Rusted Remains

By Mick Sylvestre

A humanoid relic cyborg named Corrode wanders aimlessly on a desolate colony ship in a world that governs itself. After escaping computer deletion, he searches for explanations and ways to work together to stop the destruction of Arkus-12. Has Corrode learned its lesson from previous disasters?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mick Sylvestre
• Release date: Nov 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987737847

Mick Sylvestre

Mick Sylvestre grew up in rural Saskatchewan, where he aspired to be an artist. As a young adult, he moved to British Columbia to attend college, where he became a graphic designer. After many years of being in the print industry, he expanded his passion to writing. He loves being creative and entertaining others with his stories and life anecdotes.

Book preview

Prologue

Earth year: 5055 A .D.

So you’re saying we are adrift in an uncharted region of space? We’re unable to seek support from any passing fleet? Captain Jacob Armendon’s burly mustache wiggled with agitation. Get me a direct channel to the engineering room! I need to get Arkus–12 back on course!

Captain, a lieutenant approached him reluctantly, all servers are down; though, we have auxiliary channels available. It’s a bit crude, but at least we can contact every department.

Switch us over, lieutenant! We don’t want the temperature or ventilation off too long, or we’re all dead in a few hours!

Yes, sir! The navigation officer turned back to his console, working as fast as he could.

Captain growled to his crew, I want all of your reports in, people! Two years from star dock, he thought, and we land in the middle of a freak cosmic storm.

Captain, a voice came from behind his command chair.

Perfect timing, he mumbled and then swiveled his chair to greet his unexpected guest. Ah, Admiral Delores, so glad you could interrupt— He stopped and stared uncomfortably. Delores, is this your idea of a joke? He rose slowly, unsure of how he should welcome an android aboard. Although tall in stature, it was impressively curvaceous, moving as nimbly as a young woman would. Apart from the lack of hair atop its polished scalp, it looked like a moving chrome statue dedicated to the Admiral.

I’m hosting this Chromalean prototype for the lab boys; it’s for going into dangerous areas without sacrificing crew members. The android’s voice was the Admiral’s, but it was troubling to him that the voice was coming from a soulless machine, which made it an ideal effigy for the Admiral. With the aid of implants, we can broadcast our thoughts to these machines, even if our bodies are in suspended animation. Well, Captain, isn’t that remarkable?

I hope your plan is to make a whole troop of them, and soon. Reports from all departments came in, and they’re not good. So far, we’re dead in space and trying to get primary back on.

Explain.

We hit a cosmic storm during a cool–down period for our main drive before the mothership could jump again. It’s affected our primary controls; we’re drifting in space. So far, Arkus is running fine on auxiliary. We still have the manual overrides, so the controls are not completely buggered. This buys us enough time to take the reactors offline. Luckily, the Dynangeions, our repair drones, had adaptive shielding to prevent them from the storm’s effects. Presently they are surveying the hull for punctures or ruptures we might’ve missed. The Captain slammed his fist on the flickering console panels. This ship is so massive! It could take them months to repair every breach, when all we have is hours. I hate to admit this, but if we can’t get the mothership going, we’ll have to leave it to the machines to repair.

You could send a scout ship to get a bearing of where we are? Possibly get them to send a beacon?

No, all we have is a skeleton crew, and I want to avoid any more accidents or deaths. We have had plenty of that on this trip to New Earth. Even if we could get a signal out, we could be here for generations before anyone arrives to rescue us.

We could use these Chromalean bodies to help repair the mothership, although we would need to boost our brain wave signals — somehow.

The Captain looked up from his notes. For some reason, just looking at it gives me the willies. I know you’re controlling it and all, but I find it... disturbing.

You’re reacting the same way you did after Adam received his cybernetic body after the accident.

With a raised eyebrow, the Captain scratched at his Garibaldi beard, his mustache wiggling in agitation. You’re going to be my shrink now, Admiral? He signed and handed the digital pad back to the officer. By comparing my uneasiness with that fancy toy you’re controlling to my son’s prosthetics? You of all people know that without the cyborg body, Adam would have died. It was my decision to do so, and I stick by it.

I know you do. The Chromalean gracefully walked around the Captain’s chair to look at him with glowing red eyes. You act unaffected, but in our profession accidents happen all the time, don’t they? We knew that when we signed up for this trip to New Earth? You just did not count on it being your own son. There was a ship problem and he crashed. His body was dead on arrival, but you could not let him go — could you? No, you had to find a way to bring him back.

Yes, but I often wonder, where’s Adam’s soul in the machine? If it weren’t for that cyborg body, he would’ve had a ceremonial funeral and jettisoned into space. I acted out of haste, thinking we could save him. I demanded the technicians to save his life, to bring my only son back to me! Now I wonder: was it worth it? I mean, he’s not the person I knew. Every day, he’s acts more like a machine than the human he once was.

Is that why you keep sending Adam away?

He wants to leave as much as I want him to. I could tell that he was uncomfortable with others; the way crewmembers and citizens treated him like some pariah. The way they shunned him, like he was a freak in their presence. Sure, everyone hid it from me, but Adam knew. He saw the truth in it when I was too blind to see. I couldn’t see how much he accepted, endured, suffered.

Did you try to talk to him? To tell him how you feel?

I–I’m sorry Captain! They both turned and saw Arkus’ Head Stellar Engineer approaching. He looked haggard, confused, and unnerved. I came as soon as I could!

The Captain turned away, his voice cracking. I–I think we should discuss this at a later time, Admiral Delores. Perhaps after we resolve what’s happening to my ship. We’ll all have a long talk together, including with what’s left of my son.

I look forward to that day, Captain. If you remember, I almost married your son before his terrible accident. I’ve had my closure; perhaps it’s long due for you to have it, too?

Without replying to her, the Captain instead focused on the Head Engineer, Darion! You have some good news for me, right? You wouldn’t want your next promotion to have you managing the ship’s sanitation department, would you?

Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir! Darion stammered and bowed submissively after handing the Captain his report.

–II–

Later that evening, as the Captain read over the day’s reports in his bed, an unexpected call came in. Only a handful of people had access to his private line, one of which he could never turn down.

Hello, father. Adam was on a secured channel. I hope it wasn’t too late to call?

Nonsense, Adam. The Captain touched the screen with his hand, wishing it rested on his son’s scarred face. You wouldn’t call so late just to say hello.

Once I returned from my space walk, Adam’s voice sounded muffled a sign he was wearing his airtight helmet, I overheard a crew member saying that everyone is to prepare for hibernation. Is that right?

The Captain sighed, shifted, stammered. Unfortunately it’s true. Without outside help to repair the ship, we are running out of time. We have biospheres producing oxygen through the ship, but without proper ventilation, we’ll have sections where people unlike you would suffocate. So before all the air runs out, I have ordered the remaining senior staff members to the hibernation pods. Jackie thinks that we could use the new robot prototypes to run the ship for us while we’re in deep sleep. 

Don’t we already have robots out doing menial jobs? What’s to guarantee these new machines can handle the job while you’re all in stasis?

Well, the lab boys say these Chromaleans can take commands directly from us, doing what we can’t do. We can imprint our brain waves onto their e–brains. It’s all just technical mumbo jumbo to me.

It’s similar to the procedure done for my e–brain. Doctors imprinted my original brain patterns on my e–brain, so I can remember my past, express myself, and feel emotions.

He stared blankly at the screen. Adam had defeated death itself, thanks to cybernetics, but what happened to his life as a normal human being? What remained to prove he was human anymore?

Adam could never remove the red cyborg suit; it would remain on him forever. With it, he could survive, whereas in his original human form he could not. Technicians said that with the proper maintenance he could well be around to set foot on New Earth, while our distant grand children’s children inherited the Arkus. What world would he be in while the people he loved became a digitalized memory? How would he find his place among the changing human race?

Father? Adam spoke again, louder this time. Father!

His father cleared his throat. The paint on your armored suit, looks as if it’s peeling.

That’s just corrosion. It only happens when I remain in space for extended periods. I didn’t think I was out for long, but you know me... I like to watch the stars while I work.

Son, I know that your cyborg half is powerful, but you must promise me you’ll be careful not to put yourself in danger because you think you can take it.

This isn’t going to be another lecture, right?

I guess what I am trying to say is that I’m not always going to be around to help you, Adam.

Don’t worry, Father. What’s the worst that can happen?

CHAPTER 1 – ALONE

In an abandoned docking bay a defeated and smoldering industrial–level macrobot collapsed noisily to the floor. A weathered figure appeared out of the shadows. His crimson, bashed, rust–spotted armor glinted in the dim light. Corrode lorded over the fallen menace, surveying the damage he’s done to it. Parts torn from his assailant crunched underfoot like wreckage from a terrible accident. Looking down at the derelict machine, he was filed with remorse. The disarmed automaton must have attacked Corrode out of desperation.

The parts salvaged from his attacker would barely cover the cost of Corrode’s own repairs.

How could a simple, industrial–class robot ambush him without detection? Perhaps it was the radiation here affected his senses? If true, the longer he remained, the more unlikely it became that he’d ever be able to leave. He remembered rumors of a dangerous section on Arkus–12 named: the static zone, a terrible place from which few machines ever escaped. No matter how good Corrode’s internal shielding was, it wasn’t enough against extended exposure of radiation to his body.

Well, at least I’m still running. Corrode noticed his right arm faced the wrong way. If he came across any repair equipment, his arm was, at most, salvageable. He had received many dents and scratches on his carapace and the metal helmet he wore. The cracked face shield he wore showed that surviving on an abandoned mothership was both grueling and harsh. Lolling inside his helmet stored a grinning skeletal head of his previous owner, his human lineage. Because of the bash received to the side of his head from his attacker; Corrode’s right eye couldn’t focus. Corrode scanned his left arm and accessed the condition of his bent and twisted fingers. One of the digits fell off when he tried to move it. Bemoaning his luck, he recovered it and brought the broken digit closer to view, wondering how long it would be before he would be able to replace it. He was too far from any repair or fabrication station.

Suddenly, Corrode’s interest shifted to the surrounding shadows; even though the static interfered with his senses, he detected movement. Nearby, sounds of insistent clicking and scrapping on metal resonated from dark corridors. Using his good eye, Corrode watched on as a multitude of beady, red, gleaming eyes gathering around him.

Scaboids! Corrode balked at their numbers. They were distantly grouping, but it wouldn’t take long until he would have to deal with the first wave of them. Quickly, Corrode extracted the recharge cable from his side and plugged into the giant’s exposed socket. Energy coursed through Corrode’s body, enough so he had the strength to fight and to escape. Unfortunately, because of the new threat, he’d be unable to strip his previous attacker for parts. He’d have to resort to another solution, to pay for his own repairs.

Searching for a weapon, Corrode uncovered a steel rod. It was a little bent and twisted like his right arm, but long enough to make do. Fortunately, he had fully recharged before the first wave of scaboids scrambled towards him from the darkness.

Scaboids were crude, single–minded machines, assembled from salvaged parts of their victims. They had proved to be an annoyance to Corrode, but still they could do great harm as a horde. Many of them proved disposable; they crunched under his heel as he then kicked