Unstable Prototypes (31 page)

"Care to see how rugged the military builds
its prototypes these days?" he asked.

"I don't see any other options," she
said.

While Garotte rushed to the ship and set
about removing the remnants of the previous crew, Silo dragged
Willis to one of the doors to the rest of the facility that was at
least marginally intact, and propped him up against it.

"You stay warm now, hon. I'm sure they'll be
out to get you soon," she said.

"Quickly please," Garotte said over the
ship's external speakers.

Silo stepped over the scattered remains of
the recipients of Garotte's poorly thrown grenade, scooping up one
or two of the more intact weapons and casting a doubtful look at
the side of the ship. The force of the blast had embedded a
scattered handful of shrapnel into the hull plates, and buckled one
of them. A motor on the door sparked and groaned.

"What's the status?" she asked, taking her
place in the navigator's seat.

"Hull integrity is compromised. Emergency
atmosphere retention force fields are entirely missing... it
doesn't even look like they had been installed, at least not into
the control software."

"Are there any pressure suits?"

"Just the ones on the soldiers, and they look
a bit leaky at this point."

"So this ship won't be taking us into orbit,
then."

"The engines are still fairly intact. We can
make it, we would just be exposed to a hard vacuum."

"Well, get us up and moving. We'll try to
lose the pursuit craft, then see if we can rig up a fix for the
hull or get our hands on a different ship."

"I am way ahead of you," he said. The engines
flared and the ship lurched quickly off of the ground. There was a
ponderous, lagging nature to the maneuvering that didn't speak well
for the control system. He struggled with them for a bit, finally
getting the ship pointed roughly where he wanted it to go. "This
isn't going to be the most graceful of escapes."

Wind whistled through the hole in the
windshield as their speed increased, and more of it howled in
through the dangling side hatch. Repeated attempts to close it
revealed that both the latch and the motors involved in sealing it
were no longer cooperating, only managing to pull it halfway shut.
The combination of the two holes was causing a dangerously freezing
wind to rush through the ship.

"S-s-see if you can get the heaters on, will
you?" Garotte requested as he tried desperately to keep his hands
steady enough to keep the ship on course.

"Working on it," Silo said, punching various
commands into the unfamiliar control system. Its patchwork and
thoroughly unfinished nature was one of the stronger pieces of
evidence that this ship was never intended to be in regular use.
Dials and indicators far too small for the panel that they were
mounted to ticked off vital data, while a generic datapad served as
the only input and display device for the system's more complex
components. Finally she managed to dig up the environmental screen
and max out the heating. Vents belched out scalding air, but it was
only just barely sufficient to convince Garotte that his nose and
ears weren't going to snap off. Next she found the sensor suite and
activated it.

"Can you get this thing to go any faster?"
she asked.

"I'm surprised I'm able to keep it from
dragging along the ground. The engines are fine, but these controls
are downright temperamental. I take it our pursuer is gaining?"

"Keeping pace, but probably keeping its
distance. That little ship is no match for this one, or at least it
wouldn't be if we hadn't punched a few holes in this thing first.
Still, we'll never lose him like this. And before you ask, shooting
him down is an absolute last resort. That man is just doing his
job. He's not a soldier, he's a guard."

"See if you can find some way to get a force
field on, then. Something to get this ship airtight again. I have a
hard time believing anyone would willingly travel through space in
a ship that didn't have a safety system."

Silo dug through the control screens.

"They seem to have all of the power hookups
and field interface ports occupied, but not with a force field
generator. I'll look at the access panel," she said, making her way
to the one piece of the ship's interior that was clearly marked, a
yellow striped panel labeled
Primary
System
Access.

Two quick twists undid the fasteners and she
pulled the hatch away, revealing a roughly constructed mechanism
with a laser-etched label.

"Does
Electromagnetic Obfuscation Field
Generator
mean anything to you?" she asked.

"Electro... are you serious? It is a damned
cloaking device! Figure out how to turn it on!" he stammered.

She rushed back to the controls and searched
for something that might be related to a cloaking device. Finally
she found a menu marked
EOFG Prototype Diagnostic Mode.
She
activated it, only to be met with an authorization screen.

"What did you just do?!" Garotte asked
desperately.

"I tried to activate the device. It wants an
access code."

"It must have tripped a security fail safe,
the controls aren't responding at all any more! Cancel!"

"I can't! And there is a timer counting
down!"

"What sort of countdown?"

"We are in a stolen military ship, fiddling
with a gosh darn prototype! What sort of countdown do you
think
it is!?"

"Right. Self-destruct. ... This entire
mission has gone a bit pear shaped," Garotte grumbled, "I may have
to do something distasteful and of questionable usefulness."

"Is it more useful than flying a damaged ship
until they manage to shoot us down or it self-destructs? Because
right now it looks like that's what we've got to choose from."

"More useful, perhaps, but not much more
pleasant, from my point of view," he said, digging out his slidepad
and reluctantly declaring, "Open Com Ma."

Silo raised an eyebrow as the device bleeped
and began negotiating a connection.

"Start looking into how to detach that
cloaking device. I very much doubt we'll be getting any help, and
maybe pulling the plug will cancel the alert," he said, nervously
eying the rapidly approaching mountain range in the distance. If he
couldn't get control over the ship again, it was not immediately
apparent whether it would be the countdown or the cliff that would
claim them first.

The slidepad beeped, displaying the words,
"Hello Garotte. Please state mission status."

"I've got Silo and I am in a disabled vessel
with inactive controls. It will not survive deep space and is set
to self-destruct in..." Garotte stated, gesturing at Silo.

"One hundred and seventy seconds," she
supplied after peering over her shoulder at the screen.

The device beeped again, this time reading,
"Keep communications open and stand by."

"Who exactly are we in communication with?"
Silo asked, abandoning the thus-far failed attempts to finesse the
cloaking module out of its sockets in favor of wrenching madly at
it.

"Do you remember the AI that takes care of
Karter's lab?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember that smelly little beast
he used to wear like a scarf?"

"Yes."

"Well it is simultaneously both of them and
neither of them."

"... That doesn't make any sense."

"None whatsoever," he agreed.

A tone from the ship's sensors drew Silo's
attention, she briefly stalled her attempts to excavate the
cloaking device in order to investigate the screen.

"A medium sized ship is heading in our
direction. It doesn't seem to be armed."

"Make and model?"

"Mobius something. I'm not good with
ships."

"That's our girl!" he proclaimed, "I'll be
damned. She must have been nearby. Keep working at that module.
I'll get the door open."

He approached the partially closed door and,
somewhat optimistically, tried the controls for it. When they did
not respond, he took a more direct approach, snagging one of the
burly looking guns Silo had snatched from the defeated attackers
and firing three quick shots, completely detaching the door and
sending it spiraling to the disquietingly close surface of the
planet. A moment later, Silo managed to tear the cloaking module
and a considerable amount of the associated circuitry free. The
countdown continued, and the control lock remained.

Outside the door, the landscape was whipping
along at a terrifying rate, and in the distance, the Armistice was
just becoming visible. It was navigating in very rigid, measured
movements, the telltale signs of a low quality autopilot
maneuvering based on sensor data. As it drew steadily nearer,
aligning one of its side cargo doors with the opened hatch, Garotte
found an equipment bag left behind by the former owners of the
ship. He stuffed the cane and the liberated cloaking device inside,
along with any other equipment they had been able to gather, and
pulled the straps tight.

"Navigation synchronized. Please maintain
course and speed," came the synthesized voice of Ma's slidepad over
the public address system of the ship.

"Like I have a bloody choice!" Garotte
growled, into his own slidepad.

"I will extend the cargo arm. Secure yourself
to it and I will retract. For safety, please do so
individually."

"I'm used to the gravity," Silo said, "I'll
take the equipment and go first."

"You'll get no argument from me," Garotte
replied.

The pair quickly strapped the bag to Silo's
back. All the while, the viciously cold air ripped through the
cabin and robbed the feeling from fingers, faces, and any exposed
skin. The spindly cargo arm extended and the Armistice maneuvered
closer. Finally the stubby wing of the rescue craft was scraping
the hull of the stolen ship, and the tip of the arm was a few
inches outside the hatch. With a deep breath, Silo held tight to
the frame of the hatch, swung out, and wrapped her fingers around
the claw of the arm. The metal was cold enough to burn her skin,
but she held tight, releasing the hatch from the other hand and
hooking her arm over the gripper.

Slowly and carefully, the arm retracted,
dragging her out into the open space between the ships and exposing
her to the full force of the wind. The arctic blast stung at her
face and threatened to tear her from the gripper, but she clenched
her teeth, shut her eyes, and clamped down tighter. Suddenly the
wind dropped away. She opened her eyes to find herself dangling an
inch or two above the floor of the cargo bay of the Armistice. A
shimmering red force field flickered between the cargo bay and
cockpit, no doubt to keep the oxygen from escaping. From what she
could see, both the pilot and passenger seats were empty. The only
thing in the entire control cabin was a familiar furry creature
perched unsteadily on the dash. It turned its head to her and
nodded once before tapping at a screen.

"I... What? … This... Why?" Silo stammered,
her mind not quite up to the task of assembling any coherent
thoughts just yet.

The arm slowly began to extend again. Inside
the stolen ship, Garotte anxiously watched as the count down
dropped down into the double digits. At this point it seemed that
it would indeed be the ship's self-destruct that would win the
race, as the mountains were still a fair distance away. The arm
took its sweet time getting closer. Just when it was nearly fully
extended, however it began to drift backward, the Armistice slowly
lagging behind.

"What!? No!" Garotte yelped, holding the
slidepad to his mouth, "You're drifting! Increase speed!"

There was no reply. The ship simply slowly
eased backward until the cockpit window was aligned with the hatch.
A tiny black and white head appeared in the window, making eye
contact before tapping at something.

"Garotte, our interactions to this point have
suffered from a marked lack of civility, and you have demonstrated
extreme reluctance to cooperate with even the most reasonable and
sensible requests. I had warned that this behavior would not be
without consequence."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"I believe that now would be an excellent
time to reassess your prior judgments regarding my effectiveness,
usefulness, and value. Perhaps you would like to adjust your
attitude for our future interactions."

"Now is most certainly
not
the
time!"

"I'm sorry. I appear to be having trouble
realigning the ships."

Garotte clenched his fists until his knuckles
popped.

"Fine! We will discuss this later. Just get
me out of this ship."

"Standby."

In seconds the ships were properly aligned
and the arm was as near to the door as physically possible. Garotte
wasted no time in latching onto it. The arm began to retract, but
his feet had only just left the floor of the stolen ship when it
became clear that his arms weren't going to be up to the task of
fighting both the overly enthusiastic gravity of Manticore and the
vicious wind for very long. The arm retracted as quickly as
possible without jarring him free, but it wasn't going to be quick
enough. Fingers that were already well on their way to being numb
even before he was exposed to the brunt of the wind were all but
useless, and he didn't have the strength to haul a body that felt
like it was 300 pounds into a more secure position. He began to
slowly but inevitably lose his grip.

Silo watched helplessly as Garotte's hold on
the arm began to slip. She held tight to the edge of the cargo
doorway and leaned as far as she could, but he was still out of
reach. From the control cabin, Ma watched with equal anxiety,
focusing her sharp eyes on the approaching tragedy and calculating
her options. Her paw hovered over a queued command for the arm.
Finally she came to a decision, tapping it into action, and not a
second too soon.