Hour of the robot, p.1
Hour of the Robot, page 1
HOUR OF THE ROBOT
By Paul R. McNamee
A Mystique Press Production
Mystique Press is an imprint of Crossroad Press
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press
Crossroad Press digital edition 2021
Copyright © 2021 Paul R. McNamee
Cover art images from Depositphotos and Pixabay
ISBN: ePub Digital Edition - 978-1-63789-976-2
LICENSE NOTES
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Meet the Author
Paul R. McNamee’s short stories have appeared in multiple anthologies and magazines, including StoryHack, Not Far From Roswell, Wicked Weird, Wicked Haunted, Weirdbook, A Lonely & Curious Country, Pickman’s Gallery, and others.
Paul’s debut novel, a pulp superhero tale, Hour of the Robot, will be released July 2021, under the Mystique Press imprint.
Beyond writing (and his day job,) Paul enjoys family time, reading, book hunting, and guitar playing. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife and two kids (and cats.) Find him online at http://paulmcnamee.blogspot.com, Twitter @pmcnamee67, or visit his Amazon author page at http://amazon.com/author/paulrmcnamee
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Table of Contents
1. Journey into Exile
2. Train Wreck (seven years later…)
3. A Mysterious Call
4. Down at the Docks
5. The Trap
6. Memorial
7. Deductions and Disagreements
8. The Robot Under Attack!
9. On the Run
10. Inside the Factory
11. An Army on the March
12. In the Night Sky
Epilogue
1. Journey into Exile
The ship sped through the sub-dimensions, hull shimmering in the space warp. Fins protruded from the aerodynamic bullet design of the spacecraft, a shape which allowed the spaceship to traverse both planetary atmospheres and the gulfs of outer space. The vessel passed a frozen dwarf planet, the farthest of nine in the solar system, and shot toward its distant sun.
The robot aided one of the crew to his feet. The alien shook his head and looked down at the empty glass chamber where he had spent the past three years in hibernation. Once he was sure of his footing, he straightened and stretched long, lithe arms toward the ceiling.
“Report,” the alien said. He was humanoid, tall, and green-skinned. A lowering brow gave his eyes a dark, sunken appearance. He wore a blue flight suit with an alien emblem embroidered on the chest.
The robot crossed to the other side of the compartment. The robot had a humanoid form, a sleek red casing covered its frame except for openings to allow free movement at the joints. Black pinstripes ran down the center its arms, legs, and sides.
“We are approaching the orbit of the eighth planet of the system.” Long robotic fingers pressed buttons along the edge of the cryogen pod. The glass door slid shut with a quiet hiss.
The revived alien, Vythor, nodded. After traveling countless distances through interstellar space, their objective was tantalizingly close. They would cross the orbital paths of a handful more planets as they headed toward the solar center of the system. Then they would be ready.
Vythor needed to be ready before then.
The robot moved to the next pod, analyzing readouts on the screens with its single electronic eye. It gave a moment’s consideration to the data.
“Lieutenant Vythor, Captain Azomurn is reviving within acceptable parameters.”
Vythor looked past Azomurn to the third hibernation bay, where another crewmember slumbered in the dreamless chill beneath ice-frosted glass. Her name was Krev. The robot initiated the revival sequence and then returned to the captain. As Vythor watched, the ice receded from the glass dome over Krev’s capsule.
A groan turned Vythor’s attention to their reviving captain. Azomurn sat up and fought away the confusion of hibernation. The captain was a hulking figure, wider and taller than Vythor.
Vythor wished the robot had not been so efficient. He had hoped his crewmates would not suffer. They should have continued to sleep deeply, lost in dreams. Vythor’s attempt to alter the programming of his cryogen pod had failed. He should have woken first. He should have woken months before the others. Instead, the robot had been brought back online before Vythor. He cursed his luck.
Azomurn moved toward the pilot seat. Vythor needed to improvise quickly. He placed his hand on Azomurn’s shoulder.
“Permit me. I have been awake longer.”
Azomurn glowered, still in a post-hibernation fog. He was not one to idle long. As captain, he preferred a hands-on approach, but he accepted the logic of Vythor’s suggestion and gave an irritated nod.
Vythor sat in the chair. Autopilot controlled the ship during hibernation. Once the crew were awake, it felt more reassuring to have someone at the helm. Computers and robots could do many things, but nothing could recreate instinct in a machine.
“Is the target what we expected?” Azomurn asked.
Vythor did not know if the question was meant for him or the robot. The robot was attending Krev, so Vythor answered over his shoulder. “Yes, but we haven’t reached optimal scanning distance yet.”
The ship still approached the eighth planet, and the distant sun appeared slightly larger. The planet was blue with five prominent rings. It was beautiful. Every planet Vythor had ever explored was unique. He wished their mission was a simple, peaceful survey. That would have been a more pleasant voyage than they were destined to endure.
They would not reach a safe distance for escape pod ejection until they had passed fourth, red planet. Vythor again wished for different circumstances, but it was not to be. Soon, Krev would be revived. He needed a distraction before he could begin.
With a glance, Vythor saw Azomurn watching the Krev’s resuscitation. The cryogenic controls held the robot’s attention. This was the only moment he would have.
Seizing his chance, Vythor slipped a small device from his pocket and attached it under the main console. The grey casing on the device shifted colors as the camouflage circuit engaged. The edges on the oblong device blurred, and it disappeared. It would deter all scans and could not be seen. Even touch would not discern the object from an imperfection in the console’s surface.
If his crewmates had slumbered on, if the robot had not come online, the device would have been all that was needed. But Vythor could not risk the device being found. Though it was hidden, he knew there was a chance something would go wrong. He knew that all too well.
Vythor was onboard the vessel to ensure something went wrong.
A klaxon blared. Purple emergency lights bathed the ship’s interior. A vibration progressed from the stern of the spaceship until the entire craft shook. Vythor felt a strange sensation of combined heat and chill permeate through his bones. His stomach roiled with momentary nausea.
Azomurn aided Krev to her feet. Like her male counterparts, she was bald. She stood slightly shorter than Azomurn and had a lithe body.
“What’s happening?” Krev cried.
“Report!” demanded Azomurn.
Vythor saw a touch of disturbance in the captain’s countenance. Had Azomurn felt the same sensations? Krev looked gray with nausea, but she had just come out of cryo-sleep. The simple act of standing could sometimes take inordinate effort.
Vythor spun his chair to face the captain. The other occupants of the ship appeared as if far down a corridor bathed in the purple hue of the alert lights.
“Warp imbalance!” Vythor said. He spun his chair back to the controls. The movement felt like it took a year. He stretched a hand and worked a combination of buttons and controls.
The vessel lurched to a stop.
The robot glided to the cockpit, scanned the outputs on the screens and started analysis. Azomurn supported Krev as they came forward, anxious for data.
“Was it pilot error?” Azomurn asked the robot, while glaring at Vythor. For a moment Vythor felt exposed, as though the captain had peered inside his mind and seen his duplicity. A chill ran along his sp ine.
The moment passed. Vythor shook off the thought. Azomurn couldn’t have known Vythor’s intention. If Azomurn had even the least suspicion, Vythor would never have set foot on the mission. He would have been imprisoned on Haephot. Why should the captain suspect him now?
Those of higher rank and influence had assembled the crew. Vythor and Azomurn would not have chosen one another as shipmates, but Krev had played peacemaker during the planning and training.
“No,” the robot replied. “Nor are there faults in instrumentation. The warp drives will need to be examined.”
The three aliens stared out the viewscreen. Against the darkness of space, the blue gas giant loomed large.
“I’ve woken up on better mornings,” Krev said, a wry smile playing on her face. She appeared momentarily nauseated again, but the paleness of her skin flushed back to green.
Vythor quit the cockpit and strode to a bank of lockers on the wall.
“Where are you going?” Azomurn asked.
“To get a space suit,” Vythor replied. He opened a locker. Red-orange environment suits hung above boots and helmets. “The engines need inspection.”
“We will send the robot,” the captain said.
“You can send the robot, too, you mean,” Vythor said. He pulled on one leg of a suit. “I want to see those engines myself. I was in the chair, I feel responsible.”
It was a weak excuse, but Vythor could not think of a better one. The tension distracted him. He fought down a panicked thought that his deception had failed. He imagined Azomurn toying with him, forcing him to damn himself further with every illicit action he would undertake.
Vythor paused and took a deep breath. He waited for the captain’s official acceptance of his proposed action.
“Very well,” Azomurn conceded. “Get out there and learn what happened.”
Vythor’s gloved hand shook as he opened the service hatch of the secondary warp drive. The secondary drive’s function was to augment and balance the main drive. Without it, warping through subspace dimensions would be fraught with risk.
Across the stern of the spaceship, the robot inspected the main warp drive. Vythor had a few moments to act while the robot’s attention was elsewhere. A hard-shelled tool case hung at his hip, the strap across his shoulder and chest. From a hidden compartment, he withdrew a device similar to the one he had placed in the cockpit. He secured it against the wall of the drive chamber. The device flickered into invisibility. Rather than override controls as the other did, this device would sabotage the warp drive directly.
The robot needed a problem to find. Vythor needed to create one. He studied a coupling that joined two rods, and reached for a wrench in his case.
“Report,” Azomurn’s voice crackled in Vythor’s earpiece.
“Main warp drive is in perfect condition,” the robot said.
Vythor felt a tinge of panic. With its inspection finished, the robot would come his way. He could not discretely use the wrench. In desperation, he grabbed at the coupling with his gloved hand. Vythor knew it was hopeless. He could not leverage the piece. His bare strength could not twist the coupling a machine had torqued into place.
He twisted his hand anyway. The coupling spun as easily as if it had been oiled and hand tightened.
Vythor felt delight and confusion in his moment of relief. He didn’t understand how he had done it, but didn’t have time to ponder.
“There is something amiss with the secondary drive, Captain.” Vythor waved to the robot. “Come over here.”
The robot fired boosters housed in the soles of its feet. It glided over to Vythor’s side.
“There.” Vythor pointed at a gap between the two rods in the drive engine.
“The coupling dislodged,” the robot said.
“We must have come through something heavy while we were all sleeping,” Vythor said. He hated lying, but he’d come so far with his deception it was second nature. “Meteoroids?”
“There are no dents or scoring marks on the hull,” the robot said.
“An earlier warp imbalance?” Vythor suggested. “While we slept?”
“Any such emergency would have activated this unit,” the robot said, referring to itself.
“What about the imbalance we just experienced?”
“That did not last long enough to have uncoupled these rods.” The robot reached out its long metallic fingers and touched the coupling. Its single eye studied the arrangement of the rods and loose coupling.
“We can do analysis later.” It was Krev’s voice this time. “Robot—make the repair. Vythor, get back in here.”
Stepping from the airlock, Vythor found Azomurn and Krev waiting. Vythor tried to attribute the suspicion on their faces to his own paranoia, but he knew they had discovered something. Perhaps he had not worn his lies and deceptions as casually as his cover required.
“What did you find?” Krev asked. It was a needless question.
“You heard me speaking to the robot,” Vythor said. “A coupling came loose.”
Krev and Azomurn exchanged glances. Krev nodded.
“Interesting. We found this.” Azomurn held out his hand. In his hand was the control device Vythor had planted on the control panel.
Vythor’s expression remained calm. “Where?”
“On the control panel, in the cockpit,” Krev said.
“I didn’t see it.”
“Neither did we,” Krev said. “But as I watched you and the robot on the monitor, it appeared before my eyes.”
Vythor feigned surprised. He took the device from Azomurn. He pretended he held an unfamiliar device, fingering the controls, until the unit disappeared on his hand.
“Camouflage circuit,” Azomurn said. “Yet, we can see it.”
Vythor stared at his hand. After a moment, he saw the device, too. He knew the camouflage circuit had not failed. He was not seeing it as it was, but as if through some other medium of sight—a different wavelength he did not know he could perceive. He blinked his eyes. The device was invisible again.
Azomurn grunted and grabbed the device from Vythor’s open palm. Something cracked and crunched. The device re-appeared in Azomurn’s hand; it had been crushed.
The captain looked incredulously at the shards in his hand. So did his crewmates.
“What is the meaning of this?” Azomurn asked. Vythor knew he wasn’t referring to the attempted sabotage. Azomurn referred to the unexplained strength of his hand and fingers. Neither Vythor nor Krev had an answer.
The robot’s mechanical voice came over the speakers.
“Captain?”
“Here,” Azomurn responded.
“I believe it will be advisable to restrain Lieutenant Vythor.”
“What? Why?” Krev asked. “Robot, what are you talking about?”
“The damage to the engine was recent and not accidental,” the robot said. “I do not understand the method used, but only Vythor could have dislodged the coupling.”
Azomurn scowled in anger. The muscles on his neck corded tight. He threw the pieces of the crushed device to the floor.
“A device on the control panel. Damage to our warp drive. Care to explain yourself, Lieutenant?”
Vythor remained calm. The robot had only discovered the misleading damage Vythor had caused, not the second device. But if Azomurn or Krev informed the robot of what they had found, the robot would be certain to search for another device.
“I regret my action, but such actions are taken for the greater good.” Vythor confessed.
Azomurn grunted without surprise.
“You are a separatist,” Krev said. “An infiltrator.” She snapped her mouth open and closed, at a loss for further words.
“And a saboteur,” Azomurn said. “He threw us into warp imbalance.”
“This vessel will not reach the third planet of this system.” Vythor declared. “The separatist movement will not allow the machinations of the Haephotian Empire to conquer and exploit that world, or any other. We have knowledge and power to be used for peace, not conquest.”
“We don’t even know if it is worth conquering. That’s why we’re scouting.” Krev laughed. “You have thrown your life away.”
