Chapter 11

"Knife's Edge"

Eve did not like the box. It was three by three feet by three feet square, made of steel, and smelled of several centuries of dust. She had checked three times. The fact she couldn't move wasn't helpful either. There was just enough space for that she could lay in hibernation mode with her eyes open. The fact that that se was missing an arm was also somewhat disquieting, but she was focusing on the things that were immediately ahead of her, like getting out of the box, which she may or not be able to fix.

She slammed her remaining arm against the side of the box, making the small box fill with the resounding echo. She waited, counting the seconds. There was a reply in the form of a slamming fist into the side of the box, which Eve felt slide a few feet. Anything too loud got a reminder of her position. The box, for all its faults, was fairly sturdy. Now Eve just had less space, which was a loss. But she gained the knowledge her captor was never very far away.

Somehow, she was not comforted.

The hallway was filled with guards. They all looked ready to charge in to the room, but they relented. This was now a hostage situation. The hunter and GOBLY-N technically had two hostages. This was despite the fact that they could see Burn-E wheeling around the room putting out the fires with a fire extinguisher, and the GOBLY-N on the ground still slightly smoking from the ion fires.

The far more disturbing thought is was that no one could see the hunter. They were all aware it was in there, obvious because something seemed to kick the container Eve had been hidden. The smallest of doubts formed in every mind. Everyone wanted to be a hero. Of course, no one to have their head unscrewed from their shoulders to earn it. Most of "security" was off shift construction workers and the like with time to spare for a mostly esoteric job. So what ended up happening was a tight cluster of security near the opening but no one quite ended up in front of anyone else, forming a constantly shifting mob where everyone shuffled to and fro.

Senior was tired of waiting. He'd been quietly weighing his options, arms flexing slightly. On three hands, his directives told him he needed to assist the GOBLY-N, knowing that the damage it had suffered was far greater than before. On three others, his common sense weighed in that there was the unknown quantity of the hunter, and it had already hurt someone before and had a, careful to note, important hostage. Another hand reminded him that the hunter may have been under similar constraints as when the GOBLY-N had first arrived and was now free to make its own decision. His last hand asked how fast he could run if he really had to.

Of course, sitting here would resolve nothing. Eventually, someone would do something monumentally stupid and it would end in a blood bath. At least all he decided to do was just horrendously stupid, which was at least somewhat comforting. He began to move for the door. The other repair bots began to follow, whether through ingrained loyalty or blind obedience to their directives, Senior didn't know. The sound of their wheels rolling down the hall filled the quiet space.

The guards parted to let them through. One or two looked ready to speak. But hey seemed oddly ready to let them go. Senior was three feet from the threshold of the cargo bay when a steward hovered into his path, which Senior recognized as the watch commander, unit 60. He had a reputation for being uncompromising, even before the Axiom had returned to Earth. He'd even refused a name, preferring to be called simply by his unit number. There was still a faint scorch mark where Eve had shot him during the now famous showdown on the service decks between the rogue robots and the steward, and he'd steadfastly refused to have the scorches buffed out. In other words, he was still several mental miles from the forgiveness stage of "forgive and forget".

"Halt," 60 said simply.

"Don't do this, 60. There's someone hurt in there," Senior replied in machine code, rolling up to the steward and staring him in the eyes.

"You've got a good heart, Senior, but I think you're a little out of depth right now. It's not a someone, it's a thing," 60 said, also in machine code.

"I know my duty when I see it."

"Right. And my duty is the security of this ship and the protection of the people who live in and around it. Aiding the killing machine seems to violate that."

"It hasn't hurt anyone!"

"Regardless."

The corridor was silent again. This was a rare moment. The colonies administration was run with a united face, and cracks in that face had to be plastered over in private. A little doubt and the whole colony could fall apart. Most humans couldn't understand machine codes actual wording, but understanding robot body language wasn't difficult, especially when they were having a shouting match in front of a large crowd. 60 and Senior reached the same conclusion at the same time.

"You can go in, but at the first sign that it's going to turn on us, you're out and it's a security job," 60 said quickly, broadcasting in English so everyone could understand.

"Fine," Senior said, perhaps too harshly.

"One condition: I go in with you."

"Acceptable. Just don't try to be a hero."

"Not my job."

60 moved out of Senior's way without another word. The repair bots wheeled into the chamber, 60 following at the rear.

"Jan, you're in charge till I get back," said 60, the unspoken amendment to that sentence being "or get a metal bolt through the face".

It took a short amount of time to cross over to where the GOBLY-N lay. There was a lot of heat coming off it, like a stove that had been left off all night. Burn-E had rolled over, nervously tapping his hand together. The GOBLY-N stared up at Senior, the cracked eye making it seem especially pitiful. There were dozens of holes in its armor, each one a burned mess. Mot of the paint had flaked off because of the heat, the metal dull beneath. Something sparked inside, and there was a small cloud of smoke.

"Okay people, let's do this quickly. Fix what we can here to get it moving again," Senior said, readying his manipulators, a small laser saw activating on one arm.

"Uh-," was all that got out of 60's speaker before Senior's vision was filled up with a fist a few inches from his face. It had just seemed to appear out of the air, a mass of scarred blue metal. He heard a voice in a machine code, no doubt, originating from the head which was undoubtedly attached.

"Directive?"

"Err…," Senior began. There was clicking sound, and the fist was dropped slightly. Now Senior was forced to stare into the muzzle of a bolt launcher.

"Directive?"

"R-repair robot! I fix things. You understand that don't you?" Senior said hurriedly, the world shrinking to the muzzle of the bolt launcher. Senior could here 60 opening his containment field projectors very slowly.

There was a clicking sound, and the arm was raised, folding back against the hunter, which stepped out of the center of rough circle of repair droids with a single step. It gestured for Senior to continue, watching him closely.

"Let's get to work," Senior said.

The emergency section of the hospital ward was in pandemonium, the air filled with screams of pains, shouted orders for help, and the whir of surgeon robots trying to pull people back from the edge. Every few minutes brought another patient, another crisis. Some suffered from broken limbs, concussions and laceration. And those were the lucky ones. One man had an arm brutally amputated when a chunk of concrete had landed on it. A woman's entire left side was covered in acid burns.

The robots were silent. Each surgeon robot moved with grace, like a member of an angelic chorus. They were imperturbable, whether in the face of crushed limbs, shattered bone. McCrea watched as one medical bot restrained a thrashing patient while another injected a sedative. McCrea turned to the steward next to him. They had moved as far out of the way as possible, trying not to gum the works.

"How many, 23?"

"Ninety four cases of light to moderate injury all tended to. Seventy cases of severe to life threatening cases, currently with thirty in critical condition.

"And dead?" McCrea asked, bracing him for what he didn't want to hear.

"Twelve deceased. Ten missing," the steward said slowly. 23 was more or less the friendly face of security. He had what 60 didn't have: charisma. Most stewards had moved on to other job, but 23 had brought in people and robots that had no experience but had a willingness to use their off time for something meaningful. He had kept it simple, make sure no one walked onto a construction or demolition site in the middle of the night, and beyond that it was just another job. He understood, at least in a detached way, how humans thought. McCrea winced but kept going on.

"Missing?"

"We think they may have fallen into that hole that… thing ripped in the ground. We're trying to shift the creature, but we can't bring anything too heavy in, or it might just collapse the rest of the area."

"Can you get into the sewers?"

"Same problem. When that thing died, is death spasms flooded the system and brought down the remaining clear tunnels. Everything else down there is a potential biohazard."

McCrea slumped against the wall, and sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook once, and 23 caught a stifled sob.

"Sir?"

"Nothing, nothing," McCrea said, his voice low, "Just tell me, what started this whole mess."

"Reports are contradictory at best and incomprehensible at worst."

"Give me the overall picture."

"At 3:23:19 Standard Time, two thousand five hundred citizens of the colony were in the area referred to as "The Square" during the event named Market Da-"

"Important stuff, 23."

"Uh, right. At 3:27:41 unclassified organism one, hereby UO1 erupted from the ground. Most injuries result from initial attack. UO1 primary tentacles only appendages visible for first five minutes of attack, as well as a bright blue glow. Several tentacles are shown to have been burned by ion fire, consistent with EVE probe ion cannon. Axiom computers show shots fired by Probe 01, also known as Eve. And then…"

"Keep going."

"PR-T unit 10, group reference "Rogue", recorded Paroled Unit GOBLY-N at 3:33:28 in direct conflict with UO1. Used weapon of unknown type, resulting in severe damage to UO1 primary ends at 3:36:46 as PR-T 10 leaves area at behest of steward 11."

"So what happened after that?"

"Unclear. Two confirmed ion cannon shots at 3:39:36, and unknown audio recorded on intercom channel 18. Paroled Unit GOBLY-N sighted exiting area at 3:40:01, carrying Wall-E unit 31267, followed by Probe 01, in apparent pursuit. Witness report ion damage on the GOBLY-N and first responders-"

"Wait, go back, 23," McCrea said suddenly, alert.

"Er, at 3:36-"

"23, you're telling me the GOBLY-N took Wall-E as a hostage?

"Er…yes?"

"Why didn't you tell me? That might be somewhat important if it's gone rogue!"

"Sorry, sir. You were busy organizing the response groups. 60 is currently handling it, sir."

"Isn't 60 handling the dismantling of the hunter?"

"Yes, but Paroled Unit GOBLY-N reactivated the hunter unit and well…it's complicated after that."

McCrea stood. He began to walk for the exit of the medical ward. 23 followed at his shoulder.

"Sir?" 23 asked hesitantly.

"Brief me on the situation on the way."

"Could you lift him slightly?"

The hunter responded without a word, grabbing the GOBLY-N by its shoulders and pushing it into a sitting position. The large robot was quiet as it moved, not even protesting the fact that Senior began to cut off sections of ruined steel with a laser saw. It simply stared dully ahead, eyes emitting a low purple glow.

Senior watched a repair bot pull a burned out servo from the GOBLY-N's remaining arm. Senior was slowly realizing that the GOBLY-N was going to need another overhaul if it was going to get back on its feet again. But he was surprised that it was still actually functioning. He'd seen what EVE probe ion cannons could do to most matter. And the thing had survived two dousing over the course of one week.

"I have to ask… how can the GOBLY-N sustain damage like this,…er designation?" Senior asked, turning his head towards the hunter

The hunter was silent for a few moments, a clicking sound emanating from its head. Its single remaining green eye watched the repair bots work like a hawk, not threatening, but merely an idle warning. Senior had turned back to the examining the GOBLY-N's internal systems when the hunter spoke in machine code.

"Enhanced durability ceramic metals and mini heat sinks in the outer shell negate the majority of heat damage, as well as protects against most conventional weapons."

Senior was silent for a moment, re-soldering a loose wire.

"Designation?"

"The hunter was silent for a moment, the clicking sound coming again before it spoke.

"This unit was filed under Project HM 1Z34 in sub file 2D32 under "Artemis". "

"Thank you, Artemis."

Senior turned back to his work. He heard 60 talking to Eve, who they'd been compelled to leave locked in the crate.

"One knock, yes. Two knocks no. Got that?"

There was a single knock on the side of the crate and a muffled string of machine code.

"I'm going to pretend I couldn't understand that. Now do you know why you're staying in the crate?"

One knock back.

"Good. Now you know you're staying in there?"

Two knocks.

"You've managed to reduce half of the cargo bay to slag, and you're still as trigger happy as ever."

Senior tuned out the rest of the conversation which would probably turn into a childish game of taunts. 60 should have known better but it's hard not to get a measure of revenge on someone who's nearly killed you. Which in an odd way, Senior realized why Eve had done was a logical extension of this. He filed that away in his head for future consideration, which meant he'd ask a human to explain to elaborate on vengeance and the like.

"You can let him down now," Senior said, satisfied that he'd done all he could to patch up the GOBLY-N's back He moved on to the robot's head. One of the visual units would have to be replaced, and someone was probably going to have to check the neck servos when they got it back to the repair ward. Which led to a whole different set of problems, since the GOBLY-N probably couldn't walk properly. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

And unfortunately, it was at that moment Captain McCrea decided to enter the cargo bay. He was not a man that was easy to make angry, or even frustrated. Senior struggled to remember any time he had seen him angry, even raised his voice above his usual genial tone. The person striding across the cargo bay with fists balled and red faced seemed to be a doppelganger that had fulfilled the role without any attempts at mimicking its victim.