Starborn Odyssey: Voyage of the Lost (The Starborn Odyssey Trilogy Book 3)

by Haines Sigurdsson

  “I think we should first concentrate on produce farming and starting livestock so that in the event of mechanical failure we can feed ourselves and the children,” said Shana. “I mean, let’s face it; we can’t possibly do everything at once.” They were sitting outside around their cooking fire, which was also their favorite meeting place. The air was cool, and so they had a small fire going, although it was afternoon and the fire was not technically necessary.

  “But we need to start the next generation, too,” Pixie said. “We can’t raise 50 kids all at once, and we’re not getting any younger.”

  Elton laughed, “We’re not that old, Pixie.”

  “No, but we don’t know what else all those jumps may have done to us. What if we don’t age as well as we expect to?”

  “How many kids are we talking about at first?” Kelsan asked. He was sitting close to Tanya; they had become an official couple during those first weeks of colony building. “We don’t want all of our time to be taken up by babysitting; we still have a lot of work to do, with the colony, with exploring the navigation of the crystal drive, and with trying to contact Prometheus.”

  “How many infants could we handle?” Tanya asked. “One each? Maybe two?”

  “Any how many do we wake up each year? Do we skip years?” Zak asked.

  The discussion continued for several hours, and they were no closer to a decision.

  Gemma, whose hologram had been sitting silently, cross-legged, on the ground by the fire, spoke up.

  “Perhaps I can offer a suggestion,” she said. Everyone turned to listen, tired already of their fruitless discussion and hoping for some new perspective.

  Cap appeared at Gemma’s side, sandy-haired and handsome, the smoke from the fire wafting through his hologram and giving him an amorphous look that reminded Shana of why they had once thought him a ghost. Surprising them, Cap spoke first. “Since we don’t know the outcome of Earth or any of the other colonies, Gemma and I have agreed that the hope for the future—the long-term future—of Earth and Reeshian humans is with this crew. But there are a lot of other things that are past due for discussion. Some of you may not like our suggestions, but we believe they will benefit the colony, so please don’t be too hasty to deny our logic,” he said cryptically.

  Shana and Elton looked at each other in bewilderment; what were they getting at? The others looked disconcerted as well.

  “What are you talking about?” Kelsan demanded, leaning forward, arms on knees.

  “First, of course,” continued Cap, “we need to get more housing built before you can consider starting to raise children; that’s where our plans need to begin. We will need two or three large buildings or barracks, and soon.”

  “Wait,” interrupted Shana. “If each couple raises two children, to start, we already have all the housing we need. There will be plenty of time to build more, later.”

  Cap smiled. “Not if we want to insure survival of the colony. We have a plan for raising all of the children at one time. The colony can then grow in a fraction of the time, giving you more support, stronger infrastructure, greater defenses, and more brain power.”

  This drew looks of confusion from all around and finally Kelsan spoke up. “How are we supposed to raise that many kids at the same time without it being way too institutional?”

  “That, Kelsan, is the point of this whole discussion. We have an alternative,” answered Gemma. “What if there were more of you?”

  “What do you mean?” Tanya asked. “Who else would there be?”

  Gemma grinned. “I mean more of you, literally. What if each of you had a personality transfer done, into a mining robot, in much the same way as Cap and I? An Exostrider for each of you?”

  “But we’re still alive,” said Shana. “How would that work?”

  “It’s illegal as well,” said Elton, looking uncertain.

  “Cap and I were alive when we did our transfers—we had to be. The programs simply weren’t activated until after our corporeal bodies were gone. It’s true that it’s illegal on Earth. But the fact is at this point, we don’t appear to have a chance of making contact with the Earth or any of the other colonies any time in the near future. We have not heard anything more from our counterparts out there in the mini-saucer. We need to make our own rules, and we need to do what makes logical sense for the survival of our colony.”

  Pixie shivered. “I’m sorry, that sounds very creepy.”

  Gemma looked puzzled. “You would still be you. You won’t be connected to the fabricants. We would not make them as complete, not a replacement of you — you are all still alive, after all. And the robots would not be hooked into the computer the same way I am. They would be stand-alone personas.”

  “With our faces,” Kelsan said skeptically.

  “Now, your Exostriders wouldn’t by necessity have to have your faces on them,” continued Gemma. “Variety would probably be best—each of you would have a robotic twin, and we could adjust the face so that it’s not an exact match.”

  “Why not just make a bunch of you, Gemma?” Zak asked, almost sounding nonchalant, as if this was a hypothetical conversation and not a real suggestion.

  Gemma and Cap exchanged an uncomfortable glance—a mannerism adopted solely for the benefit of the crew, Shana knew. Cap said, “There are already many copies of us out there in the universe. We don’t think it’s appropriate to have too many in one place. Not that there would be problems, but . . .”

  “Variety is best when raising a bunch of children,” Gemma cut in. “All the children will be different—we want their caretakers to be equally diverse. Each of you, and your Exostriders, can teach them different things.”

  Kelsan sat back thoughtfully. “Huh,” he said. “I hate to say it, but you might be right, Gem.” He grinned at her.

  “How does it work?” asked Elton “I mean, would we be mentally connected, like you are to your Exostriders?”

  “No,” said Gemma. “From the time you do the transfer, the robotic you would develop memories of its own. I am a program; you are not. You will be yourself, and your Exostrider will be a separate entity, an independent program existing in the computer-brain of the robot body, unconnected to the ship’s computer. The Exostrider would start with your memories and personality—as much as we can transfer—for the base of its existence. This way, they will be as capable as you in making decisions concerning the welfare and caring for the children. At the same time, each will develop on its own with slight variations; it wouldn’t be exactly like you indefinitely. We will be able to double the number of our crew instantaneously.”

  “I don’t think I would want to wake up as a robot,” Pixie said, anxiety making her voice higher than usual. “If it’s made of my memories, then it will feel like me, won’t it? When it wakes up?”

  “We will program the Exostriders so that they do not have such misgivings,” Gemma said soothingly. “I can tell you from experience; it will be okay for them. Cap and I have reviewed this extensively, and believe it is our best option.”

  “How long would the robotic versions of us last?” asked Kelsan, casting a sideways glance at Gemma. “I mean, you last as long as the ship does; do we last as long as there are replacement parts for our Striders?”

  “I think what he means to say,” Zak interjected dryly, “is, will you be making an immortal version of us, that will outlive the real us?”

  “Potentially. But I believe it makes the most sense to put a time limit on it,” Gemma said. “Perhaps 100, or 150 years? We do not want the colony to depend on the Striders too much—it could inhibit the development of a natural culture of their own.”

  “But we already do depend on you,” Shana said, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “What if our grandchildren need help and we’ve arbitrarily limited the Striders? I don’t want to strand them without that sort of guidance.”

  “She’s right, it wouldn’t have to be that way,” said Kelsan. “I don’t see any really good
reason for there to be a limit to the life span. We could do a lot to keep the colony running smoothly!”

  Cap spoke up. “We don’t want to risk the Striders being seen as gods; and don’t think that’s a farfetched idea. Without a limit, you could find yourself running everything just because you would have superior knowledge, experience and wisdom, from years of living.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Kelsan asked. “We want our leaders to be wise and knowledgeable. Aside from that, I tend to think I could manage to guide a colony without becoming a despot,” Kelsan laughed.

  “I agree,” said Tanya, somewhat belligerently. “Setting an arbitrary life limit is silly—for you,” she addressed this to Gemma and Cap, “and for our ‘twins.’ Even if things started to take a bad path, the robots could leave the colony and explore the universe.”

  “That’s true,” said Gemma. “But what if, 150 years from now, you decide what’s best for the colony is for you to control it, treat the humans as children? Not out of malice, but out of good intentions, you could find it easy to be gods to a less evolved race? What would stop you then?”

  “We could deal with that when we got to it,” said Kelsan.

  “What if the Striders don’t agree with us on something?” asked Elton. “I don’t mean little daily things, or even just one of us, but big decisions for the entire colony. They’ll be stronger than us, physically. Will they be programmed to accept our decisions as final?”

  “You mean, will the Striders be designed to serve the original, organic humanoids?” Gemma asked, a little archly. “Like servants?”

  Elton shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said meekly. “Although I didn’t quite mean it that way.”

  “That’s a good question,” said Cap. “It will depend a lot on the original personality of each particular Strider. But I don’t think a blanket requirement of obedience is either called for or necessarily wise.”

  “I think there’s a more insidious issue,” Zak suggested, “if we come down to thinking of us vs. them. What if, on our death beds, we decide we don’t want to die? We want to transfer our thoughts into our twin Strider, again—overriding all that they’ve learned and experienced, out of some survival instinct?”

  At this, Gemma looked deeply disturbed. Clearly she had not thought of this.

  “Well, in that case,” she said, tone more clipped than they were used to hearing from her, “It would be a good thing that you don’t have the capacity to perform a personality transfer without me.”

  Zak leaned back and smiled. “It wasn’t a request, just a thought. You have thought this all out, it seems, but it’s all new to us. You have to forgive a little conjecture.”

  “We cannot think of the Striders as a different class of people,” Cap warned. “Different, yes, but not a different class. They will be part of the crew, just as you are.”

  After a pause, Tanya said, “I have a question, too. Do we set a rule that we are the only ones who will have this privilege, that the children will not also be duplicated?”

  “I think that sounds safest,” Elton said carefully.

  “Alright,” Shana interrupted, “Before we all get carried away, let’s discuss whether this is something we really want to do. Do we?” She looked around at her friends.

  “Do you think we can keep the child-rearing from being too institutionalized?” Zak asked. “Because that could create problems we can’t even think of at the moment.”

  “I believe the children could be raised with sufficient personal attention, with the small nature of our colony, and the help of the Striders, as to avoid any negative consequences,” Gemma said. “And the benefits will be worth any potential downsides. The whole goal here is to establish a large enough colony that it can support itself sufficiently to withstand disasters yet unforeseen. The goal, simply put, is security and strength in numbers; that’s a matter of historical record.”

  They exchanged looks among themselves and Zak finally broke the silence. “I think it’s a cool idea. I also agree to establish a limitation, if we decide to do so. I wouldn’t even trust myself to not become a little too godly given the chance.” He grinned.

  Kelsan barked a laugh. “My friend,” he said, “I doubt that you are the one anyone’s concerned about in that arena.”

  Everyone grinned.

  “So, for the immediate, we do some further exploring and build the lab for the activation of the embryos,” said Shana.

  “That’s how we see it,” agreed Gemma with assent from Cap, “Along with cultivating farm land and other preparations for the arrival of the children. We have a little prep work to do before we can create the Striders, so you will have some time. It will take a week to build the bodies but the transfers will take longer. We’ll need each of you to spend a couple of hours a day helping establish the personality matrix for your robots. We can upload quite a bit of personality algorithm based on Prometheus’ records, but the rest you need to complete. It’s rather complex. If we start now, by the time you’ve completed the nursery, and the embryos have matured—say, in the next 10 months, we should have all of the Striders up and running.”

  Elton gave a great sigh at the daunting task ahead.

  “Alright, let’s do it!” Shana said.

  The next few months were full of exploration and work, and not a small amount of worry. But the new colony planet was remarkably hospitable, and they were delighted that no additional threats or hurdles presented themselves. Each day, they took turns participating in the “personality transfer” process. Gemma and Cap had developed a system, in which the crew answered seemingly endless random questions, with yes or no answers, combined with segments of narrative, where they recited memories. Their expressions and movements were tracked and converted into programming language, their memories given digital life. It was in many ways, for the subjects, a tedious and exhausting process, and after weeks and weeks of it, they were all secretly wondering if it was worth it. Still, they toiled on with the brain pattern scans, (an extremely important part of achieving a personality that could continue to grow).

  Outside of the transfer sessions, there was plenty to keep them busy, building up their farm land, and setting up buildings for living, working, and school.

  One day as Shana and Pixie were working laying a fence around their wheat field, Shana caught some violent rustling in the bushes nearby. She reached for her weapon but then a pair of the strange cave dwelling creatures tumbled clumsily out of the bushes, as if they had been wrestling. They rolled about playfully, and both Shana and Pixie watched them with surprise. They didn’t want to startle them, so held very still, watching. Suddenly, one of them swiveled and pointed one eye in their direction, and froze. The other tumbled about for another moment before realizing its companion had stopped, and then it also spotted the humans. They both crept very slowly—apparently feeling stealthy—back into the shrubs, making Shana want to laugh aloud. They then poked their triangle, furry heads over the shrubs and peeked out, curiously.

  Shana whispered, “So Pix, what do you think?”

  At the same moment, the two creatures started clicking at each other, and rocking about.

  “I think they’re talking about us,” Pixie said, amused, and then laughed, unable to help herself. The creatures jumped and looked as if they would bolt, but then they stilled themselves and began chattering again.

  “Let’s just keep working,” Shana said, starting to measure the distance to the next fence post, “and see what they do.”

  Pixie nodded. They proceeded, but both kept an eye on the little spies in the bushes.

  Pixie said, “You know, they’re kind of cute once you realize that the whole top half is their head. I’ve never imagined creatures with their arms and heads both being above their necks but once you see them that way, they’re pretty adorable.”

  “Why are they acting so differently than they did in their cave?” Shana wondered aloud. “You remember how little attention they paid to us that da
y.”

  “Maybe they’ve decided we’re worth watching. Remember, just because they’re curious doesn’t necessarily mean they have advanced reasoning; I mean, a cat will watch what you’re doing, and display other traits of curiosity.”

  Shana smiled at her friend. “You are determined to get a pet, aren’t you?” But at the same time, she had a feeling that this was different. Cats wouldn’t be peeking over bushes and whispering back and forth. The behavior seemed more like genuine interest in what they were seeing. But the degree of intelligence was not clear.

  Shana touched her Link. “Elton, get over here, but slowly! We’ve got two of those cave-squirrels over here checking us out.”

  She could see Elton, who was quite a ways down the field, perk up. He started their way, slowly. He was coming up on the creatures from behind, but seemed conscious of this as he approached, and did his best to keep his attention diverted away from them, so he didn’t appear to notice them. Of course, with three eyes, there was no sneaking up on these two. They did see Elton, and started to look antsy, like they were close to bolting away. Elton shifted his trajectory, and moved away from them. They seemed to relax just a little and returned to looking in Shana’s direction again.

  Elton joined Shana and Pixie. “What do you think we should do?” he asked. “This could go on all day.”

  A third creature appeared behind the first two, and then crept out from behind the bush, travelling on all four feet and sniffing along the ground. Its nostrils were at the top of its almost pointed head which they realized was very much like a dog’s nose. The third eye was the one that could still see around while in that position, being on top. The other two eyes were down and Shana imagined they couldn’t see much other than the ground—but apparently that was all they wanted. The creature was picking grass and leaves off the ground with one head-arm, balancing on the other three appendages, and stuffing them in the small mouth just about two inches below the front two eyes.