Nanotroopers Episode 10: The Big Bang, Page 2

  The late afternoon sun was pale, little more than a daub of butter behind cold and wispy winter clouds. Snow covered most of the Buffalo Range to the north of the mesa. Through her wristpad, Dana Tallant ordered something to drink from the commissary, for both of them. The servbot trundled up five minutes later, bearing drinks and snacks.

  “I can’t leave the Doc like that…I’m sure we haven’t gotten rid of that halo completely.” Winger sipped at his drink, wincing at the brassy taste. “Jeez, Dana…what the hell is this hogpiss?”

  “Just your normal Quantum Corps coffee. Got any ideas for Doc Frost…new configs, new tactics?”

  “I’ll have to study the data I got from the engagement. Those Red Hammer bots look like souped-up ANAD clones to me. We’ve just got to find a way to get those damned bugs out of the Doc. Dr. Duncan too.”

  They watched the sunset in silence for a few minutes. Presently, Winger had an idea.

  “Dana, once ANAD’s back whole and hearty, I need to have chat with him. He might have some ideas.”

  “Sure, nothing wrong with trying to have a meaningful conversation with a robot the size of a molecule.”

  “No, seriously, he sometimes has insights I might overlook. You don’t give these bots the credit they deserve.”

  Now it was Tallant’s turn to scrunch up her face, and it wasn’t the coffee. “Has it ever occurred to you we might be projecting our own fantasies and wishes and desires on these bugs? I mean, they’re bots, for crying out loud. They do what they’re programmed to do.”

  “Maybe so, but Doc Frost would tell you the programming’s so complex, there are unexpected interactions and variations in output. You know about the Engebbe solution?”

  Tallant rolled her eyes. “Wings, we all know about that. Doc had to get some programming problems solved and swiped a few ideas from the genome of an ancient virus. An engineering fairy tale, if you ask me.”

  “It’s no fairy tale. In fact, Doc says that’s why ANAD sometimes surprises him. Nobody knew exactly what that genome would do…we’re talking trillions of possibilities in the way it could interact with other parts of his processor. But it did solve the problems.”

  “Yeah, and probably introduced more problems.”

  Winger polished off his coffee and spat the dregs into some nearby bushes. “I’m going back inside. Maybe Gibby needs some help.”

  Two days later, a fully grown ANAD master bot ticked away on its scaffolding inside the regen chamber.

  Gibby and Winger both stared with dead fatigued eyes, bleary from lack of sleep, at the sight.

  “What have we forgotten, Lieutenant?”

  Winger rubbed his own eyes. They felt like someone had pulled a crosscut saw over them. “Core completed. Main platform and actuator mast functioning. Power cells primed. Propulsors initialized. Sensors, actuators exercised in all regimes…”

  “Triggers and buffers laid in, comms, tactical configs loaded, all of it done. I’d say we’re finished, Skipper. Me, I need to sleep about a hundred hours…after a gigantic breakfast of eggs and pancakes.”

  “Later, Sergeant. Sleep is highly overrated. Just help me get ANAD launched and into my shoulder capsule.”

  “Sure thing.” Gibbs sent a series of commands to the tiny bot master. Fold all effectors. Power up propulsors. Config One for transit. “Outer door coming open. Electron beams on standby.”

  Winger cycled open the port on his shoulder capsule. Moments later, a faint mist issued from the corresponding port on the regen chamber. The mist flashed and popped and sparkled as ANAD and a basic force of daughter assemblers emerged from containment. The entire transit took about ten minutes.

  Winger felt a faint sting, a reassuring pinch that told him ANAD was inside the capsule. He cycled the port shut.

  “Now we’re in business, Gibby. I’m headed for the O Quarters. Me and ANAD both need a little shuteye.”

  He left the Containment building and inside half an hour, was bedded down in his bunk, the room darkened and quiet. But before he could drift off to sleep, he felt a staticky buzz on the coupler circuit in the back of his head.

  The Autonomous Nanoscale Assembler/Disassembler was calling.

  ***Boss…you there? ANAD to Hub…testing, testing…anybody listening? ANAD, calling all stations--***

  Winger closed his eyes. “I’m here, ANAD. What do you want? I’m trying to get some sleep here.”

  ***ANAD functions at optimum effectiveness when allowed loose configuration…requesting permission to exit containment…assume Config One***

  Winger sighed, fluffing the pillow behind his head. His stomach growled and gurgled. He should have gone with Gibbs to the canteen, gotten something to eat. “Now? Why don’t you just lie down and be quiet, like a good bot?”

  ***Hub, ANAD has additional analysis of most recent engagement…new tactical options have emerged from this analysis***

  Winger knew there was no way sleep would come now. He sat up, propped himself up against the wall. “ANAD, you’re awfully demanding tonight. Plus, there’s something wrong with the coupler…your signals are fading in and out…re-start comm session…go to another channel and set filtering to max.”

  There was a brief pause, then ***How’s this…I turned up filter gain…zzzzhhh…re-initializing comms now***

  Winger didn’t understand it. There had often been problems with the coupler connection, especially after a full re-gen, but there was more crosstalk this time. He’d have to get with Gibbs about that tomorrow morning.

  “Okay, ANAD, maybe this’ll work better if you’re outside…cycling port open now. ANAD, exit containment. Assume Config---“ he gave that some thought, then, “-assume Config Fifteen.” This was the Doc Frost sim….

  The sting-snap of ANAD exiting came like a needle prick in his shoulder and in seconds, the flickering mist was visible. It filled the room, swelling rapidly as ANAD grabbed atoms to build structure. The whole process took about five minutes and Winger watched intently, checking for any problems the re-gen might have created. Launch okay…transit okay…replication okay…configs seem okay….

  When it was done, a ghostly outline of Doc Frost’s face and shoulders hung in the air over his bed like a dream apparition. There were a few flickers and defects—he and Gibbs could fix that tomorrow—but for the most part, the config looked solid. It was like studying a face by the light of a campfire.

  ***ANAD now in Config Fifteen…engaging ‘Doc Frost’ program…initializing…zzzhhh…**

  Winger was about to try cycling the master bot through different configs, see if he could find the source of that annoying interference, when another sting-snap pinched his shoulder.

  Whoa…what the hell was that?” He felt his capsule. Port still open, as it should be. ANAD has launched. Was somebody else inside the capsule? Quickly, he cycled the port shut. “ANAD, did you have any company inside? I just felt something else launch.”

  ***ANAD reporting a few extra molecules were in containment…just leftovers from regeneration…molecules have exited capsule now***

  Now Winger jumped out of bed. He turned on the lights, looked around the room, studied the situation. “ANAD, activate all sensors…report returns. Anything like extra thermals, extra electromagnetics around?”

  The Doc Frost outline broke down and dispersed as the assembler focused its efforts on examining its surroundings. Soon, only a few faint flickers popped overhead.

  As ANAD was scanning, Winger noticed a distinct change inside his room. The air was becoming thick. He felt woozy, a little light headed. Commissary coffee wasn’t that bad. Then it hit him.

  Amazon!

  Somehow, Amazon bots--the Red Hammer bots that had been modifying the atmosphere in selected areas—had found their way into the O Quarters at Table Top.

  Winger went down to his knees, heaving, gasping. His lungs were on fire. Got to get out of here now! But befor
e he could act, the hypercapnia struck fast and he fell heavily to his side. Already his lips were turning blue. His arms wouldn’t work. His legs were lead. Nothing worked—

  He passed out and lay crumpled beside the bed.

  The ANAD master bot soon detected a cutoff of comms from the coupler inside Winger’s skull. Programmed to switch to default scan, the bot quickly analyzed micro-changes in the air around its master’s head: CO2 rate, O2 partial pressure, galvanic skin response, cardiac rhythm. Dozens of parameters were scanned and analyzed. The program inside ANAD determined that Config Winger. J. was failing, vital parameters were decreasing, normal muscle contractile activity was approaching unsafe minimums. ANAD acted according to its programmed response.

  ***ANAD initiating emergency protocol Survival Main One…increase oxygen rate of flow and partial pressure…provide effective temperature increase by ten degrees to avoid shock…electrolyte imbalance detected…***

  ANAD auto-triggered Configuration Three…max rate replication, a programming change that Winger had done…and told no one else about. In seconds, the air over the bed and the prostrate body of Johnny Winger burned supernova-hot as uncountable trillions of bots formed up, grabbing atom feedstock from anything available in the room…part of the bedcovers, a chair, a dresser, a curtain. The swarm expanded at its maximum programmed rate, a silent boiling miniature thunderstorm swelling in exponential overdrive.

  Executing program sub-routines, the growing swarm partitioned itself into several daughter swarms. One subset chewed through a wall, rapidly disassembling the plaster, the insulation, the framing and outer wood slats, in minutes opening a neat circular hole through which cold, snowy nighttime air from across the mesa began pouring in.

  Another sub-swarm descended toward the limp body of Config Winger, J. and penetrated his body through the lachrymal ducts around his closed eyelids. Riding along Winger’s optic nerve, the subswarm, labeled as Survival Main Two, cruised on max propulsor toward the medulla oblongata, preparing to release newly configged respirocytes to boost Winger’s blood oxygen level.

  A third subswarm configured itself into Assault Main One and went after the halo bots that were even then reconfigging themselves into Amazon form.

  As Johnny Winger struggled to regain consciousness, Assault Main One collided with the halo bots, themselves expanding rapidly overhead. Writhing lines of flickering light defined the zone of engagement. ANAD brought all weapons to bear and the battle was joined.

  Winger gasped for breath, his eyes fluttered open and he nearly fell out of bed as the battle raged in the air over his head.

  He tried linking in through his coupler. “ANAD, assume Config Twenty Two! All effectors out, prime bond disrupters!”

  ***I’m ten steps ahead of you, Hub…engaging now…these buggers maneuver and dart like hydrogen nuclei…they really zip around…ANAD setting Tactical Six Six…trying to flank the main body…***

  Winger was still groggy, and found breathing difficult. He saw the breach in the wall and went over, sucking in cold night time air. It helped clear his head. But when he looked outside, he saw a flickering mist escaping from his quarters. The halo bots were moving outside, still replicating, still expanding.

  He shook his head. “ANAD, some of Doc Frost’s halo must have escaped when I was inside his brain. They hitched a ride in the capsule and now they’re reconfigging. It’s Amazon, here and now, right on top of us. Got to sound the alarm—“

  Winger yanked open his door and hit the Master Alarm button down the hall. Instantly, a warbling klaxon echoed across the mesa, a deafening undulating tone that signaled Containment Breach! In seconds, troopers and other personnel flooded outside. Along the perimeter of the Table Top compound, around the edges of the mesa, electron beam guns and HERF cannon powered up and swung into position.

  Shouts erupted from across the quadrangle and lights blazed on. Base occupants were running in every direction, manning defense stations.

  “It’s a Bang! Take cover!”

  “Man your stations…all hands, man your stations!”

  Seconds later, the first searing hot thunderclaps of HERF rounds cooking off blasted across the landscape.

  Major Jurgen Kraft had been sound asleep in his quarters, C Building, at the south end of Officers Country, just across a short grassy sward, now covered with light snow, from the Containment Center. Clad in pajamas, he flung on a jacket and cap and bounded outside, spying a strange flickering orange fog swelling in the air overhead.

  HERF blasts momentarily scattered the fog but it seemed to reconstitute quickly. Kraft grabbed the arm of a young trooper streaking by, and yelled, “What is it, sergeant? What’s happened?”

  The trooper had a look of pure fear on his face, his eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily. Kraft had noticed the air seemed unusually heavy, yet the skies were clear and filled with the stars.

  “Big Bang, sir! We surrounded…got to find cover…it’s the air--!”

  He wrenched away, stumbling and regaining his footing and Kraft let him go. Then he saw Lieutenant Winger rushing up out of the darkness.

  They nearly collided.

  Winger picked Kraft up off the ground. They were both heaving in great gulps of air. “Got to get to cover, sir! Head for the bunker!”

  The two of them raced stumbling toward the Ordnance/Mission Prep complex.

  "Look out!" a voice cried out.

  Winger looked up just in time to see the gray cloud of exponentially replicating halo mechs boiling out the side of O Quarters like a slow-motion tornado.

  Alarms and sirens blared out across the mesa and Table Top Mountain was quickly in an uproar.

  Sheila Reaves fled too, but diverted left along the grassy quadrangle, toward the hangars and the ordnance and mission prep complex when she saw Winger helping Major Kraft along. She caught up with them along the way.

  "It's a Big Bang, Lieutenant!" she heaved out. They ducked and weaved and dodged others as troops streamed in every direction. Loudspeakers thundered across the quadrangle.

  "All hands…this is a Code One alert, CODE ONE ALERT…all hands, man your stations. Repeat…CODE ONE ALERT!!"

  "We need CEC out here!" Winger yelled. "Mobile containment--"

  "--and magpulse weapons!--" added Reaves.

  They raced into the mission prep hall and gathered every tech they could find.

  From inside the bunker, Winger watched the halo swarm, now replicating out of control, boiling across the lifter pads of North Field, a gray fog swelling and expanding into every corner of the base complex. His stomach turned at the sight. Even as he watched, fleeing troopers were caught in the swarm and went down, engulfed and consumed like the raging wildfires that sometimes swept through the Buffalo range of southern Idaho. The air over the base was being rapidly altered, thinning out, becoming more toxic by the moment.

  If we don't contain it soon, the swarm will spill out of the base and head off into the hills. The entire state could be at risk, parts of Canada too, he realized.

  Already the thing had swelled to dimensions that no MOBnet could handle.

  It was the very same nightmare scenario they'd simmed at the wargaming range countless times. An effective counter had never really been demonstrated. Now, it was all too real…and heading right for them.

  Winger knew they'd need every defense they could devise. MOBnet and any other shielding they could find. Counter-nanoswarms, if they could be launched and programmed fast enough. Atmospheric manipulation. Magpulse weapons.

  Ideas flew around the mission bunker thick as dust.

  "Somehow, I've got to get to the master," Winger said.

  "Too dangerous," Reaves said. "Swarm's too thick, too active. You'd never get close enough. You’d need a hypersuit anyway, just to breathe.”

  "He might," Kraft was thinking out loud, "if we stun the swarm a few times."

  "You mean with HERF?"
>
  The Major was scribbling a sketch on a pad he had dredged up. "Sure…like this. Get your guns along the perimeter of the base…here, here and here--" he X'ed off proposed locations on his crude sketch. "Do it quick and pump a few billions watts of RF across the mesa. Crossfire. That should slow down the rep, and maybe, just maybe, give the Lieutenant time to get a counterswarm going."

  "You've got to locate the master first. It should be somewhere near the center of the swarm, but it's in motion." Reaves shook her head. "How the hell do you find it?"

  "That's where your HERF guns come in,” Kraft explained. “Blast the swarm with RF, just long enough for Winger to locate the master. If he can do that, before replication starts up again—“

  “--I can find and take control of ANAD and drive him myself into engagement,” Winger completed the thought.

  Reaves and Major Kraft looked at each other, then at Winger and the other troopers assembled in the bunker.

  'What are you waiting for?" Kraft asked.

  "Let's go!"

  It took two minutes for Reaves to radio her plans to the base commander. Fortunately, the extra HERF guns were stowed in Mission Prep; the troopers who'd taken cover there helped break out the gear. Volunteer details were formed up and five HERF units were trundled by hand to opposite ends of Table Top's broad mesa. In the center of the mesa, the halo swarm continued swelling, rolling like a carnivorous mist across the grounds, filling the grassy swards between the Barracks, boiling westward toward the liftpads and lifters parked in revetments, seeping and crawling and flowing over all obstacles toward the Ops Center and Drexler Field. Troopers were falling to the ground in every direction. And the air was rapidly becoming unbreathable.

  The details had to hurry. If the swarm spilled off the top of the mesa and ran down the mountainside into Buffalo Valley and the ravines radiating outward from Table Top, the whole of southern Idaho would be at risk. Already, the Governor and the National Guard had been alerted to prepare to evacuate nearby towns.

  In less than ten minutes, Reaves and the HERF guns were ready, powered up and humming.

  Winger was in contact with General Kincade, Quantum Corps' commander at Table Top.

  "All units ready, sir. I'm inside Mission Prep, about to strap on a hypersuit."

  Kincade's face was grim on the vidlink. The General was with his staff, bottled up in the Emergency Action Center seventy feet below Main Ops.