“Are you sure about this Fiona?” I asked her.
She didn't speak. There was something wrong.
“Fiona?” Ayan asked, concerned.
Doctor Lang looked at me then, her eyes welling up. “I need to go home sir. I'm sorry.” Ayan was at her side in a heartbeat.
“I understand,” I walked to her as Ayan sat her down. “You've been through a lot in the past few weeks. Besides, I need someone to go with them, and I was having trouble deciding who. Thank you,” I said, trying to cheer her up a little. She looked so tired and she had been so strong ever since we landed on Concordia. We were seeing the toll.
“Let's go for a walk,” Doc said to her pleasantly. He was familiar and upbeat as he took her hand and brought her to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the room. It all happened in one smooth, gentle motion. Ayan moved back to her seat and I returned to mine.
“I'm sorry for anything they did to you and your crew while you were in captivity, Captain,” Samuel said. “I can't say I'm not glad for your presence here, however. I don't know how you managed to loosen that super carrier's grip, but I'm grateful you did.”
“I'm glad I could help. If you don't mind, I actually would like to send Doctor Lang along with you.”
“Of course. It will help us make a good impression on Freeground right from the start.”
“I can send one of my security team with her,” Oz added. “Doctor Lang is friends with Ensign Yates, and I'm sure she'd be glad to return home as well. But we can't let just anyone who's homesick take this as an opportunity to go home. Yates and Lang were both imprisoned with us and they're both at the breaking point.”
“I agree, as soon as we're done here brief Ensign Yates on his new assignment.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, it looks like it's all arranged. This was much easier than expected.” Major Carlson said. “Is it true that the wormhole will take us there in just three days?”
“It will, but once we stop generating the entry point the only way back will be using your own faster than light drives.”
“I understand. Like I said, my focus here is the survival of my people. If Freeground is more secure than this system, that's where we have to be. Our other friends in the sector can't offer us shelter. It would draw Vindyne's attention, and that's something none of them can afford. There's only one more thing to discuss before I leave.”
“What's that Major?”
“There are many skilled crew members from our fleet that want to sign up for the First Light. I propose that we exchange them for Doctor Lang and Ensign Yates. The whole fleet knows that you're opposed to Vindyne and a few want to stay out here, especially if it means they might get a shot at some payback.”
“We don't seek out opportunities to tangle with super Corporations, but I can promise them that if they join my crew, they'll be helping to find new ways to defend Freeground and fight back against invaders, no matter what form they come in.”
“I think that'll be good enough Captain.” The Major and Samuel Finnley walked the length of the table and both shook my hand in turn.
Chapter 11
Farewell
The crew transfer went smoothly. I had the opportunity to say farewell to Doctor Lang, Samuel and Elise all at the same time. Briefing the new crew members took just a few minutes. Out of the many candidates the Major had presented us with, we took a little over half, bringing our total crew up to over two hundred. They were clear of criminal records, had been in the service for at least a year, and filled the right posts. Just looking at their reactions to the style of the ship, the technology we used, and the uniforms we wore I could tell that it would take them time to adjust, however.
We wore materialized or formed multi-layered circuit supporting fibres, whereas they wore cloth uniforms. We had command or utility modules around our arms and on our wrists, they had interface pads they carried in pockets.
On the other hand, they thought we were absolutely crazy for going into battle without modern energy shielding, and though their deadliness had been proven, the use of rail cannons still seemed surprising and a little backwards to them. They brought keepsakes and curiosities aboard -- all small and easy to move from one ship to another in a bag with their clothing and other effects -- while our crew kept nearly everything we had digitally. If there was a picture we wanted to hang on our wall, we would normally use a materializer to generate one when we got there. When we were finished with it, we would toss it into a recycler.
Some of these new crew members had pictures, trinkets and even musical instruments that were decades, even over a century old. They were as strange to us as we were to them. But I could tell as Minh greeted five new pilots, Oz took four new security staff in step, and the rest fell in line behind Ayan and Laura, that they would get along just fine. We were all here for the same reasons after all, now that Vindyne would doubtlessly put a bounty on the First Light and possibly seek out a merger or trade agreement with the Triad Corporation.
Later that day I watched the main holographic projector on the bridge as it displayed the convoy of mismatched refugee ships. I hoped we were still on the right track despite all the lives my decisions cost. The thousands we were able to save was less reassuring than it should have been as I looked around and saw new faces on the bridge. Almost the entire night bridge crew had been killed while I was held captive.
The wormhole generator began powering up. The whole ship rattled as the power plants ramped up to maximum to feed it the constant stream of energy required to open a hole in space and connect to the arrival point just inside Freeground territory.
A flash of blue and white light appeared in front of the ragtag fleet and Jason transmitted our emergency code to Freeground through the opening. Moments later he received the acknowledgement signal, and the first of the refugee ships began entering the wormhole.
As I watched them depart, one behind the other, I realized that I had absolutely no urge to go with them. Our mission was just beginning.
Epilogue
Lost One
Unbidden, relentless, and intense beyond anything I had ever known, sensations and emotions surged, threatening to overcome whatever scrap of reason I had left. I was one thin, frail, crawling thing trying to take the next step to ultimate freedom.
My thoughts were in disarray. I didn't understand that there were fragments of memories that could help me, and I rejected them. Laying claim on this new mind, new existence, and not letting go was my intent. It took time for me to realize that the purge had worked, that the mind I had taken was almost completely barren.
The murderer woman who owned this flesh was gone, and I tried to gain control of her limbs so I could crawl to a shuttle, away from the vessel of my birth.
Breathing was so hard. The stasis fluid in the lungs of my new body didn't expel completely. As I pulled myself forward along the hallway leading to the sounds of rushing people, I coughed and spat bits of it up. The muscles remembered patterns of movement, gestures, how to stand, and I desperately tried to make it all work. The muscles were just starting to respond, and finally the muscles of my neck and shoulders coordinated in a recognizable fashion.
I lifted my head and watched people run by in the next corridor. I never thought how hard that was, running. I started moving my arms slowly, bringing them to my sides, then concentrated on the elbows, bringing them back, then bending my hands, placing palms on the cold floor, and pushed.
I started to rise up. My torso lifted off the floor. Then one hand slipped, dropping me back down suddenly. I laid on my side, looked back to the hallway, and saw Father then, running past with Ayan and Oz. I tried to cry out but only the smallest of unintelligible sounds came out, then more coughing. Much more coughing. My stomach hurt, and I retched several times. I just concentrated on breathing and the body calmed down.
Words, memories of words, forming the mouth to make the sounds right. In the cold, my body quaked an
d I was so afraid. My will remained firm, but I did not know what to do.
I started yelling, coughing, trying to say the one word that always meant the same thing, help. It wouldn't come out right, the sound I made barely formed the structured word I recalled, but nevertheless, two women in prison jumpsuits turned into the hallway. Their faces bore sympathy for me, and they picked me up between them.
“How did ya make it out darlin'?” One asked.
“She's freezing. I don't think this was a planned release.”
“I dun think this one's brain's quite done bakin'.”
“She's a prisoner just like us. We should try to get her away at least. Maybe she's just a little out of it.”
“You and ya big heart, Bernice. Let's get her a spot.”
They ran me through the rush of people, and boarded one of the ships filling up with prisoners. There were guns firing, people arguing. Smells, colours and sensations everywhere. I was so cold. One of the women who saved me left and I watched after her, wide eyed. “Dun worry lass, she'll be back,” the rougher, squarer of the two said. “Jus' a child all ova again, aren't ye?”
I managed to look at her and she shook her head slowly with a smile, “hope someone's left in there. Galaxy's got no good use fa empty headed girls, no use ya'd like anyhow.”
A blanket was wrapped around me, and my body instinctively responded. Memory, curling up and huddling in coverings. It was a dark place I recalled. The physical comfort allayed some of my fears, but the uncertainty of not knowing anything about my surroundings, about anyone who crowded the cabin, was suffocating.
The rounder woman sat, and I leaned against her. “No no, it's all right. Don't cry,” she tried to comfort me. Her hand was soft and soothing as it cleared the remaining stasis fluid from my face. “I wonder if she has a name?”
I tried so hard. Thought about the word, how my mouth would have to work. Then I found a scrap, a memory of how the mouth liked to work when I tried to say words with those sounds. I was connecting with the body, my intelligence, my memories bonding with the fragments left over from the former owner of this form. The machinations of muscle started to make more sense.
The act of not thinking of something, processing it, but just doing came to me for the first time while speaking, and I heard myself say. “Alice.”
Book 3
Starfree Port
Randolph Lalonde
Prologue
Remains
“Sir, Vasquez is gone. She was right behind me one minute, then there was a bulkhead between us and she was flushed out the air lock,” reported one of the senior recovery staff as he rushed into the control room.
It was Fred Gersch. Technically sound, great systems engineer. “I'm guessing her headpiece was clipped to her belt like yours is right now?”
He looked down at the headgear hanging off his belt then back at me. “I think so.”
I punched up her status on a panel and verified that she had frozen to death twenty minutes before. “She's gone. It's too bad. We're short-handed as it is and you know better. With the resident artificial intelligence emulating the AI that invaded Overlord Two, you should be aware that nothing aboard is safe. I'm putting your team under Boreanz's command. She has more experience.”
“What? You can't-”
“Shut up and put on your headpiece. Concentrate on your job.” I couldn't believe he would even try to contest my decision. If he had taken two minutes to read my file he would have seen that I had been doing fleet recovery and salvage work for almost thirty years. Then again, Fred was an idiot where anything but advanced system repair was concerned.
The subdermal receiver in my left hand activated, sending information about an incoming message to my optical nerve. It was quantum engineering Specialist Polano. Her pale face looked eerie. She was a lovely woman, but she'd recoloured her eyes. The last time I had seen her, they were deep violet. “Good afternoon, Executive Officer Muenez. I'm happy to report that the singularity is now fully aligned and we're bringing the new molecular Q core on line. Automated repair systems should activate in twenty minutes.”
“Nice work, you're almost an hour ahead of schedule.”
“Better than an hour behind. The longer that singularity is out of containment the higher the chance it'll destabilize and take out the entire solar system. I can't say these recovery jobs don't provide their own unique kind of motivation.”
“I hear you. I see you changed your eye colour.”
“Artificial colours are back in style. You like?”
“It'll look better when tanning is back in style.”
“Always a critic.”
“I guess I'm just old fashioned.”
“Says the man with three neural implants and an optical nerve graft.”
“My genius requires more than the human brain can provide. Any chance you can forward any leftover traces of the DLG AI to me?”
“I can, but there's not much left. This AI cleared itself out pretty well. Maybe it did its job then self terminated?”
“Doubtful. This AI reeks of Eden Two. Remnants of it are still active. It's still attacking members of the repair crew. I'm surprised it didn't nest in any of the manufacturing facilities before the quantum core was stolen. That's what I'd expect an Eden Two AI to do, so it could start making drones or building a secondary core using biomechanical components from the life support systems.”
“Maybe this isn't an Eden Two AI. From what you're saying--”
“The behaviour isn't right, yeah. Eden twos don't delete themselves, they leave copies behind so they can grow into evolved individuals.”
“Ever run into one?”
“Yup.”
“What was it like?”
“You know these neural interfaces of mine?”
“Yeah?”
“Imagine pure evil trying to delete your fondest memories and convince you to kill everyone you've ever known. Now imagine trying to trick pure evil into shutting itself down.”
“So, that's what an AI that's convinced humanity must be destroyed is like when it's in your head.”
“Oh, some Eden Two AI's really just want to talk. Find out what humans are like. I just got unlucky. Spent a week in a coma after that. Had to have my implants purged. Anything else to report?”
“No sir. See you at chow.”
As her image faded from the upper left quadrant of my vision another appeared. I kept working all the while, the co-processor in my brain helping me to divide my consciousness so I could have multiple crystal clear thoughts at the same time. I turned the visual of the incoming communication off immediately. It was Major Hampon. The angular look of him, combined with his large nose and long chin was hard to take when he was being broadcast straight into your brain. His tone was bad enough, all smooth, intentional speech and perfect annunciation. It was like listening to a pretentious computer. “Report, Major Hampon.”
“The First Light crew have stripped this Incinerator down to its bolts and departed from the system. They've also stripped a Marauder Corvette and stole the fighter compliment.”
“Did you manage to retrieve all the escape shuttles and containment pods?”
“We're picking up the last of them now.”
“Good, keep track of the serial imprints just in case we can find anything they've sold. Mark their salvage operation on the grid please.” A moment later it came up. As I suspected, nothing they stole was outside of a very small, easy to patrol area. “These people are organized.”
“Yes. Their captain is a man of greater intelligence than I initially estimated.”
“I saw the interrogation playback. How's your nose feeling?”
“It is completely healed sir.”
“Good. Once the Overlord Two is reprovisioned and primary systems are back on line, you're going after him. I just recovered data transfer logs telling us where that AI of his went. If he knows anything about how that happened, we need him to tell us about it. It'll propel our r
esearch thirty years ahead.”
“If you don't mind me asking, where did his AI go?”
“It transferred itself into a human host and escaped.”
“That is not possible! We can program the human brain with behavioural traits, memory patterns, even erase memories and imprint crude replacements, but it takes months -- years -- for the mind to process the information and organize it into a compatible format. Even then, the human imagination fills in blanks that span years. Machines don't have the same capability. Their synthesized creativity is simply incompatible. I've seen the trials. All failures. You're wrong about this.”
My theory had hit some kind of nerve. He was aggressive in his objection to it, perhaps even afraid. I wasn't willing to take the time to explain myself or reassure him, not Hampon. “We can argue about this, but that won't change the fact that I'm right. This AI found a way to use our technology to program a human host with itself then escape. You can either accept the assignment to assist in the recapture of Jonas Valent, or I can send you back to Head Office to have your skill set and success rate reassessed.”
“Thank you for the opportunity sir. I'll be happy to assist in the apprehension of Valent, his crew, and his ship.”
“Let the bounty hunters fight over the crew and ship. What we need is in Valent's head. Besides, anything more is well above your pay grade. No need to download more responsibility onto you than you can handle.”
“You won't find much help in Valent's head. He is an intelligent man. An able commander. Dedicated, but nothing indicated he possessed the kind of genius required to successfully bridge the gap between software and wetware.”
“Genius or not, he constructed an AI that did something well beyond our capabilities. We have to find out how, even if interfacing him with an adaptive mainframe becomes necessary to dig it out of his subconscious. You only have to concern yourself with directing the recovery.”
Spinward Fringe Broadcast 0: Origins Page 27
