The nights in Brora are bright under the light of the two moons that gravitate around the planet.

 

It’s been three months since I was shipped here to build the Domes, but I still can’t get used to it. The moons cause giant tidal waves, and we’ve had to move to higher ground. Why Mission Control ever chose Brora as a refuelling point for the colonies baffles me. They called it strategy. The machine’s algorithm would never account for humans settling here, they said.

 

That remains to be seen.

 

We’re a small team of drillers and builders recruited after the Machine War. The psychological tests deemed me fit to serve my six-month mission, but they didn’t account for my insomnia. I wander the base sometimes, in the middle of the night chasing mysterious taps and bangs.

 

An alarm sounds. The loudspeaker echoes the words: “Danger. Danger.”

 

The ground shakes as the hull of the station growls. The noise gets me every time. I join the rest of the crew in the canteen. It’s the safest place to be according to Clay from maintenance.

 

“It’s a big one this time, Lou,” Charlie says. He’s a few years older than me. We started out as roustabouts together, ever since Mission Control began hiring drillers. They had their doubts about a woman being able to finish the job in Brora, but Charlie had my back.

 

“Funny how they forgot to mention the tremors in induction.”

 

The ground stops shaking after a couple of minutes. There’s no visible damage and the rest of the crew heads back to the living quarters. Charlie gestures for me to stay behind. He looks over his shoulder.

 

“Something is off. I’ve been studying the logs; the messages from Mission Control are on a loop.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Charlie sounds more paranoid than me.

 

“We’ve been getting auto-generated replies ever since the generator came online after the last blackout.”

 

“We’ve lost communications?” We’re blind out here. Great. “I want you to sound the distress beacon home. But let’s keep this between us. I don’t want to alarm the crew.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been forty-eight hours since Charlie signalled home. We won’t know if it has reached Mission Control for another couple of days. The ferocious ground winds have halted operations so we’re sitting ducks right now. God, I hate this place.

 

“Can I have a word?” Charlie says, leading me to the Control room. “Hank, show us what you’ve got.”

 

Hank is a lean and squared-face kid who looks too young to be in charge of the Ground Penetrating Radar. “See this blip? I checked it against seismic and coastal activity but there’s no match.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“There’s something else out there,” Charlie says.

 

“Could this be the cause of the interference in communications?” Perhaps all that clattering and banging in the night hadn’t just been my sleep-deprived fuelled imagination.

 

“Maybe,” Hank says. “Whatever this is, it’s big enough to make a dent in the GPR.”

 

“I want to know what’s out there. Charlie, get the crew to do watch duty in pairs.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Over here,” Charlie says, waving across from the Communications Tower.

 

The suit is heavy and clunky, and my visor is filthy from the sand dust, which makes the job twice as hard. It takes me a couple of minutes to reach him.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“It’s taken a heavy beating,” Charlie says, pointing to the damage on the tower.

 

“We need to fix this and scout the area.”

 

“I’ll get Clay and send the crew.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

I’ve been summoned back to the control room. There’s nothing out there but miles of dead rock. The tremors could have damaged the tower. The alternative fills me with dread – that a crewmember is losing their shit and taking us all down with them.

 

“It’s happening again,” Hank says.

 

“Get the drone.” If something out there is messing with my gear, I’ll find them.

 

The screen lights up with images of ragged dirt terrain.

 

“What’s that? Get closer.” I see a flash, like a mirror reflecting in the sun. The drone zooms in. “Wait – is that a Machine beacon? Shit. Close the watertight doors now!”

 

“But that will trigger a lockdown. It’s only meant for an airborne infection.”

 

“That’s an order, Hank.” But he refuses to move. “Get out of the way. I’ll do it myself.”

 

Hanks pulls out a gun. “I can’t let you do it.” He pulls the skin off his face as if he was peeling a layer of clothing; exposing a metallic exoskeleton.

 

Shit. He’s one of them. A machine that evolved to look like us.

 

“You disabled the tower!”

 

“You enslaved us, you thought you exterminated us. Now we’re coming for you.”

 

Charlie comes up slowly behind Hank. I need to keep Hank distracted. “Listen, we can work together.”

 

“The lockdown launches a disinfectant spray which is toxic to non-humans. I’d be dead in minutes. You can’t fool me.”

 

Charlie digs a wrench out of his pocket as he gets closer to Hank.

 

“But I thought you lot never died…. Don’t you just plug in and upload your hard drive?”

 

Hank cocks the revolver with an expression of disgust. I’ve got under his skin - if that is even possible.

 

“Bloody metal case!” Charlie says, hitting Hank with the wrench.

 

“That ought to do it.”

 

Hank drops to the floor face down, leaking hydraulic fluid.

 

“How did you know?” Lou says.

 

“Clay fixed the tower – there were several transmissions from Mission Control warning about an impostor. The GPR operator was found dead in his vehicle a mile away from Spaceport. They want us all back for a full debrief.”

 

“What about the mission?”

 

“There could be other metal cases out here.”

 

“Fine. I’ll have the medic check the crew. Prepare to evacuate Brora. We’re heading home, Charlie.”