Willful Child (23 page)

“Uhm, right. Okay, shall we go take a look at the wrecked ’bots?”

“Aye, sir. But carefully, like.”

They moved ahead, came up alongside the point marine.

Muffy said, “Charles Not Chuck, cover us.”

The marine raised his bat.

Side by side, Hadrian and Muffy edged closer to the wreckage. “I count three,” Hadrian whispered.

“Three hulls, sir,” said Muffy. “But there’s parts missing from all of ’em. They’ve been cannibalized, Captain.”

“To make what?”

“Can’t say, sir, but if I had to guess, I’d say a mech-bot.”

“A mech-bot? Well, how big a mech-bot?”

Muffy shrugged in his armor. “Height … eighteen, maybe twenty.”

“Feet? How could that even fit in here?”

The master gunnery sergeant swung his opaque face mask in the captain’s direction. “Not feet, sir. Inches. So, could be a servo-bot—something the chicken would wear.”

Hadrian studied the wreckage. “So, it ran these ’bots off a cliff, as if they were, what, a bunch of buffalo. Then from the wreckage, it built itself a suit of animated battle armor. And now’s it’s clunking its way through the sewers.”

“I’m feeling sorry for the rats, sir.”

“You were right, Gunny,” said Hadrian. “Not your average chicken.”

“Gunny! Twelve o’clock high!”

In a flash Muffy flung himself to one side, rolling. Hadrian spun the other way, as a metallic form dropped down from the chute. A probe shot out from a hinged rocket tube on the mech’s right shoulder, punching through the faceplate of Charles Not Chuck. Gurgling, the marine pitched backward, falling with a clatter.

Muffy’s bat swung down, but the mech darted to one side, neatly evading it. Hadrian swung his own bat on a savage, horizontal arc. The mech ducked it. The bat continued its sweep to smash into Muffy’s left knee. Howling, the sergeant crumpled.

Behind them all, the rest of the squad rushed forward with their bats.

The mech shot another probe that punched through the armor of another marine, the steel spear plunging deep into the soldier’s left thigh. As the marine fell, another marine tripped over him or her. Bats bounced free to clatter down the tunnel. The mech charged into the fray, scalpel flashing.

“Pull back!” someone bellowed. “Regroup!”

Hadrian saw the mech clamber onto the chest of a supine marine, the scalpel carving deep gouge across the soldier’s faceplate. When the marine brought a bat up to smash into the creature, it danced away at the last instant. The bat hammered into the soldier’s head.

Wood splinters, shattered tiles, shrieks and screams, bodies writhing on the blood-smeared floor—it was a moment before Hadrian realized that the fighting was over. The mech was gone, racing up the tunnel and then, at a bend, disappearing from sight.

Gasping, Hadrian clambered upright. “I got a good look at that thing,” he said. “Inside all that mech-gear.”

Hunched over his wounded knee, Muffy lifted his helmed head. “What did you see, sir? I didn’t get me a good look. Anyone else?”

A babble of voices answered him from his squad, all in the negative. Too fast, too vicious, no time.

Hadrian spat onto the floor. “White. Downy. Short but sharp yellow beak, and the eyes of an insane killer—Darwin help me, I’ll never forget those eyes!”

“So it
is
a chicken,” Muffy said in a rasp.

Hadrian nodded. “I’m afraid so, Gunny.”

“A fuckin’ pecker!”

“You got it.”

Lieutenant Sweepy Brogan arrived, looked around. “What a fubaric mess. So, you got us an ID, Captain? Chicken. Well, sir, if you’ll forgive the language, screw the bats. For this, we need the big guns.”

Tammy then spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can confirm the species identification, with certain additional details. Evolution in action, my friends. It seems that the chickens have had their fill of farms, coops, and generations of unmitigated torture and slaughter. They have finally decided to fight back, and Darwin has answered their prayers. The creature with which you are all now engaged in battle is in fact a product of natural eugenics, possibly even punctuated equilibrium—it is, yes, a superchicken. And if you look at things from that creature’s point of view, well, you humans drew first blood, a few thousand years ago. And now, it’s payback time.”

Sweepy lit up her cigar. “It wants war, does it? Then let’s give it what it wants. In spades. But for now, a tactical withdrawal. Muffy, how’s Charles Not Chuck?”

“Got three nostrils now, LT, but otherwise, fine.”

“And you?”

“Nothing a vat of nanogel won’t set right, sir. We’re all alive, and damned lucky for it, I’d say.”

Tammy spoke again. “I can now inform you that the superchicken has commandeered five service ’bots. They have been reprogrammed and refitted for combat. Indeed, rather cleverly so. Anyway, you will now be facing five small tanks in addition to the superchicken and its personal exoskeletal combat suit.”

“Tanks?” LT scowled. “Weapon load, Tammy?”

“Coprolitic. Armor-piercing, Lieutenant.”

Hadrian straightened. “Hold on here! Tammy! Coprolites? Those tanks are shooting fossilized shit?”

“Assisted fossilization, Captain. Attenuated, enhanced. Accelerated. Deadly, but not smelly.”

“So,” said Hadrian, “this isn’t a pissing contest anymore, is it? Fine. Sweepy, I’m leaving this war to you and your marines. Take no prisoners. If that superchicken survives to get off this ship—if it then breeds more of its own kind—well, we could be looking at the end of life as we know it. Not just in this galaxy, but across the entire universe.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Sweepy. “Leave the bird to us, sir. Stables! Break out the flamethrowers! We got us a chicken to roast.”

Hadrian set off for the bridge. “I don’t know, Tammy,” he said as he approached an elevator, “it’s just one thing after another, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Funny, that.”

“So, have we reached your recovery point yet?” Hadrian entered the elevator and ordered it to take him to the bridge level.

“In two point three-five hours,” Tammy replied.

“Too long! Engage the T drive, dammit.”

“The Klang—”

“Will do what? Declare war? Surrender? Have sex? Come on, Tammy, we’re wasting time here. Take us to that system with its trilobite planet. Anyway, what are you looking to find there?”

“That remains to be seen,” Tammy replied.

The door opened and Hadrian stepped out, and then halted. “What the? This isn’t the right corridor!”

Tammy cleared his throat. “Captain, I think—”

“It should turn left to get to the bridge, not right! But look—” Hadrian approached the bridge. The door iris opened. He walked through. “Hey! Who are all of you?”

Instead of staid, severe Halley Sin-Dour, seated in the command chair, there was an Amazonian Halley Sin-Dour whose only attire seemed to be black leather straps, making her bulge virtually everywhere. She rose at his question and frowned at him. “Commissar? Is something wrong? Do you need a hug?”

“Is som—do I need what?”

“You look troubled, sir,” she said, sidling closer and setting a warm hand against his chest. “Was someone unfriendly?” she asked, searching his eyes. “Have you been offended? Who should we be frowning at, sir? Should it be a fierce frown, or a mild one? Commissar, your expression is wounding me! I want to help! Please—we all do, don’t we, friends?” At that, she turned to the rest of the bridge crew.

Lieutenant Jocelyn Sticks had swung round her chair. She was now naked from the hips up, and was surrounded in some kind of low-g field that made her breasts bob like balloons. The look in her eyes was beseeching. At comms, Jimmy Eden was horribly disfigured by battle scars that left his once-handsome face mangled and dripping drool. The vacuous grin he turned on Hadrian was the only thing the captain found remotely familiar.

Seated at the science station, Adjutant Lorrin Tighe had begun moaning with her legs tightly crossed as she stared up at Hadrian. Nearby sat Buck, on the floor, busy grooming an ensign.

“Good grief! I’ve slipped into a parallel universe! A mirror universe, but a mirror murkily, as the old saying goes. In fact, it’s a Bonoboverse!”

Tammy spoke, “About that—”

“Not now, Tammy. I’m sensing an imminent group hug here—no, not you, Eden. This is clearly some kind of alternate version of Terran civilization, one where we’re all cuddly, oversensitive, syrupy, and best of all, we mitigate all conflict with rampant sex. Well, Tammy, if you don’t mind, I’ll stick around here for a while, at least until the shine wears off.”

Printlip arrived from the corridor behind Hadrian. There was a small puffing sound and something warm and damp touched Hadrian’s neck. He reached up and wiped it off, frowning at his palm. “What was that, Doc?”

The world shifted. Once more, the old, staid Halley Sin-Dour was standing before him, fully clothed, a quizzical expression on her face. Behind her, Sticks was at the helm station, sadly wearing a uniform. And Jimmy Eden looked like, well, an athlete, although his vacuous smile remained.
Lorrin
Tighe wasn’t even on the bridge. Nor was Buck.

“Oh, really,” Hadrian said.

“Psychoactive compounds, Captain,” said Printlip. “I did warn you, yes?”

“Damn you! I want that hallucination back! Give it back!”

The multitude of eyes trembled on their stalks. “Alas, Captain, the compounds have been neutralized. Are you not feeling better?”

“No, I’m feeling worse!” Hadrian pointed at Eden. “Look at him! Aaagh! And look at Sticks! She’s got clothes on—okay, they’re tight-fitting so it’s not so bad, not bad at all, in fact. Why,” he added, stepping forward, “I’d say—”

She bleated.

Another puff and wet splotch stopped Hadrian, this time on the other side of his neck. “Now what?”

“Captain! Inadvertent loss of inhibitions! Treated at the last moment! Whew!”

“Dammit, Doc, you’re ruining all the fun!” He eyed Sticks and smiled. “There there,” he said, “everything’s fine now. See?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Hadrian sat down in the command chair. “Imagine, a touchy-feely universe. The horror and humiliation of a disapproving look. Why, we’d have to be actually civilized! So, yes, it was momentary insanity. I admit it. But now I’m back in the land of space rage, blasters, and get-outa-my-face obnoxiousness. There’s no place like home, right? Hey,” he gestured Printlip closer and lowered his voice, “Doc—did you run a full analysis of those psychoactive agents?”

“Of course, Captain. Else I could not have negated their effects.”

Hadrian leaned closer. “Can you, maybe, replicate that juice? You know, on the sly, as it were. For, uh, educational purposes.”

Printlip sucked in a huge breath, and then squealed a thin sigh. “There are therapeutic possibilities, I grant you, Captain.”

“Exactly! For treating traumatic stress and all that, right?”

“Possibly.”

“And look at me, Doc. If anyone is at risk of post-traumatic stress disorder, why, it’s the captain of a ship that’s been hijacked by a rogue, possibly insane AI.”

“Hey!” cried Tammy.

Printlip tilted closer. “I have been observing you, Captain, with that very thought in mind.”

“Have you now? Well, turns out we’re on the same page, then. Perfect! So, mix us up a few shots of that stuff, will you? I could do with some R&R, for reason of restoring my psychological balance, and stuff.”

Printlip raised a few hands. “Provided I can observe in a controlled environment, Captain.”

“You dirty little—oh, fine, bring the popcorn, what do I care?”

Tammy spoke, “Captain, it is of course equally conceivable that the Radulak psychoactive compounds initiated in you a perceptual shift that opened the window on a true and viable alternate universe, and indeed that whatever you saw actually persists in a parallel existence.”

Hadrian whimpered, and then said, “Really, Tammy? Well, I’d say that your theory deserves closer analysis. Much closer. For extended periods of time.”

“The risk, of course,” Tammy went on, “is when you come face-to-face with your alternate.”

“But then,” said Hadrian, “I could slip him a cocktail to send him
here
, couldn’t I?”

“And risk your ship, Captain?”

Hadrian leaned back and waved a hand. “Oh, he’d be fine, if a little soppy.”

Tammy said, “I sense another episode coming on.”

“Episode?”

“As you noted earlier, Captain, it truly does seem to be one thing after another with you, doesn’t it? You seem to live a life of episodic incidences.”

“Do I now? Really? Hey, Tammy, is that your trilobite planet coming up? Wow, what a green, innocent world! Definitely deserves a visit, wouldn’t you say?”

“Cut it out!” shrieked Tammy.

But Hadrian leapt to his feet. “Fire up the Insisteon!”

EiGHTEEN

Hadrian, Printlip, Galk, and two security officers displaced to find themselves in a grassy meadow, with a range of sun-bleached crags to the left, and a strew of oddly shaped boulders directly ahead, from which thin green-stalked trees rose, fronds waving. To the right was lush jungle, while behind the group the meadow shifted into marsh. The sky was pale blue, the air dry and hot.

“You know,” said Hadrian as he looked around, “if not for the jungle and those weird trees, this looks just like northern California.”

Printlip was studying its Pentracorder. “Captain, very high oxygen levels here. We might all begin feeling somewhat inebriated.”

“Can’t wait to see you get tipsy, Doc,” Hadrian said, eyeing the little round alien. The captain then turned to Galk. “My, that’s an impressive piece you’ve got there. What is it?”

The combat specialist hefted the massive, multisectioned, globular, shoulder-locked weapon. “This is an Atomic Laser-Attenuated Defensive Interceptor Multiple-Phase-Shield Last-Stand Forlorn Hope, Mark II, sir.”

“Outstanding, Galk. What does it shoot?”

“It doesn’t shoot anything, sir. It stops anything from hitting me.”

“I see. So, I take it, then, that you haven’t got my back.”

The Varekan frowned. “Good point, sir. I guess I picked wrong again, didn’t I?”