The Star Gate

by Dean C. Moore

  “If everyone could please ignore for a moment the most useless and offensive person in the room,” Natty said.

  “Ordinarily I’d take offense at that,” Ajax rebutted. “But things as they are, well…”

  Natty pressed a button on his remote and brought a hologram to life—right smack in the center of the elongated, football-shaped conference table.

  “The Nautilus has gotten a lock on the first of the Truman probes,” Natty continued. “As some of you may recall, as he fled Earth, at the end of our last adventure, before he could be put down, he jettisoned a great many of my probes into outer space, retasked for God knows what.

  “These are the images coming back from the probe.”

  Everyone waited breathlessly for the 3D rendering to come to completion. No doubt it was only slowly coming into focus to give everyone in the room a chance to adjust. When it was as clear as crystal—

  “A star gate?” Leon realized he sounded as foolish as he felt. “Sorry, watch too much Syfy channel, I guess, in my downtime, mostly to help prepare me for days like today.”

  “I believe that’s exactly what it is,” Natty said. Leon swallowed hard. “If I’m right, the first of many. I surmise that Truman set the probes to find them all. The star gates are a kind of gingerbread trail that leads back to the civilization that initially left them so they could find their way back home.”

  “Home being where, exactly?” Leon asked.

  “The Nautilus is taking us to the solar system on this side of the first gate. If their home world still exists, we believe we’ll find it there.”

  “We?” Leon asked. He felt it was his job to ask the pertinent questions while the rest of his team was shocked speechless, acting as an emissary between the world of the sane and the insane. Leon got the distinct sense he was taking “we” entirely out of context.

  “The Nautilus’s many AIs and me,” Natty explained. “We have this kind of group mind thing going on, complete mind-meld. Sort of like you and your people when you’re on the battlefield.”

  “Not quite,” Patent grumbled, no doubt recalling the far more common chaos of war that was the only standard he’d ever known. But Leon wished to keep them on target, and correcting Natty on the finer points of battle was the least of his concerns at the moment.

  Leon hated to bring Natty down, considering how excited he got when faced with the unknown and how often his runaway imagination ended up going down the right path as opposed to some useless tangent, but certain questions needed to be asked. Like: “How do we know this is the first of the star gates that was laid down? How do we know they form some kind of gingerbread trail?”

  Natty sighed dramatically, as if it was all he could do to not be unduly weighted down by denser minds. But Leon knew him well enough to know he was stalling, to fill in the blanks with his rational mind that his intuitive mind had simply leaped over. These concerns should have occurred to him sooner and it was his embarrassment he was trying to throw off on Leon. “The Nautilus is no closer or further away from any point in the cosmos with its combination of warp drive and wormhole technologies. So, it simply stands to reason that if the probes have found the star gates, it would reveal them to her in the proper order. I admit that’s not an ironclad conclusion, just a reasonable one. As for the gingerbread trail hypothesis, it strikes me as equally reasonable that however many alien civilizations this star gate civilization tunneled their way to, they survived their encounters well enough until they met up with something they couldn’t contend with, and it destroyed them—or at least the pioneers that used this technology to travel beyond their home world.”

  It was Leon’s turn to sigh. “And what if this civilization which seeded the gates is no more?” Leon asked. “Though I don’t see how you could know that.”

  “Because we, a more primitive civilization, found them before they could find us,” Natty said, trying unsuccessfully to squeeze the impatience and the condescension out of his voice.

  “All right, say you’re right; how do you plan to hack a star gate built by a far more advanced people?” This time it was Leon trying to squeegee the annoyance out of his voice.

  “Unclear, but we will do it, I assure you. Then we go through the gates, one at a time, until we find any last traces of the pioneers and whatever they were chasing after,” Natty said.

  DeWitt grunted. “Ballsy, for someone who has us to do all the fighting for him.”

  “Stow that shit,” Patent barked at him. That had to hurt Patent more than a smidge, Leon thought, considering everyone in the room was likely thinking the same thing.

  “No, when he’s right, he’s right,” Natty said, holding his arms up in a mock sign of surrender. “That’s why we have the Nautilus. My father built this ship for me as one big toy box. And it’s stuffed with all sorts of fun play things I think you’ll like.” He turned to Laney. “Laney, could you show Omega Force my toy Indians? I think they’ll get a kick out of them.”

  Laney smiled. “I think the politically correct term is NARs, Natty, short for Native American Robots. Sure.” She rose from her chair.

  Leon gave the company the nod to step out of the room. He could tell Natty wanted to brief him further from the skittish looks he was throwing Leon’s way. The others could tell, too, being a bit more expert in stealth signaling than he was. No one gave any objection to cutting and running. No one much wanted to hear what more Natty had to say. Leon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear either. Cassandra remained behind, of course, and Patent. Cassandra was Leon’s de facto co-lead of Omega Force even if she was too mission-focused most days to deal with whipping the troops into line, and Patent would need to know everything Leon knew in order to see that his people could perform as needed when the shit hit the fan.

  The three warriors had Natty surrounded. Natty gulped. “Don’t suppose we could smoke a peace pipe first to calm everyone’s ass down.”

  “Spill,” Patent said, taking the cigar out of his mouth and exhaling smoke. “And no, I’m not sharing this thing with the rest of you; might get cooties.”

  Natty took a second to build up his nerve, and then explained, “The probe has registered life on one of the worlds on this side of the first star gate. A Viking-style race, or so it would appear.”

  “I gather that’s where the Indians come in,” Patent speculated. “You want our people refreshed in more primitive fighting forms, to get us to blend better? You’re rather stepping on my toes, young man. I’m quite capable—”

  Leon gestured for Patent to calm down as he was rattling Natty who did better with theory and abstractions, virtual and alternate realities than he did with the real world, and these soldiers who needed a little more grounding from him were making him feel out of his element. Leon could read Natty’s face like a crystal ball. Suddenly Leon wished he hadn’t sent Laney out of the room.

  “Ah, not exactly,” Natty said. “You remember the robot Indians from the Amazon rainforest?”

  “The crane-bots the size of a three-story building?” Patent smiled. He was already reminiscing fondly. “Loved riding inside the cockpit of one of those things. Haven’t had that much fun in years, not counting all the other skirmishes you got me into back then.”

  Natty gulped again. “Well, they were cloaked. Yes, they can reconfigure their heads as cockpits, but they’re actual robots, not walking cranes or forklifts you wear like exoskeletons, and they’re sentient. Their AI—”

  Patent’s mouth was hanging open. But the other foot had finally dropped for Leon. “This Viking-like race you’re talking about… They’re giants, too, aren’t they?” Leon remarked. “That’s the real reason we need the Indians.”

  Natty stiffened and stared him down until he caved. “Yes. I have a work around aside from the NARs, of course.”

  “What work-around?” Leon asked, sounding a bit testier than he wanted.

  “I have a nanite cocktail that can scale you up to size, but it’s unstable. No telling how long it’ll l
ast or what it’ll do to you, and if it’ll do any permanent damage.” Natty looked guiltier than ever and Leon could tell he just wanted to snake under the table and out of the room entirely.

  “You keep working on it,” Leon said, “because I’m not going into battle playing the part of the Lilliputians. Had enough trouble avoiding getting stepped on the first time by those NARs. Now we’re talking about stirring giant Vikings into the mix—forgedda about it.”

  “Of course,” Natty said.

  “I won’t need the injection,” Cassandra confessed.

  Natty gulped yet again; at this rate, it was likely to become a nervous tic. “You won’t?” His voice had gone up a register.

  Leon had read her file. “You forget. Just as you are your father’s son, she is her mother’s daughter. Laney is only the princess of bioengineering; her mother was the real queen.”

  Natty grunted. “I suppose the prior generation might still have some things to teach us—but that’s even more speculative.”

  “You three can stay and condescend to one another all you want,” Patent interjected. “I want to go play with my new toys.” He was already headed for the door.

  “Suppose he has a point. We can hardly head into battle without a better idea of what our assets can do in the field.” Leon realized his thinly disguised rationale wasn’t fooling anybody. But as it turned out, they all wanted to go “play.” Warriors didn’t do well with standing around.

  And the fact was, Leon was the worst kind of leader. He’d much rather jump into the thick of things than spend too much time planning. He was as right-brained as Natty was, just as intuitive, and just as good with pulling rabbits out of a hat on stage using an improvisational magic he’d never fathom any more than Natty was likely to fully understand his wellspring of creativity.

  They left Natty in the room mumbling to himself. “Great. My toys, and as usual, everyone else gets to play with them.”

  Natty collapsed into a chair, and stared at the empty room. Finally, with a Herculean will, he summoned the energy to press the remote lying on the table. He was prone to these mood swings; it was the price of riding so much adrenaline. For the soldiers, such rushes came in battle, like runner’s high, but for him, it was always at the end of a long string of revelations into the nature of the unknown. Not this time.

  “Leon,” he said, dictating into Leon’s head. Leon’s nanites would relay the message when they felt he could best take it in. “There’s no way that primitive Viking race we’re racing toward had anything to do with making those star gates. But they might have legends, artifacts that point the way to a time when their people had ascended to much greater heights. You need to befriend them, not make war with them, and get that information out of them. They may not even know they have it. We don’t get it, we might not have the faintest idea how to activate that first star gate. I can throw the AI supersentience of the Nautilus at the problem, but you understand that a civilization advanced enough to create those gates—well, they aren’t likely to be impressed by any mind power we have to lob at them.”

  Natty sighed, surprised he had any more air trapped in his lungs considering how deflated he felt. “Something else. You know I’m a little bit psychic, right? I guess it has to do with the whole right-brain dominance thing, kind of part of the package-deal with being so intuitive. Unless I miss my guess, after this bygone civilization finished laying down all those star gates to get where they wanted and found whatever it was they were determined to find, all they’d really accomplished was opening a direct route straight to their home world—and straight to us.”

  Natty got up and paced, running his hand through his mop of hair, managing to make it only more unruly than it already was. “All of which begs the question, why did the bad guys never come after us when they had the chance? The only thing I can think of is that we just weren’t worth the trouble then; we weren’t evolved enough. This alien civilization—they feed higher up the food chain. Now that the transhumans like us walk the earth, upgraded with nanite cocktails and mind chips and genetic engineering—well, now we’ve become real food for them. I suspect it’s why that artifact in the moon picked now to activate. Prior to now, there was really nothing to protect. But a civilization on the brink of entering Singularity State—a time of runaway technological evolution expanding geometrically—well, such a civilization becomes a serious threat for the first time. We’d likely never overtake any society that underwent Singularity before us, but the kind of mind power that we will soon represent, unchecked, I don’t think that’s something anyone in the cosmos would take lightly. Even on our world, the first movers know how to maintain their monopoly.”

  Natty leaned over the table to press the button. “Natty over and out—in more ways than one.”

  He sighed and pressed the remote, ending the transmission that had been recording the hologram of him talking. The picture went black at the same time that Natty’s entire world went dark.

  FOUR

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  Leon and Patent followed the echoing of laughter. “Are those the sounds of my men having fun without me?”

  “That’s damned insubordinate.” Patent, who had pocketed what was left of his cigar and switched to chewing tobacco, spit some on the self-mending floor that just absorbed it into its finish, recombining the molecules into something more impenetrable.

  Cassandra, still in warrior mode, didn’t appreciate the laxity of her two compatriots. “The amount of R&R you and your men rely on is ridiculous. At this rate you’ll forget how to be fighters.”

  “Trust me, lady, we play rougher than most men fight.” Patent spit out some more black tobacco. Perhaps he was using the expectorate to punctuate his disdain for her contemptuousness, Leon thought.

  The laughter was getting louder, partly because they were getting closer, partly because Leon’s men had the audacity to be this happy away from him; that just wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t an ego thing; it was more of a bond, a special commitment to enjoy life’s ups and downs in one another’s presence, and if things got going too good or too bad, to summon the others immediately.

  ***

  DeWitt stared at the cards on the table, completely mesmerized. He’d been to tarot readers before, but nothing like this. It wasn’t like this bastard sitting opposite him at the poker table was out to read his future exactly.

  In the far off distance he heard the laughter of Cronos and Crumley as they threw more chips on the table. They were seated at the same table as him, but they sounded a hundred miles away; their voices carried on the wind as if via some strange planetary anomaly. DeWitt registered the clinking of still more poker chips. The bastards were upping their bets on him to lose! Dream on, pals!

  And then, like arrows flung on the wind, “I told you he’d go soft the instant he brought his wife and kid aboard. Who does that? I mean who brings their wife and kid on safari to hell to fight off demons? Did he think he was doing them a favor?” That was Cronos speaking as if he had some expertise on the matter of hell, considering his skeletal features. The man looked more dead than alive with so much of his skull exposed like that, and the perpetually haunted look painted on his face, as if maybe he was hell’s bitch, sent to infiltrate the unit like some spy. DeWitt’s face was a Mt. Rushmore carving in its own right; but his chiseled features didn’t deter from the “I’m truly alive” look.

  Crumley, the bastard, had the nerve to cackle softly at everything Cronos said. “Maybe he just hasn’t been eating right. Dietary deficiencies can cause all sorts of psychotic breaks, loss of will, and reason to live. People ascribe far too much credence to psych doctors and not nearly enough to lack of adequate fiber in the diet.” Crumley, the unit’s quartermaster and procurement expert of foods on location even in habitats where nothing looked edible, was no doubt already formulating a recipe to save DeWitt. Bastard. DeWitt would even the score—as soon as he was out of this fugue that was taking him deeper by the second.
>
  Crumley’s and Cronos’s voices fell away, as did the Indian’s at the table who had dealt him the card, along with the sound of the other Native American Robots in the room. DeWitt reminded himself that “Indian” was the politically incorrect term. He must be getting numb to political incorrectness in Ajax’s presence. Ajax, last anyone saw of him, was busy chatting up the Native American Robots with his off-color jokes, hoping to build rapport. If DeWitt couldn’t escape this fugue he was in, he could bet the fight that would break out any minute courtesy of Ajax’s callous remarks would do the trick.

  And then, there DeWitt was, surrounded by the sound of breathing in the darkness. That’s all he could hear. The ominous feeling crept up his feet, heading toward his head, freezing everything up, as if he was being encased in concrete. When the light came, it wasn’t in the form he wanted. The dragons that had him surrounded were snorting fire, lighting the cave just enough to expose the interloper. Their nostrils had a diameter greater than DeWitt was tall. He pulled out his assault rifle and blasted them before they could blast him. The bullets ricocheted off their metal scales and armored exteriors as if they were rubber pellets.

  And then the flames came. All at once, from all sides. So forcefully that DeWitt was levitated off the ground by the force of the four intersecting blasts from the four dragons that carried him into the air on their fiery discharges just by tilting up their heads. And inside that sphere of fire, DeWitt screamed and screamed, the agonizing pain rising beyond anything his conditioning had prepared him for.

  And then the spell broke and he was back in the room with the giant Native American Robots—some distance from his card table. The other players at the table were laughing at him, the NAR included. DeWitt stared down at the dragon face card on the tabletop that he’d been served up, still gasping, still sweating as if he was still inside the inferno. Cronos was too busy enjoying his winnings as he scooped the chips toward him. “I told you. Light weight. You can blame bringing the kid along for making you soft like this, DeWitt. I warned you.” He managed to get the lines of dialogue out only by interrupting his laughter.