Kaiju Apocalypse (19 page)

“Welcome back,” Matan said, as he inclined his head in her direction. He pushed aside the technical drawings which were spread out upon the table. “I guess we'll all be having a bit more for dinner tonight than kelp and moss.”

Higgins had caught up to her and stood behind Curri as she stopped to speak with Matan.

“Any luck?” she asked.

Matan's laugh was a bitter one. “I'm an engineer, not a miracle worker. I can only do so much, you know.”

Curri frowned. Matan had been at work on the cave's comm system for months. When they had first relocated here, he told her he could probably get it up and running, even if most of the other systems in the cave were beyond hope. She had entrusted him with the task of getting it working again and let him stay inside, where it was safe from any danger. He had not foraged for goods since then, and was still eating his share. So far, he had failed, and her patience – and the patience of the others – was beginning to grow thin.

“We need that comm system up and running,” Higgins growled from behind her.

Matan sat his book down in front of him, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. “I'm doing the best I can with what I have at hand,” he said, his voice earnest. “The power cell Curri brought in from that torn apart Dog Killer suit a while back helped a lot, but look... I am pretty much rebuilding things from scratch here, and making up things on the fly to get the system operational, or as close to operational as I can make it. I'm close, I can feel it. I swear. Just give me a little more time.”

“You have time,” Higgins reminded the sharp-nosed younger man with a pointed look at the book he had been reading. “You have plenty of time, apparently.”

Adjusting his battered and taped glasses, Matan shrugged. He refused to let the giant towering behind Curri press him further. “I've got one last thing I can try this evening. Kind of a last-ditch thing, I suppose. If it works, it works. If not... well, there's nothing else I can do until I get more parts. And the problem is...”

“You don’t know what type of parts you need until you try it,” Higgins finished for him. He grunted but let the issue rest.

“Just do what you can,” Curri instructed him, trying to keep the weariness from her tone. “Higgins and I have a fish to clean. We'll catch you later.”

Matan nodded at them as they walked on past him, deeper into the cave.

The corridor opened in a wide room with a high ceiling.  Inside was the makeshift camp of the tribe.  Numerous tents filled the space between its walls.  They were built for privacy more than for anything else, so that the members of the tribe had some space they could retreat to when they needed it, rather than venturing alone into the other parts of the cave. 

A small crowd gathered around Curri and Higgins as they set about preparing the fish to be cooked. Rebecca and her two children were there. Nanci was redheaded like her mother while Buck's hair was a much darker brown.  John was there too.  The silver cross he always wore dangled from a rusting chain about his neck as he stood next to Dave and Luthor. Everyone was excited about having some meat with their evening meal, regardless of how small a portion it was going to be when divvied out equally.

The smell of the fish being cooked made Curri's mouth water but she didn't plan on taking a share of it herself. There were others in the tribe, and not just the children, who needed it more.  Leigh was pushing seventy and her health was far from good. Curri had seen the kind of sickness the older woman had before and knew Leigh would likely perish in the coming weeks or months, but she refused to give up hope on the older woman. 

After the tribe's meal, Curri left Higgins to attend to the day-to-day matters of the tribe and assigning the duties for the next day. Every member of the clan worked, whether it was working at repairing the tattered clothing, they all wore, cleaning and caring for the latrines, taking guard shifts at the key entrances, or more specialized projects like the comm system Matan was working on.

Curri ducked down one of the corridors leading out of the cave's central area and headed for Matan's workshop.  He was already there working, when she arrived. A plate of untouched kelp with a lump of fish sat on the table next to him. 

“Matan?” she said, startling him.

He jumped and spun around to face her, an old world revolver leveled at her chest. His cheeks flushed red as he recognized her and the fear in on face shifted to embarrassment. 

“Does that thing even work?” she taunted him.

“It does now,” he answered, tucking the pistol into a holster on his belt. “I finally cracked the lock to the cave's armory yesterday.”

“W-what?” Curri stammered in disbelief.

“Oh yeah,” Matan chuckled. “I suppose, I forgot to mention that earlier. Your giant friend was sort of imposing. Must have slipped my mind.”

“Matan, are you telling me that we have weapons again? Real weapons?”

He nodded excitedly. “That we do.  There are even a couple of Dog Killer suits in there.  Not sure if they are functional or not yet, as I haven't had time to test them, but they look to be in decent shape.  I just figured the comm system took priority so I have been mainly continuing to focus on it.”

Curri gritted her teeth and forced herself not to be angry. She knew how task oriented Matan could be when given a project.  “Okay,” she said.  “We'll do an inventory of the armory tomorrow and start handing out weapons to those we know that can be trusted to use them correctly.  I'm sure Higgins will want to handle that anyway,” she paused, moving to stand next to where he sat.  “So did the test you were going to try with the comm work?”

“Hold on,” Matan said as he flipped through the frequency settings again. He paused and changed the position of the wire. “That’s weird... it shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Doing what, Matan?” Curri asked.

“I put it to ‘receive only’ for settings, but for some reason, I’m broadcasting instead,” Matan tried to explain. “How to put this... ah! It’s like when you’re out hunting and you want to watch and wait, but instead of watching, you’re just yelling out into the dark and stomping along the rocks, making as much noise as you can.”

“But still, you got it working,” Curri said with a grin.

“The problem is that I’m not really sure who’s listening.”

*****

There was a hissing noise as a the tube implanted into the doctor's sternum finished injecting his heart with his daily dose of cardiac medication. With a soft
pop,
it disengaged itself and was retracted back inside the hover chair. His broken body lay undisturbed for a moment as the medicine began to take hold. His skin wasn't quite as pale as it had been a few moments earlier and he felt somewhat better. He knew the feeling wouldn't last. It never did. All the technology and drugs at his disposal were nothing more than a means of prolonging his life, not cure the old age that he battled every day.  The medication barely kept the cancer which ate away at him at bay. His time was running out. The drugs were losing their effectiveness. His natural antibodies in his blood were beginning to build up a resistance to them.

One of the research station’s half-dozen maintenance drones stood nearby. A pincer-like metal hand clutched a glass of water. Tiny flecks of various minerals floated in the liquid.  They, too, were just another part of the doctor's massive daily routine of keeping death away. He wasn’t sure yet if it was a placebo effect or that they actually helped, but the vitamin-infused water seemed to help a bit, so he was reluctant to give up on that treatment.

“I'm ready,” he thought through the neural interface in his brain and the drone moved towards him.  It tipped the glass up to his mouth and allowed him to drink from it, pulling it away when he gave the signal that he was done.

“Thank you, Clint,” the doctor conveyed to the drone.  It was not aware, unlike the station's AI, but when you were as alone as he was, the doctor believed it paid to keep up such things.  They were necessary, for his own sake, to keep him from not going mad from his isolation.  He had named each of the station's drones long ago and thought of them as companions more than he thought of them as machines.  “That will be all.”

Clint turned and left the room, the drone's heavy footfalls clanging on the metal floor as it went.

The doctor closed his eyes and he prepared himself for sleep.  The work cycle of the day was over and all that needed to be done to buy him one more day, Lord willing, had been completed.

The cold, hollow voice of the station's AI called to him.  “Doctor?”

“What is it, Gregory?” he responded, exhausted from his treatments and ready for the day to be over.

“You wished to be notified at once if I detected transmissions from others like yourself.  I believe I have done so.”

The doctor's eyes snapped open.  “Where?”

“On the remainder of the island state of Alantica. It is coming from its eastern most shoreline.”

“Patch the signal through at once,” he ordered and listened in utter shock, as for the first time in years, he heard another human voice calling out to him.

“This is Matan. Is there anyone out there that can hear me?  I repeat, is there anyone out there?”

The doctor's lips cracked, droplets of blood forming upon them, as they twisted into the closest semblance of a smile he could muster.  “At last,” he muttered.  “Gregory, get the drones ready.  It could be that our wait is finally over.”

**** 

Curri nearly fell over on top of Matan where he sat at his work desk with the jerry-rigged pieces of the comm system in front of him as a raspy voice answered his calls.

“Mr. Matan, this is Research Station... Hope.  I copy you loud and clear. Over.”

Matan glanced up at Curri.  “What do I do?”

“Answer him,” she urged Matan.  “Hurry!  Before something goes wrong and we lose the signal!”

“This is Matan of the Lannier tribe, Hope. Are we ever happy to hear from you.”

A dry, sickly laugh answered Matan's word.  “I think it can be safely said that the feeling is mutual, Mr. Matan.  It's been some time since someone has activated the global comm net.”

Curri leaned over Matan, “What's your name?” she asked almost breathlessly. “To whom are we speaking?”

A long period of silence followed her question. 

“Did we lose the signal?” she asked Matan, growing anxious. 

“Nope.  We still have it, I think.”

“You'll have to forgive me,” the voice replied in a near-breathless tone. “Old age. You may address me as Dr. Bach.”

Curri and Matan exchanged a quick, equally shocked glance. 

“Dr. Bach?” Matan asked.  “As in
the
Dr. Bach?”

“One and the same.  Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, suffice to say.”

“It's an honor to speak with you, sir,” Matan smile.  “Where is your facility located?  Are there many with you, sir?  Can you reach our location for extraction?”

“Hold on.  Slow down, young man.  I am sure we'll cover everything in due course,” the doctor told them.  “And please keep it to only one question at a time please.  As to where I am located, I'll merely say, it is very far away.  I am alone here, other than several worker drones originally designed to maintain this facility.  And sadly, no.  I have no means of dispatching
that
sort of help to you.”

Curri watched Matan's shoulders slump. 

“Are there many of you in your tribe, Matan?” the doctor asked.

“Hold on for one second, Doctor,” Matan said as Curri gestured for him to mute the broadcast. It took Matan a moment to realize that Curri wanted to be able to speak without the doctor hearing them. When Matan confirmed that he had muted the broadcast, she spoke.