Willful Child (22 page)

“Why, that’s right, Tammy. I will!”

“Accordingly,” said the AI, “I am hesitating in complying with your request.”

“Really.”

“Historically, rats and mice have been, I have since discovered after considerable research, integral members of any human ship. Now, perhaps they do not wear uniforms and take orders from you, and such, but the very precedent of—”

“Darwin take me, Tammy! Fine! The rats and mice can stay! But not the Klang spies!”

“Captain, I feel I should point out the cross-sentient-species potential of mutual understanding and future cooperation now implicit with the arrival of Klang life-forms on board this vessel.”

“They’re spies!”

“Well, technically, yes. They are. Even so—”

“Off my ship!”

“You would brutally kill puppies?”

“They’re not Dalmatians! They’re Klang spies! And besides, I’ve already slaughtered a few thousand kittens—what the fuck do I care about a bunch of Muppet puppies? So, here’s the deal, Tammy. Keep the rats and mice, but nix on the Klang. And then find me that scalpel-armed alien!”

“And if I refuse?”

“I stop talking to you. For good. No teaching anymore from the master. Nada. You’re on your own. And if that’s not enough, I will personally blast to smithereens every speck speaker in every room on this whole damned ship—and if you try to deactivate my weapons, why, my security teams are now armed with bats!”

“I could simply scroll text via holo.”

“Every vid speck, too.”

“You would leave me incapable of any communication with you humans?”

“You got it. Well?”

“I’m thinking! Oh all right. But I’m encrypting my discriminator program, and its results. You’ll never find the rat stronghold without it! Nor the mouse not-so-stronghold.”

A buzz in Hadrian’s jawbone alerted him to a call. “Captain Hadrian here.”

“Security officer Golan Sideways, sir. We’ve found something fifty-two meters up the corridor. You might want to take a look at it.”

“You’re sounding nervous, Sideways. Take a deep breath, I’m on my way.”

Hadrian swung left and started running—

“That’s down the corridor,” Tammy said.

Hadrian spun round and ran the other way. As he ran, the AI said, “I should tell you that I am now upset.”

“You are? What now? Do I run like a girl or something?”

“No. At least, I don’t think you do. But then, how would I know. Do girls run differently?”

“Of course,” Hadrian said. “They run like this.” He slowed down and tilted his knees inward, flinging his feet out to the sides, with his bum pitching back and forth. Coming round the corner he came within sight of the security team. They stared at him.

Hadrian arrived. “Okay,” he said, “here I am. What is it?”

One man stepped forward. His face was scarred. A stalk of grass was tucked into the corner of his mouth. Squinting at the captain, he said, “Sideways, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you. Well?”

The circle of security officers parted and Hadrian saw the small blood-smeared body lying on the floor. “Ah, you got it! Well done!”

“No, sir,” said Sideways. “Uh, it needs a closer look.”

So Hadrian joined Sideways in crouching down over the tiny carcass.

“See, sir? That’s a rat. It’s been skinned and partly quartered—for food, we guess. See that puncture wound there? That’s no scalpel—”

“No, it’s from a probe,” Hadrian said.

“So it’s got probes too?” Sideways asked.

Hadrian nodded.

The crowd around him started muttering at that.

“Used like a javelin, then,” Sideways said, looking up the corridor and squinting as he chewed his length of straw. “Take a look at the rat’s skull, sir.”

“Oh dear. It’s been drilled. I forgot to mention that. The cranial drill set, I mean.”

Still squinting up the corridor, Sideways nodded. “Got it, sir. Alien. Armed with a scalpel, probes, and a cranial drill set.”

Hadrian stared across at the man. “I bet you all think I run like a girl now, don’t you?”

Sideways flinched. Sweat trickled down his temples, but he would not meet Hadrian’s gaze as he said, “Not at all, sir. People got lots of ways of running. I mean, there ain’t no right way, is what I’m saying. We all think that,” he added, straightening and looking to his team. “Ain’t that right, fellas?”

They all murmured their assent, except for the lone woman, who was scowling.

Hadrian looked down at the skinned rat again. “Well, Tammy?”

“I told you I was upset. This was an innocent rat. Just minding its own business.”

Rubbing at his jaw, Hadrian said, “The alien arms itself. Its first task? Food procurement. Thus, the missing haunch. As for the skin? Clothing, or bedding. The hole in the skull? I don’t know. Dessert? All right. What next, I wonder?”

“Exploration of territory?” Sideways suggested. “Looking for a mate, maybe?”

“No,” said Hadrian. “Before that.”

“Shelter?”

“Exactly. To eat and rest up. All right, everyone. Search out the cubbyholes. Cabinets, footlockers, travel trunks, closets. Spread out!”

As the team headed off, Hadrian stared down at the tiny carcass. “Tammy? Localized it yet?”

“Hmm, that’s proving a problem, Captain.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve got all the rest, I mean. The rodents, the Muppets. But, for the moment, at least, I’m not finding anything else.”

“Could be cold-blooded.”

“That did occur to me. Negative on nonthermal sensors. If I had to guess, Captain, some innate ability in this unknown alien is making it virtually stealthed.”

“Crap. All right, then. We know one thing for sure. It will hunt down and kill and eat rats. So speck-tag the rats. All of them. Might as well do the mice while you’re at it.”

“That could take some time.”

“How long?”

“Three minutes.”

Hadrian made for the nearest elevator. He entered and said, “Bridge.” As the elevator hissed its way upward, Hadrian asked, “The Klang spies, Tammy? Tell me they’re frozen lumps spiraling through space right now.”

“They are sentient life-forms, Captain. You are advocating murder.”

“What, unlike blasting Radulak Bombast ships to smithereens?”

“That was a military engagement. Which, as I understand your manner of usage, justifies virtually anything.”

“But aren’t the Klang now at war with us?”

“We both know,” said Tammy, “that the war is probably already over. The Klang will have sent a T packet to the Affiliation proclaiming their abject surrender, begging for reparation over the lost drone, and then inviting in the Affiliation’s economic might, all for the purpose of ultimately subverting and undercutting Affiliation production, until you are all financially ruined and hopelessly dependent on cheap Klang knockoffs of virtually everything. Such are the stated conclusions in your top-secret file, subtitled Xenophobic Paranoia.”

“That wasn’t the subtitle.”

“It is, now. I amended it.”

The elevator halted, but Hadrian remained where he was. “Look, it’s important that we protect our massively inefficient Guild-defined production practices, which were implemented in order to ensure people have things to do apart from staring bleary-eyed at social networks for eighteen fucking hours a day. You know, I may have lots of problems with the Affiliation—”

“Such as?”

“Well, we’re fascistic and overmilitarized being governed by reactionary undereducated proud-to-be-ignorant meatheads, for one thing.”

“Go on.”

“But on this front, why, they got it right. Before the Big Pulse wiped most of that shit off the screens, things were pretty bad, Tammy. In fact, most of the world’s bloated population had gone so deep into their navel-gazing they were peeking out through their assholes, and complaining about the smell. I remember that generation, you know—my own grandparents, in fact. They had the attention span of ducks. There were even names for them. Twit-Gen, for example. And Tankers—since they tanked at anything demanding more than five minutes’ concentration. Oh sure, they could multitask at ten things at once, and do them all equally badly. If the Big Pulse didn’t trash the whole game, we would probably have merged into one giant protein bag quivering across the whole fucking planet in one long eternal masturbatory orgasm.”

“Thus sparing the rest of the galaxy the horrors of what actually happened.”

“They knew it even back then,” Hadrian said. “Called it the Singularity Event. But then … Pandora’s box, Tammy. Those idiot aliens opened the box, and what spilled out? Us! But to be honest, we’re turning into dolts again. I blame mindless entertainment. Door open, please.”

Hadrian walked the corridor, nodding at passing crew members, and arrived at the bridge. He found his chief engineer waiting beside the command chair. “Ah, hello again, Buck, and how are we?”

“I was updated, sir, on the alien intruder.”

“Oh? How nice.”

“We checked engineering, and found a small access vent had been jimmied open.”

“And?”

“Well, that’s the problem, Captain. It leads down into the sewers.”

Hadrian sat down, thoughtful. He scratched his jaw, squinted at the main viewer, which was showing the real starscape dead ahead. Then he sighed and said, “Buck, tell me, if you will, why in Darwin’s name are there sewers on this starship?”

“Backup, sir, in case the Waste Conversion Happy-Snack Dispenser System breaks down.”

“Oh? And has that system ever broken down? On any starship? Ever?”

“No, sir. Why should it? It’s an entire self-contained biosystem with almost infinite redundancy options due to the prescient nanotechnology we inherited from our benefactors.”

Hadrian rubbed his eyes. “Tammy?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are there vid specks in the sewer system?”

“That’s disgusting. Anyway, it’s not in use and thus requires no maintenance.”

“So why is there a maintenance vent? Anyone?”

Buck shrugged. “Redundancy, sir. The Second and Third Laws of Mechanical Engineering, as defined by the Guild and sanctioned by the Umbrella Dictum Extempor Procreator, Publishing Division. I have a signed copy if you’d like a peek, sir.”

Hadrian studied Buck. “You’re looking … better.”

The chief engineer straightened. “Thank you, sir. I am.”

“Medicated?”

“To the gills, sir.”

“Excellent. So, the alien’s down in the sewers now. And those tunnels presumably offer access to the entire ship.”

“Yes, sir, via the toilet secondary chutes.”

“Right. Vicious alien intruder. Up through the toilets. With scalpel in hand.”

All the men on the bridge cringed, whether standing or seated, and Hadrian did the same. Fighting off a shudder, the captain stood. “Buck, just how big are these sewers?”

“Well, sir, the main arteries have walkways, and then there’s the feeder shunts, but only ’bots can get into most of those.”

“Fire up the ’bots, full-bore highest setting scrubbers, and send ’em in. Tammy, lock down those secondary chutes pronto! For the moment, we dump bilge in our wake. Security! Ah, Nina! Round up three more teams—we’ll rendezvous in the main tunnel of the sewer and—”

“You won’t be needing them, Captain,” spoke a sultry voice behind Hadrian.

He turned round. “Lieutenant Sweepy! You’ve been brought up to speed?”

She was lighting a new stogie from the stub of the last one. Around it, she said, “We’ve been monitoring. Squad’s heading down to the main tunnel right now. I’m heading there from here, to coordinate the smackdown. Care to join me, Captain? Could be a bloodfest.”

“That explains the lurid gleam in your eyes—oh, no, that was just the lighter’s reflection. Sorry. As for joining you, of course I’m joining you.”

SEVENTEEN

“Where’s the light switch? Tammy, brighten those up, will you? I can barely see a thing.”

“I am sorry, Captain, but that’s as bright as they go.”

“What?”

“All right all right. There, is that better?”

“And nix the drip-drip-dripping crap, and those hollow moaning sounds.”

“Fine.”

The marine squad was assembled just ahead, facing an enormous green-painted tunnel that, according to the map on the wall, curved and snaked its way through the core of the ship. Somewhere ahead, the lights were flickering.

“Tammy!”

The lights stopped flickering.

Sweepy Brogan threw down her rolled-up poncho and sat on it, spending a moment getting comfortable, before setting up her combat station, which consisted of a small holotank, three floating panels and a hovering ashtray to take her cigar. Lighting up, she glanced up at Hadrian. “I’m set here, sir. Care to take ’em in?”

Hadrian looked across at Muffy and his squad. All were armed with bats painted in green camouflage patterns, a couple of them bedecked with plastic leaves and clumps of moss. Hadrian hefted his own bat. “All right, boys and girls, it’s time to play ball.”

Muffy gestured and one of his marines set out to take point. The others fanned out to the sides, weapons at the ready. At a second gesture, the squad began a slow, cautious advance. Hadrian moved up alongside Muffy as they rounded a bend in the tunnel. “You’re seeming a little jumpy here, Gunny.”

“We saw the pics of that skinned rat, sir.”

“So you know what we’re up against here.”

“Aye, Captain. We’re talking the chicken from hell, sir.”

Up ahead, the marine on point halted, raised one hand, and then crouched. The next marine nearest him (or her) moved up and the two conferred for a moment, and then the second marine made her (or his) way back to settle down beside Muffy. “Gunny. Got an obstacle ahead. There’s a chute in the ceiling—looks like a few ’bots dropped down from it, at high speed. They’re smashed all to pieces on the floor ahead.”

Hadrian frowned at Muffy. “We could be subvocalizing all this via our comms, Gunny.”

“Maybe, sir, but could be the frequency’s compromised.”

“By a chicken?”

“They got sensitive beaks, chickens do. Can pick up sonic vibrations. Now, I’m not saying it would understand what we were saying—I’m not saying that, sir. I mean, it’s a chicken-thing, right? Sir, it’s armed and all, and probably smarter than your average hen, but even so—we’d be giving away our position, is what I’m saying.”