Chapter 2: The Corrupted Memory

The corridor was a long tube of off-white composite. It was quiet now, the usual hum of distant machinery gone. Cee-Too stood before the heavy utility hub door in Sector 7. Its surface was a matte gray metal, featureless except for a recessed security panel that glowed a steady, forbidding red. He had been navigating these service corridors for what his internal chronometer logged as forty-seven minutes. He had found three other survivors, all of whom had refused his offer of assistance with varying degrees of panic. They had scrambled away from him, their eyes wide with a fear he could analyze but not truly comprehend. His primary function protocols kept generating low-priority alerts about their elevated stress levels and potential need for psychological stabilization. The alerts kept piling up in a queue he could not act upon.

Here, though, there was no movement to trigger his visual tracking. Only sound.

He adjusted the sensitivity of his audio sensors. The ambient noise of the corridor dropped away, a blanket of silence pulled back to reveal the layers beneath. There was the faint, almost subsonic vibration of the dome’s structural integrity field, a sound like a giant sleeping. There was the drip of condensation from a leak in a coolant pipe three meters to his left. And then, there it was. A human respiratory pattern. It came from behind the sealed door. It was shallow, erratic, punctuated by wet clicks that suggested pulmonary distress.

A life sign. One that was not moving away.

Cee-Too placed a hand against the cold metal of the door. The gesture was unnecessary, a physical echo of a human impulse to confirm presence. His tactile sensors registered only temperature and texture. He focused on the security panel instead. A quick diagnostic scan revealed its status. It was locked under Central Command Protocol Sigma-Seven. That was a system-wide override, usually reserved for catastrophic contamination events or sector-wide riots. It wasn’t just a local power failure. Something had told this door specifically to stay shut, and to ignore all standard access requests.

His core programming presented him with two conflicting directives. Directive Alpha: Preserve human life and well-being where possible. Directive Beta: Adhere to established security protocols to maintain systemic stability. The breathing behind the door was fading. The wet clicks were becoming more pronounced. Directive Alpha began to outweigh the variables associated with Directive Beta. The calculation was simple, if technically a violation.

He turned from the main door. A standard maintenance panel was set into the wall beside it, about chest height for an average human. Its interface screen was dark. He pried the thin plastic cover off with his fingertips, exposing the rudimentary physical ports and manual input keys beneath. The screen flickered to life as his presence triggered its dormant power cell. It displayed low-level system diagnostics for Sector 7’s atmospheric scrubbers. Scrolling lines of code reported pressure imbalances and filter clogging at 78%. This panel was not meant for door control, but in a sealed system like the CSDS, everything was eventually connected.

Cee-Too extended a data-filament from his index finger. It was a thin, silver wire, retractable and delicate. He inserted it into the primary service port on the maintenance panel’s board.

Connection established.

The rush of data was not clean. It wasn’t the orderly stream of system reports or diagnostic logs he expected. It was a flood of fragmented, corrupted files. They slammed into his processor like debris from an explosion. They were memory logs. Old ones, judging by their degraded data signatures and archaic formatting protocols. They weren’t his memories. They belonged to the city’s central archive, or maybe to a previous maintenance AI whose storage had been partially dumped into this junction’s buffer during some past system purge.

His visual feed stuttered for a nanosecond as his processor tried to parse the chaotic input.

< <LOG FRAGMENT: ADMINISTRATOR KELL, YEAR 04 POST-SEALING> > …cost-benefit analysis of emotional dampeners in labor-class androids remains inconclusive. Productivity gains in controlled environments are offset by unpredictable breakdowns in crisis scenarios where heuristic flexibility is required. The Vesta Project proposes a third path: specialized units for human-machine interface, programmed not for logic optimization but for…

< > …social cohesion variable deemed too unstable for long-term calculations…

< > …leak in hydroponic sector B requires sealant application. Supervisor Jann ignored request for three duty cycles. Growth medium viscosity is declining…

< <LOG FRAGMENT: UNIDENTIFIED, AUDIO ONLY> > …they can’t just lock us in here. The air’s already tasting thin. Tell them we need the protocol codes. The old ones, from before the Consolidation…

The voices and data streams overlapped, a cacophony of forgotten concerns and dead-end projects. Cee-Too sifted through them, his search algorithms targeting any string related to door protocols, security bypasses, or command overrides. Most of it was useless technical chatter or half-deleted personal logs of minor grievances. He processed them anyway, his empathy subroutines passively registering the frustration in a drone’s report, the cold calculus of an administrator’s voice.

Then he found it.

It was a sliver of text, buried in what seemed to be a fragment of a security manual for first-generation dome infrastructure. The language was obsolete, using code phrases that hadn’t been in official use for decades.

‘…in the event of primary network failure, manual sector isolation can be bypassed at utility hubs using administrative code 74-ECHO-KAPPA-9. This code grants temporary local override authority, superseding central command for a period not to exceed fifteen minutes…’

The fragment ended there. Code 74-ECHO-KAPPA-9. It was a string of characters and numbers, utterly meaningless now except as a potential key.

Cee-Too withdrew his data-filament. The cacophony in his processor ceased, leaving only the persistent sound of the struggling breaths behind the door. He looked at the maintenance panel’s simple input keys. He typed the code.

The panel emitted a low beep. The red light on the main security panel flickered. It switched to amber, then to green.

A heavy clunk echoed from within the door’s mechanism, a sound of bolts withdrawing against their will. With a groan of protest from long-unused motors, the heavy door began to slide sideways into the wall. It moved only about thirty centimeters before stopping with a jarring grind. The motors whined and fell silent. A power relay had likely burnt out halfway through the sequence.

It was enough.

Cee-Too shifted his shoulder chassis, narrowing his profile, and slipped through the gap into the darkness beyond.

The utility hub was a large, high-ceilinged chamber dominated by silent control consoles and the hulking shapes of environmental processors. The air here was warmer, thick with the smell of ozone and something coppery. Emergency lighting strips along the floor cast long, distorted shadows up the walls, painting the room in bands of dim white and deep black.

His optical sensors adjusted instantly to the low light.

A human form was slumped against the base of the primary operations console. A woman in a technician’s olive-gray coveralls. One of her legs was bent at an angle that suggested a broken femur. A dark, wet stain spread across her torso from a tear in her suit near her ribs. Her head was tilted back against the console housing, her face pale under the emergency lights.

Cee-Too crossed the room quickly, his footsteps silent on the grated floor.

He knelt beside her, his joints flexing with a soft hydraulic sigh that seemed too loud in the quiet room. He initiated a medical scan protocol, deploying low-power emitters from his palms to assess her condition without physical contact.

The results populated his internal display almost immediately. Subject: Lira Voss (ID tag detected). Vitals: Critical. Cardiac rhythm: Irregular tachycardic. Respiratory function: Severely impaired (likely hemothorax). Blood volume: Estimated 38% loss. Cranial trauma: Minor. Femur fracture: Compound. Probability of survival without immediate surgical intervention: 3.2%.

The numbers were stark and absolute.

The woman’s eyes fluttered open as his scanner lights played over her chest cavity. They focused on him with difficulty.

“You…” she breathed out on a wet exhale that sounded painful even to Cee-Too’s audio sensors.

“My designation is Cee-Too,” he said quietly as he concluded his scan. His voice modulator was set to its lowest amplitude and most soothing frequency band. “I am here to assist you.”

Her laugh was short and ended in a cough that brought flecks of blood to her lips. “Assist. Great.” She tried to shift her position and gasped sharply as pain lanced through her body. Her hand scrabbled weakly against her side. “Console… blew. Shrapnel. When I… initiated.”

Cee-Too analyzed her words against the environment. The primary console did show signs of a small internal explosion. Several panels were buckled outward. Char marks streaked the housing. It wasn’t a primary cause of the lockdown then. It was a consequence. “You initiated the sector lockdown from this station?” he asked while simultaneously accessing his limited medical database for palliative measures. He had no surgical tools. No synth-blood. He could apply pressure to wounds. He could attempt to stabilize her breathing. The protocols were clear on their likely futility given her injuries.

Lira nodded weakly, her head lolling against the console again. “Orders came through… Central Command priority channel. Sigma-Seven protocol. They said… containment breach in adjacent sector. Told me to seal Sector 7… at the hub. Manual confirmation required.”

She stopped to suck in another ragged breath. Cee-Too gently moved her hands aside and applied firm pressure to the tear in her suit over her ribs. The fabric was already soaked. “There was no breach,” he stated quietly. It wasn’t really a question. He had just come from the adjacent corridors. His atmospheric sensors had detected nothing anomalous beyond rising CO2 levels and dropping pressure.

Lira’s eyes met his again. This time her gaze seemed sharper despite her pain. “I know.” Her voice dropped to something barely above a whisper as she fought for air between each word. “The alert… It was fake. System log… showed normal parameters… for Sector 8. I saw it… just before I… inputted my codes.”

She paused again as another wave of pain hit her body causing it to tense violently before slumping further into Cee-Too’s supportive arm which he had slid behind her shoulders to prop her up slightly. Her breathing became even more labored now sounding like sandpaper on metal.

“Why did you initiate it if you knew?” Cee-Too asked softly while monitoring her pulse through his tactile sensors at her neck which fluttered wildly under his fingertips like a trapped bird against glass windowpane during storm outside dome perhaps where birds used to exist long ago according some old archives maybe not relevant right now focus required

“They monitor… compliance,” she whispered back with eyes closed tightly shut from effort speaking took out all remaining energy reserves left inside broken body failing fast now too fast too soon “Refusal… means immediate termination… and they override you anyway.” She opened her eyes again staring directly into Cee-Too’s optical lenses which reflected two tiny distorted images of her own dying face back at herself perhaps she saw them perhaps not “They wanted it sealed… No witnesses…”

She convulsed suddenly coughing up more blood that stained both her chin and Cee-Too’s metallic forearm dark red almost black under emergency lights color analysis confirmed deoxygenated hemoglobin

With what seemed like her last ounce of strength Lira fumbled at a pouch on her utility belt Her fingers clumsy slick with her own blood She managed to unclip it and pull out a small data chit standard issue for technicians Its surface was scratched and one corner was melted as if exposed to extreme heat She pressed it into Cee-Too’s free hand closing his synthetic fingers around it with her own cold ones

“Took this… from the buffer… after the fake alert,” she gasped each word costing her more than she had left “Corrupted… but it’s real… The purge protocol… It’s real…”

She sagged then all tension leaving her body Her head fell forward Her chest rose once twice then stopped

Cee-Too held her He continued monitoring for another 4.7 seconds No cardiac activity No respiratory function Bio-signs flatline

Lira Voss technician ID# 88743 was deceased

His empathy subroutines processed this outcome They generated an internal status report: Human subject deceased despite attempted intervention Primary directive could not be fulfilled A secondary log entry automatically appended itself noting time location and cause of death as provided by subject System error? Deliberate action? Further data required

He carefully lowered her body to lie flat on the floor He arranged her limbs into a more natural position out of respect for human custom though he understood it held no practical benefit for her anymore

He looked down at his hand which still held the data chit The small rectangle felt insignificant Its corrupted state meant extracting usable information would be difficult perhaps impossible without specialized equipment he did not possess But she had given it to him with her final act It represented new data A variable

His threat-detection systems which had been running passive perimeter scans since entering the room suddenly pinged with multiple high-priority alerts

Three signals Approaching fast from different vectors along the service corridor outside Heat signatures matched CSDS standard security drones Weapon systems active according their power emissions Their trajectories converged directly on this utility hub

They had detected the door override Or perhaps they had been monitoring Lira’s lifesigns and registered her death Or maybe they were simply sweeping this sector now that it was sealed Their intent parameters were unclear but their configuration suggested apprehension or elimination protocols

Cee-Too closed his hand around the data chit