?’ I say.
‘Yes, yes, y . . . yes, he did,’ she says. Her voice sounds shallow and breathless. ‘He’s concerned about you, York,’ she adds, and flashes me a smile which disappears behind her hand as she scratches her nose. ‘He says you’re to come back to the Outer Hull straight away—’
‘You can’t, York,’ Belle breaks in. Her voice is calm. ‘We have a mission to complete.’
‘Mission?’ Lina explodes. She turns her anger on me. ‘You’re going to let her tell you what to do? This . . . this machine! We need you, York. The Outer Hull needs you. Bronx needs you . . .’
‘You’re lying,’ Belle says.
‘What did you say?’ Lina hisses furiously.
‘You are lying to York,’ Belle says evenly.
Lina is struck dumb. Her cheeks go red and blotchy and her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
‘Your body language gave you away,’ Belle continues. ‘The colour of your face. The tightness in your chest. The exaggerated movements of your head. The way you covered up your mouth with your hand . . .’
Lina is weeping silently now, tears running down her cheeks.
‘Hush, Belle,’ I tell her, then take Lina by her hands.
‘Oh, York,’ Lina says tearfully, and I can see that she knows she’s been caught out. ‘I’m sorry. But I’ve been so worried about you. Down here, doing who knows what. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt. I just want you back safely.’ She flashes a hurt and angry look at Belle. ‘Where you belong.’
‘It’s all right,’ I say softly. I squeeze her hands, smile. ‘I understand. So does Bronx have a message for me?’ I ask her.
Lina nods jerkily. ‘He . . . he said . . .’ She hangs her head. ‘Tell him I’ll see him in the Halls of Eternity.’
The warning siren is still wailing outside when a lens-head droid flies along the corridor towards us. It comes to a halt in mid-air and hovers at Cronos’s shoulder.
‘Sensors detect Inter-Level Transporter 2 activated,’ its mechanical voice announces. ‘Arrival imminent.’
Tight-lipped, Cronos nods. ‘Get all the fighting men and women to meet at the muster points,’ he orders. ‘Ensure that ammunition packs are full and energy-pods charged.’
With a buzz, the lens-head turns in the air and speeds off to spread the word.
Cronos turns to us. ‘I was afraid of this,’ he says. ‘The zoids have taken over the Outer Hull. Now they want to do the same in the Mid Deck. And we can’t let that happen. We need to get to the transporters and seal them off.’ His eyes darken. ‘Are you with me?’
‘We’re with you,’ we say as one.
Cronos turns and strides down the corridor towards the entrance, and the rest of us go too.
There are twelve in our small group. Me and Belle, Lina and Dek, as well as a whole bunch of other scavengers that Cronos rescued from the Outer Hull. One of them I recognize. His name is Tex, and he’s about my age. The pair of us first met back at the Fulcrum. It would be good to catch up, but there’s no time right now.
‘Stick together,’ Cronos tells us as he steps through the doorway.
Outside, the sonic attack seems to be over. Certainly nothing is registering on our audio monitors. But we keep ear-protectors at the ready, just in case. And, following Cronos, we head towards Transporter 2 as fast as we can.
Some of the larger creatures in the zones are beginning to stir, though the humans who were subjected to the high-frequency sound waves for too long are still out cold. Mid Deck droids are moving among them, I notice, doing their best to tend to their needs.
Up in the ceiling the arc-lights are fading. Night’s coming on.
After a while, Cronos abruptly turns off the path we’re taking and strides away into the trees of the rainforest zone. The air smells rank. The leaves drip with moisture. There’s birdcry and crittercall.
The lens-head has done its work. Armed men and women have gathered. Lots of them. And as we head through the forest, more join our group. Modified humans for the most part – wing-men, fur-men, lizard-men and a solitary gill-man – plus three hefty-looking former guards from the Sanctuary.
‘Greetwell,’ Cronos says to each of them in turn. ‘Keep close, all of you.’
At the far side of the rainforest we pass a square sump pool – where more gill-men are climbing up out of the black water – and emerge from the trees into a sort of paved clearing. Ahead of us is a broad urilium shaft that stretches from floor to ceiling. Set into it at ground level are huge double doors. There are vines and creepers clinging to the metallic outer casing now, but I recognize the place at once. I saw it when I was down in the memory banks.
This is the entrance to one of the inter-level transporters. A large peeling number 2 painted on the doors confirms that we’ve come to the right one.
Above the doors is a light panel. And it’s on, glowing red. From somewhere deep inside the transporter, I hear the throbbing hum of the container-pod approaching. Then the red light starts to flash . . .
‘Take cover,’ Cronos commands.
Too late to seal the transporter from any intruders now, we retreat into the undergrowth. Belle and I duck down behind an abandoned feed-trough and hide ourselves as best we can. I switch on my coolant-suit to mask my heat-sig.
The hum of the approaching container-pod grows louder.
I peer out through the bars of the rusting trough. A small herd of deer-like critters with corkscrew horns have appeared from the forest and are milling about. A troop of monkeys with long scaly tails are leaping about the surrounding trees, noisily searching for food. And there are two of the work droids from the zones walking past, unaware that anything is wrong . . .
Abruptly the hum cuts out. The light turns green.
I hold my breath. There’s a soft clunk, followed by a low hiss as the huge doors slide apart and light streams out from inside the container-pod.
‘It looks empty,’ I whisper to Belle.
But she puts a finger to her lips and shakes her head.
All around me, from various points in the tangle of undergrowth, I hear the others prime their weapons. The click-click of grenbolts ratcheting into position. The whining hum of stunners as they power up for action. I pull my pulser from my belt and aim it at the opening. Beside me, Belle draws her cutter . . .
I wait, silent, still, holding my breath.
Dek and Lina both mentioned the latest zoid upgrades, and I wonder what monstrosities we’re about to be confronted by. Then, inside the container-pod, I see movement, and silhouetted against the bright white light something lurches stiffly forward.
And I cannot believe my eyes . . .
It’s a human. A man.
He’s thin and dead-eyed. Drool hangs in glistening strands from the corners of his mouth. I stare at him in horror as he shuffles out from the container-pod and into the overgrown clearing.
I’ve seen someone just like him before, I remember. Down in the memory banks.
He’s not alone. Behind him is a line of other humans. Men and women, each one as zombie-like as the man they are following. Their clothes are little more than rags; tattered flakcoats, patched breeches, scuffed boots. In contrast, the metal bands around their necks look new. Made of shiny urilium, they’re studded with a row of small white lights that switch on and off in a flickering sequence.
‘What are they, Belle?’ I breathe.
‘Control-collars,’ Belle whispers back. ‘So far as I can make out with my sensors, the zoids are using them to make the humans carry out their commands.’
Humans, drained of their own consciousness, forced to obey the zoids. The thought of it horrifies me. I watch their awkward movements as, legs stiff and eyes unblinking, they stumble forward. If they’re doing the zoids’ bidding, they could be dangerous – though so far as I can see, they’re not armed.
‘Hold your fire,’ I hear Cronos call. ‘But remain hidden.’
We do as we’re told. Watching. Waiting.
The place is in night-mode now. All the arc-lights are off except for one, which shines down brightly like a full moon. The deer-like critters are skittering about uneasily. The monkeys’ chatter and whoop has fallen silent.
The zombie-like humans jerk to a halt.
All at once the air explodes with the harsh stutter of automatic gunfire and the orange dazzle of exploding tracer bullets. From somewhere to my left I hear a muffled cry, followed by a thud as someone hits the ground. Maybe the humans are armed after all. Maybe the urilium control-collars are forcing them to attack. But when the second burst of bullets and laser fire explodes, I realize that isn’t what’s happening. The weapons are not being fired by the humans, but by something behind them – which is when I notice the light glinting on polished metal further back inside the container-pod.
