Space. Wondrous and black. Someone's stomach, in which celestial bodies are stuck and digesting. Probably, that's how it should be. Probably, it's normal when you're alone, utterly alone, and only your small will helps to rip open the infinitely voracious expanse.
A sleek black ship emerged from hyperspace and halted just a few hundred meters before colliding with the boundary of the asteroid belt (if such a phenomenon could be called that), then slowly penetrated the corridor of grim asteroids. Spotlights ignited on the ship's nose, slicing through the darkness with three powerful beams. The rabbit hole inside turned out to be a living gut. The walls trembled, writhed; stones overturned and grated, baring teeth. One of the titan asteroids shuddered more than the rest, delving deeper into the tunnel. A strained, whining greeting echoed. A fresh scratch appeared on the ship's mirror-black hull.
Behind it flashed the shuttle's name—ARCHIMED.
A dense asteroid belt. Belt—merely a name; in reality, the intruder dove into an enormous sphere compressed from gnawed rocks. A separate world of shapeless astronomical particles held together by an unknown force. One wrong twitch of the helm, and the ship would be crushed, unnoticed by anyone. Not the universe. Not humanity.
The tunnel walls began to close in. The rabbit hole, a temporary phenomenon, was collapsing. It always appeared briefly, vanished, then reappeared. Like the pores of a breathing organism. The blue heat from the engines intensified. The ship accelerated. Outside, the entrance to the burrow had already sealed shut.
Deeper into the living voids. Fragments of minerals, quartz, and metals struck the black hull of the intruder and bounced back, vanishing into the darkness. The walls ceased compressing; the mobility diminished. The tunnel finally resembled a tunnel. But then another large asteroid detached from the mass.
Its neighbors followed. Like a pack of dogs scenting fresh blood and deciding to pounce. But the ship darted beneath them, nearly scraping its belly on the floor, and burst into a wide, seemingly safe space. The giants were left behind.
After some time, the tunnel ended in a dead end of quivering stones—a barrier impenetrable. From the ship's nose extended two turrets. Several red flashes, and a solid dust cloud enveloped everything; slowly drifting into this blind zone, the ship soon found itself inside a void. An entire pocket, its dimensions defying scanning. The pilot's eyes widened. A planet could fit here, maybe two. No smaller than Mercury. A minute passed in silent awe, then two. And at his own peril, he pressed on. Hour after hour, he drifted with mouth agape, staring into the unknown where nothing lay. He expected to see something extraordinary. Unbelievable. Every moment anticipating a miracle about to unfold.
Somewhere in the distance, geometrically precise forms flickered, growing clearer. Soon it became evident this was no trick of the imagination. Far away, there truly was a streamlined, elongated object.
The navigation system beeped; the find was real. Man-made. For a moment, the tapping of pebbles on the hull escalated into furious, multifaceted scraping. Then abruptly, all fell silent. A second grave-like cloud of fine shards behind.
Before his eyes: alien, unknown, forgotten by all. Closer, just a bit more...
Disappointment. Defeat. Failure. The cameras captured the image in greater detail. The object was merely millions of fragments, shaped by divine whim into some orderly form. Remnants of the man-made. Not a find. A wasted trip. The explorer's head drooped. His hands released the helm in futility. He sighed heavily, pursed his lips. So much risk, all for naught. Money nearly gone. At best, enough for the return flight. It was all or nothing. He'd have to toil for pennies as common labor. Just to afford new cartridges for the food synthesizer.
But then a new beep from the system; fire returned to his eyes. Amid the twisted metal heap, a section survived. A whole kilometer of voids. Maybe more. Proper scanning here was impossible. But even a guess was something. Returning to observation, the pilot zoomed in, and the fire in his eyes flared twice as bright.
Beneath the debris, mingled with cable scraps, floors of door compartments were visible. Honeycomb cells. Hexagonal. They themselves resembled fibers of a severed cable. Each compartment more mangled than the next—walls shattered in all directions into dozens of frozen tentacles. As if in agony, unwilling to release what once belonged to them by birthright. At their ends hung similar chunks of twisted metal. Whoever severed this umbilical cord didn't think twice.
A piece of metal, one of many around, floated by, and a contact spark leaped from a tentacle to it. The piece drifted away smoothly.
The Archimed ship braked not far from this spot.
How many thousands of years had passed since this ship fell victim to an ancient war? Surely, losses were horrific on both sides. But that was what captivated. Wars of unknown parties, unknown foes. The scent of danger, desolation, hidden secrets and mysteries. A remnant of history unreproducible. One could only guess.
Under magnification, behind the periodically drifting debris, scarred turrets appeared—others yet to emerge. Partially sheared off, but fatally. Neighbors ripped out at the roots, leaving bundles of mechanisms. In its prime, the cruiser surely inspired awe. Perhaps across the galaxy.
From Archimed detached a white dot.
Approaching the intact section (and the safest, as no space debris floated here), the cosmonaut thoughtfully ran his hand over the hull, reading invisible signs. The plating full of chips, dents, deep scratches. Nonetheless, superficial. If something destroyed this child of alien engineering, it was from within. Behind the suit, engines ignited, and the cosmonaut floated onward.
The cosmonaut wandered for hours along the surviving hull section until noticing empty rows (two) of twisted hatches. Perhaps this was where escape pods once resided. Maybe they were still inside, meant to launch from here?
The cosmonaut turned back and gazed at the distance covered from his ship.
His brow arched in surprise. Behind him, hundreds of meters, yet he hadn't reached even the midpoint of the hull protruding from the debris.
Approaching the first vortex port, the pilot-cosmonaut extended his hand. From his wrist emerged a green beam, sweeping broadly for tiny cavities. Not that. Rose a bit higher. Not that. A little to the side. There.
Thin laser streams sparkled (from the other wrist), carving a rectangular incision in the plating. Magnetized his palm to it, pulled—nothing. The cut rectangle stayed put. Evidently, the key armor layer unbreached.
Activated the laser again. Only after ten minutes did the chunk of alien alloy yield.
Inspecting the magnetized plate, he whistled. The armor layer, contrary to expectation, was thin as a hair.
One glance revealed microchips-microcontrollers. On the dark-blue board, triangular transistors gleamed with white crystalline peaks. As alien as it was terrifying. Under normal conditions, working with such required special clearance. But not this time. Not today. Better to grab something guaranteed than leave empty-handed and watch competitors flee with your haul to the civilized world, where nothing could be proven. Due to his low scavenger rank, his claims weren't even glanced at by secretaries. Been there. But before stuffing pockets, use it.
"I-Nine. Hack."
From the cosmonaut's back detached a sphere with tiny holes, instantly positioning beside the microchips. Thin wires extended from the holes, delicately connecting to various points on the alien electronics. Algorithm selection began.
The cosmonaut felt multiple vibrations ripple through the ship's hull. Inside, mechanisms wailed, switched, grated again; vibrations intensified, drawing nearer. At some point, danger scented, he demagnetized his hand from the hull. The vortex airlock hissed open. A faint air stream escaped, carrying away dust remnants and metal shards.
The explorer slowly, attentively floated inside.
"I-Nine. To me."
The sphere returned to its place.
A second later, the airlock hissed shut.
Two helmet lanterns automatically boosted light output. His gaze immediately met smooth walls, composed of tightly fitted metallic rectangles, reminiscent of oversized tiles in varying sizes. Lowering his eyes, he checked the suit settings, scanning other "life" ranges. But across all known radio frequencies, absolute silence reigned.
The cosmonaut exhaled in relief and floated half a meter above the floor.
Just as he relaxed, systems detected movement. The cosmonaut jolted. In fear, he turned, peered. The hacked vortex airlock had slightly opened on its own, then closed. Again.
* * *
Dust appeared from nowhere. Venturing deeper, it simply materialized. Passing by, it swirled into invisible vortices. To the right ran a row of vortex airlocks. Beside each—a terminal, a black monolith shimmering like a matte liquid-crystal screen. Nearby, mounts for small structures, perhaps escape pods. Once, crew members rushed here to input password combinations, set arrival coordinates.
It felt like the cruiser was designed as a home for a good hundred thousand inhabitants. This area alone could hold a couple thousand. Though whether they were humanoid remained to be seen. Judging by the airlock sizes—not taller.
The cosmonaut floated onward; nearby was a turn into another corridor. He glanced in momentarily. Powerful light beams shot far, but failed to reveal the end. Evidently longer than a kilometer. Thus exceeding the lanterns' max range. God knows what lurked in that passage. The explorer had no intent to delve into every spot. He didn't want to get lost. Even with the map drawing
inside the suit. The feeling that a system-app might fail at the worst moment lingered. Such cases known. All ended badly. People died from hunger, panic, nervous exhaustion leading to heart attack or stroke. Often—all at once. Panic hindered clear thought. Hunger dulled logic, caused nervous exhaustion. Nervous exhaustion triggered and amplified panic. A vicious circle. And he, the explorer, was utterly alone on top of it.
* * *
The explorer could take the microchips-microcontrollers from the vortex airlocks.
Dismantle the monolithic terminals. That money would tide him over initially. But the path he'd taken, the laws broken, clearly disproportionate to these items. Even if from a wholly new civilization untouched before, potentially holding tech breakthroughs to ease humanity's life. He craved something personal, vital, belonging to those who lived here. To learn this place's history. Especially since such intel granted a social rating boost. Higher status meant more opportunities. Maybe someday he'd feel equal to veteran explorers. And then they'd stop stealing his finds just because he was a newbie.
Corridor followed corridor. To avoid getting lost, he flew along the right edge, occasionally peeking into branches, noting small heaps of fused debris at their ends. He'd check another time. First pass—just acquainting with the object.
It smelled of work for a couple months. A couple months of steady pay.
The explorer smiled dreamily. Recalled the sparking contacts outside. Like some ancient generator running. Of course, could be static electricity from myriad magnetic fields. But even so, it hinted at top-tier working gear. Worth a fortune. Especially on the black market (which he'd only heard of, no personal dealings). But chiefly—his explorer's nose ignited.
Even humanity's longest-lasting power sources didn't reach two hundred years.
"Log. Speaking cosmic Archaeologist under license number 19-23-27. General desolation. No markings or subjects. No inscriptions. Ship in asteroid belt AR12... Internal working mechanisms of non-autonomous type preserved. Main systems destroyed. Covered six hundred ninety-six meters. Continuing exploration."
For a moment, corridors filled with eerie grating. The cosmonaut looked up in surprise. Heart pounded. Grating continued. Ten seconds passed. Switching to external ship camera, the explorer saw an asteroid shard crawling along the ancient ship's plating, then flying off and vanishing into darkness. Despite the desolation, the place remained dangerous.
Overcoming a few more empty corridors, the cosmonaut halted before tightly shut doors. Something majestic about them. Tall. Three human heights. Wide, as if for vehicle passage. Something riveted the gaze. He couldn't pinpoint what. But desperately wanted to open and learn. Yet there was something else. Behind the grandeur of the gates, the archaeologist missed the crucial.
Across the doors' center, diagonally, stretched three deep furrows. A frenzied beast slashed in futility. Someone escaped at the last moment. The archaeologist swallowed. Sweat trickled down his temple, evaporated by the conditioning system.
The corridor led left, into depths. The archaeologist shifted gaze back to the three furrows.
"Log. Found unscannable room. Coordinates relative to object's conditional center 1231.7666.2.22... Likely, crew remains preserved."
He ran his hand over the three deep scratches and swallowed again.
Smoothly turning left, he floated on. First site for breaching located.
Suit sensors blinked peacefully, tracking heart, nervous system, blood pressure, even mineral and key hormone ratios.
To the left appeared other inter-compartment doors, every ten meters farther. Sealed around edges. Couldn't force open outright, hinting at even more valuable (but presumed) finds.
But the next inter-compartment door, same three-human-height tall, was open. From afar, darkness gaped, beckoning from within. Lonely light beams from the suit underscored the depth, mystery, alienness of this darkness. It was odd. Mild beeping from suit sensors reported total safety. The archaeologist swallowed. Distrust of sensors awoke in him. First room of an alien civilization. Fear of the unknown. Normal. Archaeology—the most dangerous, yet bravest profession. People must handle emotions, especially fear. But solo, it's different. Solo work forbidden, perhaps for that reason.
Floated closer to the open doors. Stopped by the wall, right at the entrance. Arm's length away. Inside the room, a sound stirred. Something moved. Sharp glance at sensors showed imagination. What sound in vacuum? At most—suit could vocalize visual vibrations if especially strong. Like grating on outer plating.
But defying logic, pressure rose, heartbeat quickened. The nastiest part of solo work. Sudden intense fear, brain's gift. To banish, peek in. Overcome another meter, half at least, to see inside. But the explorer found he simply couldn't move. Incapable. Body numb. Paralyzed. The explorer swallowed, with great effort parted dry lips, and barely whispered.
"...Code-3."
Injection. Mild pain pierced shoulder. Neuroleptic administered. Heartbeat calmed, breathing normalized. Stopped sweating. Conditioning system reduced power draw. The archaeologist glanced around suit contours. Finally turned his own neck. Sighed in relief, floated a couple meters forward, and calmly peered inside.
Room with high ceiling. Inside, several black cubes, about half human height. Discounting them, empty. But three furrows along walls. Everywhere three parallel furrows. Some places—stretching tens of meters. Turned and floated onward through air, then halted. Eyes widened. He stared unblinking at what lanterns caught. A frozen figure afar. Hunched, but definitely humanoid. Leaning hand on wall.
"Log. See human silhouette. If android, energy scanners silent, activation unlikely. Approaching."
Nearing, Rovald saw it was indeed a robot. The very one leaving three furrows: the hand it leaned on was a paw with three thick blades. Huge melted hole in forehead, same in chest. Only mouth with fangs frozen in eternal urge to devour or howl.
The explorer recoiled slightly in disgust, then scanned the mechanism in detail, every joint, tried sampling alloy, but it proved harder than cutting ship plating, and he abandoned it.
"Log. Found first artifact. Assault-type combat robot, alloy exceeds ship plating in refractoriness, yet object neutralized by two shots of unknown weapon. Rendered fully inoperable. Assume resistance forces were relatively combat-capable." The explorer ran finger over melted forehead surface. "Impacting projectile at solar flare level, no less. Though..." He turned, eyeing wall state. "Whatever it was, shot didn't affect surroundings." Turned the other way. "And where it ended, unclear. Seems charge was cumulative."
Out of corner of eye, noticed robot twitch slightly. Heart pounded wildly, three claws loomed over him, sweat bead rolled to nose tip, upper lip twitched, soon only three pitiful furrows left of him, and the cosmonaut calmly closed eyes, then opened. Solo exploration had side effects. Imagination rampant. Robot in same spot, same pose.
Logic of bans felt. On own skin.
Further along, corridor intersected others like it. One glance revealed ripped hatches, perhaps to ventilation. In their stead gaped countless black cables of varying thickness. Many torn. Rubberized insulation dangled from high-voltage wires.
Flying through many other corridors, mapping them all, the explorer encountered nothing but a couple more frozen robots. With identical holes in forehead and chest. Only once stumbled on a pile of large heavy capsules, beside which lay a long gun barrel, almost like 21st-century tanks: five meters long, parallel two long rails, at barrel base three monstrous manipulators, nearly longer than the gun itself, and much thicker.
Photographed, tried scanning, but saw system's prohibit signal and stopped. Capsules resisted scanning. Another object for later. The farthest "later."
"Log. Corridor and airlock system partially studied, proceeding to open first discovered doors. Behind two thousand six hundred fifty-two meters. All calm."