Robot Empire: Dawn Exodus: A Science Fiction Adventure

by Kevin Partner

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Flight

  The Choosing

  The Training

  The Engineer

  Dawn

  EVA

  The Mock Emperess

  Intruder

  Interrogation

  Lost in Space

  Dialogue

  Relentless

  Threat

  Response

  Harbinger

  We're off to see...

  …the Wizard

  Takeover

  Incoming

  Parley

  Betrayal

  Author's Note

  Robot Empire: Dawn Exodus

  Kevin Partner

  Robot Empire: Dawn Exodus

  Copyright ©2017 Kevin Partner

  All rights reserved

  The characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written per-mission from the author.

  First Edition

  Published by Trantor Press

  www.kevpartner.co.uk

  Fancy a free Robots book? Go to www.subscribepage.com/robotempire to sign up for my readers' group and receive a free copy of Robot Empire: Victor.

  For Doug Partner, my dad, who inspired my love of science

  Flight

  DATE: First Contact minus 22.5 hours.

  They’d been chasing him for days, like a wolf pack on the scent, relentlessly narrowing the distance between his ship and theirs. It was only a matter of time before they caught him and there was only one penalty for attempting to escape from the colonies of the Vanis Federation. Especially with what he had in the cargo hold.

  Hal threw the chart down and ran his hands over his face. He’d planned to make for the belt of asteroids that circled between the fifth and sixth planets of the Vanis system but a blip on the ladar had warned him, in the nick of time, that an interceptor waited there. It was as if they’d known what he was planning all along. Or perhaps they simply assumed that someone would make a break for it and so had placed their ships on the periphery.

  It was no good thinking about it too much. He very much doubted they’d anticipated anyone would steal what he had stored feet away from him, glowing feebly in the darkness. And yet what use would it be to him if he couldn’t escape, couldn’t find anyone willing to pay what it was worth? He’d never make it to the gate and a random jump through interstellar space; if his ion drive couldn’t keep him ahead of them until he found somewhere to hide, he was lost.

  “This is the destroyer Relentless, hailing the...” the voice paused for a moment, “...unclassified vessel. You are ordered to disengage your ion drive and prepare to be boarded.”

  Hal bit back his annoyance at the arrogance and disdain in the voice, but he couldn’t quite stop himself responding. This is the launch Knox. Don’t waste your breath.”

  “Knox, your situation is already serious, I suggest you do not make it fatal. Pull over and return what you have stolen.”

  Hal wasn’t a fool. He knew that he’d signed his death warrant the moment he’d stepped on board the Knox and engaged its drive without an official flight plan. That would have been bad enough, but he’d carried something more valuable than the colony itself in an old canvas bag that now sat in the hold. Stealing that would have ensured the slow death of himself and his family. But the Vanis had seen to it that he had no family, so the only neck on the line was his own.

  The NavSkem showed the Vanis craft trailing the Knox. At the bottom of the display, the separation distance was being counted down like an executioner’s pocket watch - when it reached zero he’d be dead. “Nav, how soon to intercept?”

  Assuming no deviation in velocity by either craft, intercept in four hours, fourteen minutes and 10 seconds.

  Leaning back as the metallic voice of the nav computer died away, Hal sighed. “And are there any debris fields, asteroids or anywhere else I can reach in less than four hours?”

  Sorry, I don’t understand the question. Please rephrase it in such a way that I can perform the required calculation.

  Hal grunted. He’d known the stupid thing would respond like that, after all it wasn’t an AI. How could it be? AIs no longer existed.

  Sensors detect weapons discharge from the pursuing ship.

  That got his attention. “What sort of weapons?”

  High-intensity laser.

  “Time to impact?”

  2 minutes.

  What were they playing at? Lasers were fearsome weapons at close quarters, but they travelled in a straight line, so avoiding a laser with two minutes warning was like dodging a very small glacier.

  “Evasive manoeuvres.” He guessed they were just trying to frighten him, trying to make a show of their power.

  Command not understood. What do you wish to evade?

  Hal jumped to his feet and banged his fist on the console. “The laser, for frak’s sake!”

  The laser is not aimed at this vessel, I cannot, therefore, program a course to evade it.

  “What is it aimed at, then?”

  Calculating...

  Hal glanced back at the NavSkem. It showed his ship, the pursuing vessels and any bodies massive enough to affect navigation.

  Calculating...

  The problem was that there were thousands of moving objects within a radius of a hundred kilometres of the ship and the NavCom was working out the positions of each of them relative to the incoming laser.

  Calculating...

  “Limit candidates to objects above 100 tonnes mass.” That did it.

  Calculated.

  A red blob appeared on the NavSkem.

  “They’re targeting a meteoroid. Emergency course correction, take us away from the targeted object, maximum possible negative velocity.”

  Acknowledged.

  Hal grabbed the console as the ship lurched to the side, he leaned sideways, then corrected himself as his ride smoothed out.

  “Activate rear viewer.”

  The NavSkem disappeared and a 3D view of the space behind the ship grew out of the console surface. It was hard to tell, at first, that they were moving at all, but then he began to notice tiny objects flashing backwards. These were the debris and meteoroids of the Vanis System set against the unmoving backdrop of the stars. Then, as he watched, a section of the view exploded then immediately faded again. He didn’t need to ask the NavCom how close that had been to the ship’s previous position. The Vanis had used the computer against him - they’d known it could evade a laser aimed directly at him, so they’d blown up a lump of rock nearby that the NavCom would ignore. And if he’d continued on his previous course he’d have had a face full of asteroid. It wouldn’t have destroyed his ship, but it would probably have disabled it. Exactly as intended.

  It really came to something, didn’t it, when his was the smartest brain on the ship? Oh, the NavCom could beat him in a calculating contest every time and with one transistor tied behind its back. But give it a simple problem that required judgement and intuition and it was nothing more than a glorified adding machine. This all meant that it was his brain against the combined intelligence of all the officers on the Relentless - and they couldn’t all be idiots.

  “Activate NavSkem,” he said and watched as the holographic view of surrounding space rebuilt itself. The last object to be added was the chasing ship. It looked a lot
closer.

  “Calculate time to intercept.”

  At current velocity and vector, Relentless will overtake us in 2 hours 35 minutes and 33 seconds.

  “Damn it!”

  Hal began pacing up and down the tiny compartment that served as the bridge of the Knox. He felt like a dog in a corporation kennel, hoping for its owner to arrive but knowing, in its heart, that it was doomed. So, Relentless had anticipated his move when they’d targeted the lump of rock. In truth they’d probably expected him to be disabled, but veered on their current course just in case the pilot they were chasing saw through their tactic. He felt a moment of pride as he realised that he had, at least, forced them to plan B.

  But it would only delay the inevitable. What he needed was an advantage. Knox was more manoeuvrable than Relentless, but couldn’t compete in sheer speed. Knox was also more or less weaponless so any direct encounter would only end one way. The only other thing he had on board that the Relentless didn’t was the glowing cube in his hold.

  He moved to the back of the bridge and pulled down the lock on the cargo bay door before stepping through into what was not so much a hold as a glorified cupboard. There sat the canvas bag, a red pulsing visible through the many tears in the fabric. Hal pulled apart the handles and undid the zip. There it was, the most valuable object in the Vanis Federation. Had he not timed things so perfectly, he’d now have their entire fleet on his back, but Relentless had been the only ship in the area when he’d made his escape.

  Hal reached in and pulled out a cube, each side approximately the length of his index fingers. It lay in his hands beating like an artificial heart. What did it contain to make the Vanis protect it so carefully? Data? Star maps of lost systems? It was clearly of huge value and only by a combination of good luck and long preparation had Hal got close to it, and he was even luckier to get away. He wondered whether, at last, his luck had run out.

  “What are you?” he said as he turned the object over and over in his hands.

  It made no response but continued to pulse in a slow rhythm.

  Hal lowered the cube back into the bag. “Pity, I could do with a hand escaping the Vanis.”

  You wish to escape the Vanis Federation?

  Hal dropped the cube and fell backwards. It lay in his bag, the slow pulsing replaced by a frantically cycling colourscape.

  Hal Chen, you wish to escape the Vanis Federation? The female voice said from across the small room.

  Scrambling onto his knees, Hal crawled across the floor and peered into the bag where the cube sat kaleidoscopically.

  “Yes, I have...” he paused to find the right word, “...rescued you, and now the Vanis are pursuing me, they will intercept within two hours. By the gods, are you an AI?”

  I am ACE. I have accessed your NavCom. Your current course will result in my recapture, I am therefore plotting alternative vectors. Please wait.

  Hal reached in and picked the cube up again. It felt warm to the touch as if it were alive again after many years in hibernation. “I thought all the AIs had gone, more than a century ago.”

  I am currently processing multiple vectors. Formal introductions will have to wait. Please give me access to your guidance system and sensing array - your star maps are out of date.

  “How do I give you access?”

  Command your NavCom. It is currently being rather rigid in its interpretation of security and access protocols.

  Hal leaned back into the doorway to the bridge. “NavCom, grant all access to the entity known as ACE.”

  Acknowledged

  “Do you have the access you need?”

  Affirmative. Processing. Interesting. Your sensing array records the position of a large object that is not included in the star charts.

  “How does that help?”

  It is likely that the pursuing ship uses the same star maps as your vessel. They may not be aware of the object. It is a nickel-iron asteroid of considerable mass. It is likely that we could find a ravine or fissure in which to hide. To the pursuing ship, we will seem to have vanished.

  Hal had, by this time, returned to the canvas bag and had pulled the cube out. It seemed oddly rude to talk to ACE while she was at the bottom of a dirty old rucksack. She? Yes, it was hard not to see ACE as a person. He’d never made that mistake with NavCom or any other computer system, but ACE felt real and alive in a way he’d never experienced before. Maybe the Archaists had a point, he could see how people could come to rely on the help of AIs a little too much. But this particular beggar couldn’t afford to be a chooser.

  “Can we make it to the asteroid before they catch us?”

  Success is within the tolerances of my best estimate.

  “You mean you don’t know?” Hal said, looking down at the cube which seemed to be sporting less exuberant colours. “What can we do to increase our chances?”

  This ship has primitive automated systems. It responds best when piloted manually so that last minute adjustments can be made.

  “You want me to fly the ship?”

  The globe exploded into light and sudden unbearable heat. Hal threw it away and it rolled into a corner, all colour had vanished along with any sign of intelligence.

  No, I want us to fly it.

  Hal threw his hands over his ears. The voice seemed to be coming from inside his head. “Where are you?”

  When you picked me up, I detected your cranial implants. They are of inefficient design, but they will serve. Now, we will fly the ship together. Do exactly as I say and we might survive.

  Hal staggered onto the bridge and sat in the tall command chair, his hand still on his temple. He felt as though madness had been injected directly into his brain.

  “Will you leave my implant when we escape?” he said out loud.

  First we must escape.

  The Choosing

  DATE: First Contact minus 5 years

  As the light faded and dusk approached, Arla lay on her back and looked through the sky to the fields beyond. This was her favourite thing to do, all the more so because it was a rarity. It needed both a dry, cloudless, atmosphere and the opportunity for her to slip away for a few hours, and that sort of combination only came up once in a while.

  There had been no rain for several days and none was expected that evening, so she’d been on the lookout for an opportunity to lose herself amongst all the bustle of the preparations for the ceremony tomorrow. She’d been desperate for one last look because, even though she believed it vanishingly unlikely that she’d be selected, the ceremony marked the passage to true adulthood for all those that attended. A new and privileged life awaited the selected few, though with no prospect of a family of their own; no husband or children, no father or mother. But for the majority who stayed behind, it was time for responsibility and marriage, so a different sort of selection awaited them. A selection she planned to put off for as long as possible: fifteen felt like far too young to be making choices that would affect the rest of her life.

  Arla’s gaze swept the sky as she pushed thoughts of matchmaking, long years of labour in the fields and the horrific thought of childbirth out of her mind. This view would last only a couple of minutes and this might well be the final time she’d see it. There. A light twinkled in the heavens or, more correctly, on the other side of them. As the sun faded, she was looking at the other side of the world. Perhaps the light was from a bonfire lit to celebrate the forthcoming ceremonies which took place all over the world on midsummer night. As her eyes adjusted to the gathering gloom, other twinkles appeared and she imagined young people and old joining hands as they danced around them. She half expected to hear their voices carrying across the emptiness.

  Arla could see lights in two broad bands that ran either side of the sun, which was now completely extinguished but remained as an invisible barrier blocking her view of any celebratory bonfires behind it.

  She lay there as the night breeze played across her face. She felt at one with the world, as if she and it were
a single entity, at total peace with one another.

  “Mistress, I must ask you to return to the farm.”

  Arla sighed. She wasn’t surprised. She’d known that R.DJ would be the first to notice her absence. He would look for her and, when he didn’t find her, he’d go to his master, her father, and report that she was missing. And her father would growl at him to get his metal hide up the mountain and bring her back.

  It wasn’t Deejay’s fault. He was a robot and bound to obey his master by laws as inviolate as those that governed human behaviour. Robots were the uncomplaining servants sent by the blessed Engineers to aid the people toiling in the fields. Just as God had humans to do her bidding, so those humans had machines to serve them.

  “Mistress, we must make haste. Curfew begins in 61 minutes.”

  Arla looked up at the robot. He loomed over her, his artificial eyes glowing a faint yellow that flickered gently as he waited for her response. His exoskeleton was of plastic and aluminium, though pitted and dented with the little accidents that had accumulated over the centuries, and he weighed several times as much as she did. He could snap her in two without effort, and yet she had no fear as he stood there, patiently waiting. This was partly the simple familiarity that came from growing up with these eager-to-please servants always on the periphery of her vision. But it was also because she knew that there was one law that robots considered even more sacrosanct than the one that compelled them to obey orders - it was that they must not, under any circumstances, harm a human or allow a human to come to harm. This was a fact as certain and inviolate as the earth beneath her back and the cylindrical sun above her head.

  She watched the tell-tale flicker in his eyes that suggested he was coming to a decision. He had been given an order to fetch her, but she had failed, so far, to comply despite his repeated request. By not responding, she had given him an implied order to wait. But now the direct command of his master was overriding his hesitation and he was about to speak.