“They must have been trying to go and get help,” McAndrew muttered. He had entered the lifeboat right behind me. “They lost control before they were even on their way, and ran into the cargo manipulator.”
“It looks that way.” I was puzzled and disturbed. Even an inexperienced pilot would know not to turn on the engines until the lifeboat had drifted well clear of the Ark. Otherwise, you would endanger the Ark as well as yourselves. Only the Amish, after a lifetime of shunning all modern mechanical devices, would make such a basic and fatal blunder.
But the Amish, more than anyone else, would not have abandoned the bodies of their dead. They would have recovered them and provided appropriate space burial. If they had not, that meant they could not. For many years — how old were those freeze-dried corpses? — the surviving Amish must have been confined to the body of the Ark and unable to venture into space.
That had me equally confused. Every Ark carried hundreds of space suits. If the Amish were not able to come outside, then how could McAndrew and I go in? Approach, the woman said, and come aboard. An entry port is already open. And it was. We had seen it, standing wide next to another of the manipulators.
McAndrew went on, “The accident was unlucky, and not just for them. It was unlucky for everyone else on the Ark, too.”
He was leaving the lifeboat and heading on toward the gaping lock. I followed, more slowly. A lifeboat was meant for use close to a planet. What dreadful danger would make you launch one so far away from any world, where the chance of survival was negligible? One basic question was unanswered, despite our questions to our female contact: What had gone wrong?
The Amish disdained some forms of technology, but they were hard-working and hard-headed people. Their Ark, more than any other, had been designed to survive and operate using minimal resources. But more and more I had the feeling — a ridiculous feeling, given that I had talked to someone on the Ark within the past hour — that the structure in front of me was a dead hulk.
McAndrew was already inside the lock, using his suit lights because the Cassiopeia supernova no longer provided illumination. Following, I saw that the inner door was also open. It suggested that the whole corridor beyond was airless.
I was watching McAndrew, otherwise I might not have caught it. On the wall of the corridor, above him and to his right, a small monitor camera began turning to track his movements. I switched my suit from local to general circuit. What I said would be picked up at the Merganser, and rebroadcast back to the Ark.
“I see that you are following our progress. Where are you inside the Ark? And what kind of trouble are you in?”
A moment of silence, and then the woman’s voice again. “We need — assistance. Proceed as — you are — doing. The corridor will lead — you — to us.”
No fluency. Instead, the strained precision and hesitations of someone speaking a foreign language. I looked around and up. I had noticed only one monitor camera, but now that I was seeking them I saw that they were everywhere on the walls and ceiling. Floor, walls, and ceiling also held pressure pads every few yards, to register any slight contact that might take place in the negligible gravity of the Ark. Ahead of McAndrew, another door stood cracked open just a fraction. As he moved toward it, the hatch smoothly slid wide to reveal a chamber beyond as dark, airless and empty as space itself.
Monitors everywhere; sophisticated sensors; doors keyed to open upon the detection of human presence. This was the very antithesis of an Amish world.
McAndrew had moved on, through into the next room. He turned, waiting for me to come through the hatch and join him.
I switched to local communication mode, hoping that the circuit would not easily be overheard and unscrambled.
“Mac,” I said softly. “Don’t take another step. I was wrong. This isn’t the Amish Ark. It’s the Cyber Ark. They created their AI, and the damned thing is running the show.”
McAndrew stood dead still. I knew that he had understood exactly what I said — he’s quicker than me on the uptake on any scale that I can devise — but he seemed unsure what to do next.
I said, more urgently, “Don’t act alarmed. Just come back this way. As slowly as you can stand to.”
It was too late. Either the AI read the significance of his movement toward me, or a massive intelligence had received our first transmissions and cracked the compression code used in suit communications. The reason did not matter. What did matter was that the hatch began to slide closed as McAndrew hurried toward it.
There was a control panel on my side of the hatch, but I didn’t trust it. The AI might have an override. I dragged the power laser from my pocket and aimed high, where the upper edge of the hatch met the wall.
There was a lurid sputter of sparks and a vibration that I felt in the soles of my suited feet. The hatch, welded to the wall, ground to a stop and McAndrew ducked his head and hurried through to my side.
“We’ve got to get outside,” I said. “We’ll be safe there.”
I led the way. As I headed for the outer port I experienced an odd sensation that the whole Ark was coming alive around me. I could feel vibrations under my feet, and golden lights in walls and ceiling were winking to life. I ignored the lights, but I used the power laser to burn out every monitor that I saw. A cleaning robot, all arms and legs and vicious scraping blades, rumbled out to block the corridor. I fried its video sensors and soared on over the top of it without missing a step.
Twenty meters in front of me the door of the outer lock was starting to close. I halted, set the laser to tight beam, and aimed carefully. The wall above the top of the door turned orange-white. The door froze in its tracks. Three seconds later I was outside and moving under the baleful light of the Cassiopeia supernova.
I turned to make sure that McAndrew was still with me. He was, but a single glance back at the Ark was enough to tell me that I had erred on the side of optimism. The whole outer surface of the modified asteroid seethed with activity. Cranes were turning in our direction, metal manipulator jaws stretched as far as they could toward us, mobile cargo units clanked our way across the uneven surface, and the long booms of communication antennas swung out to block the path between us and the hovering Merganser.
“Straight up and out, Mac,” I cried, and fired my suit jets at maximum thrust. A rapid vertical rise, a quick controlled zig-zag to avoid a swinging antenna boom, and I was clear. The Merganser lay ahead. In half a minute I was standing in the air lock. I looked back.
McAndrew had reacted more slowly and taken longer to avoid the threshing antenna booms, but he was clear and on the final two hundred meters of his approach. Sighting beyond him, I realized that I had been optimistic yet again.
“Inside, Mac,” I shouted. “Right inside — and hang on.”
Instead of cycling the lock I did an emergency override, allowing all the air in the interior of the Merganser to puff away through the lock and into space. No problem, we had plenty of reserve and could replace it — if we survived and had the chance.
The AI inside the Ark had control over its lifeboats and space pinnaces. Four of them were lifting away from the surface and heading in our direction. They lacked space-weapons systems, but they wouldn’t need them. A direct collision at maximum acceleration would be enough to make sure that McAndrew and I did not return to the vicinity of Sol. If we survived the crash, our fates would depend on the whim of the AI.
Mac was inside, slamming shut the hatch of the life capsule. I headed for the controls. We had no space weapons, either. But we had one thing that the Ark ’s lifeboats and pinnaces did not.
I dropped, still fully suited, into the pilot’s chair and flicked the Merganser’s drive to its maximum value. The life capsule sprang into flight position and a fiery plume of plasma, hotter than dragon’s breath, spewed out on all sides of us and away behind the ship. Everything in the path of the drive exhaust melted away in a fraction of a second to its subatomic components.