Chapter 17
2046 Words
The doors of the trans-terminal were shut fast. Dalton cursed his own stupidity and turned away to make for the link-stair.
Of course they would be closed. The sound of the alarm had become nothing more than background, almost unheard until he reached the doors and remembered it had been there all along.
The entrance to the stair was another hundred-metre jog along the main corridor. Nothing to a man of his physicality in normal circumstances, but with the choking smoke rising and the growing weight of Bramley on his shoulder, Dalton was beginning to worry it might be too much. The doctor had seemed light at first; tall and thin, almost spindly beneath his trademark long coat. Not any more though. The man seemed to be gaining weight with every second that passed.
Facing a lack of options, Dalton tried to ignore the burden and broke into a run. The sleeping doctor bounced on his shoulder, his arms hanging loose and swinging with Dalton's motion to slap against his buttocks. It was funny, or at least would have been in better circumstances. Now it served as a distraction he didn't need, although in a way it did feel like he was being gently if inappropriately, encouraged to keep going.
Halfway along the corridor, a sound made Dalton stop. It wasn’t a sound, but the sudden absence of a sound he’d grown so used to hearing it only became evident again when it stopped.
The alarm had fallen into silence.
>“Commander Finsa, was that you?”“Commander,”“Cleanse is operative. I repeat; Cleanse is operative. Tiny is active and searching on Primary-level one.”“Hornwood, tell me you’re hearing this.”“I got you.”“I’m on Secondary-two. Probably best you get yourself down here.”“Hornwood, I’m in the Primary link-stair and I have two of the science team. Blist should be en-route with three more.”“Got it,”< Hornwood returned, still apparently unperturbed by the situation.
“There’s nothing to understand doctor. Protocol is to get you out.” He crouched to check on the wellbeing of the still unconscious Bramley.
Nothing seemed to be broken, amazingly. There was a lump already swelling on the man’s head though. Dalton suspected it was due to the fall, but he couldn’t know how serious it was until the doctor came round. If he came round that was. He vaguely remembered something about swelling on the outside meaning it wasn’t too bad. It was swelling on the inside that killed you.
“Actually, soldier, there really is,” Ardley continued above him. “That thing back there-”
“Tiny,” Dalton said without thinking.
“Yes, Tiny.” Ardley sounded angry at the daftness of the name. “It isn’t the biggest problem.”
Dalton stood to face the man, looking down as he reached his full height.
“Do you have any idea what Tiny is?” He asked.
Ardley gave a shake of his head in reply.
"Well, doctor. Tiny is a robot. Modified from an old refuse drone into a vicious, unstoppable killing machine. It is armed, implacable and damn near impossible to damage, let alone destroy. Someone has set it to eliminate every living thing on this station and it will not stop until it can’t find a single trace of life left aboard.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Now you know, do you still think it’s not our biggest problem?”
Through the hood of the bio-suit he couldn’t make out the face, but the body language he saw spoke of a man in the grip of absolute, unabating terror.
“No,” Ardley replied coldly. “It’s not even close.”
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