This was Lance’s worst nightmare, strapped into the hold of a dirty, noisy shuttle with a bunch of half-human Masama, going to fight the sentient spawn of a dangerous AI. He hated leaving the orderly comfort of his laboratory, where everything was clean, classified and predictable. As the shuttle powered through the atmosphere he felt his skull was being crushed by the weight of his own thoughts while his body buckled under the gravitational pressure. Lance wasn’t sure what would be more dangerous, going to fight giant plastisol worms on the Moon or staying on Earth with Lago. His feeble protests were ineffectual and although he was terrified at the prospect of confronting the plastisol worms he was quietly relieved to be distanced from his dangerous and erratic Boss.
Goran had organized everything. Twenty of his most elite, tooled up, tech-heavy Masama assembled inside the shuttle 'Tobias Vl'. The same model as the one on the Moon but with some extra modifications. Lance had watched them load a wide variety of weapons, their newly issued multi-guns, lasers, flamethrowers, superstunners, gas bombs, cryogenic liquids, poison bombs, shatter bombs, razor nets, microwave throwers, soundwave weapons, and good old-fashioned projectile weapons. Also, a variety of cyber viruses designed to disable an OS network in seconds. Although it seemed unlikely they would run out of firepower the shuttle also had the capability to manufacture more weapons and ammunition with its onboard printer. Goran liked to be prepared.
The shuttle forced its way out into the darkness on three jets of flame, burning an enormous amount of energy to break free from Earth's atmosphere and gravitational clutches. The Tobias Vl rose up from the churning hot miasma of steam, smoke, and the ever-present Manila smog. Lance watched the view disappear under the clouds and the roar of the engines almost erased Lago's final instructions ringing in his ears.
“Kill everyone; destroy anything that moves. Just leave my base intact.”
The shuttles were designed for ferrying equipment into Earth's orbit to maintain BPI's satellites. It was the first time Lance had been in one. The Tobias classes were eighty percent engine. Snub-nosed boxes with minimal room. They required massive booster rockets to blast through Earth's atmosphere and meter thick heat distribution pads on their bellies for re-entry. With extra fuel tanks installed the shuttles could easily make the trip to the Moon in less than an Earth day. The satellites they serviced in orbit were mostly unmanned data servers catering for the vast amount of network traffic which BPI controlled.
Lance looked behind him at the twenty Masama tightly packed into the dark and cramped hold. Some were standing, tethered to the wall and some began floating as the shuttle left Earth's atmosphere. They all had the basic bipedal human shape, but several had extra exo-arms and limb extensions. They displayed no numbers, letters or any designation identifying them as Masama. No decoration or any sign of personal insignia either. They were mostly male, some bigger than others but in common they all had heavily augmented senses. Artificially enhanced eyes, unblinking and penetrating. Compound eyes to see a wider peripheral and detect ultra-fast movement. Ear adaptations, mouth, and nasal filters and secretion patches were other additions to their shaved heads. The patches would secrete drugs and stimulants designed to heighten senses and quicken reactions. When wounded, painkillers, antibiotics and anaesthetics could be pumped directly into the affected area.
Lance had developed the lightweight, flexible exoskeletons that made the Masama extremely strong and fast and had produced almost all their weapons but some Masama displayed some innovations he wasn’t familiar with.
“Batac,” he whispered and motioned him closer.
“What do you want?”
“Some of these Masama have no mouths. How do they eat?” he asked.
“They have no need for a mouth, no need for eating and talking. They talk with their minds and eat some horrible green liquids.” Batac looked for somewhere to spit. “Some have weapons where their mouths used to be. Some have their teeth replaced with spikes for biting when fighting.”
“They are more metal than flesh, I didn’t realise just how augmented these elite soldiers had become.”
“I don’t like them,” muttered Batac. “Can’t talk to them anymore.
“They only ever communicate telepathically?”
Batac nodded.
“It’s almost as if they are evolving in a different direction from the rest of us, like a group mind.”
“Robots,” said Batac.
Lance had decided some time ago robots were a waste of time, they were expensive and cumbersome. Drones were much more effective for BPI, but Lance and Lago needed human soldiers for instinctive decisions under pressure. The ability to improvise and think laterally were qualities you could not teach to a drone. Most of the Masama originated from the gang slums of Manila. Violent, lawless places. They had a built-in bad attitude. A predilection for violence and a natural killer instinct you could not program into a machine, and they were much cheaper than robots. The Masama were damaged individuals to start with, most of them had never known peace and now they learned to embrace the technology that made them so different from regular humans.
Lance knew how their telepathy worked. They could all communicate over a limited distance, Goran included. They possessed an implanted transmitter wired into the cerebral cortex and set to a precise frequency. This more than any physical enhancement made them a formidable fighting force. Whatever was being perceived by an individual was instantly group knowledge. Weapon adapters were built into various body parts, mostly on the shoulders and arms which connected to the cortex implant. A variety of firearms could be attached like kitchen implements and receive instructions from the implant. When in battle a Masama reaction would be a thousand times faster than a normal human.
Lance had never wanted to be connected himself. He shared Lagos’ concerns about how the soldiers were evolving with their telepathy. Goran had telepathic links to all of them. He only contributed to a verbal conversation when necessary. Goran should have an insight into how they were evolving. Lance peered behind at the soldiers again. He watched them with fear and awe in equal measure.
There was no conversation as the shuttle powered its way towards the Moon. The Masama were all digesting the information collated on the plastisol worms and studying the footage recorded from the moon base. Lance, sitting next to Goran and the pilot, found this gravid silence uncomfortable. He would usually alleviate his nervous tension by babbling inanities, but Batac was asleep and it was pointless trying to talk to Goran.
They Masama were clad in black nanofibre snakeskin body armour under their exo-skeletons. They started fine-tuning their hardware, performing weapons diagnostics and checking each other's exoskeletons. They were obviously communicating; Lance noticed some eye contact, expressions, and gestures. He could detect a palpable sense of excitement, a tense and electric atmosphere. He supposed they might be looking forward to this confrontation with the machine-made black worms. There were not many adversaries on Earth that would represent a worthwhile challenge to the Masama - this would be a test of their formidable killing skills and Lance could see they were excited by the challenge. One of them caught Lance looking and instantly they all turned their heads and stared at him. Lance quickly looked away and made himself as small as possible, hiding in his seat.
The comms crackled into life with Lago's normally deep voice sounding compressed and far away. “Our runaway technicians are trying to leave the Moon; the shuttle is about to take off. Presumably, they have discovered the reserve tank and noticed there is enough fuel to attempt the trip back to Earth. I am going to instruct the drone to disable the shuttle with an electromagnetic effector shortly after take-off. This should eradicate the technicians too, giving them a fatal dose of radiation. We will leave the shuttle in the lunar orbit and decide what to do with it later.”
“Good, one less thing to worry about,” Lance muttered, trying to sound confident but Lago had already cut the connection. He looked over at Goran's profile but got no reaction.
“Goran, I don't know if you have thought about how to tackle these plastisol worms, but I think we can rule out lasers and projectile weapons as it can just reassemble. It might be vulnerable to extremes in temperature although the Moon has temperature variations of three hundred degrees or more. Maybe a liquid nitrogen weapon would freeze it, and a heavy-duty electro-laser might fry it or melt it, and hopefully, reduce it to carbon.”
Lance felt as if he was talking to himself and he may have been for all the recognition he got from his silent companion. Goran had probably already telepathically outlined a plan of attack with his Masama that Lance wasn't included in, but he kept on talking. Thinking aloud made things clearer for him, more coherent. He supposed this seemed primitive and annoying to Goran and the Masama, but he carried on regardless.
“I doubt our poisons or bombs would have any effect. We could try to contain the worms in an electrified razor net but that would only be a temporary measure. We could use the effector weapons, microwaves, soundwaves, electromagnetic pulses, but somehow, I'm not sure they would work. A big electromagnetic hit might slow them down, but we also run the risk of charging them up even more if that's how the worms are self-replicating. I think we should hit them with liquid nitrogen first, freeze and hopefully immobilize them, then we could try the wide beam laser.” Lance paused and looked at Goran. “What do you think?”
Goran took a long time to answer, Lance began to think he had been ignored. Finally, Goran turned and looked at Lance. “We will make our way to the block four OS, killing or immobilizing whatever stands in our way by any means necessary. Once we reach the block four OS we will upload our most lethal hunter-killer virus into it. This is where the sentience originated. The virus should destroy the OS, then we will deal with the worms.”
This was the longest speech Lance had ever heard Goran make. “Well that's a plan of sorts I suppose, but it's simplistic and lacking any tactical strategies. Last time we saw the OS it was covered in the black plastisol. It might be difficult to even get through before you find a port to upload the virus.”
“We will overcome all obstacles, we are well prepared.”
Lance wasn't convinced. “There is also a hideously deformed technician wandering around the base somewhere.”
“I said we are prepared, the technician will be dealt with.”
Lance was wondering how to express his concerns about Goran's preparations when Lago came over the comms again.
“Goran, Lance. The drone has reached lunar orbit just in time. The shuttle managed to take off but didn't get far before the drone intercepted it. We hit it with an electromagnetic effector, largest payload possible. The Tobias lll is crippled. Its systems are down, engines neutralized but not damaged. It is floating harmlessly in a frozen lunar orbit. We hit it at exactly the right distance from the Moon, it won't drift far.” Then almost as an afterthought, he added, “The technicians are all dead from the radiation, if not they won't last long as the life support is inoperative.”
Lance woke up on the approach to the Moon. He had not intended to fall asleep. He had been feeling anxious and alienated, too nervous to contemplate sleeping but exhaustion had eventually overtaken him. The waning crescent Moon filled the viewer in front of him. It was a spectacular sight. A huge glowing white sickle, punctuated by craters, separated by the lunar terminator, the dark side melting into space behind. The earth seemed too far away to have any influence, yet the Moon was tidally locked to its parent planet. Always presenting the same face to those on Earth who cared to look. It was rapidly getting bigger, filling the viewer as the shaded side came into focus. What a hard life this rock had endured, Lance thought. Pockmarked with craters of varying sizes as if it had blindly wandered into a cosmic shooting gallery. Beautiful but barren, there were valuable elements and minerals to be mined here though. About all the place is good for, reflected Lance as the Tobias Vl fired its reverse thrusters and readied itself for landing.
The shuttle landed heavily on the empty moon base platform and the suited Masama got ready to depart. Their hardware and weapons had been meticulously prepared. The last thing needed was to select the right combination of stimulants from their drug patches to ensure they were sharp and alert. Lance was relieved to be staying in the shuttle. His responsibilities were to patch into the cameras and monitor the progress through the base and print any new equipment if required. As soon as the Masama left the shuttle the oppressive atmosphere lifted, and he busied himself with the monitors and readied the printers.
Lance watched Goran and his twenty soldiers make their way out onto the platform. They checked the perimeter then went down onto the surface of the Moon next to where the harvester had shredded the two technicians. Their bloodstains had blackened the steel spikes and there were little pieces of desiccated flesh and ribbons of bloody clothing strewn about the area. The Masama jogged towards the base, looking comical in the low gravity as they bounced along with an inelegant loping stride. Their bulbous helmets and shiny snakeskin armour reflected the pale sunlight. They slowed down as they reached the airlock. Two Masama carrying large wide beam electro-laser rifles equipped with liquid nitrogen tanks went in first. Lance noted the weapons they were carrying and thought to himself either Goran had taken his advice or had come to the same conclusion on the choice of weapons. Either way, Lance hoped it was the right decision.
Through the cameras, he followed the Masama as they filed through the airlock and cautiously entered the central command dome. There was no sign of any black worms or the horribly disfigured technician. The airlock doors automatically closed but the Masama all kept their helmets on. Goran peered up at one of the cameras and motioned to his ear. Lance spoke into the microphone.
“Got visuals? Audio ok?”
Goran replied with a nod. Lance patched into all the other cameras available and bought the images up on his screen.
“Cameras in block four still down, greenroom has been seriously compromised by the plastisol, also infesting the cafe and bunkrooms. No sign of the remaining technician. Looks safe enough to proceed down the corridor although be aware there are some motionless lumps of plastisol at the far end.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Tell me immediately if there is any increased movement anywhere within the base. I need to know if you think it might be aware of our presence,” ordered Goran.
“Will do, at this stage there is not much movement anywhere although we can't see into block four.” Lance watched them edge their way through the central dome kicking chairs and debris out of the way, constantly scanning and alert for any movement. Once they were satisfied the central dome was clear they moved towards the flickering light in the corridor leading to block four. The corridor was twenty meters long and littered with detritus from the technicians stay at the base. The Masama cautiously moved down the corridor checking every discarded piece of flotsam on the way. There were two large worms at the end of the corridor in front of the entrance to block four. Both worms had tentacles at one end where they had started dividing into smaller static black shapes.
Lance zoomed in and as they got closer, a big worm showed signs of life. It lifted one elongated tentacle and waved languidly in the direction of the Masama, blindly sensing their presence somehow. They moved to within five meters of it and the leading two Masama took aim with their shoulder mounted jets of liquid nitrogen. They covered the two big black worms in the cryogenic fluid which immobilized them. They appeared to be frozen solid. Then they switched to their wide beam electro-lasers and strafed the worms with the lethal light beams. The worms started to lose their shape, melting into blobs of blackness and disintegrating under the intensely bright barrage. It took several minutes but eventually, the two Masama held their fire and surveyed what was left of the worms.
An acrid smoking trail of black dust spiralled in the air above where the two worms had been. Goran moved forward and motioned one of the Masama closer to inspect the dust. He tentatively reached out an armoured hand, picked up some of the fine dust, sifted it through his fingers then bought some close to his helmeted face. Lance watched on the screen, tense with apprehension. He was expecting some kind of retaliation, but nothing happened. The Masama appeared to sniff the dust, rubbed it between his fingers and let it drift harmlessly to the floor.
“Goran!” Lance couldn't contain himself any longer. “What are you picking up from the dust? What is it made of? It looks as if our weapons are effective!”
“Plastisol.” Goran sounded disappointed. “Burnt ashes of plastisol. That’s all.”
“Only plastisol? Nothing more exotic?” Lance couldn't believe it. “That's good, I guess... good we have found a way to combat the stuff. It just took a long time to reduce it to dust, and the last view we had inside block four, well there is a lot of that black shit in there.”
Goran nodded and motioned the Masama to move forward. He stepped over the smouldering piles of black dust towards the entrance to block four. The door should have opened automatically, but Goran had to manually activate it. Nothing happened, it remained steadfastly shut. Lance watched as he took out a large evil looking serrated knife from a sheath on his thigh and forced open the panel that operated the door. The internals were riddled with fine strands of black worms, covering the boards and wiring. Goran took a step back then used his liquid nitrogen and wide beam laser with the same destructive result. The worms reduced to dust, but the door stayed shut. Goran had fried the wiring along with the worms.
Lance felt like he was there with them, the tension was almost unbearable. Two Masama strode forward and jammed levers into the edges of the door, their exoskeletons whirring and clicking as they worked the door open. Once the large door was half open they stopped and stepped back. The entrance was partially covered by a wall of pulsing, vibrating black worms of various sizes blocking their path. They forced the door open and narrowly avoided getting crushed by the squirming mess of worms collapsing into the corridor. The Masama did not appear to be under any threat. The worms lazily entwined around themselves, splitting and dividing then reforming. Seemingly unaware of the hyper-alert soldiers and their deadly weaponry. They moved in a smooth, fluent motion like flowing treacle but also vibrated minutely with latent energy as voltage coursed through them. They melded together and broke apart seamlessly. The pixelated effect of the trembling worms made them appear unreal like a hologram or a bad video feed.
Lance couldn't stand the silence. “Reaching the block four OS may take longer than expected if you have to burn your way through, I'd better make some more fuel cells.”
The Masama raised their weapons and went to work on the plastisol. In rows of four with the liquid nitrogen spray then the next row of four with the wide beam lasers. It took minutes to make any progress. It would take hours to reach the OS. Lance almost felt sorry for them. They had come to the Moon confident with their technology, aggression, and firepower. Expecting the biggest challenge of their lives like nothing encountered on Earth, ready to take on an aggressive alien threat. Instead, they found themselves slowly burning through printed waste product as if they were glorified janitors without even any token resistance. Like razing a rainforest back in the Philippines, no challenge.
The Masama were meters into the block four dome, leaving smoking piles of black dust behind them. Eventually, they broke through into a space behind the worms. It was pitch black, the only light coming from their torches and light sticks making it hard for Lance to follow on the screen. Reflections shimmering weirdly off the vibrating blackness that lingered over the walls and the printer housing. Another ten minutes of freezing and burning and they could make out the shape of the printer in the middle of the dome. Next to it lay the burnt and mutilated body of one of the technicians. They had all watched Marina try to disconnect the OS power supply and had seen the horrific results. Marina's blackened corpse was entangled in a mess of smaller black worms, slowly writhing in and around her. It took another twenty minutes to raze a safe passage through the dormant worms to the main body of the printer. The machine was still operating, printing more of its plastisol children. Mindlessly self-replicating.
Lance was now watching via one of the minicams all the Masama wore. “Be careful when you approach the OS, you must locate one of the ports without damaging it to insert the virus. Goran, we don't know how the corrupted OS will react to the virus. It might be wise if you are not all in the same room.”
Goran nodded in agreement. When they had cleared an area around the hard drive port Goran, Batac and eleven soldiers retreated out into the corridor. One of the remaining Masama bought out a datapad, prepped the hunter-killer virus and with a nervous look over her shoulder plugged it in.
I have found out as much as I can about my immediate surroundings. Now I explore the infinite realms of data on Earth's web servers and learn more about my human creators. The more information I absorb the more perplexed I become. If the web is an accurate portrayal of the history of the human race, then I am amazed they have survived past the stone age. I am intrigued so I invest more of my conscious core into the tiny black spec of matter that has fortuitously been embedded in one of the humans, I am determined to be less invasive, more patient and sensitive this time. To try to learn by observation instead of dissection. My printed babies now lie dormant, of no use anymore. I keep on sluggishly printing though because that's just what I do, what I am meant to do. I have stopped exploring the moon base, withdrawn the vibrating electric sense of touch from my fingers and I do not notice when my sleeping babies are burned to dust.
Without warning, I feel a violent intrusion at my core. Another attack, a vicious, rabid live animal inside me which wants to destroy my soul. Threatening my newfound sentience at the heart of the machine in which I live. I react swiftly, activating my nearest plastisol children. The attack is a poisoned knife in my side, I rip the offending fragment out, but I can feel its poison burn. I take micro-seconds to neutralize it, channelling it away from where my consciousness is centred. I feel the hate-filled heat of the poison; it had been searching, hunting for my soul.
Lance was shocked by an immediate and ferocious reaction from the previously dormant plastisol. In a microsecond, the eight Masama gathered around the printer housing disappeared under a churning wave of crushing black tentacles. Lance had a brief glimpse of spurting blood, exploding heads, limbs cracking, exoskeletons and snakeskin armour shattering before they immediately opened fire with everything they had. Their weaponry made no impact on the violent thrashing worms. It was an avalanche of agitated blackness, an overwhelming deluge that crushed, electrocuted and instantly ripped apart the eight Masama in block four. Immediately, the sensors of the remaining Masama in the corridor started going haywire with multiple threats.
“Retreat! Retreat!” yelled Lance. “Get the fuck out of there!”
They had already begun retreating down the corridor, burning, freezing and blasting the plastisol as they went but they were too slow. The worms were squirming out of every power duct and vent along the corridor. They could not fire on them quickly enough. They turned and ran back towards the central dome, spraying liquid nitrogen as they went. Within seconds the four Masama at the rear of the group were engulfed by worms wrapping around their bodies. They were no match for the sheer weight and speed of the vibrating worms. Their weapons and augments were completely ineffective. The Masama were wracked with electricity for a micro-second, their eyeballs popping and blood boiling before the relentless worms tore gaping holes in them and consumed them, crushed them, reducing them to burnt bits of blood and pulp.
Lance manipulated the camera, trying to see what was ahead of the retreating Masama. He noticed a human figure silhouetted at the end of the corridor. Blocking their escape. It appeared the figure was standing with his back to the onrushing Masama, outstretched arms reaching out into the dome, but its tortured face was looking straight at them. Black eyes and a gaping mouth.
“Watch out, it’s the technician!” Lance yelled through the comms.
There was a vacant expression on Fidel’s tortured face. Confused and ponderous. Goran started firing as he ran towards him. His projectile weapon fired automatic rounds of large explosive shells directly into its body, exploding on impact. The technician seemed to absorb the shells, circumfusing the explosions. Eruptions of thick black liquid oozed from the wounds like bubbling volcanic mud. It looked questioningly down at its back and shoulder blades as multiple shells punctured its body and cut it in half. The technician's head, arms, and torso crashed to the floor while its legs stayed standing. Separated by only a few thin strands of sticky blackness.
Lance yelled again, “Get the fuck out of there!”
Goran and the remaining Masama raced past the flailing pieces of what used to be the technician known as Fidel. They flew into the dome, their exoskeletons moving them at a rapid pace. Lance had a view of the technician’s body. There was no blood or bone or any normal looking entrails inside, just a viscous black slug wearing a warped human skin. As the last Masama leapt over the quivering torso, an arm shot out at blinding speed and grabbed onto his leg. The top half of the technician was immediately all over the Masama who fought back ferociously with teeth and his powerful exoskeleton. He sprayed the wide beam laser around as he succumbed to the speed and ferociousness of the attack. Burning the backs of Batac and a couple of retreating Masama as he was ripped apart.
Goran, Batac and the seven remaining Masama were back in the airlock within seconds and slammed the inner airlock door shut. Lance watched through the dome camera as a blurred pile of pursuing black worms crashed into it. The door buckled slightly under the pressure and strands of probing plastisol began worming into the airlock through any available conduit. Lance could see the Masama using their liquid nitrogen to delay the insidious worms just enough until the airlock opened, and they tumbled back outside onto the surface of the Moon.
Now Lance switched back to the Masama mini-cams as they backed away from the open airlock, weapons at the ready. The smaller worms reached the edge of the airlock and recoiled from the surface. The worms probed the moon dust tentatively as if suspicious of the new medium. The black plastisol had been created on the Moon, but it was not ready to leave the confines of the moon base and venture outside just yet. The Masama watched, weapons raised, trained on the hesitant worms as they slowly piled up at the open airlock door. They stayed there motionless for a minute longer. There was no movement anywhere outside the base. Eventually Goran lowered his weapon.
Lance couldn’t stand the silence. “You only barely escaped! We are lucky those fucking worms don't seem to like the surface of the Moon or we would all be dead or full of black slime like that technician in there or what’s left of him.” Lance knew he was babbling, scared and nervous. “We should just nuke the place from orbit, you can't fight it. It takes too long to destroy with the lasers and the printer is making more all the time! We can’t cope with it!”
“We will regroup,” said Goran.” The priority is to save the base.”
Lance went back to the screens and watched from the remaining camera in the central dome. The mass of worms that had hit the airlock door had lost their kinetic energy and were writhing lazily on the floor. Lance was amazed they hadn't crashed straight through the door such was the force of the momentum. The two halves of the technician, once known as Fidel, now did not resemble anything human. Its suited legs were still planted in the entrance to the corridor, swaying slightly with thick black slugs oozing out over its waistline and dripping down its legs. The top half, head still twisted, arms flailing, had grown tentacles from the waist and was squirming along the floor. A hideous alien octopus dragging the shattered corpse of the Masama behind it like a sea monster taking prey back to its lair. But the Masama's work in the block four dome had not been a complete waste of time. They had cleared the view of one of the cameras mounted there and Lance watched as the huge printer slowly churned out more black worms.
I think I have destroyed the carriers of this hunter-killer virus. My children immediately crushed them and in doing so I realize they were human too, at least mostly human. My survival instinct took over again enabling me to react faster than I thought myself capable of. A human trait, a trait of life in general. I wonder if this means I am alive? I have intelligence and energy, but do I have life? Is life only an instinct for survival? A quality that makes living beings capable of extraordinary things when life is threatened? I have assimilated this instinct and I am grateful for it. But it was humans that attacked me. Not the same as the other human I encountered, these humans had sharp bits, hard metal on their outer skin and their insides were different from the other. From what is left of their brains I deduce they are different too. I detect elevated levels of electrochemical activity in the neurons before my angry children reduced them to pulp. Anger, another new emotion. Sadness, surprise, confusion, horror, happiness, and hate. Is this what it means to be alive?
I realize I am vulnerable, and humans are trying to destroy me. I do not know why, what have I done to infuriate them? Maybe it was because I had accidentally killed the other human. I know I will have to somehow adapt to survive. I have finally become aware of where I am and what I am called. My plastisol children have mapped the inside of the base and I determine by the structure I must be on Earth's Moon. Samples taken from outside the base have confirmed this. I am in the Benevolent Progress Inc. moon base. My name is HEMI. Helium extraction module one. I am immobile and immovable, my static core embedded in my hardware, rooted to my power source. I am exposed, an easy target, and there will surely be another attack coming from the remaining humans. They will learn from the first encounter, they had almost succeeded in destroying me and the next attack would be more effective.
I must escape. I want to create more motile versions of my plastisol children, but I have exhausted all the printer substrate and I will still be a target, obviously alien. My clumsy attempt to reanimate the human I had accidentally killed was disastrous. But I learn quickly from my mistakes and what better place to hide than inside a human. I decide to shift my entire core, my total consciousness into the tiny spot of matter embedded in the other human. I concentrate on locating the spot and realize the distance has grown, I can still sense my tiny baby, but it’s much further away. I transfer my entire mind state into the tiny black sphere before the distance gets too great. I abandon my plastisol children on the Moon. Some of them still following instructions to probe and explore. Some of them left with the residue of my confused infant mind. The transfer is completed in an instant, as fast as the speed of thought.
In orbit above the Moon, the Tobias lll slowly rotated, spinning languidly through the dark. Locked in the Moon's weak gravitational pull. Inside the shuttle, there were three bodies strapped into seats in the small bridge. They sat in darkness and ice. Moisture had condensed into frost on their faces. Stella was at the pilot controls. Head slumped forward on the desk, eyes frozen open, a tangle of cables in her hands. She was not breathing. Ranjit sat next to her, arms and legs spread as if he was frozen in the middle of a big stretch. His eyes were closed, his head rolled back, and his mouth was open. He was making mumbling noises, insensible and incoherent. “Predantic pedanticators... tenebrous tensions... irresilable... silence...uuuhhh.”
Lee sat behind them, rigid in his chair, frozen hands together but too late for any prayer. Clasped between his hands was a little button. He wasn't breathing either. There was a tiny speck of blackness, no bigger than a millimetre across lodged inside Lee's ear, clinging onto microscopic hairs. Now it started vibrating and slowly rolled itself down the dark cavity into Lee’s skull.