Thank you, Tikatu, Creative Girl, and Whirl Girl! =) Sometimes still scared of reviews (because some of them are Boojums) but yours are always a pleasure to read. Nearly done, believe it or not. ;)
49
Tracy Island, the present-
Moving very quietly, Sally eased her way into the cryo-lab, where four dark, buzzing tubes kept death just barely away from her boys. A purple-haired girl was inside, sleeping on a cot, next to Alan's cold prison. Piper. She was all but alone there, because Emma and Ridley had been quarantined on Union Jack. Doctor's orders.
Lady Penelope was up at the desk, meanwhile, minding the store whilst Sally took some time to go visit. The other person present, Parker, stood off in the shadows, unsleeping, arms folded across his chest. He nodded once, as the tired old woman glanced his way, then went back to being the perfect bodyguard; never in the way, never out of the way. Grandma Tracy returned the nod. Parker would not interfere with her plans, and she knew it.
In her right hand, she held a small, precious, nearly empty glass vial. See… long ago, when they'd been five and three, respectively, Scott and John had been baptized. Had taken Communion, once, too. Then, never again, for there were no more priests left on Earth. Virgil and Alan had never received either sacrament, and that thought tore at Sally's anguished heart.
Now, too wracked with pain even for prayer, she stumbled from one cryo-sleep tube to the next, making certain gestures, saying certain soft words. Weeping silently, she used up the last of her holy water; doing the only thing left she could do, for her dying boys.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Tracy Island, seven hundred years later-
Mini-Max A had zipped into the small enclosure at the Doctor's command. He was part of a group, with conscious awareness shifting between small, buzzing units and Max-Prime. Mini-Max A was no longer in contact with Max-Prime, or with Eos. The time jump had severed those connections, leaving the small swarm of Maxes almost entirely isolated. Occasionally, he sensed a brief spark of machine intelligence, but such outbursts were very faint, and quite distant. 3125.262 miles distant, across the curve of a very changed Earth.
Gone was the chirping chorus of satellites and space probes. Gone, too, the constant background hum of internet traffic. It was the electronic equivalent of plunging from the heart of a vast, thriving city at New Year's Eve, to an icy cornfield in distant Nebraska.
Now, Mini-Max A was about to be dislocated, again. In space, this time. The Doctor broadcast affirmation for positive outcome, and then sealed the doors. Next, the enclosure's mechanisms surged into action, harnessing energies drawn from another dimension (as though someone could open a portal in midair leading to the darkest abyssal sea, causing cold, anoxic water to blast sideways in a huge, roaring column… and then used it to power a wheel).
Then (Mini-Max A had no analogue for this) the space between the enclosure and its target destination simply folded away. Just dropped out of existence in a direction unknown to Max-A. All of the brave little probe's sensors reacted wildly, unstably, as though Physics had deserted him, entirely.
Then the world grew firm, once again. The Doctor signaled him, once more providing an anchoring line of data and purpose. He was to leave the enclosure now, and observe his surroundings.
Getting his bearings, Max-A scanned the room at all wavelengths, transmitting visual and auditory data back to the waiting Doctor. This new enclosure was dark, but for a few weak, flickering visual EM sources on the overhead. The destination map was darkened and incomplete, here, showing only one accessible dome.
Mini-Max A took a full, three-hundred-sixty-degree scan of the enclosure, then followed the Doctor's directive to leave the place. He had just zipped over to the doors, when they creaked open. Not automatically, as at the dome he'd left, but mechanically; pulled apart by robot hands and clawed graspers.
Mini-Max A hovered in midair, assailed by sudden communication. Transmissions were being emitted, using protocols with which he was unfamiliar, but to which he could adapt. He transmitted snippets of these to the Doctor, but made no other overt move.
There is a law among mechanicals, asserting that upon first meeting, no potentially hostile scan shall take place, until introductory protocols have been exchanged. Mini-Max A could observe, using his large, sensitive lenses, but anything deeper would have been rude. He was faced with a mixed group of seven robots, probes and devices; some humanoid, some purely functional, a few entirely alien. He could not scan at any deeper level, nor transmit what he'd seen, before permission was granted by those beeping, chirping others.
In .063 of a femto-second, actual contact was established. Mini-max A introduced himself first, being the visitor. He encountered electronic handshakes from X-32, Zyp, Sweeper and four others, some of which he lacked the symbology to reproduce or pronounce.
Conversation did not take place such as a human could understand. Data were exchanged, scans initiated, permissions granted. Then, Mini-Max A came forth among those waiting, hopeful others. He surveyed his expanded environment, detecting a roaring noise and pressure changes indicative of high winds nearby. From time to time, the entire passageway shook.
Fine drifts of reflective, gritty ash lined forty-two-point-one percent of the perceived doorways, which flexed and trembled at each blast of wind. Power was weak, and being conserved. Although offered a charge, Mini-max A declined. In living-sentient terms, that would have been like taking a big bite of a starving man's last biscuit.
The others conducted him about what remained of their dwelling, and Mini-Max A scanned. He detected a collapsed, ruined dome. Saw high-piled, nano-particle "ash", shielded organic remains, but no lifeforms whatever.
X-32 expressed regret that Mini-max A was not a living sentient. They had maintained themselves here and conserved power for many millions of cycles, hoping for the return of "people", but none had come.
Together, the swarm of bots zipped, rolled, clunked and clattered down-passage, taking in what sights there were. The heart of the tour was a cleanroom with transparent walls, containing skeletal remains. Mini-Max imaged the fragile bones of seventeen individuals; all humanoid. Most showed no sign of violence. Just severe depletion. One appeared to have fallen from a great height. Attempting to repair the dome, X-32 informed him. The effort had not been successful.
Back at West Dome, nearly everyone had gathered around the screen projecting the probe's camera feed. There was a very slight time lag, and the images came back to them in stark black and white.
As nearly as Brains could determine, North Dome was in a state of collapse, with just a few corridors and the stepping across room still maintained and powered. When the doors were forced open, he nearly fell out of his seat, and almost triggered a panic-return jump. Only, Mini-Max A was just part of the whole, not his entire 'child'. Should one body be lost, the rest would continue. That's what kept him from pushing the button, and saved all of their lives.
The doors squealed apart, revealing a motley collection of drones and robots, obviously much-patched and repaired. Some had limbs clearly belonging to other, defunct models. Brains could see the spot-welds and rewiring. He waited as Mini-max A established contact, then studied the scans.
"Just robots?" asked Sheffield, from behind and over his right shoulder.
"S- So it would, ah… would appear, L- Lieutenant Commander. The d- dome schematic reveals m- massive damage, so it is, perhaps, not, ah… not s- surprising that only mechanicals would remain." He'd detected no local sign or remnant of Eos, either. No internet or electronic traffic, at all.
"What's all that dust?" asked Major Pope, leaning in for a closer look. "Volcanic ash, or something? Did we get hit?"
Brains glanced aside at Moffy, who was parsing and deciphering scanned data. She looked up from her laptop, after a moment, rather white-faced.
"No, Major. We did not get "hit". We got devoured. Those dust granules are nanobots of some kind. They appear drawn to organic compounds."
"Of w- which there are very, ah… very f- few remaining in the North D- Dome," added Brains.
Through the eyes of Mini-max, they could see a cleanroom, containing the skeletal remains of perhaps twenty people. It looked like a transparent, well-maintained shrine.
"Then…" Sheff worked out, placing a sudden, protective hand on Sharl's tall, stooping form. "It's not just that nobody's answering… it's that there's nothing else alive, out there."
Professor Moffat tidied her workspace, a thing she always did when upset. Very quietly, over the faint, keening whistle that was coming from Sharl and her people, Moffy said,
"It looks as if you are correct, Mr. Sheffield. The organics of this world… and its colonies… have been dismantled and devoured by self-replicating nanites. This is it, gentlemen and ladies. This is the end."
Reflexively, Brains put an arm around Moffy. Shook his head, but said,
"We c- cannot bring Mini-Max back, or those abandoned robots. They might be infected with dust."
Moffy took his hand, and squeezed it.
"Hiram," she whispered. "Unless we can come up with some way to solve this disaster… I'm not certain that we dare return home. What if we bring it back with us, somehow?"
Indeed… and that was when Brains made a very important decision; once again putting all of his chips on one colour.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Out in the dome, by a very old playground and living space-
"Hey! A swing-set!" Caleb laughed. "I remember these!"
Whooping, the dark-haired young aquanaut launched himself at a swing, plunked down on the black rubber seat, seized the chains and started to haul ass; kicking and pumping with both legs, tugging back on those chains like a very wild kid.
"C'mon, Kaise!" he shouted at his wide-eyed companion. "Hop on! It's fun!"
Although he hadn't done it in ages, Caleb still recalled how to swing. Now, in that big, empty playground, he worked himself up into higher and higher arcs until, at the very top, when he was dizzy with joy, speed and vertigo, he yelled,
"Hey, Kaise! Watch this!"
…and leapt off the swing. Flew through the air, somersaulted, and should have stuck that landing. Would have, if he'd had more practice, and a softer surface to hit. Instead, after the horizon stopped wheeling about him, and gravity took hold, he struck the ground, hopped a few times, flailed and then crashed to his hands and knees. Tore his uniform. Scraped his hands pretty good, too.
Back home, he would've got laughed at. Here, Kaise was screaming and… crying? Over a playground spill?
"Hey! Hey, c'mon, Kaise! It's not that bad!" Caleb assured her, rocking back into a squatting position, and blowing onto his abraded palms. "I've done lots worse falling off of my bike, trust me. Hey, for real, princess… it's okay!"
She had her eyes closed, both hands covering her golden-tan face, which was wet with genuine tears.
"Tell you what," he told her. "Get my first aid kit… it's on my belt, at the back… right there, yeah… and you can help me patch myself up."
"First aid?" Kaise repeated, in that hoarse-honey voice of hers, still mourning his loss of skin and his bloodied, dirt-streaked hands. "This is being help for harm?"
"Yeah, well… it hurts at first, especially the antiseptic and nu-skin… but it makes you better, after awhile. That's important, when you land on your butt as often as I do."
He got the first aid kit open (Kaise had to help him with the zipper, because his scraped hands and sprained fingers didn't work very well.) Then, Caleb showed the girl how to spray antiseptic and apply artificial skin matrix.
"There, see? I'll be good as new before you know it, and pulling some fresh dumbass stunt."
Kaise very gently touched that pink nu-skin barrier with a long, skinny forefinger.
"This… makes well? It is to healing you, not just closing?"
Caleb grinned at her. Truthfully, he'd been glad to find the playground; glad to get away from weird, sad stories of big ships, ash-storms and sickness. No wonder they'd been so goofy about the Brain's message! Everything else around here was a total downer, man.
"Do you thinking, Cabe, that this "skin-new" is working on me?" Kaise asked him, green eyes like searchlights. (Seriously, her face changed to match her feelings, like, all the time. It was cool, once you got used to it.)
"Sure, why not?" boasted Caleb, trying to make his eyes big, too. Patting a swing, he went on, "have a seat and show me the boo-boo, pretty lady. Dr. Caleb is in da house!"
Very carefully, folding herself up like a fragile, jointed wooden toy, Kaise sat down on the swing. Caleb held it steady for her, talking the whole time and offering a friendly hand. Then, looking at him with apologetic, puppy-dog eyes, she changed.
XXXXXXXXXX
London, former U.K., at the GDF Hospital's "secure ward"-
Maybe one of the bravest things he ever did was to open that door, and walk into Room B. Saw a wide, but barren space with badly corroded barred windows and a single occupant. No furniture, no anything else. Just a very young boy (10 years old? 11?) crouching naked on the floor. Maybe he'd had clothes once, but they were gone to dust, now. The boy had toffee-coloured hair and wide, frightened brown eyes.
"Hey, there… I'm Gordon. Want to get out of here?"
Wasn't sure that the brain-scraped kid would understand speech, but after a second, he nodded. Feeling a little encouraged, Gordon smiled at him.
"Okay. I'm going to come closer, if you'll let me. I'm here to help, so what I'm doing is walking up to you, and giving you my shirt to wear, okay? You good with that?"
Because a little, naked, scary-powerful kid would be tough to explain, wandering the hospital corridors with Gordon.
"I'm coming over, now. Let's count the steps. Can you count?"
Nervously, shrinking into himself more tightly still, the boy nodded. Breathed something that might have been 'yes'.
"Okay… I'm betting it's seven steps over there to where you are. What d'you think it is? Eight? Nine?"
The boy was hanging on his words, his voice, like there was nothing else in the world. After a second, he whispered,
"Is ten."
Gordon smiled again, saying,
"Okay. You're on, Big Guy. We'll count together. If I win… I get eternal bragging rights. If you win… you get my very last celery crunch bar. Sound good?"
Gordon wanted to ask the kid's name, only, he probably didn't know it. Scrapies lost everything.
"Here we go. One… count with me, Charlie, okay?" (Called him that, because the little fellow reminded of him Royce's brother, Charles. Friend from the swim team, long story.) "Two…"
The little guy was counting, now; still looking directly at Gordon with hope, loss and terror, combined.
"Three," they said together, as the window bars crumbled to rust, and a chunk of plaster fell off of the wall.
"Four." The door came off one hinge and just hung there, slantwise, shedding flakes.
"Five." His wrist comm screen had gone purple, like Havok's armour. Nice. Just her subtle way of letting him know that he was still being watched, Gordon supposed.
"Six." He began taking shorter steps. Partly because he wanted Charlie to win, partly because the floor was breaking apart beneath him.
"Seven… eight… nine annnd… ten! Here I am, and you win. How 'bout that prize, Big Guy? Ready to eat?"
The boy seemed not to know how to answer that question. Just looked up at him, shivering with cold and confusion.
"Here it is, in my pocket. It's a celery crunch bar, and you're supposed to eat it." Gordon very carefully reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out the prize, narrating every step as he did so. "I'll unwrap it, like this, then I'll give it to you, okay? Here, try some."
The boy's brown eyes went from Gordon's face, to the crunch bar, and back again. After a moment, he reached a trembling hand out and took hold of the offered food.
Gordon crouched down in front of the kid, watching as he first tasted, then bolted the treat.
"Heh! You like those things too, huh? I kinda got addicted to them, in swim practice."
The boy finished everything, including the crumbs. Maybe no one had been brave enough to bring him anything to eat, for awhile? Said Gordon,
"Listen, Charlie…"
"Charlie?" the kid repeated, pointing at himself. "I am Charlie?"
He looked so hopeful that Gordon didn't dare tell the truth, which was that he had no frickin' clue. Dos Santos was the only name he'd heard from Havok.
"Yeah," he replied, "Because that's who you look like. I promise we'll find out for sure, once we get out of here."
Charlie seemed to think. Then, he said,
"We… you help me? Please… you help me home?"
Maybe it was a dumb thing to promise, but Gordon nodded, yes, anyhow.
"Yeah, Big Guy. We'll get you home. Bet me, someone's out there looking for you, just as much as you want to find them. All we gotta do is put you together. I'm with International Rescue, and we're good at that stuff. Now, what I'm going to do next is, take off my rugby shirt, here, so you can wear it… Wallabies, gotta love 'em. Sound like a plan? I'll be moving around a lot, but it's just to get the shirt off and give it to you, so you won't be cold. Ready? You're okay, or I don't move, right?"
Charlie nodded, watching closely as Gordon stripped off the gold jersey, leaving only his tee-shirt, below. The boy shied away from being touched, at first. Gordon totally got that. Must utterly suck, waking up to an empty head; no name, no memories, no nothing. Alone inside, in the scariest possible way.
Once he'd helped Charlie tug on that yellow and green shirt, he forgot himself so far as to reach over and muss the kid's long, light-brown hair.
"Looks better on you than on me, Big Guy," he joked. The boy's wide eyes followed Gordon's hand. Then, he touched the top of his own head, where the hair was now all spikey and tousled. Like he didn't get being played with, at all. Then,
"We go. Charlie, Gordon. We can go, now?"
Yeah… about that. Go where? Straight back to Havok, who was going to deliver the poor kid to her d*mn "client"? To the GDF, who couldn't handle him?
"You betcha," said Gordon, not at all certain what to do next. "We'll figure this out, Big Guy. I promise."
Then, taking the boy's hand, he helped him to stand. Together, they walked out through that rust-eaten door.
