Michael Flynn: Up Jim River

Or used to feed and maintain them.

Not all the pods were empty. Donovan caught brief glimpses here and there into open pods and saw grinning skulls, mummified corpses, masses of corruption.

Other pods gave at least the seeming of functionality. Lights gleamed on panels beside them, gauges displayed quantities and qualities. Peacharoo entered a sector where the pods seemed almost pristine. There, it slowed to a stop, and Donovan and the others slid gingerly off the platform. “Quite a ride,” said Paulie, huffing.

Méarana found herself face-to-face with a viewing portal. Pressed against it from the inside was a woman’s face, partly dissolved and stuck in a gluey mass to the glasslike material. Méarana bit down on a scream and buried her face in Sofwari’s shoulder.

“An awakee,” said Sofwari, “but the pod would not open. She suffocated…or she went mad and died in there.”

She pulled away from him. “Is that supposed to comfort me? What if the same thing happened to Mother? That artificial intelligence stuffed her into a pod—and who knows if it was still working?”

“There is no need to be rude,” said Peacharoo in Gaelactic.

Paulie grunted, but said nothing. Billy Chins was breathing hard and looking in all directions. “Sahbs,” he said. “We have company.”

“I guess this here’s the Proctor,” said Paulie.

The newcomer was taller, thinner, and boasted a multitude of arms. Its ymago wrapped wholly around it, so that—save for the wheels on which it rolled—it seemed almost human. Blue of skin, it resembled some ancient multiarmed deity. Žiba the Destroyer , Donovan thought.

“Here, here,” it said in Gaelactic. “What’s all this, now?”

Peacharoo said, “Officer, these colonists have refused to re-enter their stasis pods after I have repeatedly asked them to do so.”

“We can’t have that, now, can we? Sahbs, it is not safe for ye to be up and about. The planet will not be ready to sustain life for…” A pause. “…nine lakh of hours. That is one-third of a life span, and there is little for an awakee to do before Debarkation Day. Idle hands and all that, what?”

“I want to see my mother!” said Méarana. “Thousands of pods have failed. You must have noticed! I want to make certain that she is all right.”

“The request seems reasonable, Attendant.”

Peacharoo said, “I have brought her to her mother’s pod. She can see all the lights are green.”

Méarana cried, “Which is it? Show me!”

The Attendant projected a laser to highlight the next pod but two. Méarana shoved her way past Billy and Paulie and the Attendant and pressed her hands and face against the viewport of the indicated sleep-pod. Donovan stepped up behind.

“Is it her?” he asked.

“I can’t see. I can’t see. Peacharoo! Are there lights inside the pod so I can see if that is Mother?”

“Such filial devotion,” said the Proctor, “is touching in these degenerate times.”

The Attendant’s laser interfaced with something in the controls. Lights inside the pod came to life, bathing the occupant in a yellowish gloom.

Méarana began to cry. Donovan wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I never thought,” he said. “I never thought we would actually find her.”

“Donovan,” the harper whispered in the thickest Dangchao Anglic she could muster, “wha’ button wakes her oop?”

“How d’ye ken she be ainly in hyposleep?”

“An she waken oop when I press the button. If she’s nae slaeping…An she’s deid…She willnae wake oop.”

“An she be ainly sleeping, the wrong button maun kill her.”

“Aye, but I cannae lave ‘er here. That would gae kill her. Soon or efter, the pod will fail. She would dee wi’oot e’er waking…Or she mought wake and dee trapped like that…thing…back there.”

Donovan turned to the Attendant and the Proctor. “There are certain prayers that we need to recite for her in our traditional language.”

“Art thou then the sleeper’s husband?” the Attendant asked in the Old Tongue.

Donovan hesitated a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”

He had begun to bow with his arms crossed over his breast when he noticed that Méarana had touched her fingertips to her forehead, breast, and shoulders. He quickly imitated the gesture, lest he give Peacharoo an inconsistency to wonder about. “Father and Brother,” he heard her say, “dinnae let the Fudir do anything glaikit.”

It would take a stronger prayer than that, the Fudir thought. Okay, Sleuth, Pedant, this is your show. There must be a manual override to wake up this one occupant. Pedant, what are the sound-shifts on those letters?

It will be all right, said the girl in the chiton.

They will try to stop her, said the Brute, and his hand stole into a coverall pocket to grip his dazer. Inner Child watched and listened. He heard Paulie say to Billy, “They ain’t gonna stuff me in one of those sausages.”

But the part of his mind focused on the control panel found and translated what it wanted. He raised his eyes upward. “An’ there be on your side of the door a blue button set in a well?” he asked in Méarana’s dialect.

“Aye…”

“Ye maun press it whan I press this ain. On three.”

“Ae. Twa. Three”

The Attendant cried out as they stabbed the emergency buttons, and the Proctor reached out with his arms to pull them away. “Please to be desisting, sahbs,” it said. “That is a violation of Ship’s Regulations. Assault against helpless sleeper.”

The Proctor’s three-dimensional shell flickered and broke up under Donovan’s dazer, and the torso emitted a high-pitched whine. Behind him, he heard the pod door hiss as it unsealed.

The Proctor’s arm knocked Méarana to the catwalk and pushed Donovan’s gun aside. The image of the policeman recohered. “Assault on a Proctor is a termination offense. This is your first warning. Sahb, what are you thinking? Attendant, please restore the disturbed sleeper to her proper status.”

Peacharoo tried to get past Donovan, but the Brute braced his back against the pod bank and shoved with both feet. Peacharoo skidded. He shifted his feet to the Attendant’s superstructure—and his boots seemed to sink into the hologram’s chest. The automaton tilted, her right wheels lifted from the catwalk.

Billy fired at the Proctor, and its image again broke up. Paulie swung his sword and clipped off the top of the projection core—and snapped his blade in two.

Donovan sidestepped as the pod door swung open behind him. The Proctor’s arm let go and black smoke emerged from its casing. The Attendant toppled, wheels spinning. Somewhere, a klaxon began to hoot and a voice cried out in the Tantamiž: “The Pod Bay is under assault. The Pod Bay is under assault.”

Something shuddered deep within the ship. A dim, distant, low-pitched clank could be heard. And the catwalks shivered. The echoes reverberated into silence.

Paulie said in the silence, “That can’t be…”

“Shut up,” Donovan growled. He activated his comm. and called, “Franq, are you there? Speak to me.” He heard nothing. “Hallahan? This is Donovan. Speak to me.”

“There were no live systems in the engineering section,” Méarana said nervously.

“Franq! Hallahan! Blankets and Beads! Anyone on the trade ship? This is urgent.”

A rumble began in the depths of the Pod Bay, as of something massive rolling. There was a distant hiss.

Méarana said, “We should make our way back to where we left the shuttle.”

“Right,” said Sofwari. “Where was that…” The wallah’s face was layered in despair. The Pod Bay looked the same in every direction. How far had they come? Which turns had they made? The Pedant remembered the way, but the Sleuth pointed out that they could not run as fast as Peacharoo had carried them. It might take hours to return to the entrance. And I don’t believe we have hours .