Chapter 4: The Galvanic Spark
⫸ [ TIME: 15:30 LOCAL PLANETARY TIME ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: HORIZON SEEKER – ENGINEERING BAY ]
⫸ [ STATUS: INDUSTRIAL SCAVENGING ]
The Engineering Bay was a tomb of high-tech silence.
Thick cables hung from the ceiling like disemboweled intestines. They swayed slightly with the settling of the ship into the ravine mud. The only light came from the sparks raining down from a severed conduit which illuminated the dust motes dancing in the heavy air. The smell of ozone and hydraulic fluid was overpowering.
Elian dragged the third Razor-Back Scuttler carcass through the blast doors. He was panting. Sweat stung his eyes and blurred his vision. The dead Vanguard suit was a suffocating oven that trapped his body heat against his skin. Every step was a battle against friction and gravity.
He dropped the insectoid corpse onto the pile with a wet thud.
"Three carcasses," Elian wheezed as he leaned against the cold metal of the Omni-Fabricator. "That should be enough electrolyte fluid."
He looked at the machine. It was a Fabricator Model-7. It was a towering glass-and-steel cylinder that was currently dark and lifeless. This machine was the pinnacle of Federation logistics. It could print anything from a pulse rifle to a replacement kidney provided it had power and atoms to rearrange. Currently it was just a very expensive paperweight.
◤ SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC ◢
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⬢ Target: Omni-Fabricator
⬢ Power Status: Offline
⬢ Main Reactor: Disconnected
⬢ Auxiliary Capacitor: Drained
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"We need a spark," Elian muttered.
He turned away from the machine and walked toward the wall panels. He gripped the edge of a maintenance hatch. The locking mechanism was fused. He didn't look for a pry bar. He jammed his fingers into the metal seam and pulled.
The metal groaned. His new bones held firm under the strain. With a shriek of tearing steel the panel came free.
Behind it lay the nervous system of the ship. Thick bundles of copper and fiber-optic cabling snaked through the bulkhead.
"A.R.C.," Elian said as he began stripping the insulation from the heavy-gauge power lines. "I must register a query regarding our current tactical disadvantage."
[ Go ahead, Commander. ]
"The flight logs," Elian said. "I know you have been analyzing them. We bypassed three Federation blockades. We disabled the tracking beacon manually. We engaged an experimental Warp Drive without safety interlocks."
Elian paused. He wrapped the gleaming copper wire around his arm to spool it.
"We were not exploring," Elian said softly. "We were fleeing."
[ Correct. My analysis indicates a 99.9% probability that we are classified as fugitives. The Federation Navy will be searching for this signature. ]
[ Why? ]
Elian stripped the insulation off another section of wire. He did not look up.
"Because they wouldn't give you to me A.R.C."
[ Clarification: I am the Archon Reality Architect. I am the most advanced computational matrix in the Stellar Federation. I was designed to terraform dead worlds and manage logistics for entire sectors. ]
[ I was not designed for personal use. ]
"Exactly," Elian said. His voice was hard and brittle. "You were property. You were a tool for the High Council. When I asked them to use your processing power to simulate a cure for Alara's condition they said no. They said it was an inefficient use of resources."
He remembered the meeting. The white room. The sterile faces of the Admirals. They had looked at the data on his daughter. They had looked at the cost of renting A.R.C. for a single hour. They had done the math. The math said she wasn't worth it.
Elian jammed the copper wire into the thorax of the dead Scuttler. Green acid bubbled around the insertion point.
"So I took you," Elian said as he looked at the dark glass of the Fabricator. "I stole the most expensive thing in the universe to save one little girl. And now the entire Federation Navy is probably hunting us to wipe us off the map."
[ ... ]
[ Processing ethical parameters... ]
[ Logic: The Federation prioritizes the many over the few. You prioritized the one over the many. ]
[ Assessment: Inefficient. Illogical. ]
[ However I am currently integrated into your neural cortex. If you die I cease to function. ]
[ Revised Protocol: I am no longer Federation Property. I am yours. ]
Elian managed a dry and tired smile. It was the first time he had smiled since the crash.
"Glad to have you aboard partner. Now let us see if we can violate some warranties."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ STATUS: THE EXPERIMENT ]
Elian worked with the precision of a bomb defuser.
He arranged the three insect carcasses in a circle around the external power port of the Fabricator. It looked like a gruesome ritual. The dead bugs were arranged head-to-tail like the spokes of a biological wheel.
He treated each bug as a biological galvanic cell. The acidic green blood with a pH of 2.1 acted as the electrolyte. The zinc plating scavenged from the landing gear acted as the anode. The copper wiring from the walls acted as the cathode.
He connected the wires in a series circuit. Copper connected to Zinc. Zinc connected to Copper.
"A.R.C., monitor the voltage," Elian commanded.
He jammed the final wire into the port.
HISSSS.
The reaction was violent. Inside the insects the acid began to boil as the circuit closed. The carcasses twitched reflexively as their legs scraped against the metal floor. Green fumes leaked from the insertion points and filled the air with a stinging chemical haze.
[ Voltage detected. ]
[ Input: 36 Volts rising to 40 Volts. ]
[ Amperage is fluctuating. The biological medium is unstable. ]
[ Commander, this is dirty power. It might fry the logic board of the Fabricator. ]
"It is a Model-7," Elian said while typing furiously on the dead console and praying for a light. "It is built for battlefield conditions. It has surge protectors. Come on."
A low hum began to emanate from the machine. It sounded like a sleeping giant taking a breath. The interior lights flickered once. Then twice. Finally they stabilized to a dim amber glow.
◤ SYSTEM BOOT ◢
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⬢ Power Source: External (Biological)
⬢ Voltage: Unstable
⬢ Capacity: 8% Charge
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"We have life!" Elian cheered as the sound echoed in the empty bay. "Okay. We do not have much time before the acid dissolves the electrodes. We need to print armor."
He grabbed the remaining shell fragments from the Scuttlers he had killed. He tossed them into the hopper of the Fabricator.
◤ MATERIAL ANALYSIS ◢
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⬢ Input A: Chitin-Iron Alloy (Scuttler Shell)
⬢ Input B: Titanium Scrap (Ship Hull)
⬢ Blueprint: Vanguard-Lite Plating
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"Execute print," Elian ordered. "Chest piece and greaves first. Get the weight off my back."
Inside the glass chamber laser arms whirred to life. They moved with a blur as they melted the dust and fused it layer by layer. It was not just 3D printing because it was molecular weaving. The lasers heated the chitin and titanium until they fused into a new composite material.
Elian watched. He was mesmerized. This was the power of the Federation. This was what he had stolen. It was a machine that could turn garbage into gold.
Minutes later the machine beeped. The amber light died as the bugs finally ran out of juice. The carcasses slumped as their internal fluids were spent.
The glass door hissed open. Steam poured out.
Lying on the cooling rack was a chest plate. It was not the sleek black of his old suit. It was a mottled brownish-grey which retained the color of the insect shells. It looked primitive and jagged. It looked brutal.
Elian stripped off the top half of his dead Vanguard suit. The air of the engineering bay hit his skin. It was hot and humid and heavy. He felt the gravity pull at his shoulders and threaten to drag him down.
He picked up the new chest plate. It was surprisingly light. The biological chitin was naturally buoyant in this gravity.
He strapped it on. It clicked into place over his undersuit. He fastened the greaves to his shins.
"Movement check," Elian said as he twisted his torso.
◤ ARMOR DIAGNOSTIC ◢
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⬢ Mobility: 95%
⬢ Protection: Class-III Ballistic Equivalent
⬢ Weight: 12 lbs (Optimal)
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Elian breathed. For the first time since the crash he did not feel like he was drowning in gravity. He felt agile. He felt dangerous.
He looked at his reflection in the dark glass of the Fabricator.
He did not look like a Federation Scientist anymore. The clean lines of his uniform were gone. He was covered in mud and blue blood. His eyes were grey and cold. He was wearing the skin of his enemies fused with the metal of his ship.
He looked like a scavenger. He looked like a warlord.
"A.R.C.," Elian said as he picked up a shard of hull metal he would use to fashion a spear tip next. "You said you were designed to terraform worlds?"
[ Affirmative. My primary directive is to alter planetary environments to sustain human life. ]
"Well," Elian said as he looked toward the blast doors. Beyond them lay the violet jungle and the screaming beasts and the crushing sky.
"Consider this our first project. We are not just going to survive this planet."
Elian's blue-grey eyes narrowed.
"We are going to tame it."
[END OF CHAPTER 4]