Metalheart, Page 2

  Part 3: Activate

  When she entered the C ore train, information augmented her vision. Self-contained mobile mining platform skirted the wall in holographic letters. A blueprint extrapolated from the tachyon probe rendered in her peripheral vision: Storage facilities, processing equipment, quarters.

  “Scout” she said, dropping to voice. “ETA two minutes. I’m losing power.”

  Argon nodded. He removed an empty wet cell from a thigh belt and passed it to Seran. “I’ll look for the wreckage. Recharge your cells, and this backup.”

  Seran watched Argon run down the central corridor. The data from the tachyon probe detailed the location of the wreckage and the best possible route.

  She hunted for a power conduit. C scientists had yet to match Fe wet cell technology. Their vehicles wasted power and therefore required rich power supplies. C power was raw, dirty and dangerous, and fantastic.

  Seran found a conduit and opened a direct tap to fill her near-empty wet cell. She communicated to Chief Yuron, “Request: Stand by for fast exit.”

  “Respond: Runners deployed. Advise: ETA to depart to minimum safe distance, one minute.”

  “Check.” Seran guided runners from the Dragon Wagons and pointed out the power conduits and system interfaces.

  A distorted voice transmitted, “Advise: En route. Advise: Casualty, possible exposed core.”

  Seran capped her leaky wet cell, filled Argon’s, and instructed the runners to return. “Refine: Reactor or brain?” She waited and then asked again. “Exposed brain or reactor?”

  Argon arrived just as Seran finished transmitting. The remains of a battleship commander draped his arms.

  The Fe body had been cut open at the chest and the side of the head, leaving the reactor, wet cell, and brain exposed. Optic cables and wire shards dangled from hasty disassembly.

  Seran stood and attached Argon’s wet cell to his leg. While surveying the body, she asked, “What were they trying to do?”

  Argon edged past Seran and left the ore train. “Inconclusive, but he’s still alive. Request: Technical Containment.”

  Seran followed Argon out, took his sub-light plasma canon from him, and retrieved both sets of combat gear. With the gear gathered and stowed on her right forearm, and a few warning sensors appeased with C energy, her internal processes directed her to the Dragon Division. More precisely, the instruction compelled her to follow the fallen commander.

  An alarm chimed: The Range Sweep was near. Her internal repair systems fought for priority in her queue and she expected to go offline the moment those processes were executed.

  Seran entered the first Dragon Division tank, stowed Argon’s and her gear in an interior compartment. Argon secured the wounded commander and then together with Seran, made their way to the transport deck.

  Chief Yuron burst through the interior hatch. “Scout Seran, Advise: Shutdown for repair.” He analyzed her wounds then continued via vocals, “Will you persist?”

  Seran nodded. “Yes. My systems are stabilized. How is the casualty?”

  “With both brain and reactor cores exposed, there is a high probability his psychological shell will loop and crash.”

  “Argon?” Seran asked. She looked straight ahead at the opposite wall, a sense of loss over her left arm and damaged breastplate bleating with her system repair processes. “Do you have a contingency?”

  Argon nodded. “I applied sealant on the exposed cores, but the probability of a crash remains high.”

  The Dragon Division displaced to the minimum safe distance from the Range Sweep.

  Every system process in Seran’s neuro-net demanded she shutdown until their arrival at the nearest field technical lab. However, the electron danced, and from the same unknown abyss as her offensive strategy a process demanded she remain lucid and active. Her attraction to the dying robot held top priority.

  When Argon’s synchronization cycle reported him to be shut down, she rose and walked briskly to the back of the tank. As she drew closer, the attraction intensified, and a pulse of mathematical constructs filled her thoughts. Her psychological shell warned that she strayed against Fe societal constructs. The top-most process fought with her psychological shell, and if she paused to wait for one to demonstrate the higher priority, she might have felt more logical about her course of action. However, she stood over the fallen commander, umbilical cable in hand, and opened her root shell to his.