Trevor screamed and swore until he thought his vocal chords were torn to shreds.
'You damned bugs,' he tried to shout, only managing to croak like a frog. 'What have you done with my brother?'
He pressed his palms against the side of his head and shook it slowly. He couldn't believe how dumb he'd been, acting calm and unconcerned, pretending to explore and examine other spaceships. The Mantis knew exactly what was happening and where to find Russell.
An idea formed amongst his destructive thoughts, and with trembling fingers he typed an instruction into the computer. A picture like a radar screen popped open. He studied it closely, searching for an echo of Russell's Zip-Linq. A bright point of light winked, moving steadily towards the insects' sphere.
'Got you,' he rasped, and typed another instruction, hurrying before the Mantis shuttle reached the sphere. The radar screen blinked out, and a list of Russell's monitored body functions blinked in. 'Yes,' he shouted, corroborating Russell's heartbeat was irregular, and his body temperature was a bit low–but he was alive.
Trevor's fingers hammered at the computer keys, resetting the joysticks to normal mode, his lips muttering as he worked. 'I should never have let you go alone… I just didn't see them coming… I haven't got any detectors… They're playing cat and mouse…'
He grabbed the joysticks and sent the Cloud hurtling in pursuit of the fleeing Mantis vehicle.
'I'll get you back, brother. I don't know how–but I'll get you back.'
The insects' shuttle docked alongside the sphere, and Trevor placed the Cloud directly above the shuttle. He opened the radar screen on his computer and searched for the Zip-Linq, hoping its signal wasn't cloaked within the sphere. He found it, faint but unmistakeably winking, moving further inside the sphere.
'Now then, you ugly vermin.' His voice grew stronger, charged with anger. 'You might be irritated, but I'm pissed off.'
He manoeuvred the Cloud until it touched the shuttle. Then he screwed his eyes shut and nudged the Cloud even further. Powerless to stop the Cloud's passage, the Mantis shuttle buckled and burst as easily as an empty can of coke. The Mantis shuttle detonated, engulfing the Cloud in an orange ball of smoky flame. Trevor ducked and threw his arms over his head, but the explosion extinguished as fast as it ignited, and the Cloud had countered the volatile force without so much as vibrating. A gapping black hole in the sphere had replaced the Mantis shuttle and docking station.
'Wipe out!' shouted Trevor and waved his fist. 'And if my brother dies, I'll ram a hole right through your sphere. Not one of you will live. Do you hear? Not one of you.'
Trevor forced himself to calm down and think clearly. He flew around the sphere, noticing for the first time that it glowed with a soft green shade like the first leaves of spring. It reminded him of home and added to his anger.
He counted four docking ports spaced equally around the sphere's circumference. Shuttles were docked at the remaining three ports, each shuttle an exact copy of the one he had destroyed. Without hesitation, he guided the Cloud on a collision course and three brilliant flashes marked each shuttle's extermination.
Trevor pulled away and watched. The sphere hung there, four black holes where the shuttles had been, otherwise unperturbed and aloof. It was a hollow victory and could never compensate for his missing brother. He closed his eyes and waited for his heart to stop palpitating.
'I will get you back, Russell–I promise.'
A message blinked across his computer screen, warning the battery needed charging again. He ran to the training bicycle, peddled ten minutes, then collapsed across the handlebars gasping for breath. How Russell could peddle for two hours at a time amazed him. Trevor pushed on for another half an hour, fell off exhausted, and crawled on hands and knees back to the control room.
He picked up a pencil and chewed the end off, then tapped the fibrous end on his desk, then snapped it in half. It was in his nature to solve problems. With the Mantis shuttles destroyed, he knew they couldn't chase him, and the best thing he could do in the breathing space was to explore the Hollywood. The Mantis would go all out to destroy Trevor when they recovered, maybe they would deploy a war ship. Trevor didn't fancy the idea of exploring the Hollywood, but felt certain he would find something to his advantage and could see no other alternative.
He eased the Cloud into Hollywood's expansive hold, like an inquisitive gnat gracefully manoeuvring its way into a sleeping person's open mouth. A weak "parking-light" illuminate his way, it was all the electricity he could spare. He passed countless parked vehicles, they came and went in the feeble light, but it was too dark to determine their use. The end wall crept into view and he found the door with Russell's string still tied to the railing.
The remaining spacesuit was a poor fit. Trevor was a fraction too short, and a fraction too wide. But there was no other choice. He had to squeeze in. Without help, it took forty-five minutes to dress. His stomach and chest were painfully constricted and his fingers and toes didn't quite reach the ends of gloves and boots–but he was ready.
Hollywood's lack of gravity made him feel sick, but he swallowed a few times and concentrated on reaching the door without floating away into the hanger. With his hands grasping the handrail, he felt safer and let the string guide him into the corridor. He jumped when he saw the clothed skeleton but forced himself to look closer. It reminded him of skeletons he'd squinted at between his fingers many years ago in old horror movies. 'Hallo, pal,' he muttered. 'I'm no expert, but your skull looks human enough. Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you.' He hurried on as best he could in weightlessness and followed the string to the elevator shaft, deciding to go down rather than up. He tied his own ball of string to a door handle and drifted into Hollywood's depths.
There were many floor levels; he ignored them all and kept going right to the bottom. He left the elevator shaft and drifted into a large circular hall at least forty metres across. Seven glass tubes dominated the hall's centre, each tube was about five metres in diameter and stretched from floor to ceiling. The inside of each tube was discoloured like tempered steel and blemished with sooty blotches.
Trevor assumed he'd found the main power room, and the tubes had been damaged by a massive power surge. His torch flashed around the hall, piercing dust like car lights on a foggy night. A low control plinth and a chair were stationed in front of each tube, and in each chair sat a clothed skeleton.
It only took a moment to realise there was nothing here he could use, and made a plan to search each floor on the way up until he found something useful. He had drifted away from the elevator shaft entrance, and with nothing to stop his flight, he floated unheeded across the room. When he reached the far wall, he pushed away again, aiming himself back to the elevator shaft.
A twinge of dizziness passed as quick as it came, but made him check his air supply and systems–everything was working normally. He thought the tight suit was probably to blame and, keeping his breathing shallow, moved slower.
As he floated towards the elevator shaft, he swept the hall with his torch. The clothed skeletons were tangled in their chairs, exterminated where they sat, manning their post to the end. Without power, the Hollywood had perished, and every living creature within its magnificent structure had also died.
'Shine your torch over here please.'
'Arrrgh! shouted Trevor, expanding his chest so abruptly he almost split his spacesuit.
'Over here please,' repeated the thin monotone voice.
'Arrrgh!'
'Over here please.'
Trevor ran, but his legs only spun in space. 'Tell me this is a nightmare,' he screamed, sure he was about to die.
'Shine your torch over here please.'
'I give up! I'll come peacefully. Don't shoot.' Trevor stopped running and raised his arms.
'Here, please…here, please…here, please…'
Curiosity liberated fear, and Trevor lowered his arms. Somehow, the faint tinny voice didn't seem life threatening; if anything, it sounded like a pitiful plea for help.
'I can't turn just yet,' said Trevor, not sure he even wanted to. 'Wait until I grab on to something.' He stuck his boot out and bumped it against a chair back. A clothed skeleton rolled out of the chair and floated away.
'Here, please…'
This time Trevor localised the voice and his torch beam found a pale-grey football, partially hidden behind a plinth on the far side.
'Come closer, please.'
'Thank God you're not a giant green creepy-crawly.' Trevor shook his head and wondered if he was suffering from oxygen starvation–why else would a football talk to him–why else would he talk to a football?' He pushed away, reached another chair, pushed away, and stopped at the next chair. Now his torch shone directly on the ball.
'Ready for merging...' said the thin voice.
Resisting the urge to kick it, Trevor floated nearer still and steadied himself against a plinth. 'Um, are you speaking to me?'
'Yes. Please acknowledge merging.'
'I'm sorry, but I don't know what you mean.' He had the urge to scratch his head. 'What sort of merging? What do you want me to do?'
'I am…an… "AI-DME". Production number five, ready for merging. Please place your hands on me.'
'Now wait a minute,' said Trevor. 'Number one: what is an AI-DME? Number two: what is merging?'
'AI-DME is an abbreviation: Artificial Intelligence – Direct Mind Embedded. For ultimate functionality, we must merge. Please place your hands on me.'
'Yes, I see,' said Trevor, even though he didn't. 'This merging thing, can I leave my gloves on, or must I use bare hands?'
'Bare hands.'
'Well, I can't take my gloves off in this vacuum, so what do you suggest I do?'
'Suggestion is prohibited.'
Trevor checked the dials on his spacesuit again. He wondered if he really was suffering from lack of oxygen. Everything was working fine.
'Okay then,' he said, as if talking to a garden gnome, 'here's a simple question: how can you speak my language?'
'I read your mind.'
'What! How? That's an intrusion of privacy.' He soon calmed, too amazed to feel upset, thinking the invasion probably explained his dizzy spell. The itch on his head had started to drive him crazy and he cursed the helmet. 'Why merge with me?'
'You are the only acceptable living organism within range. You possess minor intelligence, but our psychological mechanisms are compatible. I detect a further ten living organisms; three of which are compatible but possess inferior intelligence; the other seven are incompatible.'
'You mean Russell? My brother? On the Mantis sphere?'
'Yes, one is named Russell, and he names you Trevor.'
'Is he all right? I mean, is he well?'
'His mind is confused.'
'Can you talk to him–put ideas in his head? I don't know–communicate with him?'
'No.'
'Oh,' said Trevor, disappointed. 'What can you do then, apart from nosing around in a person's mind?'
'I merge, comprehend, control, and store knowledge.'
'Hmm. I can understand "store knowledge", but what is it you "merge, comprehend and control"?'
'Yes.'
'Yes what?'
'Anything merge-able, comprehensible, or controllable.'
Trevor reached out, seized the ball between his gloved hands, and held it up to his visor. It was much harder than a football, more like a cannonball, but he still had a compulsion to kick it.
'Do you mean, for example, that you can control my mind?'
'That is forbidden.'
'What then, electronic equipment?'
'Yes.'
'No matter how complicated it is?'
'Yes.'
'Hmm. That sounds remarkable. How do you do that, must you plug in somehow?'
'I fuse telemetrically. I adapt and embed with any circuitry or software. The more complicated the structure, the easier it is to control.'
'Hmm,' said Trevor. He thought about it. A light operated by a mechanical switch can only be turned on or off by physically pressing the switch; whereas a light regulated by an electronic circuit could, feasibly, be fiddled with, especially if it were a sophisticated remote controlled switch. 'And why should you want to control a piece of electronic equipment?'
'That is the discretion of the person I am merged with.'
Trevor sighed. 'Sounds wonderful, what is my commitment to you if we merge?'
'None. I am only a tool.'
'What is your commitment to me?'
'Unconditional loyalty.'
'Hmm,' said Trevor. He absently checked his dials. 'How does this merge thing work in practice? What does it entail?'
'During the process of merging I learn your genetic make up and open a channel between us for extrasensory psychic communication. Words become unnecessary–I interpret your intentions. My senses become yours–your senses become mine. You will also have telepathic access to my memory. Merging is a fast and painless process.'
'How fast is fast?'
'That depends on your mental reaction and collaboration.'
Trevor wriggled inside his spacesuit, inching his stomach and chest into a more comfortable position. He groaned. Weightlessness made him feel queasy and disorientated, and the clumsy spacesuit made him feel awkward and vulnerable.
'I came here looking for a source of energy and food,' said Trevor. 'I'm in a desperate hurry to get back to the Cloud; and then I bump into you–whatever you are. Let's discuss this merging thing later. If you've no objections, I'll take you back with me–we can't do anything here.' Ignoring the claustrophobia that threatened to engulf him, Trevor closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. 'In the meantime, will you help me? Can you tell me if there is a portable generator on board this spaceship?'
'Yes. There are several units. What are your requirements?'
'Can't you read my requirements directly from my mind?'
'Your thoughts are muddled and undisciplined.'
'I'm stressed out of my mind, that's the trouble. Specifically, I need something that can deliver twenty kilowatts, that's more than enough to cover the Cloud's energy needs.'
'The smallest generators supply enough energy to support the entire domestic needs of this spaceship.'
'Nothing smaller?'
'No.'
Trevor cursed. 'What is the physical size of this generator then? How much does it weigh?'
'Its dimension's are approximately twenty-five centimetres, by twenty centimetres, by fifteen centimetres. Seven-thousand, five-hundred cubic centimetres. It weighs approximately two kilograms.'
A mental picture formed in Trevor's mind. 'But that's only about the size of a toaster. Okay, what's the hitch? What kind of fuel does it use?'
'Water. One litre of water is sufficient for one year's operation with maximum load.'
'Water! Water? Oh man, that's fantastic. Take me to it… I love it.'
'Please carry me.'
Trevor tucked the ball under his arm and straightened up. 'Which way?'
'Through the door to your left, and turn left.'
Launching himself carefully, Trevor soon reached the door.
'Turn left and continue ten metres…'
Twenty minutes later, they drifted into a large storeroom. Tools and equipment floated everywhere, leaving most shelves empty. Some tools were recognisable, but Trevor couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of most.
'Oh boy,' whispered Trevor, wishing he wasn't trussed up in a spacesuit. It was like finding Aladdin's cave and he wanted to examine and investigate everything, but simply didn't have time. He sighed, and promised himself to return later.
He addressed the ball under his arm. 'What did you say you were called? AIDME? Yes, that was it, Aidme. Okay, Aidme, lead me to the generator.'
They pushed their way through the bedlam of equipment and Aidme indicated the generator. Trevor tucked the shinny block under his other arm, and fumbled his way back to the door.
'How do I connect it?'
'Energy is radiated as angular momentum and each piece of equipment draws energy as required.'
Trevor groaned. 'That's the hitch then, I can't use it… Listen, in the Cloud, I use good old-fashioned wires to carry electrical energy. How can I transform "angular momentum" to work for my system?'
'I cannot tell you.'
'What do you mean, you can't tell me? Don't you know, or is it a secret?'
'I cannot suggest, advise, counsel, or give an opinion. These things are your prerogative–I am merely a tool.'
'Okay, tool, is there some kind of motor in here; some kind of machine that can utilise the generator's power and transform it into kinetic rotating movement?'
'Yes.'
They ventured deeper into the storeroom, and Aidme guided him to something that resembled a cotton reel.
'What's this?' demanded Trevor. 'I need a motor that can deliver twenty kilowatts, not twenty peanuts.'
'This will deliver approximately forty-six times your requirements.'
Trevor gasped. 'You're joking? How can I control it?'
'There are two ways to configure its parameters. Either by utilising a remote control unit, or, once we have merged, through me.'
Trevor glanced at the clock on his sleeve and slipped the cotton reel motor into a spacesuit pouch. 'We have to hurry. My air is getting low. Lead the way out of here. I must get back to the Cloud.'
With Aidme tucked under one arm, and the generator tucked under the other, it took Trevor one hour and forty minutes to stumble back to the Cloud. He was so pleased to see it, still in place and unmolested, that he put Aidme against his helmet and blew a kiss.
'I have to go in first and configure the Cloud to accept you. Quickly now, what is your weight, size and density?'
Trevor memorised the details. He was frantic to get out of the spacesuit and left Aidme, the generator, and the motor floating inside Hollywood's long corridor where he could find them later.
Without help, he struggled to remove the spacesuit and uttered a few well-chosen swear words. For a fleeting moment, he considered leaving Aidme rather than don the bulky spacesuit once more; unfortunately, his need for the generator and motor left him with no choice. So, after configuring the computer to accept Aidme, and enjoying a moment of normal gravity, fresh air, and the luxury of rubbing his bruised ribs, he battled his way back into the spacesuit. He had been gone for one and a half hours.
'This might hurt,' said Trevor, making ready to fling Aidme into the Cloud. 'You gave me very precise measurements, so it shouldn't be too bad. However, I do have a slight problem getting the parameters one hundred percent correct.' Finding it impossible to cross his fingers in the bulky spacesuit, he bit his lip instead. 'Let's just hope you pass through safely. Ready?'
The moment Aidme entered the Cloud, static electricity erupted around its circumference. Trevor followed Aidme into the Cloud and watched in horror as the traces of static fizzed and spluttered in a brilliant green haze.
Gradually, the haze cleared.
'Can you still hear me?' Trevor picked up Aidme and shook it. 'Are you all right?'
Aidme answered immediately. 'I have absorbed electrical power and my level of energy is restored to normal.'
'Thank God, I was sure you'd been damaged.' Trevor closed the port, flipped his helmet latches, and drew his helmet off. With relief came fatigue. Excessive physical and mental activity caught up with him, and all he could think of was food and rest. 'What about the generator and motor, will they be damaged by the static?'
'Yes.'
'Then they'll have to wait until I figure out something.' He removed the spacesuit, taking less time now with practice. 'Come on,' he said, reaching for Aidme, 'I'll take you to my control room.'
'No need to carry me, I'm fully operational.'
Trevor watched wide eyed as Aidme floated to a position close to his right shoulder.
'I must be hallucinating,' said Trevor. A new thought occurred to him. 'You say you can control any piece of electronic equipment by fusing telemetrically. Does that mean you can configure my computer program so the Cloud will accept the generator and motor? I mean accurately, so they won't suffer damage when I bring them aboard?'
'First, we must merge.'
'Yes, I thought you'd say that.'
Trevor felt too tired to think about anything other than food and sleep. He found a tray of Wayfarer food and gulped the contents. Then he leaned back and put his feet on the desk. 'Let's discuss this merging business later. At the moment I'm doing pretty well, I'm safe, I've eaten, I'm comfortable, I'm tired…'
Five hours later, painfully stiff legs and a torturous neck-ache wrenched him from sleep. He squinted at the monitor–everything okay, he glanced outside–nothing changed, he patted Aidme as if it was a sleeping baby; then went to bed where he slept for another seven hours.
'Okay, Mr Aidme,' said Trevor, taking his place by the desk and scanning the monitors on his computer. Battery power was low, he sighed, it needed charging again. 'I've decided to merge. You seem harmless enough and I can't see any other way out of this. How long does it take?'
'Your mind must be calm. Your body must be relaxed. At present, you are not ready.'
With a determined nod, Trevor marched to the trim-bike and peddled fifteen minutes. That would have to do. Then, with Aidme floating behind, he tramped to Russell's apartment, ate breakfast, selected soft music, and lay on the settee.
Aidme took up a position above Trevor's forehead. Trevor placed his hands on each side of the ball. Now he noticed the fine velvety surface, neither warm nor cold. His palms tingled. Aidme was lifeless, yet, for some inexplicable reason, vibrant.
'What should I think about?' asked Trevor.
'Nothing.'
'Just be calm and relaxed?'
'Yes.'
'Well that's not so easy, I'm nervous. How do I know I can trust you, and what will I feel?'
'We unite to form a single entity, but my presence will be totally inconspicuous, you will feel nothing.'
'Okay, I'll try to meditate. Russell has taught me, I'll do the best I can.'
He pictured Russell and went through the routine he'd taught him: my feet, my toes, my thighs are warm and comfortable; my fingers, hands, and arms are warm and comfortable; my whole body is deeply relaxed. Take a deep breath–take another–and another. With every breath I take, I feel myself falling deeper and deeper into a relaxed state. My limbs are floating away, my torso, my chest, my head…my whole body is floating away…
His palms tingled with pleasure; the sensation crept along his arms and mingled with a soft prickling in his body and brow. He drifted through time and space, aware only of well-being and peace. Then it all came back to him; his body, gravity, the sofa, and Aidme resting on his forehead.
'It is done,' said Aidme, rising away from Trevor's grasp.
'Have we merged?' asked Trevor.
'Yes.'
Trevor rubbed the top of his head with his fingertips, then placed his palms over his eyes. 'Well, I don't feel any different, but that meditation stuff was great. I've never experienced it like that before.'
He swung his feet to the floor, stood up, and made his way to the control room. 'Why are you still speaking to me if we're supposed to be telepathically merged?'
'Merging is subtle,' said Aidme, floating close behind. 'Your brain is underdeveloped. Our fusion will grow with practice.'
'This is it,' said Trevor, seating himself at his computer, realising how antiquated it must seem to Aidme. 'With this computer I control everything in the Cloud. What do you think?'
'I do not think.'
'Okay then. Leave the thinking to me. I want you to set the co-ordinates so I can bring the Hollywood generator and motor in here without damaging them. Do you understand what I am saying?'
'It is done.'
Trevor's jaw dropped. 'Already! Do you mean I can go and fetch them?'
'It is done.'
'How?'
'I read the intention in your mind, words alone are inadequate.'
'Yes, but how?'
'I cannot explain.'
'Well, let's see what you've done to my program.' Trevor's fingers flew across the keyboard as he searched for the modification. 'Ah! Here it is.' He read through the added parameters and smiled. 'It's exactly how I would have written it–more or less!'
Trevor put his hands in his lap and turned to study Aidme. The ball floated level with his right shoulder, within eyesight but constantly moving so as not to obstruct his vision. Right at this moment Aidme didn't move out of sight, obviously realising Trevor wanted to address him.
'This is where I find out whether you're a big bluff or not,' said Trevor. 'This is your chance to impress me, let's see how well it works.' He jumped to his feet and headed for the airlock. Aidme followed, floating one metre behind.
Surely I can come up with something better than this, thought Trevor, forcing himself back into the spacesuit. His ribs still ached from the previous day, and the tight spacesuit dug into his bruised chest like a carpenter's vice. As soon as he was entombed, he floated through the porthole into the Hollywood, grasped the generator and motor, and floated back. This time, there was no display of static around the new objects as he entered the Cloud, not even the slightest spark or crackle.
'Now that was hard to believe,' muttered Trevor. 'That was just too good to be true.'
He returned to the Hollywood, grabbed the first piece of debris he came across and flung it at the Cloud's porthole, expecting it to pass straight through. It struck the invisible barrier and bounced away, the shield as selective and impenetrable as always.
Trevor hurried out of the spacesuit and went directly to his workshop in the Cloud's basement. He placed the generator and motor on a workbench and checked the Cloud's battery–it was almost flat again; but he was too excited to bother charging it.
In case of emergencies, Trevor had a diesel-driven generator in the workshop. It could never be used inside the Cloud because of the deadly exhaust fumes, but it was an excellent piece of equipment for outdoor use. It was shiny blue, had chunky rubber wheels, and had never been used.
He dragged the twenty-eight kilowatt generator to the room's centre and dismantled the covers. He was a skilful mechanic, and had equipped the Cloud with a comprehensive selection of hand and workshop tools. Within fifteen minutes, he had removed the generator's bulky diesel engine. The Hollywood cotton-reel motor was designed to fit on a square shaft. Trevor found a piece of square rod and filed it to size. After cutting the rod to length, he turned the ends in a mini lathe so they fitted mountable bearings. With his new axel and motor in place, he fitted pulleys and connected the Hollywood motor to his blue generator with a taught fan belt.
That was it. His part was finished. The lathe had been a heavy electrical load and the battery was so run-down that the lights were reduced to a dim glow. He placed the Hollywood generator on a bench and turned to Aidme. 'Quickly now, where do I fill water?'
'The water container is beneath the black cap on top.'
Trevor poured in a cup of water and told Aidme to get it all working. Without delay, the new cotton-reel motor turned, and the fan belt squeaked as it picked up speed. Electric energy flooded into the Cloud and swamped the workshop with light. He reconnected the main batteries and heard the shiny blue generator whine under the load. He tidied away his tools, grinned ear-to-ear, and skipped back to the control room.
'Do you know what I'm going to do now?' said Trevor, speaking to Aidme as if it was a pet. 'I'm going to boil the kettle and make myself a hot cup of tea. And then I'm going to put some of that astronaut food in the microwave and eat a warm meal.'
First things first, he checked his computer monitor. The readings showed Russell's body temperature and heartbeat were normal. That was good, but it reminded him his situation was far from satisfactory. Russell was captive on the insects' sphere, and now he had to plan his rescue.
He turned his attention back to Aidme. 'Do you have any recollection of what happened to your spaceship before it was attacked and dumped here?'
'No.'
'C