The Machine Awakes (37 page)

“Did you really think it would work?” Kodiak asked. “That you'd be able to drive your machine right up to the Earth and … what? Demand control of the Fleet?”

Caviezel turned his head to the agent. “My dear Agent, that is still my intention. This isn't over yet.”

“Open your eyes, Caviezel! We're about to start a one-way journey to the center of Jupiter. Somehow I don't think your Pilot is being as cooperative as you hoped.”

Then Caviezel's composure broke, the condescending, arrogant fa
ç
ade of a company executive vanishing as he snarled, reaching for Cait. Kodiak moved quickly, running on instincts to protect Cait. He grabbed Caviezel by the shoulders and pulled the executive back, then sent his fist into the man's stomach.

Pain shot up his arm as his hand was jarred, his knuckles sliding under his skin. Caviezel, unperturbed by the attack, pushed Kodiak away, sending the agent spinning on the smooth floor.

“Son of a
bitch,
” said Kodiak, cradling his fist. “You're a servitor too?”

“But of course.”

Kodiak stood, shaking his sore hand, keeping his distance as he looked the servitor up and down. He glanced back at the control consoles, where the other JMC servitors sat, frozen in place. “How are you still active when the others aren't? Don't you all need the link to the JMC computer to operate?”

Caviezel tapped the side of his head with a finger. “To ensure security and corporate secrecy, my systems are siloed inside the computer. They are designed to maintain operational integrity even with total failure of the main systems.” He smiled. “You can't have the boss out of action, Agent.”

Then he turned back to Cait and put his hands on the side of her head, pulling her face toward his.

“Now, listen to me. You are the Pilot, and you will obey my instructions. You will restart the power cores and reboot the refinery. When the Sigmas have finished building my machine, you will take full control, and then you will pass that control to
me.
”

Cait looked at him. Kodiak watched—he couldn't tell if she could see Caviezel or not. Her eyes were glazed, staring into space.

Then she laughed. “Eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno,” she said.

Caviezel's expression changed, his eyes widening, his jaw opening. He let go of her face, and Cait's head fell back against the panel.

She laughed again. “You started it all … you started it all…”

Caviezel spun around, his face twisted in anger. He pointed to Braben. “Get down there and secure the Freezer. It must be protected at all costs.”

The Freezer? Kodiak turned to Braben, who looked as confused as Kodiak felt. That must have been Caviezel's name for the hidden facility, the place the coordinates led to.

The source.

Caviezel rushed to Braben and grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Protect the Freezer. Take the experiment with you and secure the facility. Use the orbital relay—it'll be faster than your shuttle. Go!”

Braben's feet touched the floor again and he staggered backwards. Then he nodded and ran from the control room, one hand moving over Tyler Smith's black control box. Kodiak looked up and saw the sniper had vanished.

Tyler Smith. The
experiment.

Another tremor rocked the control room.

Kodiak got to his feet, flexing the fingers of his sore hand. He looked around. Caviezel's attention was back on Cait, and the other servitors were out of commission. The Bureau machines from his own shuttle were still, but it was harder to tell if they were deactivated as well. Kodiak had to assume they were, if they had been linked to the JMC computer.

On the other side of the room was the other servitor, the facsimile occupied by Glass. It was frozen in place, standing near the console. Its dead eyes looked back at Kodiak.

He turned, stood tall, watching Caviezel's back. It was just the two of them left.

And Cait.

What could he do? He had to leave—not just to save himself, but to follow Braben to the source and find out what was there. He had to get Cait out. She was crashing the refinery—Kodiak assumed it was the only way she had found to clear the system of the Spider infection: destroy it completely.

But did she have to stay connected? If the refinery was falling, the systems failure terminal, did it matter if she was plugged in or not? Or would taking her out allow the JMC computer—the Spider AI—to regain control?

Shit. Kodiak ran the choices through his head. Even if the refinery fell, there was still the source. The “Freezer,” whatever it was.

And that wasn't all—the Spider machine, Lucifer, built by the Sigma mines. As Caviezel had said, without the Pilot, the Spider AI would simply assert itself and take over. The destruction of the refinery might remove the Spider infection from the JMC computer, but it wouldn't stop the machine. And if the Freezer was left intact, the source of the Spider infection, then it would just happen again. The refinery would be gone, but there were other JMC systems all over the Jovian system. Any one of which had a lightspeed link connection to the Fleet. Any one of which could let the Spider AI spread out beyond the Jovian system and infect the Fleet itself.

It seemed to Kodiak that he had little to lose. Any option he chose was likely to fail. But he had to try his best. It was his duty.

It was also his duty to keep Cait safe. He wasn't going to leave her.

Kodiak had the staser out of his holster and in his hand in a second. But Caviezel was faster, turning and slicing down with one hand, connecting with Kodiak's gun arm and forcing the agent to drop the weapon. Kodiak cried out and ducked backwards as the executive servitor swung with his other hand, but Kodiak tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor again.

Caviezel stepped over his body, a manic grin on his face. When he raised his hands again, this time they crackled with white power discharge. Kodiak, eyes wide, tried to push himself backwards. The servitor reached for Kodiak, ready to deliver a lethal charge, but instead was jerked backwards as another servitor wrapped its arms around his middle. Caviezel snarled as he was dragged away, his heels kicking against the floor. He grabbed the arms holding him, the electrical energy arcing between him and the other facsimile.

Kodiak got to his feet as the two servitors struggled. Through the neon haze, Kodiak could see it was Glass, somehow operational while the other JMC machines were deactivated.

The Kodiak remembered. Operational privileges.

“Quickly, Mr. Kodiak,” Glass yelled, fighting to hold Caviezel in her grasp. “Eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno. Go after Braben—the orbital relay leaves a quantum wake. You'll be able to lock onto it in your shuttle. Get to the source and destroy it or it will all start again.”

Kodiak nodded, picked himself up, and raced over to Cait as the control room rumbled. He pulled her away from the panel, her weight falling across his body as he prepared to carry her out. The back of her neck was a blood-soaked mess, the computer cable linking her to the panel like an umbilical.

He grabbed the cable near the base of her skull with his free hand and yanked it out of her neck.

Cait screamed, then went limp against his body, but he could feel her breathing. She was alive.

“No!” yelled Caviezel. He got one arm free and rammed his elbow backwards, connecting with the new servitor operated by Glass. Kodiak got his weight under Cait and lifted, moving out of reach as quickly as he could. He paused and turned around, reaching for his staser, but the other servitor shook her head.

“Go!”

Kodiak nodded, wasting no time. He ran for the exit, the unconscious Caitlin Smith draped over his shoulder.

*   *   *

As the control room
doors slid closed, Caviezel roared in anger and discharged his crackling halo of energy directly in the servitor driven by Glass. The servitor seized; then its head exploded. Caviezel pushed its remains off him and took stock of the situation. The control room was still dark, lit only by the Jupiter projection and the computer panels surrounding Cait's former makeshift interface. Caviezel moved over to it, picking up the dangling, blood-soaked cables.

“No,” he said. “I will have my Pilot!”

Dropping the cables, he moved back to the other side of the control room. There, on the floor, lay Samantha Flood. The High Priestess of the Morning Star was still alive, her eyes flickering, her breathing a strangled wheeze as her fingers grasped for nothing over the sniper shot that had hit her in the shoulder.

Caviezel swung his legs over her. She seemed to realize there was someone there, and she gasped, her bloody fingers reaching weakly toward him. Her lips twitched, like she was trying to say something.

“Seems I have a use for you after all,” said Caviezel. He adjusted one of his cuffs and looked up, gazing almost wistfully into the middle distance as he smoothed back his pompadour, streaking long red stains into his steel gray hair. The control room rocked, and the floor tilted, only this time it didn't right itself. Caviezel sniffed, like he was dealing with a small but boring piece of admin on an otherwise normal day at the office. He looked down at Flood again. “You may not be the ideal candidate, but sometimes perfection stands in the way of progress. And I only need you to survive the interface for a few moments. Then you can hand control of Lucifer to me.”

Flood tried to answer, but her voice was nothing but a dry gasp. Her hands clutched at Caviezel.

The room rocked again. Caviezel looked up at the Jupiter projection. The Sigma machine indicator had grown again. As he watched, the information panel floating next to the icon faded, replaced by new text.

JMC SYSTEMS | DESIGNATION UNKNOWN

Caviezel nodded. “Perfect timing,” he said. He crouched down next to Flood. “You want to meet your god, Your Holiness? Well, I'm going to give you that chance.”

Flood's eyes widened. Perhaps Caviezel's words were a comfort. Or perhaps she was just afraid. Or perhaps she couldn't hear him at all.

Caviezel slid his arms under her body and lifted, carrying her over to the access panel. Flood's head flopped back, her arms dangled loosely, her breath rattled in her chest. He lay her down near the panel and pulled her around by her arms until her head was against the wall. Then he turned her over so she was face down and brushed her hair aside. On the back of Flood's neck, disappearing up into her hairline, was a barcode, tattooed in dark blue.

“Once a psi-marine, always a psi-marine, eh?” said Caviezel, standing. “I'm curious as to how the Fleet doesn't seem to know who you really are or how you've managed to stay off their manifest system with the tag still embedded in your brainstem, but I suppose those questions are now somewhat academic.” He smiled, tilting his head as he looked down at the High Priestess. “Of course, the tag is in the way, but I don't have time to remove it. I'll just have to put this in a little deeper.” He picked up the connector spike. “I'm sorry, Your Holiness, but this might hurt a little.”

He bent down and plunged the spike into the back of her neck. Flood twitched on the floor, and was then still. Caviezel looked up, waiting for the computer to report a connection. As soon as the indicator lit, he stood, and the lights around the control room came back on, the consoles coming back to life along with the servitors seated around them.

Caviezel glanced around them. “Return to your duties. Stabilize the refinery.”

He stepped up to the curving console and gazed up at the Jupiter projection. The new red icon,
DESIGNATION UNKNOWN
, continued to grow.

Caviezel brushed down his suit and adjusted his cuffs. He smiled.

“It seems Lucifer will rise on schedule after all.”

 

40

Kodiak ran down another
corridor lit only in a dim purple. As far as emergency lighting went, it sucked. Curving panels and shapes that had been elegant works of art and aesthetically designed refinery architecture were now shadowed, angular shapes that seemed to leap out at him from the corner of his eye. He ran on as best he could with Cait over his shoulder, her blood covering him from collar to elbow. However, it was thick and tacky, suggesting to Kodiak that the bleeding from her injuries had already slowed. When he reached one of the large atria that interrupted the passageways at intervals, he stopped and looked out.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He was lost. He turned around again, but he wasn't sure where to go. The landing pad couldn't be far from the control room, but he had no clue if he was headed in the right direction.

The atrium had seating. He moved to a couch and lay Cait down. She winced in pain.

“Cait?”

Her eyes were closed, but she screwed them even tighter. “Fucking
ow,
” she whispered. “I feel like I'm dead.”

Kodiak smiled. She was actually doing better than he had hoped. She was covered in blood, but perhaps the physical effects of being linked to the computer interface were more superficial than they looked. “Hey, trust me, you're alive and well.” He grimaced at his small lie, but with her eyes closed, Cait didn't see. Surely having an electrified spike jammed into your brainstem had done damage he couldn't see. But she was alive, and breathing, and could still speak at least. Kodiak counted those definitely in the “pluses” column.

“You have a weird definition of ‘well.'”

The floor shook, and there was a rumbling sound from somewhere underneath them.

“Pain is good,” said Kodiak as he glanced around them, trying to figure out the right path to take.

“You'll need to explain that to me sometime.”

“Pain means you're still alive.”

“Yay pain.”

The floor shook a second time. Cait opened her eyes and flicked them around. “It's dark.”