Steelheart (10 page)

There had been a time, thousands of years before, when a single predator could invade and destroy an entire nursery. A more populous species might have ignored such a threat, but the Mothri, less numerous because of the demands they made on Hive's food supply, were not so fortunate. They needed what amounted to DNA banks—designed to insure the species against catastrophe.

All of which explained why the Mothri had continued to build repositories both on Hive, and later on planets such as Zuul. Eggs were precious ... and eggs would be protected.

Not all eggs are created equal however, and the Blue Backs, a more numerous subrace, had retaken the throne. Instinctively motivated to favor their own DNA, the Blues knew of the problems on Zuul, but found endless reasons to let them continue.

Repeated demands for evacuation had been met with every sort of bureaucratic obfuscation, the latest being a request for an unprecedented egg-by-egg census, which would not only take months to complete, but would provide the Blues with potentially valuable data regarding the size, viability, and potential of the Grays' repositories. Something Enore would rather die than provide.

A robot, only a twentieth the size of the being it served, emerged from a maintenance way, "felt" the Mothri's presence via the vibrations she made, and quickly withdrew.

Unconcerned by the trouble she had caused, Enore passed the opening, turned into the cavern through which water sometimes flowed, and made her way toward a stalactite of eternally seething nano. The tiny machines, none larger than the point on a microstylus, and many smaller by far, were capable of assuming thousands of different configurations.

In spite of the fact that the tiny machines owed their existence to Mothri intelligence, none had been created by them. Not directly, that is, since the enormous beetles were ill-equipped for such fine work, and preferred to delegate such tasks to machines that specialized in design.

Enore stepped under the stalactite and gave the necessary order. "Audio-video link with Huubath, Zenth, Rota, and Tortna. Execute."

The pops, clicks, and whistles that comprised Mothri speech were translated into what humans perceived as static and sent to the stalactite's CPU. It took the order, downloaded the necessary plans, and gave the necessary instructions.

The nano seethed, reconfigured themselves into a chassis, circuit boards, cabling, amplifiers, switches, circuits, pickups, a screen and more. A link was opened to the surface. A video signal was beamed to a transfer station and relayed from hilltop to hilltop. Once the call was over, each antenna would be broken down into its component molecules and stored in a subsurface burrow.

Not the most elegant way to communicate—but the most practical, given the fact mat Zid-controlled humans had seized control of the Mothri satellite network. That was just one of the seemingly endless disasters that plagued the colony.

Many miles away, deep within repositories equal to Enore's, the signal arrived, was processed by quickly responding nano, and passed to the resident Mothri.

There was Nar Edar Fomo Huubath the 1,937th, Lorca Demo Singa Zenth the 6,217th, Hitu Purla Borbu Rota the 5,973rd, and Pitho Mebra Tralo Tortna the 4,339th. Not a single one of whom had a brain in their heads. Or so it seemed to Enore. Rota, grumpy as always, was first to answer. "This had better be important—some of us have things to do."

Enore made it a habit to spy on her peers—and they on her. That being the case, she had a pretty good idea what Rota had been doing, and used the knowledge to score some verbal points. "Oh, really? Like what? Sleeping all day?"

Rota made a grunting noise. "All of us have to sleep— even you, oh eggless one."

Enore was far from eggless, though less fecund than the rest, and therefore sensitive. She was about to explode when Huubath cut in. "Don't we have enough problems without attacking each other? I'm ashamed."

"You're an idiot," Zenth put in, "which is why they sent you here."

"And what of you?" Tortna inquired caustically. "Did your beauty make them jealous?"

Zenth had lost her right rear leg in a duel and, while equipped with a nano-generated prosthesis, still felt the loss. Not just to her mobility—but to her attractiveness. Her mandibles clacked angrily. "Stay right there, Tortna... I'm going to..."

"Do absolutely nothing," Enore interjected forcefully. "Because the eggs come before all else."

It was the single issue upon which everyone could agree.

"Enore speaks truth," Tortna said humbly. "I retract my comment and apologize."

"Accepted," Zenth responded. "Please continue."

Enore knew she had triggered the conflicts and wished she had better leadership skills. Or better yet, that someone
else
had leadership skills, and was willing to use them. No such entity existed, however... which left no choice. She lowered her head and assumed a posture of respectful submission.

"Our eggs are threatened. The quakes that killed Prog and Oso have abated to some extent—but the tremors continue. The mean ground temperature has fallen below optimum levels and continues to drop.

"In the meantime the Zid continue to expand the size of what they refer to as the 'holy lands.' Though focused on the humans for the moment, our turn will come soon enough.

"The Blues have taken the throne—and with it control of the fleet. Repeated requests for evacuation have fallen on deaf receptors."

Rota whistled respectfully. "No offense, Enore, but we are well acquainted with the extent of our misery."

Enore used her antennae to request patience. "I will come to the point. Extreme circumstances justify extreme measures. No one is willing to help us—so we must help ourselves. I recommend what some would describe as a radical plan.

"In spite of the fact that the free humans are in a state of disarray—and cut off from their hive—they possess technology as sophisticated as ours. By joining forces with the aliens, we could limit Zid expansion, explore the possibility of a mutual evacuation strategy, and foster technological collaboration. Who knows? By combining the skills of both species, we might be able to repair the atmosphere. It's worth a try."

There was a moment of silence while the other Mothri absorbed what Enore had said—followed by a storm of countervailing static. The debate had begun.

 

The woman known as Android Annie blew a wisp of gray hair away from her eyes and scanned the terrain ahead. The "bring 'em nears," as she liked to call them, were of her own design. A pair of zoom lenses salvaged from a model fifteen had been wired to a makeshift power supply and control system. The result was a nonstandard but efficient pair of electronic binoculars. According to her map, the best that trade tech could buy, they were approximately fifty miles north of the holy lands, and well inside bug territory.

Visibility was limited by the steady drive of dirty brown sleet, but Annie was used to that. The ground beyond the cluster of rocks where she and her apprentice lay hidden was smooth—
too smooth
to be natural—which, when combined with the conical structure at the center, confirmed her theory. The half-crazy hermit was right.... A Mothri repository lay below!

It was an exciting and potentially profitable discovery. Annie lowered her binoculars and turned to her assistant. Becka was bright though willful at times. "So, scrap, time to see what if anything you have learned. What are we looking at?"

"The top of a Mothri repository," the girl said, her face nearly invisible behind a ragged scarf.

"Good," Annie said approvingly. "How can you tell?"

"The ground is smooth where the robots groomed the surface, the sleet melts faster, and the cone contains a ventilation shaft."

Annie turned, saw that the child was correct, and frowned. The sleet-melt had escaped her. Had she missed anything else? Something that would get her killed? Nothing frightened the old woman more than the increasing infirmity that accompanies old age. There was no sign of the dark invader yet—but Annie maintained a constant vigil. She forced a smile. "Excellent, my dear, just excellent. Now, having located this treasure trove, how can we best exploit it?"

Becka eyed her mentor. This was the hardest part, what Annie referred to as "plottin' and plannin'," or "the two P's." But master it she must if she hoped to survive and follow in Annie's sizeable footsteps. "There are three options. We could leave, recruit some mercenaries, and launch a full-scale assault on the repository. There are risks, however, including the very real possibility that we would lose, that the mercenaries would turn on us, or that the entire complex would be destroyed, eliminating what could have been an ongoing source of food and revenue."

The words had a rehearsed quality, as if memorized, but there was nothing wrong with that. Annie nodded. "Yes, go on."

"We could sell the location to others, which while somewhat safer than option one, still raises many of the same objections."

"Or?"

"Or we could steal
one
egg and
one
robot—thereby transforming the repository into our own private bank. Small withdrawals, made over a long period of time, will create wealth without attracting the wrong sort of attention."

"Brilliant!" Annie said proudly. "What a smart little scrap you are! Now for the hard part. We must cross the open space, lower you down the shaft, and retrieve an egg. Are you ready?"

Becka was frightened, so frightened she wanted to pee, but the larder was empty, and her stomach rumbled like distant thunder. The thought of scrambled Mothri egg, flavored with dehydrated onion, filled her mouth with saliva. She nodded.

"Good!" Annie said enthusiastically. "The plottin' and plannin' are over. Now comes the goin' and doin'."

 

Enore had expected some debate, but was surprised by the extent of it. Especially in light of the fact that the other option—sit there and do nothing—was so obviously wrong. That didn't stop Rota, however, who was in mid-rant.

"There is no precedent for such an alliance! The Mothri stand alone. So it is and so it shall ever be! Once formed, who can say where such a pact might take us? One need look no further than our relationship with the Blues to see where accommodation can lead."

Enore felt her implant start to tingle. Security had been breached, robots were on their way, and her presence was requested. Cognizant of the fact that the outcome of the debate was far from certain, and concerned lest her absence tip the balance in the wrong direction, the Mothri ignored the page.

"Rota's right," Huubath put in. "Dangers abound. Besides, by what authority would we enter such an alliance?"

"By the authority of the egg," Tortna replied thoughtfully. "An imperative more legitimate than a decree from the Blue throne."

"Yes, I can see that," Zenth allowed. "But authority is one thing ... the humans are another. All of our surveillance nano report the same things: The humans bicker among themselves and listen to Zid theology. What can they offer?''

Enore had anticipated the objection—and was ready with a response. "Zenth is correct. The humans
do
bicker among themselves—and some have joined the Church. There are exceptions, however—
important
exceptions, such as the facility known as 'Mountain That Is Flat.' Nano-supplied video will support my argument."

Enore vanished off their screens, video appeared, and her implant continued to tingle.

 

A layer of sleet had started to form on the north side of Android Annie's face. She had pale blue eyes, wrinkles that exploded down across her cheeks, and a smear of snot just below her nose. “You okay, scrap?''

Becka looked down from her perch at the top of the cone and wondered about their relationship. Did Annie think of her as the daughter she'd never had, the way she claimed to? Or did the old woman simply need someone small and agile, someone she could drop into dangerous places while she remained safe and sound? There was no way to be sure.

The girl nodded, checked to ensure that the homemade harness was properly secured, and lowered herself into the pipe. The rope ran up and over the lip of the shaft. A specially designed fitting had been secured to the cone's rim to protect the rope from wear and to provide Annie with extra leverage. Just one of the many details on which her success depended.

As the atmosphere cooled, the Mothri had been forced to heat their repositories, and Becka enjoyed a constant flow of warm air as she dropped through the tube. A sure sign that unlike the cold, dark caverns they had explored the month before, this farm was "live." Becka remembered the sulfur stench of still-rotting eggs, the slight phosphorescent glow of the half-crushed Mothri, and the already looted egg chambers.

Becka shivered in spite of the warmth, felt her boots touch ground, and gave three tugs on the line. She received a one-tug response, freed herself from the rope, and ducked out of the shaft.

The girl knew that there were robots all around, machines so small she couldn't see them, but all calling for help. Killer droids, each larger than she was, and heavily armed.

Becka had five minutes, maybe less, to locate what she had come for, grab it, and make her escape. A nearly absurd plan, except for the fact that she and her mentor had explored one repository and knew the way it was laid out.

 

The tunnel was dim, very dim, but the ever-provident Annie had thought of that, and equipped Becka with two headband-mounted flashlights. Overlapping circles of light illuminated earthen walls as she turned and jogged down a corridor.

The first repository had been laid out in a star- or asterisk-shaped configuration with the Mothri's quarters, control rooms, and maintenance facilities located at the center, while arms pointed outward and rooms branched to either side. Looters had pillaged the other storage facility by the time the twosome arrived, leaving little more than equipment racks, ugly graffiti, and smashed eggs.

So, given the straightforward design, it should be a relatively easy task to enter the first compartment she came to, grab an egg, and retrace her footsteps.