Neptune Crossing (The Chaos Chronicles) (6 page)

/// I had hopes

that you would be able to...

accept...my presence better than most.

I sensed a certain...readiness. ///

Bandicut recalled his mental state when he had driven out here, just before he had fallen into the cavern. The silence-fugue. It was caused, not by any fundamental disorder in his psychological makeup—at least he didn't think so, not that he really trusted the doctors here on Triton to know—but by the damage to his neuroconnectors, coupled with the
absence
of the link, which he had grown to require, like oxygen or fuel.

The alien had seen that vacancy and taken advantage of it.

/// Let's say rather that

your need made you a more capable candidate

for my presence. ///

/You make it sound like an honor that I was out of my mind with silence-fugue./

/// Not the silence-fugue.

But your desire and need for

this kind of connection. ///

He drove thoughtfully for another few moments. /What will happen if I flip off into fugue-state again? Will it be as crazy for you as it is for me?/

The alien was silent, apparently thinking.

/// I don't know, ///

it said at last.

/// But if I can help you out of it,

I will. ///

Huh, he thought, but not directly to the alien. He wanted to come back with some sort of snappish response, but the alien's answer actually seemed reasonable, and possibly even honest.

The quarx offered,

/// You know,

it might make things more comfortable

if you would think of me as "Charlie"

—instead of "the alien." ///

Bandicut grunted and expelled his breath.

/// Just a suggestion. ///

He grunted again. He was driving faster now; he was coming into an area that he knew well. The robot was bobbing in silence on the side of the buggy, apparently content to listen to the motors and whatnot, and leave him alone. /
Charlie
,/ he thought, trying it out for feel. To his surprise, it felt okay.

A short time later, he said, /Charlie. Seeing as how we're going to be so all-fired familiar with each other—/

/// Yes? ///

/—would you mind telling me, in thirty words or less, where you're from and what it is you want with me?/

There was a brief hesitation; he thought he sensed words at the tip of his mental tongue.

/// There's no...short answer...to either question,

unfortunately. ///

the quarx murmured at last.

/All right, then—give me the long answer./

The wind riffled in his thoughts.

/// I'll try.

Can you listen and drive at the same time? ///

/I'll try,/ he said sarcastically, steering along a winding path that climbed a low ridge.

/// Okay. ///

There was a pause. Then the quarx began,

/// As for where I'm from,

that's a long story

and I sense that it is not uppermost

in your thoughts.

With your permission, I will begin with

the second question— ///

/Yes, yes, go on./

/// Thank you.

First I must tell you that I am, in truth,

as much at the mercy of fate,

destiny,

external direction,

whatever you wish to call it,

as you. ///

/Mm./ Bandicut squinted, steering around a tight curve at a trifle too high a speed.

/// The translator and I work together.

Much of what I do comes from its knowledge.

Its direction, if you will. ///

/Mm?/ Bandicut frowned, slowing a little. He didn't want Napoleon to record that he was operating at unsafe speeds.

/// And it is the translator that informs me

of the need for action

—possibly drastic action—

for which I will need human assistance. ///

/Yeah? Assistance to do what?/

/// Assistance to, er— ///

/What?/ Bandicut demanded. /For God's sake, just spit it out!/ He sped up again in irritation.

/// Okay.

Assistance to...save your Earth

from destruction. ///

Bandicut veered off the edge of the path.

Chapter 4

Return to Base

The rover heeled over sharply as the wheels dipped to the left. "
Mokin' foke!
" he yelled, struggling to keep control of the joystick as he bounced sideways, banging his helmet against the canopy. In Earth gravity, he probably would have rolled over; but he had just enough float to keep it under control while he slowed down and steered the rover back up onto the path. Then he braked to a halt and sighed. /All right, goddammit. Now what did you just say?/

/// I'm...sorry if I startled you. ///

/
Sorry?
I don't give a mokin' foke whether you're
sorry
./ Bandicut took a deep breath. /Did you, or did you not, just say, 'Save the Earth from destruction'? Am I supposed to believe that? Or was it some kind of joke?/ He blinked, wanting to stare at the alien. Since that was impossible, he gazed instead at Napoleon, which was swiveling its robot head to fix him with an inquisitive stare of its own.

/// Yes.

I had sensed that it might...startle you.

That's why I asked

if you could drive and listen— ///

/Never mind that dingo shit. Just tell me what the fr'deek you
meant
./ He gave the robot a wave, hoping that the metal creature would refrain from asking questions.

/// Well...it's very complex,

and I don't have all the information yet.

That's why I need time— ///

Bandicut grunted harshly. If he could have seared the quarx with a glare, he would have. He was aware of Napoleon trying to raise him on the comm. Exhaling loudly, he put the rover back into forward motion. The robot swiveled its head worriedly. "Suit—comm on. Nappy—ah—I'm okay here," he called.

The robot looked back. "Are you certain, John Bandicut?"

"I'm certain. Comm off." /Now
tell
me./

He sensed an awkwardness in the answer.

/// It's...an approaching cosmological hazard.

Look—I think we should wait

until we're someplace where we can talk.

The danger's coming soon,

but not that soon. ///

Cosmological hazard? Coming soon...? /Listen, damn it—/

/// I don't mean to evade your question.

But we don't want to draw attention

to ourselves, do we?

What's this new escort coming our way? ///

/Escort?/ He suddenly noticed several other robots of various configurations moving along the top of the ridge. As the buggy crested the ridge, the robots fell into formation flanking him, apparently for the purpose of accompanying him back to base.

He cursed silently. /All right, I'll play along—for now. But as soon as we're alone, you talk.
Comprende?
/

/// Com...prendo, ///

the alien croaked.

Scowling, Bandicut switched on the panel comm and squeezed the mike switch. It was time he called in and let base camp know he was alive. He heard a blast of static, which wasn't encouraging—but he transmitted anyway. "Base Camp Exo-op, Unit Echo. Base Camp, Unit Echo. Do you read?" He was answered with more static. What was going on? he wondered. His suit antenna was broken, but not the buggy's. He tried again. "Base Camp, Echo. Anyone, this is Bandicut. Does anyone read me? Any station?"

The northern mining battery was just coming into view over the horizon. Base Camp was about a kilometer beyond it. The main surface-stripping laser was inactive at the moment. He saw one of the big crawlers moving over the beam-spread area, and assumed that it was safe to proceed, even in the absence of radio contact. He kept trying the comm, but the closest he came to actual contact was, faintly through the static, a voice saying, "...GOT HIM IN SIGHT, HEADING INBOUND FROM WENDY." Eventually he gave up and just kept driving. It wasn't worth worrying about now; he was almost there.

/// I did that to help you. ///

/Huh?/

/// The electrical...malfie. ///

He squinted through the windshield, an uneasy clarity coming to him. The robot in the power compartment. The flashes. /Oh./

/// Remember that when you get in.

An electrical malfie. ///

He let out his breath and didn't answer.

*

With the exception of Napoleon bouncing on his front fender, the robot escort peeled away as he rolled into the maintenance shed. The glare of lights inside threw off his visor-augment for a moment, and he squinted as he followed a shop mech, directing him to drive straight into the service airlock for the shirtsleeve repair section. He waited as air hissed into the airlock chamber. Once he was through, he shut down the power and pulled his helmet off with a sigh of relief. He felt as if he'd been locked inside it for days.

Climbing out, helmet cradled under his right arm, he called out to the burly repair crew chief, who was ambling over with a scowl. "Hi, Pacho. How's business?"

Pacho Rawlins rarely smiled, and he didn't now. "What the fuck's going on, Bandicoot? Ops says for you to get your ass upstairs as soon as you get in. Sounds like they want to chew your butt up. What'd you do this time?" Rawlins swatted Napoleon off the fender and opened the main cowling with a jerk.

/// An electrical malfie. ///

"I had...an electrical malfie," Bandicut said, flushing. Rawlins squinted at him and with a shake of his head bent to peer into the buggy's power compartment. "It took out my nav and my comm and—"

"
Christ
, Bandicut!" Rawlins yelled. "What did you
do
to this thing?"

"What do you mean?" Nervously, Bandicut leaned to see what the chief had found.

"Malfie? Hell, you fried half the goddamn compartment! What'd you do, drive in front of a goddamn laser?"

Bandicut had trouble drawing a breath. The power compartment did, indeed, look fried. One cable was completely melted; many others were scorched. /You did this?/ he whispered to Charlie. He could not imagine what had kept the thing running at all. And he had been depending on it for life support!

/// The robot did it.

I made sure it didn't touch the life support. ///

Bandicut shook his head. "Ah," he mumbled to the chief, "I'm not really sure what happened, Pacho. I didn't do anything except limp home after it happened—and I was damn lucky. Can you take care of it okay?"

Rawlins glared. "Can I take
care
of it?" He shook his head, walking away. "Jesus Aloysius Christ!" When he turned back and saw Bandicut still staring at him, he said, "What are you doing still here? Get your ass over to ops like they said, will you? I don't want to get blamed for that, too."

Bandicut shrugged and left the maintenance area. He was just as happy not to have to explain any more to Rawlins, and he didn't speak to either of the other survey drivers that he passed. Returning to the ready room, he showered and dressed in his station casuals. He felt very strange...almost with an absence of emotion, as if a whole reservoir of bewilderment and anxiety were stoppered up inside him, waiting for the most awkward moment to erupt. He was sure it was at least partly because he was on his way to ops; but it was a coldly disturbing sensation nonetheless, and he wondered if he were building up to another silence-fugue. He didn't know what he would do if that happened. He wasn't planning to tell anyone about the earlier episode, unless absolutely forced to. A disturbance of that magnitude could put him off the active list altogether.

The quarx stirred from its silence.

/// Correct me if I misunderstand, please.

Wasn't your fugue caused by an injury

resulting from company equipment malfunction? ///

He hesitated, his shirt half snugged up the front. /Yeah. But so what?/ He willed his fingers to continue working, but it was like making them move through molasses. Charlie had touched upon an extremely raw nerve.

/// Then...if I might ask...

shouldn't the company be...responsible?

Legally? ///

He glared inwardly at the quarx. /What, you're an expert in our law?/

/// Well...

I have picked up some information

over the years. ///

/And just how have you done that?/

/// TV and radio, mostly. ///

"TV!" Bandicut yelled, slamming his locker shut. He looked around, red faced—hoping no one had heard him. Fortunately, the locker room was empty. /What the hell do you know about TV?/ he asked in an inner whisper.

/// Well, you know—

your people broadcast it into space

for a good many of your years. ///

Bandicut squinted, and finally laughed bitterly. /I see. Well, Charlie—I got news for you. TV don't exactly always get it right. We're a long way from the law out here. A
lonnnng
way./ He clamped his jaw. He didn't want to think about it any further...think about what the company owed him, about the loss of the neuro and the botched effort to fix it.