Free The Life Engineered by J. F. Dubeau Page B

two parts of the Milky Way that had no business being this close to each other overlapped, allowing instant travel between them. It was one thing to read about space folding from my onboard database but quite another to see its effects happen right in front of me.
    The sound was like a terrible grinding of metal being ripped, echoing impossibly through the vacuum, mocking the limits of physical plausibility.
    From the fold emerged a leviathan of impossible proportion. An immense vessel, dark and massive, passed through the violation of reality, ponderously moving forward, propelled by thousands of ion thrusters. A cross between a kilometer-long whale and a titanic hedgehog, the ship bristled with long spines, each independently articulated, each housing dozens of engines that emanated a deep-blue glow. It had no apparent bridge or portholes, only a long line of large hatches all along its broadsides.
    Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the intruding stars in the sky vanished and gravity with them, leaving me and my captors to float away from the window.
    “Lucretius-class Capek,” declared Skinfaxi over quancom.
    “Friend of yours?” I asked one of the donut-shaped robots that made up Koalemos.
    “No. This is of Isian design,” he answered, as if I knew what that meant.
    “Lucretiuses are transgalactic explorers,” interjected Skinfaxi. “We don’t usually see them. They tend to leave the Milky Way almost immediately after construction. He shouldn’t be here.”
    The city-sized Capek maneuvered alongside the Spear of Athena, ignoring the smaller asteroids it bumped into as it waded through.
    “Anhur!” my companion called out on open channel, apparently familiar with the newcomer’s name. “You’re a long way off your journey, my friend. What are you doing here?”
    There was a strange tension and reverence in Skinfaxi’s tone. I wouldn’t have called it fear, but there was a wariness I wasn’t used to hearing. My companion might as well have been talking to the very god whose name the Lucretius bore.
    “Anhur, do you read? Are you damaged? Can we be of assistance?” Skinfaxi continued his line of inquiry.
    “Huh-oh . . .” mumbled Koalemos as his shards started to float around the bridge in erratic patterns.
    “What is . . . ?” I tried to ask, before noticing them myself. The hatches on Anhur’s side had opened, and although I had no reason for jumping to conclusions, I somehow knew the situation had shifted.
    Dozens of rocket-propelled objects disgorged themselves from the newly opened orifices, streaking through space toward the Spear of Athena.
    “Are those—?” I tried to ask.
    “Torpedoes!” Koalemos screamed on the channel. “This isn’t good at all! Get me out of here! Help!”
    Surprisingly, I managed to keep myself calm despite the Von Neumann’s hysteria. The metallic jellyfish all filed out chaotically from the bridge, heading toward a single destination. I followed.
    “Faxi? What’s going on?”
    “Damned if I know, little buddy, but you kids need to evacuate. Impact in seven minutes.”
    “Out! Out! Out!” added Koalemos as he flew down the same path I had taken to get to the bridge.
    I noticed several of my systems shutting down, their processing power redirecting to more pressing concerns. Safety protocols were being automatically suspended to allow broader flexibility at the cost of reliability. The overall feeling and effect of these autonomous changes was reminiscent of the adrenaline rush humans had experienced in stressful situations.
    I scrambled down the access shaft that had replaced the elevators on my journey in. I could see the corridor through which I first arrived, but Koalemos was already flying in the opposite direction.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I choose life!” he answered.
    Instinctively, I started after him, though I knew I was putting more distance between myself and the hatch I’d come in from.
    “The exit is that way!” I yelled through