"soya-lentill crunch" is now my new favorite food-name-reference. I didnt think soylent could get more gross, or lentils more green (and bland) but you did it. The perfect image of just dried crunch lentils held together with a chewy protein paste. Wonderfully horrific. XD
"JUNO here, Captain. I wish to report that all personnel are back online. Modifications successful."
"Glad to hear it. If you've got nothing else planned this afternoon, perhaps you'd all like to join us for a spot of R and R? We're heading over to Borealis to take a stickybeak at how she's going. Interested?"
"That sounds like an excellent idea, Sir. I shall inform IANTO and DIGBY immediately." JUNO replied.
"Oh, by the way... There's an added incentive. I'll leave its exact nature as a surprise. See you soon."
We returned to our Seamoths and set out for the construction dock at Skull Island. Eventually.
Minou shied away as he neared the submersibles, and it took a fair bit of coaxing to get him to approach any closer than 20 metres. To a wee chap like him, they would have looked every bit as menacing as a pair of Stalkers. However, once Héloise climbed into Artemis and waved at him, he must have twigged that the subs were safe to approach. Chirruping happily, he shot over to Artemis and began examining this strange new beast. As I watched him, I couldn't help but wonder how intelligent this creature actually is.
IANTO's probably far better equipped to analyse Cutefish behaviour than I am. My downloaded theoretical knowledge in xenobiology and behavioural science is sound enough, although I'm still susceptible to the old human knack for seeing near-human character traits in most animals. Call it a cultural weakness if you like, but it's hard to argue with over two centuries worth of funny animal videos. Believe me, billions of InfoCortex users will go bonkers over this little fellow's antics.
As far as I'm able to determine, Cutefish exist for the sole purpose of having fun. When they're not feeding, resting and (presumably) making teeny-tiny Cutefish, they appear to expend a considerable amount of energy by simply enjoying themselves. At the risk of going out on a limb here, I conjure that the sudden appearance of the Cutefish may be a subtle test posed by Father of Tides. Any animal that actively seeks out larger organisms for protection usually has something to offer in return. Back on Terra, tiny 'cleaners' such as wrasse and shrimps remove parasites and dead skin from larger fish. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement that works quite well. However, all that a Cutefish can 'do' is perform funny tricks, in return for our company and presumed protection. Unsurprisingly, this charming behaviour doesn't work on Stalkers. I guess that's the nature of this hypothetical test. As final confirmation of our stated intent, it's entirely possible that we are being judged by how we treat the very least of this planet's creatures. It's a bit of a stretch, I'll admit.
I swam over to Disco Volante. Just as I was about to enter the cockpit, Minou detached himself from Artemis and darted over to me. His little smile seemed to wane slightly as he sensed our departure. I beckoned him to follow us. Minou cocked his head quizzically, staring at my upturned palm as if uncertain of what he should do. With a resigned sigh, I held my right hand up as if to wave goodbye.
He responded to this gesture with a delighted, giggling spin and a crisp high-five.
A construction dock probably wouldn't be your first choice as a picnic spot. However, we managed to find an unoccupied berthing platform on the port side of Borealis and set up camp there. Most of today's onsite activity was centred around the starboard midships and stern sections, so I figured our lunch would be relatively uneventful. By 'uneventful', I mean not being in the wrong place when a Ripley strolls by carrying a 20-tonne pallet of titanium ingots. That will generally ruin your day. Rather than mess around with the drone logistic commands to accommodate our personal whim, it seems more far reasonable to stay well out of harm's way. This is a working shipyard, after all.
Borealis has taken on a definite ship-like appearance since we last saw her. Less than three weeks ago, the keel was barely beginning to sprout ribs. During the Kharaa crisis, the drones had been beavering away tirelessly, working totally unsupervised for the majority of that time. Their orders have been clearly defined and there is no shortage of raw material. Apart from their scheduled maintenance breaks, the drones have been fabricating structural girders and external hull panels ceaselessly, working against an inexorable deadline dictated by Manannán's cyclic weather systems. In a little more than a month's time, the first signs of bad weather will start creeping in. We might get a couple of week's grace between hard blows for the first six months, but I wouldn't bank on it. When Manannán reaches perihelion, hurricane season digs its heels in good and proper. For the best part of a Solar year, in fact. That's time enough to become heartily sick of your favourite leisure activity. Time enough to turn a casual offer of another game of Monopoly into a full psychotic breakdown.
... And that's when we take the whole boat show down to full fathom five.
As soon as the outer hull is completely water-tight, the entire construction dock can be submerged. According to the production schedule (projected in glorious 3D for our perusal), the neutron accelerator silos salvaged from Aurora are being installed today. All the more reason to stay as far away from the action as possible. They're perfectly inert at the moment. Not a trace of stray radioactivity to be found in any of them. However, each silo weighs in at 120 tonnes, and there's going to be some heavy machinery swinging them around like a PT sergeant's Indian clubs. Once they're installed, additional shielding will be added to their outer casings and the surrounding engineering compartment. As far as RADSAFE is concerned, there's no such thing as minimal protection. Plenty of shielding will be placed where it's needed most. We can afford that luxury.
Speaking of shielding, I've come up with a contingency plan that I'm not terribly proud of.
There is always a distinct possibility that the Precursor cannon cannot be deactivated. My next major obstacle is convincing the entity known as Sky Watcher that we have permission to leave this planet, as granted by Father of Tides. I believe that this process may not be as simple as telling the cannon's Precursor AI that it's perfectly okay with the Big Boss, and we'll be toddling off now.
No bloody way.
It's going to involve another face-to-face encounter, just like that time with Keeper of Memories, only I've got this Sky Watcher pegged as the type who can't be talked around. An impeccable absolutist. Whatever conditions he needs met before granting us access to the weapon's controls, well... We're just going to buckle down and tick every single box that needs to be ticked with good grace. Too gorram close to escaping this planet to run afoul of some niggling Precursor technicality.
Although we've beaten the Kharaa hands-down, there are still no guarantees of safe passage. Sky Watcher is the unknown variable in this equation, and I've been figuring out the safest way to deal with any potential lack of cooperation when Borealis is finally ready to launch. We'll play it safe and try the direct approach first. Since we have no way of knowing what scanning technology Sky Watcher uses, its effective detection range or trigger threshold, we'll have to feel our way through this situation very carefully. It's quite possible that any contact with the Kharaa contagion is enough to reactivate the planetary defence system. Infection leaves subtle traces in human body chemistry. Marker proteins, elevated white cell counts or neutralised fragments of the organism itself clearly indicate if an individual has been exposed to specific pathogens. As far as we can tell, all of the colonists are now free of the Kharaa infection. However, Sky Watcher may see it otherwise.
The abiding presence of the Precursor energy weapon isn't the only threat we face. As I discovered more than a century ago, Warpers are also capable of killing starships. To this end, I am equipping Borealis with tau-meson shielding, reverse-engineered from the system used to keep Father of Tides confined in the Lava Castle prison. Warper fields cannot penetrate a tau-meson barrier. This much is known. The Precursor cannon is another matter entirely. I can't even conceive a shield technology capable of withstanding a single shot from that weapon, let alone a constant barrage. Since the gun draws its power from a planetary energy network, it's quite possible that Sky Watcher would keep ramping up the juice until Borealis' shields collapsed. We certainly wouldn't break atmo in time.
My contingency plan for the Precursor gun is brutally direct. Borealis' mass-driver batteries will be trained on that gun emplacement as soon as they become operational. If that weapon so much as twitches during launch, we will blow it to pieces without the slightest hint of hesitation. I briefly considered using a low-yield nuke instead, although I conjure this planet has suffered enough from that form of technology. Naturally, there is a distinct possibility that Sky Watcher would simply generate another cannon to replace it, and then we're back to Square One. To make matters even worse, we have no way of knowing how many of those weapons Sky Watcher can effectively control at once. Once we cross that particular line, our chance of survival drops like a paralysed falcon.
Without warning, Héloise playfully swatted my bum with her Guardian knot. A decent thwack, too.
"Hoy, meneer! - Enough with the thousand-metre stares! J'ai faim, mangeons! Picnic time, now!"
"Sorry, love. I was awa' with the pixies again. Yon mucking great gun is doing my head in."
She grinned in that glorious dark way of hers. "You could always blow it up, you know."
I nodded, sucking air between my teeth. My gaze returned to the general direction of Pyramid Rock.
"That possibility is still very much on the table, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, there's no way of telling how the natives will respond to the attack. My gut tells me that's not a good idea. By the by, it also says it wouldn't mind a wee bite of something out of DIGBY's smashing tuck-box. Between you and me, I'm nicely inclined to that train of thought right now... Let's dig in."
If we're worried about Sky Watcher detecting elevated white blood cell counts in passengers on board Borealis, I'd think mighty hard before training weapons on that platform (Sky Watcher logic might be: if you're not infected, why are you taking precautions against quarantine enforcement?). Unless Selkirk is reasonably confident of his First Strike capability completely taking out the enforcement platform before it can get off a shot. Might be easier to do some sort of modification to the Valkyrie Field and put the entire population in there until Borealis is out of range. Or even cryosleep, but I think Sky Watcher would see through that one.
@0x6A7232Sky Watcher's detection capabilities are unknown.
Selkirk wouldn't blindly assume that Borealis is free to go without covering any possibility of being attacked, however remote that possibility may be.
@0x6A7232Sky Watcher's detection capabilities are unknown.
Selkirk wouldn't blindly assume that Borealis is free to go without covering any possibility of being attacked, however remote that possibility may be.
Has he considered firing into the thermal exhaust port?
Rather than settle for dainty mustard and cress sandwiches or a burly ploughman's lunch, DIGBY had pulled out all stops to provide our picnic luncheon. He had created an amazing o-bento meal, with both hot and cold components, all skillfully executed. There was a breathless moment of admiration, then our respective stomachs made their demanding presence known. It really was a shame, considering the exquisite level of craftsmanship DIGBY had devoted to each ingredient. However, these works of art were intended to be eaten. After an unspoken apology to our own Iron Chef, we reverently picked up our chopsticks and began eating.
Halfway through a delicious smoked Peeper norimaki, my PDA communicator chimed. JUNO.
"Go ahead, JUNO." I mumbled, "Sorry about that chewing noise. You caught me with a mouthful."
"My apologies, Captain. How's everything going up there?" JUNO inquired.
I swallowed the last mouthful quickly before replying. "Splendidly. Please convey our most sincere compliments to Chef DIGBY. You really should come up and join us, you know. There's still plenty to go around, and we haven't even reached the halfway point yet."
"We intend to do so momentarily, Sir. I merely called in ahead of our arrival, based on a probability that you may have been... Otherwise engaged." JUNO said tactfully.
Héloise immediately burst into a fit of laughter. "I had no idea that androids could be so prudish, Chérie. Forgive me, but that is soooo funny!"
"Now, lass. Settle." I chided. "I know most Belters wouldn't bat an eyelid when they've barged in on an intimate situation, but my crew have a well-developed notion of courtesy. I appreciate their concern. There's nothing quite like an audience to throw a spanner into the romantic works."
"C'est vrai." Héloise admitted. "Belters also like to make fun of unskilled lovers. Very loudly."
Fifty metres out, the water began to boil. Instantly, Minou flew into a mad panic, leaping clear of the water in a frantic attempt to flee this unseen threat. Héloise caught the Cutefish deftly in midair and cradled him gently in her arms, cooing softly to ease his terror. I immediately thought that this would end badly for the little fellow, and looked around for a suitable container to put him in. The only thing immediately handy is the thermo-electric cooler box, so I removed the rest of the food and descended to the lower platform to fill the chest with seawater. The cooler has an internal volume of 60 litres, which is more than enough to keep Minou happy, well and wet. It should do, at a pinch.
Aegis broke surface with a roar and whoosh of spray, throwing a glittering cascade of water from its conning tower and flanks. Presently, I saw JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY leaving the forward lockout hatch. IANTO and DIGBY carried another cooler chest between them as they swam, undoubtedly containing more delicacies for what was now, high tea time. Roughly two and a half hours remained until sunset. Well, we've got a big day coming our way tomorrow. We might as well enjoy this rare moment of unencumbered free time.
Minou soon found himself the centre of attention, and he was positively lapping it up. The Cutefish appeared to be quite comfortable paddling about in our cooler chest, occasionally raising himself out of the water to receive a tickle under his chin. IANTO's completely fascinated by this creature, but his scientific curiosity is no match for those soulful, highly expressive eyes. He's just as smitten as the rest of us.
"Captain, may I have your initial data on this creature?" IANTO asked. "I'm uncertain whether this species is a transitional phase of a previously encountered creature, or an entirely new evolutionary direction... It shares the same triple-helix DNA configuration as other life on this planet, although there are some rather puzzling anomalies that will require a more thorough examination, preferably performed under controlled conditions."
When IANTO mentioned the word 'examination', Héloise bristled defensively. I gently squeezed her hand and whispered that Minou would be entirely safe during IANTO's investigation. Word is bond.
"Nyet problema, mate. There you go." I shot a data-burst of the Cutefish biometric analysis to IANTO. "Now, you mentioned anomalies. What sort of anomalies are we talking about here?"
IANTO looked uncertainly at Minou. "First of all, his dual respiratory systems, Sir. This creature is also capable of obtaining oxygen directly from atmospheric air. Secondly, after reviewing your data, I am convinced that his potential level of intelligence is rather higher than one might first suspect. Far beyond simple mimicry of actions and elaborate swimming tricks, in fact. It responds to pleasant stimuli in an intelligent manner and actively seeks out 'friendly' company, which is highly unusual for any life form we've encountered here. The fact that such a creature has apparently evolved spontaneously is utterly inconceivable. Given that evolution needs hundreds of millennia to achieve this level of biological sophistication, Cutefish shouldn't even exist. Frankly Sir, I'm stumped."
"I sense the fine hand of Father of Tides at work here. Ballpark guess... How smart do you think he really is?" I prompted.
"I can only offer pure conjecture at this point, Sir. Assuming that Minou is a representative specimen of the species, my initial evaluation places Cutefish somewhere between chimpanzees and dolphins, at least in terms of demonstrated intelligence levels. A most remarkable creature in all respects."
As if to underscore IANTO's assessment, Minou spread all five tentacles to grip the rim of the cooler, then started playing a game of peek-a-boo with anyone who cared to join in. Every time he popped up in front of someone, he chirped and gurgled at them until he was rewarded with a tickle or a gentle head rub. Occasionally, someone would feed him a small morsel of vegetable matter, which he appeared to enjoy immensely. As far as the history of Terran space exploration is concerned, I'd be hard-pressed to find anything remotely like how we've spent this particular afternoon.
Okay, Spacers... I'll see your golf practice on Luna, and raise you four androids and a human taking high tea on a starship construction dock, with a giggling alien squid as a centrepiece. We have our Alice, but there's a wee shortage in the white rabbit, dormouse and Mad Hatter department.
As they say, strange things happen at sea. We're getting quite used to it.
We returned to The Broch shortly before midnight. Héloise turned in to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me and the crew to prepare temporary accommodation for the colonists. Although there is more than enough free space in here to nanolathe separate habitation modules for each family group, it seemed far more practical to create a dormitory arrangement and erect privacy screens between each set of bunks. At some stage fairly soon, Borealis will be fitted out with proper accommodation berths, and everyone will be living aboard her during the final stages of construction. Unfortunately, this means that their base on Kaori-san no-shima will have to be dismantled, along with most of the other Terran installations on the planet.
I say 'most'. I plan to leave one base fully functional. The Broch will remain as an emergency outpost, and I'll be installing a cache of advanced survival gear in the base pedestal of the Aurora memorial spire, along with a fully outfitted Seamoth. If any poor sods find themselves stranded on Manannán in future, I'm making damned certain that they'll make it through the ordeal in one piece, if not in a certain degree of style and remarkable comfort.
By all means, feel free to play Robinson Crusoe to your heart's content, if that strikes your fancy. I guarantee you'll be popping out to raid that cache inside a week.
By 04:00, everything needed for the personnel transfer had been loaded into Taranis. After a quick jolt of coffee and a final review of our game plan, we saddled up and headed out to Kaori-san no-shima. The broad plan was to decontaminate the transport sub Exodus first, then send the colonists through a series of decontamination spray races prior to boarding, clothes and all. The mixture we're using is perfectly safe for contact with human tissue, although it's still potent enough to rip the living crap out of Kharaa DNA. As for the base and its contents; a far more powerful version is being used to sanitise the colonists' goods and chattels. Naturally, there's going to be the inevitable dolly or teddy bear coming through with wee colonists, but that will be sorted with minimum fuss.
"Good morning, Captain Selkirk." Savini replied. "Taranis is cleared to proceed. Welcome aboard."
"Thanks, Enzo. How are you feeling today, laddie? You took a fair beating back there, but stayed the course regardless. That was fine job of work, by the by. Anyway, I hope you're mending well."
"I'm still a bit wobbly, Captain. But other than that, I'm basically fine. Thanks for looking after us."
"Nae problem, lad. JUNO and the others did all the real work. I just sat around barking orders."
Savini's hologram grinned wryly.
"That's not what I've heard, Sir. You all did some pretty wild stuff down there, didn't you? Héloise told us a swarm of Kharaa warriors had invaded the base."
I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Aye. There were a few hectic moments, I'll give you that."
Savini leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't suppose you have any vid-feeds you'd like to share?"
I chuckled. "Only if you don't feel like sleeping for the next decade, mate... Catch you later, okay?"
While the crew were setting up personnel decontamination stations in Exodus' dry maintenance bay, I started work on making the transport sub squeaky-clean inside and out. We had concocted two versions of Enzyme 42 specifically for this task. The outer hull mixture was by necessity far more concentrated, suspended in an inert gel designed to dissolve slowly in contact with seawater. By the time we return to The Broch, the exterior of the transport sub should be free of all traces of Kharaa contagion. Just in case, there's another automated spray race set up at the receiving end. I know this all sounds like a masterpiece of clean-freak paranoia, but we have to be absolutely certain that every last strand of Kharaa DNA is obliterated. Sure as the turning of the worlds, any shortcuts taken in this part of the process will return to bite us in the arse.
I climbed into the spray rig's exo-frame and fired it up. Aye, this one is purpose-built, as you've rightly guessed. Two hundred litres of Enzyme 42 concentrate and a high-pressure spray lance is a bit too much to lug around, and I don't feel like tripping over a hopeless tangle of hoses today. I guided the exo-frame into a telescopic service cradle, and extended its boom arm over Exodus. From this position, I could easily reach any point on the upper hull with the spray lance without fear of toppling off. This gel is fiendishly slick, and a nasty fall is something I'd rather avoid if I can help it.
The upper hull took ten minutes to cover thoroughly. A quick scan of the coating in the UV spectrum revealed a couple of patchy spots around the forward thruster nacelles, so I gave each one an extra dose to make a good job of it. Even so, that's something we'll have to watch immediately after launch. Now that all thruster turbines are nicely gooped up with E-42 gel, power will have to be applied sparingly until the worst of that mess has dispersed. Don't want a repeat of that unfortunate business with Crabsquid puree, do we?
Not looking forward to this part.
I dived into Exodus' onboard systems and activated her graviton lifters. The sub rose three metres into the air and hung suspended. Although everything checked out stability-wise, there wasn't a hope in hell of getting me to stand underneath her. There's old divers and bold divers... Still, I should be able to get a clear shot at her undercarriage without putting myself in harm's way. Nothing wrong with a little prudence, particularly when it involves fifty-odd tonnes of submersible floating on little more than a complex series of mathematical functions and happy thoughts. The Uncertainty Principle does have practical applications, after all.
With a considerable degree of relief, I lowered Exodus to the deck half an hour later. So many nooks and crannies to deal with, and only so many ways of attacking them with the sprayer's jet. Yes, there were a couple of tense moments as I ducked under the hull to reach some tricky spots. Even though I had complete control of this situation, I am firmly convinced that I may have watched far too many 'Roadrunner' cartoons for my own good. That was a 'coyote moment' waiting to happen.
By comparison, the sub's interior was an absolute doddle to decontaminate. All I had to do was couple a tank of the aerosol mix to the life support systems, and simply let it circulate for twenty minutes. This mix is designed to be highly volatile, creating a dense cloud of E-42 vapour as it expands in contact with normal atmospheric air. As it's non-flammable, there's no danger of a flash-fire if it should come in contact with a wayward spark, although I'll definitely have to change the air-scrubber cartridges after this procedure. Bless his little neoprene diving booties, IANTO did his best to clean up the smell of this compound...
But it still smells like a cow's fart in a pine forest.
All things considered, the transfer of colonists went surprisingly well. There were a few minor incidents along the way, thankfully made manageable with a few well-chosen words and a ready smile. I have to admit, there were a few worried faces as we assembled the colonists at the head of the decontamination setup. It looks a mite intimidating, and there's probably some echoes of past infamy associated with herding people through a facility such as this. Having been a human in a previous life, I'm fully aware of how deep those mental scars can run.
One thing was absolutely certain. The colonists need to be told what to expect. This version of the E-42 aerosol is suspended in a flash-evaporating fluorocarbon solvent that IANTO cooked up specifically for this application. Perfectly safe for contact with human tissue, but it does have one unfortunate side effect that won't endear it to anyone on the receiving end of this process.
It's a wee bit nippy. Negative 45 degrees Celsius, to be precise.
Of course, this sensation of intense cold is only momentary. To alleviate any physical distress, the final section of the spray race is equipped with heated blowers to take the chill out of your bones. Even so, it was obvious that a practical demonstration was required before anyone would enter. Unfortunately, any one of us androids wouldn't suffice, as I quickly discovered. Went through the whole process twice, in fact. Considering the amount of sound and fury that this rig generates, I'm not entirely surprised.
I smiled winningly at Héloise. She muttered something remarkably obscene in Cantonese, squared her shoulders and set off through the decontamination tunnel. As she disappeared into the swirling clouds of aerosol vapour, I heard her stifled yelp of surprise as the full blast of the spray jets kicked in. Seconds later, the fans roared into life. This time, Héloise was rather less restrained in her reaction to cryogenic shock. Suffice it to say, the storm of Belter curses that ensued was loud, highly inventive and entirely unprintable. Rather than dismay the colonists, this outburst provoked gales of bawdy laughter. At my expense, I might add. Something tells me I might have to wipe out another Kharaa hive single-handed to regain any semblance of dignity, particularly after this little episode.
Oh aye, the trip back to The Broch was such jolly fun. After the initial shock of decontamination, most of the colonists seemed to think it no worse than an unusually rigorous banya session. Granted, the icy dip came before the toasty-warm sauna part and there was a conspicuous absence of birch twigs. On the whole, our passengers settled down nicely afterwards. Well, aside from a trio of shrieking toddlers who could not be pacified by anything JUNO or I could say, do or offer. According to one of them, we are now officially Nasty Robots. Well, we'll just have to live with that.
One of the positives of being an android is an innate ability to filter out certain audio frequencies.
Smiling pleasantly to myself, I activated the sub's entertainment system and selected a fluffy Mozart piece to pass the time. Considering the level of suffering those wee howler monkeys are currently inflicting on our passengers, I should either select one of the Death Metal golden oldies as the next track, or flood the entire compartment with Anesthezine gas.
Comments
Cool your thrusters, folks. There will be another page shortly.
Hey, the Bumpasaurus is better than trying to force the story into CPR.
I would rather not get into that situation.
"JUNO here, Captain. I wish to report that all personnel are back online. Modifications successful."
"Glad to hear it. If you've got nothing else planned this afternoon, perhaps you'd all like to join us for a spot of R and R? We're heading over to Borealis to take a stickybeak at how she's going. Interested?"
"That sounds like an excellent idea, Sir. I shall inform IANTO and DIGBY immediately." JUNO replied.
"Oh, by the way... There's an added incentive. I'll leave its exact nature as a surprise. See you soon."
"Very good, Sir. Consider our curiosity suitably piqued." JUNO chuckled.
We returned to our Seamoths and set out for the construction dock at Skull Island. Eventually.
Minou shied away as he neared the submersibles, and it took a fair bit of coaxing to get him to approach any closer than 20 metres. To a wee chap like him, they would have looked every bit as menacing as a pair of Stalkers. However, once Héloise climbed into Artemis and waved at him, he must have twigged that the subs were safe to approach. Chirruping happily, he shot over to Artemis and began examining this strange new beast. As I watched him, I couldn't help but wonder how intelligent this creature actually is.
IANTO's probably far better equipped to analyse Cutefish behaviour than I am. My downloaded theoretical knowledge in xenobiology and behavioural science is sound enough, although I'm still susceptible to the old human knack for seeing near-human character traits in most animals. Call it a cultural weakness if you like, but it's hard to argue with over two centuries worth of funny animal videos. Believe me, billions of InfoCortex users will go bonkers over this little fellow's antics.
As far as I'm able to determine, Cutefish exist for the sole purpose of having fun. When they're not feeding, resting and (presumably) making teeny-tiny Cutefish, they appear to expend a considerable amount of energy by simply enjoying themselves. At the risk of going out on a limb here, I conjure that the sudden appearance of the Cutefish may be a subtle test posed by Father of Tides. Any animal that actively seeks out larger organisms for protection usually has something to offer in return. Back on Terra, tiny 'cleaners' such as wrasse and shrimps remove parasites and dead skin from larger fish. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement that works quite well. However, all that a Cutefish can 'do' is perform funny tricks, in return for our company and presumed protection. Unsurprisingly, this charming behaviour doesn't work on Stalkers. I guess that's the nature of this hypothetical test. As final confirmation of our stated intent, it's entirely possible that we are being judged by how we treat the very least of this planet's creatures. It's a bit of a stretch, I'll admit.
I swam over to Disco Volante. Just as I was about to enter the cockpit, Minou detached himself from Artemis and darted over to me. His little smile seemed to wane slightly as he sensed our departure. I beckoned him to follow us. Minou cocked his head quizzically, staring at my upturned palm as if uncertain of what he should do. With a resigned sigh, I held my right hand up as if to wave goodbye.
He responded to this gesture with a delighted, giggling spin and a crisp high-five.
That will do nicely.
Borealis has taken on a definite ship-like appearance since we last saw her. Less than three weeks ago, the keel was barely beginning to sprout ribs. During the Kharaa crisis, the drones had been beavering away tirelessly, working totally unsupervised for the majority of that time. Their orders have been clearly defined and there is no shortage of raw material. Apart from their scheduled maintenance breaks, the drones have been fabricating structural girders and external hull panels ceaselessly, working against an inexorable deadline dictated by Manannán's cyclic weather systems. In a little more than a month's time, the first signs of bad weather will start creeping in. We might get a couple of week's grace between hard blows for the first six months, but I wouldn't bank on it. When Manannán reaches perihelion, hurricane season digs its heels in good and proper. For the best part of a Solar year, in fact. That's time enough to become heartily sick of your favourite leisure activity. Time enough to turn a casual offer of another game of Monopoly into a full psychotic breakdown.
... And that's when we take the whole boat show down to full fathom five.
As soon as the outer hull is completely water-tight, the entire construction dock can be submerged. According to the production schedule (projected in glorious 3D for our perusal), the neutron accelerator silos salvaged from Aurora are being installed today. All the more reason to stay as far away from the action as possible. They're perfectly inert at the moment. Not a trace of stray radioactivity to be found in any of them. However, each silo weighs in at 120 tonnes, and there's going to be some heavy machinery swinging them around like a PT sergeant's Indian clubs. Once they're installed, additional shielding will be added to their outer casings and the surrounding engineering compartment. As far as RADSAFE is concerned, there's no such thing as minimal protection. Plenty of shielding will be placed where it's needed most. We can afford that luxury.
Speaking of shielding, I've come up with a contingency plan that I'm not terribly proud of.
There is always a distinct possibility that the Precursor cannon cannot be deactivated. My next major obstacle is convincing the entity known as Sky Watcher that we have permission to leave this planet, as granted by Father of Tides. I believe that this process may not be as simple as telling the cannon's Precursor AI that it's perfectly okay with the Big Boss, and we'll be toddling off now.
No bloody way.
It's going to involve another face-to-face encounter, just like that time with Keeper of Memories, only I've got this Sky Watcher pegged as the type who can't be talked around. An impeccable absolutist. Whatever conditions he needs met before granting us access to the weapon's controls, well... We're just going to buckle down and tick every single box that needs to be ticked with good grace. Too gorram close to escaping this planet to run afoul of some niggling Precursor technicality.
No, actually.
There's not much point to writing a sequel of a sequel. I'll leave that shi niou gosa to the hacks of Hollywood.
However, let's not discount the inspirational value of a large sum of money, willingly offered.
Sellout
Hardly. Let's call it 'survival'.
http://theoatmeal.com/comics/exposure
But if they do make a movie obviously Simon Pegg has to star doing his "scotty" voice
...that's pretty much why Hollywood does it. They know there's $$,$$$,$$$,$$$ in it.
Although we've beaten the Kharaa hands-down, there are still no guarantees of safe passage. Sky Watcher is the unknown variable in this equation, and I've been figuring out the safest way to deal with any potential lack of cooperation when Borealis is finally ready to launch. We'll play it safe and try the direct approach first. Since we have no way of knowing what scanning technology Sky Watcher uses, its effective detection range or trigger threshold, we'll have to feel our way through this situation very carefully. It's quite possible that any contact with the Kharaa contagion is enough to reactivate the planetary defence system. Infection leaves subtle traces in human body chemistry. Marker proteins, elevated white cell counts or neutralised fragments of the organism itself clearly indicate if an individual has been exposed to specific pathogens. As far as we can tell, all of the colonists are now free of the Kharaa infection. However, Sky Watcher may see it otherwise.
The abiding presence of the Precursor energy weapon isn't the only threat we face. As I discovered more than a century ago, Warpers are also capable of killing starships. To this end, I am equipping Borealis with tau-meson shielding, reverse-engineered from the system used to keep Father of Tides confined in the Lava Castle prison. Warper fields cannot penetrate a tau-meson barrier. This much is known. The Precursor cannon is another matter entirely. I can't even conceive a shield technology capable of withstanding a single shot from that weapon, let alone a constant barrage. Since the gun draws its power from a planetary energy network, it's quite possible that Sky Watcher would keep ramping up the juice until Borealis' shields collapsed. We certainly wouldn't break atmo in time.
My contingency plan for the Precursor gun is brutally direct. Borealis' mass-driver batteries will be trained on that gun emplacement as soon as they become operational. If that weapon so much as twitches during launch, we will blow it to pieces without the slightest hint of hesitation. I briefly considered using a low-yield nuke instead, although I conjure this planet has suffered enough from that form of technology. Naturally, there is a distinct possibility that Sky Watcher would simply generate another cannon to replace it, and then we're back to Square One. To make matters even worse, we have no way of knowing how many of those weapons Sky Watcher can effectively control at once. Once we cross that particular line, our chance of survival drops like a paralysed falcon.
Without warning, Héloise playfully swatted my bum with her Guardian knot. A decent thwack, too.
"Hoy, meneer! - Enough with the thousand-metre stares! J'ai faim, mangeons! Picnic time, now!"
"Sorry, love. I was awa' with the pixies again. Yon mucking great gun is doing my head in."
She grinned in that glorious dark way of hers. "You could always blow it up, you know."
I nodded, sucking air between my teeth. My gaze returned to the general direction of Pyramid Rock.
"That possibility is still very much on the table, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, there's no way of telling how the natives will respond to the attack. My gut tells me that's not a good idea. By the by, it also says it wouldn't mind a wee bite of something out of DIGBY's smashing tuck-box. Between you and me, I'm nicely inclined to that train of thought right now... Let's dig in."
Selkirk wouldn't blindly assume that Borealis is free to go without covering any possibility of being attacked, however remote that possibility may be.
Has he considered firing into the thermal exhaust port?
Halfway through a delicious smoked Peeper norimaki, my PDA communicator chimed. JUNO.
"Go ahead, JUNO." I mumbled, "Sorry about that chewing noise. You caught me with a mouthful."
"My apologies, Captain. How's everything going up there?" JUNO inquired.
I swallowed the last mouthful quickly before replying. "Splendidly. Please convey our most sincere compliments to Chef DIGBY. You really should come up and join us, you know. There's still plenty to go around, and we haven't even reached the halfway point yet."
"We intend to do so momentarily, Sir. I merely called in ahead of our arrival, based on a probability that you may have been... Otherwise engaged." JUNO said tactfully.
Héloise immediately burst into a fit of laughter. "I had no idea that androids could be so prudish, Chérie. Forgive me, but that is soooo funny!"
"Now, lass. Settle." I chided. "I know most Belters wouldn't bat an eyelid when they've barged in on an intimate situation, but my crew have a well-developed notion of courtesy. I appreciate their concern. There's nothing quite like an audience to throw a spanner into the romantic works."
"C'est vrai." Héloise admitted. "Belters also like to make fun of unskilled lovers. Very loudly."
Fifty metres out, the water began to boil. Instantly, Minou flew into a mad panic, leaping clear of the water in a frantic attempt to flee this unseen threat. Héloise caught the Cutefish deftly in midair and cradled him gently in her arms, cooing softly to ease his terror. I immediately thought that this would end badly for the little fellow, and looked around for a suitable container to put him in. The only thing immediately handy is the thermo-electric cooler box, so I removed the rest of the food and descended to the lower platform to fill the chest with seawater. The cooler has an internal volume of 60 litres, which is more than enough to keep Minou happy, well and wet. It should do, at a pinch.
Aegis broke surface with a roar and whoosh of spray, throwing a glittering cascade of water from its conning tower and flanks. Presently, I saw JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY leaving the forward lockout hatch. IANTO and DIGBY carried another cooler chest between them as they swam, undoubtedly containing more delicacies for what was now, high tea time. Roughly two and a half hours remained until sunset. Well, we've got a big day coming our way tomorrow. We might as well enjoy this rare moment of unencumbered free time.
"Captain, may I have your initial data on this creature?" IANTO asked. "I'm uncertain whether this species is a transitional phase of a previously encountered creature, or an entirely new evolutionary direction... It shares the same triple-helix DNA configuration as other life on this planet, although there are some rather puzzling anomalies that will require a more thorough examination, preferably performed under controlled conditions."
When IANTO mentioned the word 'examination', Héloise bristled defensively. I gently squeezed her hand and whispered that Minou would be entirely safe during IANTO's investigation. Word is bond.
"Nyet problema, mate. There you go." I shot a data-burst of the Cutefish biometric analysis to IANTO. "Now, you mentioned anomalies. What sort of anomalies are we talking about here?"
IANTO looked uncertainly at Minou. "First of all, his dual respiratory systems, Sir. This creature is also capable of obtaining oxygen directly from atmospheric air. Secondly, after reviewing your data, I am convinced that his potential level of intelligence is rather higher than one might first suspect. Far beyond simple mimicry of actions and elaborate swimming tricks, in fact. It responds to pleasant stimuli in an intelligent manner and actively seeks out 'friendly' company, which is highly unusual for any life form we've encountered here. The fact that such a creature has apparently evolved spontaneously is utterly inconceivable. Given that evolution needs hundreds of millennia to achieve this level of biological sophistication, Cutefish shouldn't even exist. Frankly Sir, I'm stumped."
"I sense the fine hand of Father of Tides at work here. Ballpark guess... How smart do you think he really is?" I prompted.
"I can only offer pure conjecture at this point, Sir. Assuming that Minou is a representative specimen of the species, my initial evaluation places Cutefish somewhere between chimpanzees and dolphins, at least in terms of demonstrated intelligence levels. A most remarkable creature in all respects."
As if to underscore IANTO's assessment, Minou spread all five tentacles to grip the rim of the cooler, then started playing a game of peek-a-boo with anyone who cared to join in. Every time he popped up in front of someone, he chirped and gurgled at them until he was rewarded with a tickle or a gentle head rub. Occasionally, someone would feed him a small morsel of vegetable matter, which he appeared to enjoy immensely. As far as the history of Terran space exploration is concerned, I'd be hard-pressed to find anything remotely like how we've spent this particular afternoon.
Okay, Spacers... I'll see your golf practice on Luna, and raise you four androids and a human taking high tea on a starship construction dock, with a giggling alien squid as a centrepiece. We have our Alice, but there's a wee shortage in the white rabbit, dormouse and Mad Hatter department.
As they say, strange things happen at sea. We're getting quite used to it.
I say 'most'. I plan to leave one base fully functional. The Broch will remain as an emergency outpost, and I'll be installing a cache of advanced survival gear in the base pedestal of the Aurora memorial spire, along with a fully outfitted Seamoth. If any poor sods find themselves stranded on Manannán in future, I'm making damned certain that they'll make it through the ordeal in one piece, if not in a certain degree of style and remarkable comfort.
By all means, feel free to play Robinson Crusoe to your heart's content, if that strikes your fancy. I guarantee you'll be popping out to raid that cache inside a week.
By 04:00, everything needed for the personnel transfer had been loaded into Taranis. After a quick jolt of coffee and a final review of our game plan, we saddled up and headed out to Kaori-san no-shima. The broad plan was to decontaminate the transport sub Exodus first, then send the colonists through a series of decontamination spray races prior to boarding, clothes and all. The mixture we're using is perfectly safe for contact with human tissue, although it's still potent enough to rip the living crap out of Kharaa DNA. As for the base and its contents; a far more powerful version is being used to sanitise the colonists' goods and chattels. Naturally, there's going to be the inevitable dolly or teddy bear coming through with wee colonists, but that will be sorted with minimum fuss.
"Kaori-san no-shima control, Taranis requesting docking clearance."
"Good morning, Captain Selkirk." Savini replied. "Taranis is cleared to proceed. Welcome aboard."
"Thanks, Enzo. How are you feeling today, laddie? You took a fair beating back there, but stayed the course regardless. That was fine job of work, by the by. Anyway, I hope you're mending well."
"I'm still a bit wobbly, Captain. But other than that, I'm basically fine. Thanks for looking after us."
"Nae problem, lad. JUNO and the others did all the real work. I just sat around barking orders."
Savini's hologram grinned wryly.
"That's not what I've heard, Sir. You all did some pretty wild stuff down there, didn't you? Héloise told us a swarm of Kharaa warriors had invaded the base."
I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Aye. There were a few hectic moments, I'll give you that."
Savini leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't suppose you have any vid-feeds you'd like to share?"
I chuckled. "Only if you don't feel like sleeping for the next decade, mate... Catch you later, okay?"
Merci beaucoup, Monsieur.
I climbed into the spray rig's exo-frame and fired it up. Aye, this one is purpose-built, as you've rightly guessed. Two hundred litres of Enzyme 42 concentrate and a high-pressure spray lance is a bit too much to lug around, and I don't feel like tripping over a hopeless tangle of hoses today. I guided the exo-frame into a telescopic service cradle, and extended its boom arm over Exodus. From this position, I could easily reach any point on the upper hull with the spray lance without fear of toppling off. This gel is fiendishly slick, and a nasty fall is something I'd rather avoid if I can help it.
The upper hull took ten minutes to cover thoroughly. A quick scan of the coating in the UV spectrum revealed a couple of patchy spots around the forward thruster nacelles, so I gave each one an extra dose to make a good job of it. Even so, that's something we'll have to watch immediately after launch. Now that all thruster turbines are nicely gooped up with E-42 gel, power will have to be applied sparingly until the worst of that mess has dispersed. Don't want a repeat of that unfortunate business with Crabsquid puree, do we?
Not looking forward to this part.
I dived into Exodus' onboard systems and activated her graviton lifters. The sub rose three metres into the air and hung suspended. Although everything checked out stability-wise, there wasn't a hope in hell of getting me to stand underneath her. There's old divers and bold divers... Still, I should be able to get a clear shot at her undercarriage without putting myself in harm's way. Nothing wrong with a little prudence, particularly when it involves fifty-odd tonnes of submersible floating on little more than a complex series of mathematical functions and happy thoughts. The Uncertainty Principle does have practical applications, after all.
With a considerable degree of relief, I lowered Exodus to the deck half an hour later. So many nooks and crannies to deal with, and only so many ways of attacking them with the sprayer's jet. Yes, there were a couple of tense moments as I ducked under the hull to reach some tricky spots. Even though I had complete control of this situation, I am firmly convinced that I may have watched far too many 'Roadrunner' cartoons for my own good. That was a 'coyote moment' waiting to happen.
By comparison, the sub's interior was an absolute doddle to decontaminate. All I had to do was couple a tank of the aerosol mix to the life support systems, and simply let it circulate for twenty minutes. This mix is designed to be highly volatile, creating a dense cloud of E-42 vapour as it expands in contact with normal atmospheric air. As it's non-flammable, there's no danger of a flash-fire if it should come in contact with a wayward spark, although I'll definitely have to change the air-scrubber cartridges after this procedure. Bless his little neoprene diving booties, IANTO did his best to clean up the smell of this compound...
But it still smells like a cow's fart in a pine forest.
Damn.
All things considered, the transfer of colonists went surprisingly well. There were a few minor incidents along the way, thankfully made manageable with a few well-chosen words and a ready smile. I have to admit, there were a few worried faces as we assembled the colonists at the head of the decontamination setup. It looks a mite intimidating, and there's probably some echoes of past infamy associated with herding people through a facility such as this. Having been a human in a previous life, I'm fully aware of how deep those mental scars can run.
One thing was absolutely certain. The colonists need to be told what to expect. This version of the E-42 aerosol is suspended in a flash-evaporating fluorocarbon solvent that IANTO cooked up specifically for this application. Perfectly safe for contact with human tissue, but it does have one unfortunate side effect that won't endear it to anyone on the receiving end of this process.
It's a wee bit nippy. Negative 45 degrees Celsius, to be precise.
Of course, this sensation of intense cold is only momentary. To alleviate any physical distress, the final section of the spray race is equipped with heated blowers to take the chill out of your bones. Even so, it was obvious that a practical demonstration was required before anyone would enter. Unfortunately, any one of us androids wouldn't suffice, as I quickly discovered. Went through the whole process twice, in fact. Considering the amount of sound and fury that this rig generates, I'm not entirely surprised.
I smiled winningly at Héloise. She muttered something remarkably obscene in Cantonese, squared her shoulders and set off through the decontamination tunnel. As she disappeared into the swirling clouds of aerosol vapour, I heard her stifled yelp of surprise as the full blast of the spray jets kicked in. Seconds later, the fans roared into life. This time, Héloise was rather less restrained in her reaction to cryogenic shock. Suffice it to say, the storm of Belter curses that ensued was loud, highly inventive and entirely unprintable. Rather than dismay the colonists, this outburst provoked gales of bawdy laughter. At my expense, I might add. Something tells me I might have to wipe out another Kharaa hive single-handed to regain any semblance of dignity, particularly after this little episode.
Oh aye, the trip back to The Broch was such jolly fun. After the initial shock of decontamination, most of the colonists seemed to think it no worse than an unusually rigorous banya session. Granted, the icy dip came before the toasty-warm sauna part and there was a conspicuous absence of birch twigs. On the whole, our passengers settled down nicely afterwards. Well, aside from a trio of shrieking toddlers who could not be pacified by anything JUNO or I could say, do or offer. According to one of them, we are now officially Nasty Robots. Well, we'll just have to live with that.
One of the positives of being an android is an innate ability to filter out certain audio frequencies.
Smiling pleasantly to myself, I activated the sub's entertainment system and selected a fluffy Mozart piece to pass the time. Considering the level of suffering those wee howler monkeys are currently inflicting on our passengers, I should either select one of the Death Metal golden oldies as the next track, or flood the entire compartment with Anesthezine gas.
Decisions, decisions...
Whoa slow down hitler