Portal Magazine
Volume 3 Issue 1
February
28th 2010
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Portal Magazine
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Vol. 3 Iss. 1
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The Cop, the
Clerk, and the Small Yellow Cat- Chapter
Ninteen
Author's Note: If you are new to The Cop, the Clerk, and the Small Yellow Cat, you can start by reading Chapter One here. After Chapter One, Chapters two, three and four can be found here on a drop down list or click link "Portal's Vault" on menu. The control room was located at the very highest point inside the power station. It was a small place, suited for no more than a few technicians at any one time. The system was mostly automated, with the technicians on duty serving more like traffic cops, directing the flow of energy where it was needed, and making sure the production was always under control. Since this place had been abandoned, probably since my first acts of sabotage with the station’s network, the machinery had closed down to a safe mode and was now idling while it waiting for new instructions. TBNL had many such facilities through out the complex, nearly all of which were in a similar condition. Everything that still functioned was drawing power from reserves, which would not last much longer. One side of the control room boasted a number of small port holes that provided a spectacular view of the expansive station. The view was only a side benefit; the main objective was to provide a visual inspection of the half dozen cosmic ray collectors that stretched above the power station like spines on a cactus. But for me, the small windows allowed me to see the roof of the Cyanet habitat, framed between the silent quills. More importantly, I could also see my primary target; a small hydroponics bay adjacent to the habitat. The K’Nostrons did not occupy the bay, nor did any Cyanets. It was unguarded, and thus, the weakest point in their defense. It was also the weakest point structurally in their region of the station. I placed Leo on the stalled panel and leaned over him, resting my palms on the controls. We interfaced. Until now, I was not sure if my cat really understood what was going on; he had been present during the planning, but, obviously had not participated. Only now, as our minds shared the strange comfort of cyberspace, was I certain of his awareness, though it was still hard for me to completely comprehend. As one might expect, feline brains do not work the same as humans. They have a language, based not on words and symbols, but as a complex vocabulary of sensation. Leo’s nanites gave him an improved sense of language, but still not enough for us to communicate directly through words. I had to feel what he was thinking, and likewise, he had to feel my thoughts. He had always been able to understand me on these terms, ever since he was a kitten; I was the one burdened with ignorance. Once inside the network, I used the internal sensor to track down my agents. The power levels of TBNL had deteriorated beyond my expectation, and now large areas of the complex seemed dark to me. This was bad news; not only for the successful execution of my plan, but for the innocent citizens as well. Environmental systems were already failing in many parts of the station; temperatures were dropping, oxygen levels were reaching critical and some of the more remote areas, gravity was now lower than you would find on a small asteroid. Leo sensed my concern. I could almost hear him purring as he went to work, the same kind of duties he had been designed to fulfill. The machinery below us came on line in a snap, and like falling dominoes, the other facilities across the station began to churn and pump out energy. The carbon dioxide scrubbers went to work, the heaters warmed, and floating citizens returned to their floors. Trusting Leo to handle these concerns, I returned to my scans. The contingent of Cyanet guards had reassembled outside their habitat. A few of them were positioned outside the entrance to this complex, but were not attempting to enter. My Pliomygron friends had withdrawn to a safe distance down the main corridor, their job complete. Dromaius and his party had outrun their pursuers, or more likely, convinced the Cyanets that they had abandoned their attack on the habitat. They were now in position at one of the air locks between modules, sealed safely within. Fendro and the other Ingropalma had reached the habitat maintenance, but were still working. Before I could check on Gorgo and his group, the communication system dropped its recent frenzy of shitty disco hits and returned to normal operation. A cloudy dome filled the screen that had recently been only static. “Are you reading me?” Gorgo asked, “Did the code work?” “I read you, what is your status?” “We are evacuating our people now. But we don’t have enough suits for everyone.” This was the last thing we needed, I thought. When planning our attack, we had assumed that many of the Larallia would have taken to the streets along with everyone else, especially when considering the proximity of their habitats with that of the Cyanets; practically across the street from one another. However, it was now obvious that they had not done as expected. Perhaps their respiratory constraints had convinced them to remain at home, placing themselves, and my plan, in great jeopardy. It certainly never occurred to me that they may not have enough suits; in a place like this, I assumed they would each have one or more, being as essential as clean underwear. I guess you don’t need a supply of clean underwear if you never leave the house. I focused my mechanical senses to focus on the area in question. The Larallia habitats were fixed to a sub corridor, branching off the main axis just behind the Cyanet’s. There were pressure doors located at intervals along the passage, one that could separate it from the main corridor, and another placed just beyond the targeted hydroponics bay, but just before another entrance to the K’Nostron stronghold. The way of getting them out, without walking them directly passed swarms of Cyanet guards, was to bring them back wards to the power complex. “Gorgo,” I said, speaking directly through the com system. “Have you explained the situation to your people?” “Not fully; I just explained they must leave.” “Okay, we have to make an adjustment. Flood the corridor with methane and bring them to power complex. And make sure everyone who has a suit brings it along, they will need it eventually.” I watched Gorgo shaking inside his dome. “We can’t flood the corridor. The feeds to the main are too small; it would take days to build that much pressure outside.” After quickly referencing the specifics of their habitats, I realized he was correct. The methane pipes that supplied each habitat were indeed very small, but they branched off a large main connected to a vast storage tank. The main was below the corridor, in an access tunnel much smaller than the ones I had already traveled. Only robots frequented these tunnels, and none of them were close enough to be of any use. To further complicate my improvisation, Gorgo had no access to those tunnels from his present location. “Get everyone ready to leave, I’ll get you a breathable atmosphere somehow. Stand by.” What the hell had I been thinking? I was a grocery clerk, dammit, and here I was trying to coordinate a major act of terrorism aboard an alien space station in some distant part of the galaxy. To say that I was in over my head would be no where near adequate to explain just how bad things were getting to be. The opportunity for doubt had come and gone long ago, but I was beginning to sweat none the less as I searched out my team once again. The Pliomygrons were near an access hatch, and one of them would be just small enough to get through. Some of them had already been injured or killed, but I had to ask them for yet another potential sacrifice. The body count on my back was still increasing, and we were no closer to eliminating the one actual threat. From within the network, I reached out for the nearest terminal to the Pliomygron encampment. It was not an actual com system, but a minor sensor port, but with a few slight adjustments, I was able to transform the sensor into a primitive microphone and receiver. “Rafuta,” I called, hoping that I remember the name correctly, “can you hear me?” “Yes. Is it done?” “We have a problem,” I explained. “Can you reach access hatch 2147?” My adjustments to the sensors prevented me from seeing them any longer, but I could imagine him looking around. After a moment, he replied, his squeaky voice carrying a strange sense of excitement. “We have it open. What do you want us to do?” “Can you fit through there?” “Sure!” I was surprised by how happy he sounded. Wasn’t he recently under heavy gun fire, and didn’t he see at least some of his friends wounded or killed? For as hard as it was to understand the mind of a cat, the mind of a talking squirrel was quite a bit harder. “Good. I want you to go in and make your way towards the Larallia district; I will guide you. Have your people reseal the hatch and go forward to the next pressure door.”
They all agreed, with the
same sense of morbid glee. I was working to reconfigure all sensors along the
service tunnel, when another message came through the com system. Already, I
was beginning to realize that I should have tried to rescue Fendro had unlocked the com system from his position inside the Cyanet habitat. His voice was high and panicked, even through the circuits of his translator. “We opened all the valves, but the gauges say the hydroponics bay is still closed. The only way now is to cut the lines in place.” I briefly looked inside the Cyanet habitat. The K’Nostrons were still there, the smaller ones, not rooted in place, were beginning to mull around, no doubt suspicious of all the activity. There was no way I could expect Fendro, or anyone else, to risk entering the habitat. “Turn right; go down to the next interchange and up one level,” I said, guiding my little fur ball. “Fendro, head back, we’ll take it from there. Gorgo, status?” “We are ready to leave, whenever you give the signal.” “Stand by. Rafuta, turn left. The red pipe is the methane feed. Keep going until you find where two of them are tied together. There should be some kind of flange. When you find one, hold position.” “Camelus,” I called into the dark. I think every monitor in the power station was now conducting my fevered plea. “What’s wrong?” came her reply. From the sound of my voice, she had clearly ascertained that things were not going well. Ignoring her question, I asked for a report. At least she was not giving me more bad news. If anyone could handle a crisis, it was probably her. “We’re good. Fendro should have no problem getting back. The port was rusted badly, but your Gorlack was able to get it.” Gorlack! Why didn’t I think about him sooner? Along with all their other genetically engineered abilities was a resilient cardio vascular system. Fido could survive a methane rich environment for several minutes. Furthermore, I think Fido might actually be the smartest member of this entire endeavor. “Camelus, send Fido to the Hydroponics bay; he needs to remove the cover of the locking system, and break the hydraulic lines to open the door. The Cyanets must have ramped up the pressure because opening the valves didn’t work. Fido,” I added, knowing that he was listening. “Once inside, you’ll have to do the same to the habitat door. Just break the lines, don’t go in. The K’Nostrons are on to us.” “He’s on his way.” “Good.” But that was not the end; I had almost forgotten to warn the big mean bird about the next phase. “You’ll have to seal yourself in, the power station is about to be filled with gas. Stay put until further notice.” Without waiting for response, I turned my attention to Rafuta. He had found a flange, and was chirping happily. “Okay,” I said, brushing the hair back from my face. I was now so deep in the network, not to mention a state of near panic, that I could not even feel my own physical body, but nervous habits can surface anywhere. “The methane pumps are turned off, but the pipes are still under pressure. You should have enough oxygen to reach the next hatch; Dromaius will be waiting for you there.” That is, as soon as I tell him to do so, which I did. He demanded an explanation, wondering just how badly things had gone, but I did not have time to answer. Turning back to Rafuta, I instructed him how to unbolt the flange. I was glad that this alien technology was so intruder friendly—a motivated individual could do a great deal of damage without the need of a cutting torch, wrench or even a plastic butter knife. “Just loosen them,” I instructed, “you don’t need to take them all the way out.” Rafuta stated coughing right away, but I didn’t know if he was in that much danger, or if it was just a reaction. The tunnel was very small, and I did not really know how much air might remain after the pipe was open. Air! “Oh fuck,” I exclaimed out loud, suddenly remembering very basic chemistry. In fact, that comment might have been transmitted through out the entire station. A few corrupted maintenance bots, outside greenhouse number twelve, adopted that phrase, on their own volition, as their new chant. At least that encapsulated the current sentiment of all one million inhabitants of TBNL, who, if they were fluent in English, would have already been using that very expression. “Rafuta,” I called, restricting my communication to only the right person. “Be very careful—don’t make any sparks!” His response, though clogged with mucus, was as oddly cheerful as ever. “I’m done. No sparks.” “Then get the hell out of there. Fast!” “Sure.” I turned my attention to the passage outside the hydroponics bay. Fido was already there, joyfully pulling apart the door controls. The room beyond was seriously high in oxygen, and Fido’s actions were more than enough to make a few sparks. Through the same panel Fido was now attacking, I ordered him to wait. He stopped on command, looking slightly disappointed, but was poised to continue. Meanwhile, I heard Dromaius reporting that Rafuta was now safe in their air lock. With a single thought, the methane pumps came back to life, pumping the gas at twice their usual speed, forcing the small gap Rafuta had made into a belching chasm. At the same time, Leo had ordered the evacuation of all oxygen from the corridor and power facility. “Now Gorgo,” I called, again not sure just how far that sound traveled about the station. Discretion was no longer an issue; no one would have enough time to interfere, even if they had heard my orders. Through the scanners, I saw the Larallia population pour from their multiple habitats. The pressure doors between them and the Cyanet enclave became a hive of activity, but the ants beyond, knew better than to proceed. They looked through the thick glass window, wondering what was about to happen, clearly distressed by their own inability to do anything. I watched as the throngs of refugees raced down the passage. This was the first time I had seen one of them without their protective clothing, and I was surprised at how little difference there was. Black, rubbery skin, in the same odd proportions as their suits; even their faces seemed a little cloudy. Fido watched them as they passed, his one big eye was beginning to water as he held his breath, but I could tell he too thought they looked weird. When most of the Larallia had entered the power station below, I called to my Gorlack through the network. “Fido, open the door. Don’t worry about the next one; just get the hell out of there!” Through my sensors, I could see the look of horror on the Cyanet’s faces. It’s hard to convey horror with compound eyes and big mandibles, but these guys were clearly struck. They must have known what was coming next, and more importantly, they had no idea how to stop me. As Fido raced down the corridor behind the last of the Larallia, I received word that Fendro and his group had returned safely. For the first time since this plan was put in motion, I realized it was actually going to work. I waited until all the Larallia were inside and my second best friend in the whole universe sealed the pressure door. The Cyanets down the way had already gone for cover. Part of my senses could see K’Nostrons; curious and suspicious, pushing into the hydroponics bay to see what was amiss. I could not have asked for more. Confident that I had taken all possible precautions to protect the innocent, I reached out with my mind and found a light bulb inside the methane flooded corridor. Now that Leo had restored full power, it took no effort to make the electrons, previously flowing normally through copper wires, surge to record levels. The bulb exploded in a blue flash, infighting the methane/oxygen gasses in the corridor. The brilliant yellow and white flash was brief but powerful, enough to blast a few tiny fractures in the hydroponics bay hull. Natural forces did the rest; the intense vacuum of space, loyal to nothing but the laws of physics, found those irresistible small cracks and pulled. Cracks became fissures and fissures became chasms. From my vantage point I could see as the entire hydroponics bay was eroded by the pressure of its own contents. The outer corridor was also sucked clean, and the Cyanet habitat. Along with the sand foundation of that realm, everything else was pulled away. Bits of the K’Nostron Empire were flushed into the void as casually as bits of dandelion expelled by a lawnmower on a Sunday morning in early June. A few pieces of them were even splattered against my windows. As I disengaged from the network, I surveyed my work with modest appreciation. Although there was still a lot of work to do, the worst of it was over. My greatest threat, indeed half of the greatest threat to the entire galaxy, had just been cleared. But this was not the time to rest; I had people all over the station, and more friends yet to be rescued. Before I could get too absorbed in my internal congratulations, I heard a voice from behind me. It was a surprisingly human voice, natural without translation. Although it was a voice I had hoped to hear again, at this point it was nothing less than a shock. “Holy shit dude, what the hell have you done?”
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