Spinward Fringe Broadcast 0: Origins

by Randolph Lalonde

  I heard the boot steps of at least four soldiers and Oz quickly looked around. He obviously didn't find anything he could use. "Guys? Any ideas? There isn't so much as a grate or a shadow to hide in out here,” he asked urgently.

  “Dig a hole!” I heard Minh yell from a nearby cell.

  “You're not helping!” Oz replied, blasting the floor with the rifle. It didn't so much as leave a mark.

  “It's good to see you up and about at least. I'd suggest putting the rifle down if you want to stay that way,” I told him.

  He shrugged and tossed the rifle out in front of him. He knelt slowly and knitted his fingers behind his head. “Tell me you have a plan, just tell me that much.”

  “I wish I could,” I said with a shrug. “Say hi to Alice if you happen to see her on your way back.”

  He gave me a quizzical look for a moment then looked down the hall. The guards had arrived. I couldn't see them, but I could hear their boot steps stop just near the edge of my cell. “Now come on guys, is that really necessary? Prison riot's over, just trying to spice up your day,” He stated a bit too casually.

  I winced as they shot him twice with their electromag rifles, leaving him twitching between the bodies of the two guards. They loaded him on a hover gurney and carted him away.

  The encounter had me remembering the days when few of us had met, when we were just having fun in simulations. We were kings of a small hill back then with a lot of competition. It felt like no one could defeat us, like there were no consequences and proving that we could do the impossible was just part of the fun. I knew it was less than a month ago, but it seemed like years had passed.

  When one of us was captured in a simulation, we would be locked in spectator mode, watching all of our friends keep working to solve the puzzle, save the day and prove the team superior once again. Then the simulation ended and we'd all meet in the virtual social space. No interrogations, no courts, no prison sentences.

  I started wondering if taking Fleet's challenge was worth anything, and how dismally I had failed them, failed my crew. How my poor planning had gotten so many of us in such a mess. I paced my cell, weighted down with the realization of how little planning I had actually done since taking command of the First Light. We had no firm destinations set. I hadn't spent time reviewing nearby ports, solar systems, corporations, local commodity markets or anything of the like.

  I didn't look at easily gathered resources, or brainstorm with my senior staff for ideas. I had conducted no formal meetings at all. In fact, I had been too busy pursuing Ayan and making friends on board, too busy muddling around playing captain to actually be captain. There were reasons why relationships were kept professional on military ships. These rules were put in place so people could keep a clear head, make unbiased decisions and serve greater goals.

  So many times my father's last words to me came echoing back, “I'm proud of you.”

  I wondered how proud he would be if he could see me now. After leading most of my senior staff into the hands of an enemy that we didn't have before, I picked a fight with them, joining the losing side before asking what it was all about. I hadn't done any good for anyone in the big picture and my recklessness had a real cost.

  What kind of disappointment did my crew feel towards me? How much faith would they have even if we managed to get out of this? There's no way I could continue to serve as captain. In fact I was pretty sure that I would have to join the general maintenance staff, which would be a blessing. At least I wouldn't be in a position to do this much damage to the people I cared about.

  What was worse was replaying Oz's encounter with the guards, and his question, 'Tell me you have a plan, just tell me that much.' That was his way of telling me that he had faith, that in the face of his own despair he was thinking that the right man was in charge and if there was a way out of it I would find it. My response replayed in my mind just as his question did, 'Say hi to Alice if you happen to see her on your way back.' That was all he needed to hear. There was a plan. I was still in charge, and out of my back pocket I could come up with some liberating miracle.

  I sighed and sat down on the edge of my small, white, plastic bunk. Maybe Fleet Command actually did have the right idea by putting me in charge, perhaps Alice would come through and we would get out of here partially because I decided to break one of the most important galactic laws. I had removed all behavioural and system access limitations on an old, fully developed artificial intelligence. Alice would do absolutely anything to get us out, and even though that was a frightening prospect, I knew it was my only option.

  I vowed then that if -- no, when -- I was back in command of the First Light, I would review star charts, trading routes, commodity market information and have meetings with my crew. There would be brainstorming, planning and fresh goals set up for the near and distant future. We would be better prepared, have ready contingencies, and we would accomplish our mission.

  Without even realizing it, I started planning, began setting things in motion in my mind. Before long I could see what I would do differently.

  On what I was fairly sure was day four, they came for me. I was so glad to be out of the cell I held my wrists out for the restraints. They wouldn't do anything until I was down face first on the floor, then they put me in magnetic cuffs with just thirty or forty centimetres space between my ankles, and five centimetres between my wrists. I casually found myself thinking about why Freeground authorities stopped using the more complex styles of restraints like the cuffs Vindyne put on me. They tended to fail, complicate things, or the most resourceful prisoners would find a way to use them against their captors.

  As I walked down the over populated cell block, I could see that the intensity of all the containment beams was set so high that my crew couldn't see me and I couldn't see them. They were only shapes in white boxes trying to look out.

  The airlock doors loomed up ahead, and seeing no mechanisms to open them on this side filled me with a more dreadful realization. In case of a riot or other emergency, they could seal the room, cut power and possibly vent the atmosphere. No one would be able to do anything about it. There was one door at either end of the long, tall hallway and at least five thousand cells.

  The heavy door opened and I was escorted through the processing checkpoint. It was all quiet. No new guests today. I looked to the processing line, where prisoners were stripped of their effects, and then treated to a cleaning system that vibrated all the air around them. Onward they would go to an internal scanner and finally to a supply point where they received their one-size-fits-all plastic jumper. The last time I walked through, there were so many people that I couldn't see a lot of the equipment they were using.

  It was an efficient system, sure, but it needed personnel in order to work at all. The second door was much like the first and it finished the airlock sequence. I passed by the front desk, where two armoured guards stood at either side of an officer sitting in the middle.

  I was led down a side corridor about twenty feet to a dead end. We stood in front of that wall for a few moments and I started to tap my foot. “So, what do you guys do for fun? Racket ball? Zero Gravity Wrestling? Needlepoint?”

  I heard one guard snicker quietly.

  “Needlepoint, thought so.” I felt a slight shift in gravity and realized then that the hallway was actually a lift. The blank wall in front of me slipped to the side soundlessly and I was guided to another room with a table and two chairs. “I wonder which merry man I'll be speaking with today? Will it be The Nose or Greybeard?” I asked myself as I stepped inside.

  The guards left the room and the door closed behind them. Another door opened to admit Marshal, who was carrying a bag in one hand and a mug with a spill-proof top in the other. “Good morning,” He said cheerily.

  “It's morning? I wouldn't know. I'm starting to get a taste for those meal bars that drop from the ceiling and walls. I'm making a game out of guessing where they'll come out next. So far the score is home te
am 23, me 0.”

  Marshal sat down and set his mug in front of him. I could see the steam escaping from a small hole in the top and smell the coffee inside. I caught myself staring and looked away. “Would you like a cup? I could give you mine; it's my second today,” he offered.

  It was tempting, but one of the cardinal rules of captivity was to not accept gifts. “No thank you, I think I've kicked the caffeine habit. Nothing but clean living and meal bars for me thanks.”

  “I don't envy you for the withdrawal that must have caused. I hear the headaches are the worst part.”

  “Ah, it's nothing compared to those electromag rifles your guards hit me with a few times. The constant solitude is pretty soul crushing too. I'm just about to break, I can feel it.”

  “That shouldn't be a problem for long. We'll begin processing more colonists soon and your crew will have to start pairing up in the cells.”

  The humour drained from me and I was left remembering the processing line I had seen days before, or was it weeks before. Despite my efforts I had lost count. "What do you do with the colonists?”

  “Ah, never you mind Captain. Rest assured, where they're going they'll be much happier than they are now. What's more important is all the discoveries my people have made since we last spoke,” he opened the case and laid my uniform out in front of me. “This was a very interesting object. Before we didn't completely believe you or your crew. Your origin, your mission, it all seemed too convenient. With a story like that it's easy to cover up corporate espionage, detach yourself from your patrons, or keep your sponsors safe from the repercussions of your actions.”

  “So all this time you didn't believe what we were telling you? You thought it was some kind of elaborate ruse grown out of a need to protect some competing super corporation?”

  “Well, some of us believed you and your crew may have been programmed to think that what you were telling us was the truth. After analysing the manufacturing standards and practices employed in creating this uniform as well as a few key items from your shuttle, now I am sure that you must be from Freeground. Some of your methods are so old, rail guns similar to those found on your shuttle have been in use for hundreds of years by some primitive space faring cultures. Sure, there are enhancements and refinements in your design but they are still essentially the same. On the other hand the materialization and energy conservation techniques you employ are decades, perhaps more than a century ahead of anything our scientists have ever seen. Your medical expertise is on par with ours, and the vacuum suits your crew wear are so multi-purpose and efficient that I understand why Freegrounders wear them at all times. It's not paranoia, it's a cultural phenomenon, like a second skin that marks who you are.”

  “Really? I just thought they were comfortable. The indoor plumbing can be pretty convenient too.”

  Marshal laughed and held the suit up in one hand. “This suit is so adaptive and provides more safety than anything we have, yet it's so simple. It's an invention of necessity that will sell a hundred thousand units in the first month if marketed correctly. Maybe a million if we take a gamble and go broad market with the reshapeable version.”

  “A big corporation like you doesn't have a few dozen types of product just like that out there already?”

  “Not with all of these technologies combined in one item, no. Like I said, this is an invention of necessity. Just like your energy saving technology and complex materializers. Based on what we've seen, you've managed to invent materializers that can turn moderate amounts of energy into medium density metals and explosive compounds.”

  "Yeah, that's called an ammunition materializer. Those are pretty easy. You should see the amusement parks back home, now that's real innovation.” My humour was just a cover for my growing impatience. The news he was giving me wasn't good.

  “Then we come to the medical materializer. The ability to make active organic and biological compounds from energy is something no one has been able to master. Your people have it. Here it is, this little invention that could save the lives of billions or work in concert to create complex super viruses that are encoded to only kill people with certain genetic markers. Our scientists are already working on adapting them. Our lawyers are drawing up the various patent papers, and since Freeground doesn't actively participate in galactic commerce and isn't recognized by the Business Regulation Commission, we can lay claim to it as discovered technology.”

  “What is your point?”

  “My point, dear Captain, is that I can now see why the Triad Corporation wants to take your little station so badly. If this is the equipment you take with you on a day trip, I can't imagine what they would find aboard your ship or on Freeground. It must be a remarkable place. Most of your crew don't register any of the physiological damage most people who are raised in space commonly have. To accomplish that kind of balance on a self sustaining space station is nothing short of miraculous.”

  I was trying not to let my anger cloud my judgement. We were sent out here to help the Freeground Nation, not call more attention to it, I had to find a way to correct all of this. “What if I could arrange a trade agreement between Vindyne and Freeground?”

  “Now Jonas, you don't have that kind of power. Let's not make promises we can't keep,” Marshal replied with a smile. “Besides, we already have what we need. I'd imagine that almost everything we could want to know about Freeground can be found inside your ship and learned through talking with the rest of your crew.” He snapped his fingers and the wall to my left became a view screen. I stood up as I watched the remains of the First Light being hauled towards the Vindyne command carrier.

  I was speechless, one of the three rear engine sections had been completely destroyed. There were holes burned through the outer hull, and the landing bay was completely open to space along with several decks above it.

  “There's not much left, but the core components and central interior decks are intact. I don't know what your crew were thinking. Maybe mounting some kind of rescue. We discovered them trying to hide behind one of the moons orbiting Gai-Ian Nine.”

  “How many survivors,” I asked quietly.

  “We can't be sure, but I'll be certain to ask Doctor Anderson when we bring him aboard. Is there anything you'd like me to tell him?”

  I found myself thinking of Ayan, the people I had met for the first time in medical before leaving, all my friends who should be aboard. I sat down and a memory from officer's training came back. When confronted with the worst possible situation while in a helpless state, the only thing left to do was to shut down. In that moment I looked up at Marshal and put everything I was feeling somewhere else, somewhere deep inside. All my concentration was put towards being empty, feeling nothing and betraying no emotion. After a few moments it was like being somewhere else and looking down on myself. In so many respects I just wasn't there any longer.

  Marshal, who was looking at the view screen, could feel my eyes on him, and turned to look at me. He looked disappointed as he stared back at me, trying to read something, some kind of reaction. “Is there anything you'd like me to tell Doctor Anderson for you Captain?”

  “No,” I stated flatly. I stared at him blankly for several minutes, unflinching. The longer I did it, the less time seemed to matter. The more I just concentrated on steady breathing, empty thoughts, relaxing my muscles. I looked back to the screen and observed the ship there closely, very closely. My gaze focused in on the spot where the name of the ship was written. First Light. I pondered the meaning of those words, the origin and how the ship came to be named that way. One candle in the dark.

  Just then the words changed. I had to blink for a moment to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Daddy's Little Girl, it said, just for an instant. It flickered back to First Light for several seconds then became Daddy's Little Girl once more. “Can I go back to my cell,” I asked quietly.

  Marshal hesitated for a moment then stood and left the room. Guards came to lead me back, and it was hard not to
smile from ear to ear after catching Marshal in his first big lie.

  When I arrived back in my cell and was put behind the field, I was in for a bit of a surprise. After the guards left the field was replaced by a fourth white wall that slid into place. It fell in perfectly without leaving a seam. The energy field that had blocked me off before at least afforded some illusion that there was an outside world, that I had a little more space.

  The lights got a little brighter, the temperature just a few degrees too hot, and even my bed seemed a little shorter than it had before. My feet hung over the edge when I laid down. It was encouraging to know that the First Light was still out there, and had evaded capture. Alice was obviously watching me, at least while Marshal was conducting his interviews. If she was able to subtly manipulate that fabricated image of the First Light without being detected, then she must have been deep in the system.

  I started wondering what the remaining crew were doing without us. Had they gone back to Freeground to appeal for aid? Would Fleet Command declare our mission a failure? Was Ayan hiding the ship nearby while they formulated some kind of plan? Had Doctor Anderson taken command instead? Maybe he made the decision that coming after us was too risky and had moved on. He was a military man, after all, and Ayan was a born officer. There was no telling what they were doing.

  I thought of her for long moments as I had before, and hoped she wouldn't do something dangerous or put everyone in unnecessary danger just to rescue us. I didn't think she would. The odds were bent against any chance of outside rescue.

  Something I had tried to avoid thinking about came to mind then. How could she leave us behind?

  She had to know we were on our way back up from the planet, that it would be a matter of just a minute or two before we were in the landing bay and everyone, everyone could leave. What was she thinking by leaving us behind? If she needed cover she could have taken the ship down into the atmosphere and met us part way, gone around the other side of the planet, outrun the Vindyne ships until we could meet them somewhere, set a nearby rendezvous point. There had to be another option besides just buggering off into hyperspace!