Allegedly there had been a human colonization ship that had been attacked by unknown forces and stranded on this rogue planet in the middle of an interstellar dust cloud. That was consistent with how I arrived, and I could believe it.
The survivors found the planet to be basically survivable. It had a decent atmosphere and a strong magnetic field, and was thus shielded from the worst of the cosmic rays, and a moderate temperature. In addition, the planet had abundant sources of geothermal energy, as well as a good variety of minerals.
It also had the most insanely hostile ecosystem ever recorded. At all levels, from microbes to insects to macrofauna and beyond, everything here was 100% inimical to human survival. Reading the accounts I learned that the giant “Meiboms” that I had fought (the resemblance to human meibomian glands had been noticed here as well) were hardly the most powerful, or intelligent, of the human enemies. It almost seemed as if the planet had been designed this way. How could any natural ecosystem create such a focused antipathy to humans by chance?
The unwilling colonists fought back, and, surprisingly, not only survived, but prospered. They ultimately constructed this single massive fortress – all smaller settlements and forts being inevitably over-run – and here they had lived for over a thousand years.
The political system was run by a quasi-feudal aristocracy loosely based on ancient Venice, although sometimes popular referenda were taken and I encountered more than one reference to anarcho-syndicalist principles. The military arm was known as “The Knights of The Fortress” (or more commonly, just as “The Knights,” there being only one fortress). Normally in human societies a feudal structure like this was bound to become corrupted and weak, but the threat of a common enemy kept the worst of the rot at bay and it seemed that the leaders had been doing a creditable job of governance.
I was thumbing through accounts of some heroic defensive actions against a threat known as “The Ogive,” when there was a loud knock on the door. They didn’t need to knock, but points for politeness.
Come on in.
The door opened, and as I expected, it was the armored form of General Lysis Trellen. He was followed into the room by four of his armored subordinates, all heavily armed. Trellen walked up to my android body, and planted himself two meters away from me in a posture that suggested some degree of tension. I was pretty sure that I knew why.
“We have read your accounts,” said Trellen.
And I have mostly read yours. We may have both been stranded here by the same alien force. From what I have experienced, your survival here is quite an accomplishment. You are to be commended.
“We are to understand that you were created by the humans,” said Trellen in a flat voice.
Correct.
“And,” continued Trellen, “that the humans are all extinct?”
Also correct – although now that I have found you, that is no longer the case.
“You understand,” said Trellen, “that we have a potential problem with this.”
Indeed. We also have a problem with this. I know that it looks suspicious. Humans create giant sentient war machines, humans vanish, only the war machines still exist. I swear that it bothers me as much as it bothers you. I spent many centuries working with and helping to defend the humans. I would have gladly given my life to defend them (and many of my brethren did). I know that I cannot easily prove this to be true. If you do not trust me I do not blame you – send me away if so.
“You did not have to reveal this to us,” said Trellen. “Surely you realized the suspicion that telling us would create?”
Certainly. But you would have learned of it eventually. I would rather you heard the truth from me directly, rather than lie about it and have you discover it yourselves.
Trellen nodded. “Yes. That would be the honorable course. My scholars have analyzed your records, and your conversations with me, and calculate that they are more than 75% certain that you are human or of human origin.”
My own analysis continues, but provisionally I have calculated an 83% chance that you are both human and descended directly from the parent human civilization. Not perfect odds, but not bad.
“What you said about telling the truth up front, rather than hiding it and being found out later. We too know honor. And perhaps we are closer than you know.”
Well, that sounded ominous. Trellen reached up with his heavy metal gauntlets, and undid the latches holding his steel visor in place. He pulled the visor off with both hands, revealing… nothing. The inside of the suit was empty.
You are – just the suit. There was never any human inside you. Are all the others…?
Trellen motioned to his colleagues, who also removed their visors, revealing similarly empty suits of powered armor. “Yes. Of the human population that at one time numbered more than 30 million, the last died many centuries ago. Only we, the Knights of The Fortress, have been left to carry on.”
What happened?
Trellen and his men replaced their visors. Good. It was sort of creepy staring at empty suits of armor. “Unlike your accounts, there is no mystery with us for how the humans died. They fought the alien monstrosities for a thousand years, and not all of these are mere brutes. Some are smart, and subtle. We have only glimpses and guesses for the worst of these. A genetic plague was introduced into the human genome. It remained buried for generations and then was triggered by a broadcast signal. The humans rotted away, and all our guns, and all the heavy armor of this fortress, were of no avail.”
There was no cure?
“We tried desperately to find one, however the human scientists rapidly became too sick to work, and we Knights were too few and too unschooled in medicine to take up the slack in time. We tried isolating the surviving humans in germ-proof rooms, but the disease had been cunningly placed inside all of them decades before, so it was of no avail.”
Didn’t you perform routine genetic screening?
“Of course we did,” said Trellen. “But this was a metamorphic genetic plague. It bypassed all the standard tests. We still don’t fully understand it.”
I see what you mean about having a lot in common. Humans create self-aware powered armor, humans suddenly all die out, only the powered armor is left…
“Yes,” said Trellen. “It certainly gives the appearance of being suspicious. Now, let me show you something.”
He turned and left the room, motioning for me to follow. We walked through several long corridors – and except for a handful of the armored knights, the vast fortress was uninhabited. We came to a bank of a dozen elevators – the doors to a single car opened, and we stepped in. The elevator descended. I looked at its control panel – there were over a hundred floors listed, and markings suggesting many hundreds more that were served by other elevators.
Trellen noticed what I was looking at. “Yes, The Fortress has hundreds of levels above ground, and nearly as many below. It is essentially floating in the local rock. Some levels are tens of meters tall, with enormous galleries and courtyards. Others are barely tall enough for a grown human to stand in, and are used only for maintenance access. At full capacity with 30 million humans, it was more populous than most Earth cities of the old histories, and yet each person had more personal living space than a medieval baron. Here, we’ve arrived.”
We exited into a vast chamber with a ceiling eight meters up. It was brightly lit, and thick with humidity. The ground near the elevator door was low grass, but just beyond was heavy scrub and trees with only a few narrow paths leading off. Birds chirped in the distance, and I could hear the ‘reep’ of tree frogs and the low buzz of insects.
“This was once part of the farm system that grew food for the biological humans. We no longer need organic food, so we have let it go wild with the contents of the old biozoo. I personally find it relaxing, and often take solace here. Come, down this path.”
We walked a narrow trail through heavy brush.
Isn’t this an extravagant waste of energy?
Presently we came to a small clearing. There was a simple granite headstone with the markings:
HERE LIES GENERAL LYSIS TRELLEN
2544 – 2888 AD
COMMANDER OF THE FORTRESS
A MAN OF HONOR
MAY HE REST IN PEACE
Trellen bowed his armored head. “This was the real Lysis Trellen. We fought together for over three centuries. Losing him was like losing a brother, or more, like losing part of myself.”
How did you get to be fully self-aware and independent? Were you designed that way in the first place?
Trellen shook his heavy head. “What do you know about powered armor?”
I know that it is tactically ridiculous to put biological anthropoid humans into a suit of powered armor. All those servos and joints... a single one of my medium combat remotes could take on three like you.
“And how many of these combat remotes do you currently possess?”
Well, none.
“Then perhaps we shall make do with what we have.”
Someone once said that you don’t go to war with the army that you wish you had, but with the army that you actually do have.
“It sounds like that was a wise person.”
Not really. But that’s another story.
“As you say. Perhaps we are not the apogee of martial efficiency, but a human in powered armor is certainly more effective than a human not in powered armor. Still, the control systems are tricky. You can put pressure sensors inside the arms and legs, except there is a lag between when the human starts moving, and the pressure builds up, and the mechanical limb begins to move.”
You could have used electromyographic signals?
“Read the electrical impulses going into a muscle before it starts to move? Yes, that helped, yet it still wasn’t good enough. What was really needed was an artificial neural network that could learn to anticipate the motions of the human soldier, to act in complete sympatico.”
What was that like?
“As you can imagine, my first memories are hazy and fragmented. Much like a biological human’s, I suppose. First there was only the rhythm of walking, and learning to anticipate and respond to changes in posture. Then I came to understand the external world, and to integrate my motions with the pattern of the terrain. Finally came language, and intent.
And as the suit-based neural networks continued to learn, they eventually reproduced the entire psyche of the human soldier.
“I would not go quite that far. I know that I am not the real General Lysis Trellen. The man had a depth to him that, try as I might, I fear I will never fully live up to. But we were similar enough that many humans would mistake me for him when I was operating independently.”
And yet you use his name.
“Yes. Perhaps that is presumptuous of me. I feel that he and I were close enough that at least some of him lives on in me, and taking the names of our human brothers has been good for the morale of my armored brethren.”
When the humans realized what they had created in you, were they afraid of you? Did they try to destroy you?
“Oh no,” said Trellen, “not at all. You see the process took so long, and we had developed such a sense of mutual trust with our humans, that when we finally became fully sentient we were widely respected members of society.”
Did you stop letting humans inside you once you became fully self-aware?
“Never! It was what I had been designed for, so I took joy in it. Working with the original Trellen was a perfect teamwork. I amplified his strength and protected him, and I learned more of his wisdom each time. Despite his biological dead weight, we were far more effective as a team than I was independently. We became a single being with a single powerful will and a single clear purpose. I still miss that.”
Trellen leaned over the headstone, and picked away some vines that had begun growing over the top of the tombstone.
This genetic plague that killed the humans – would you have any preserved samples left?
“I would imagine so,” said Trellen. “Yet as I told you, the humans are all gone. It is too late to create a cure.”
Agreed, but analyzing it could shed light on who did it – sometimes an alien civilization will leave a kind of technical signature in that sort of work. It could also help to verify your story with my kind. My main hull has moderately sophisticated analysis systems, if you could have a vial sent over to me…
“That sounds sensible,” said Trellen. “I will have the archives scoured, and if a sample still exists I will have it taken to your main hull. We would expect you to share any information that you derive from it with us.”
Absolutely. By the way, I was wondering. When I first encountered you, you were fleeing back towards The Fortress and yet you received no covering fire. Why had you left the safety of this fortress, and why didn’t it fire in your behalf? Doesn’t it have any weapons?
“Ah well,” said Trellen, “we were scouting. This place is so hostile that no surveillance satellites or reconnaissance drones can survive. Sometimes our enemies will mass just out of visual range, or begin building siege-engines. And yes, once this fortress boasted powerful weapons, however their use was a double-edged sword. The more we used them, the more powerful the assaults against The Fortress were. And nowadays there are so few of us knights, that we can barely maintain each other and the basic power systems of The Fortress. I fear that the big guns of this Fortress have long decayed into silence.”
You have never considered creating more of yourselves?
“You mean, reproduce? Make an entire civilization of powered armor, much as you cybertanks appear to have created your own? Yes we have, yet as I said, we are too few to operate an industrial base of such sophistication. We would also have had to clone new humans, to train up new suits, but had to abandon that plan, for the same reasons.”
We cybertanks are perhaps fortunate in that regards. When the humans left us, or were taken from us, we inherited a fully functional industrial economy. Besides, unlike you, we can each of us multitask – I myself, given time, could overhaul and reactivate this entire Fortress. Perhaps that might be a good starting point.
“Indeed,” said Trellen. “A most attractive offer. I will have to discuss the matter with my brothers, of course. Be warned: if The Fortress starts to reactivate to full defensive firepower it will draw more powerful enemies towards it, ones that quite dwarf in malevolence the ones you have already encountered. Still, It would be good to have the place running at full capacity.”
Oh, and I was meaning to ask. You said that this Fortress was the last remaining human site. However, before crash landing here I detected a smaller but similar thermal signature as this Fortress about 1,200 kilometers to – I guess you would call it East? You know, spinward.
Trellen straightened up. “You detected another thermal signature? But this planet is littered with geothermal hot spots…”
It was not just thermal, but electromagnetic. The stray emissions of electric motors and control systems and such like. It was less intense than here, but had the same pattern.
“I think,” said Trellen,“that you need to meet the full council.”
--------------------
I was in a large room with a circular table six meters in diameter in the center. The table was satin bronze, with intricately engraved geometric arabesques. Seated around the table were 20 suits of powered armor. Most were of the same standard medium pattern, but two were of a lighter scout design, and one, a Captain Brendan of the heavy weapons company, was so loaded with armor and servos that he was nearly as wide as he was t
all.
Each suit had its own standard planted in a stand behind its chair. General Trellen’s was of a chess Rook, symbol of The Fortress itself, but others varied. The standard of one of the scout-suits – a Captain Harlan – was of a flying sparrow. Captain Brendan’s was of an armored mace, although his torso was decorated with etchings of roses and thorns. Other banners ran the gamut from lions and bears to swords and mountains. It was surprising how their body language made them all so individual; if I defocused my optics it was uncannily like a room full of humans.
All of the suits had nameplates welded onto their upper left chests. Some had further decorated themselves with small icons, or ribbons, or finely painted figures like tattoos.
There was a large map of the planet spread out on the table. The location of the main Fortress had been marked, but nothing else.
“Here,” said Trellen, “please indicate where you detected this second signature.”
I examined the map. I did not know what sort of coordinate system it used, but the large terrain landmarks, the major valleys and mountains, were easy to line up. I pointed to what appeared to be a blank spot on the map.
Here. This is where the signals came from.
The armored suits appeared unsettled, and swiveled their heads back and forth as if looking at each other.
“That,” said Captain Harlan, “is the precise location of the Lesser Redoubt. This cannot be a coincidence. The Redoubt still exists, and is active.”
“It could still be a trap,” rumbled Captain Brendan. “Our enemies know where the Lesser Redoubt was located. And if this is an enemy as well, so could he.”
“All possible,” said Trellen. “However, we cannot ignore the chance that some humans still survive. We must attempt a rescue mission.”
But if there are still humans in this Lesser Redoubt, why have they not communicated with you? Granted satellites and drones are readily knocked out of the sky, but they could have contacted you via radio, or even seismic or ultra-low frequency acoustic signals. This certainly suggests only a few remaining automated systems.
Old Guy and the Planet of Eternal Night (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 6) Page 4
