by Greg Laurel
Miles looked at the computer at the register he had, that was connected to the Techbooth downstairs, and he typed an inquiry: ARE THOSE TWO IN DANGER?
Techbooth scanned their faces remotely, with cameras smaller than even some of the most trained eyes could see, and cross-referenced them with anything that might be of note. After interpreting the data, a message was displayed for Miles: THEY ARE BEING HUNTED FOR BEING TOGETHER BY A HATE GROUP.
Miles typed one more message to Techbooth: WHAT IS THE STATUS OF THEIR FOES?
A moment passed.
THEIR SEARCH PARTY IS TEN MILES AWAY, HEADING DOWN THE HIGHWAY. THEY WILL LIKELY SEE AND ENTER THIS ESTABLISHMENT.
“Shit,” Miles said aloud. The two looked over to Miles, a little worried.
“They’re following you two,” Miles said, confirming their worry. “They’re ten miles out, and will definitely come in here.”
They were just about to scramble to their feet, when Miles stopped them, piping up. “If you run, you’ll die tired. Stay here, and you’re under my protection, and I will not fail. I know you’re wondering how I know, and you also might be thinking that you’ll just be thankful for the warning, regardless of how I can give it. But they’re gonna catch up one way or another, because I guess that’s just how petty and spiteful people are. Head up those stairs, and don’t make any noise. I will deal with your enemies. I promise.”
The two looked at each other, then back to Miles. “I’d ask how the hell we can trust you, but you knew they were coming. I guess we can’t afford to ask questions about our blessings,” the older one said, as his partner made his way up the stairs.
“Good man,” Miles said. “What’s your names?”
“I’m Jarrek. He’s Brian.”
“Jarrek’s a good name, don’t lose it. Now get up there.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
“Hopefully. But maybe it won’t come to that.”
Jarrek went up the stairs along with Brian to hide, and a few minutes later, a single person walked through the door. With The Aura, Miles could tell he was concealing a pistol on his hip, but in a rather shoddy holster with no retention, like the kind one of those couch commandos who unironically would rather be able to draw their weapon half a second faster than make sure someone can’t just yank it from behind would use, since they believe themselves just that observant, when they quite honestly would not be.
Miles understood this man was likely about to be humbled for this hubris. He walked around a bit, before asking who owns the other car, and why they weren’t here. Casually, of course, in that ‘painfully trying too hard to be subtle’ sort of way. Miles stared at him in response.
“Cut the shit. I know why you and five others are here,” Miles finally said. “Don’t try to play stupid, or I won’t even give you the chance to leave peacefully.”
The man smirked. “A young lickspit like you shouldn’t be stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong.”
“This is my shop. Anything that happens here is exactly where my nose belongs. You get one warning. The same warning I give everyone else. This is me being kind.”
“You think you’re a badass, huh?” the man retorted as he drew his weapon and pulled the trigger. But nothing happened. Miles had used The Aura to jam the gun, rendering it completely useless. It was in this moment Miles sported what wasn’t quite a shit-eating grin, but definitely the look of ‘I will never get tired of being able to call them silly little guns.’
All the five friends of that man saw, was Miles dragging the corpse of their compatriot out the door, and tossing it towards them. The man’s throat had been crushed by a hard blow, and he had died gasping for air.
“I’m willing to fight each of you hand-to-hand. Man to man, as it were. All at once, if you’d like. But anyone grabs a weapon, they don’t get that honor. Guns are the cheat code of combat, and I will make sure you never get to use it. Fight me with the weapons the gods gave you, if you want to fight. Pull a weapon if you would rather just die.”
Two of the men reached into their back pockets for firearms, and Miles used The Aura to conjure two knives in his hands and throw them into the cheater’s throats. They died without incident. The three others were smart enough to take that offer, to Miles’s surprise.
The first didn’t even get to finish winding his wild haymaker before Miles kicked him in the solar plexus with the steel-toed workboots he wore. The other hesitated for a moment when he saw his friend go down so quickly, and Miles simply put that steel toe to his temple with a head-high roundhouse, something Miles was already quite good at, even before The Aura. The last one threw a straight jab, and Miles grabbed his forearm and broke his elbow severely, then cracking a rib with an elbow of his own. This last man staggered back, howling in pain from his broken arm. The first one, only having slightly recovered his wind, went for a groin punch, but was once again stopped with a steel toe, to his chin this time, seeing as he was bent over and that was the available target. Miles must’ve hit it hard, since this guy was no longer moving. The force of his head snapping back seemed to have broken a few vertebrae in his spine, and severed the cord, resulting in internal decapitation. The second was either dead or dying, since the depressed skull fracture certainly would’ve cut into his brain. The third still screamed at his broken arm, so Miles put him out of his misery by leaping forward and driving the bottom of his elbow into the top of his foe’s head. Another depressed skull fracture and brain hemorrhage. Five dead homophobes. The world made that much better. Technically six when you count the first one.
Six less of the evildoers in this world was not something to protest. Disposing of their bodies was easy. Miles had used most of the trash pile from months back to create an Atomic Emancipation Grid generator, a sort of “Ultimate trash compactor”. All matter vaporized in an instant, converted to breathable oxygenatious air. Naturally, that’s where their bodies went, and their car.
Miles went back into his shop, and up the stairs to where Jarrek and Brian were waiting. “They’re gone. Won’t be able to bother you anymore.”
Brian breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Jarrek approached Miles.
“I suppose you should avoid telling me what you did. Don’t want to be an accomplice.”
“Six less of that kind of person in the world? No one reasonable will miss them,” Miles said. “And even if they do trace this whole ordeal, they’ll trace it to me and not you. If you two know where you’re going, then I advise you start getting there. And finish that breakfast of yours.”
Jarrek laughed, and the two did indeed finish the breakfast in the sitting area, before leaving on their way. There was no mistake about it, Miles felt victorious. Six enemies of the world, gone. The Aura had given him the power to finally do something right. But he pondered. Could he indeed snap his fingers and all the evil people of the world would drop dead in agony? Yes. But he almost felt compelled to refrain from that, maybe at most a high-profile assassination of a corrupt politician or a greedy billionaire. Maybe just slit their throat in the night, then their beneficiaries. But Miles seemed to understand to himself that it just wouldn’t really work like that. Yes, it would be right. Yes, it would be good. But it seemed that all it would do would be to make the world weaker overall. If he does all the protecting for them, how would they protect themselves?
Today was because it was the right thing to do. On that small scale, allowing a good couple to make their escape from those who hated them without cause.
It was then Miles had his epiphany. His was to make something able to happen, rather than to do it outright. Put the pieces right there, and let them be easily put together. He could be the catalyst that would allow the world to be saved, because if he just waved his arms around and made it all ‘better,’ no one would learn.
But it could be minor things, things that allow more to happen. The fascist open-carrying a rifle outside a mosque or synagogue, only allowed to do so by the literal letter or law and not
its spirit, he could make that trigger finger drift just that little bit, unnoticed, and when someone finally called the police, that finger twitches and the rifle goes off. The deserved punishment is administered, and their life justly ruined.
Not making such a person trip over and break their skull open on a rock, because that’s clumsy luck. But making such a person look like a complete fool, with such improper firearm discipline, that finally sparks this and that and leads to the world being better overall, not by Miles’s direct action, but because Miles made it able to happen. This was how he was to act with this power of his, at least on Earth, where power like his wasn’t in direct conflict with the majority understanding of reality.
But Malin did ask him to figure out that signal, and Techbooth did just alert him that new information was available. He went back into the basement for this.
“A transmission originating from Turazin is requesting communication. Turazin is the home base of the Conclave of Sentience, and The Hideout, considered the largest library-slash-information repository in the known universe.”
“Patch it through, then,” Miles said.
“To whomever has requested access to the Galactic Network, this is Xenidar Ralkas, leader of The Hideout. I represent the Conclave of Sentience’s wishes regarding the network and its maintaining. Please identify yourself by name, species and planet of origin.”
“My name is Miles Sorvenjar Radien... human... of Earth” The word human was said in a very negative tone, as if it’s truth angered Miles on an existential level.
“Sounds like you’re not overly fond of that,” Xenidar replied, the transmission finally now showing his picture. A Vulpian, but much smaller in stature. Possibly a genetic variant Miles was unaware of. “This is honestly just standard proceeding, and I do need you to answer these questions I have truthfully before I can give your device access to the Galus-Net.”
Miles nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, what species are you? I can tell you’re Vulpian, but I’ve only met one type, likely the Cynofrax-specific ones.
“I’m a Talvas Vulpian. There’s three major variants, and dozens of minor ones. The other is the Death World Vulpians. My personal home planet was Turazin here, but my species originates from Talvakorrik. The Death Worlders are from Raon-Arashal, which you’ll be able to find out more if you can answer my questions now.” Xenidar cleared his throat, and looked to Miles. Miles nodded again. “For what reason did you need the services of the Galus-Net?”
“I wanted to look up an energy signature’s wavelength to see if it was a known type.”
Xenidar nodded, in a ‘fair enough’ sort of way. “Are you a native of the planet you are accessing the Galus-Net on?”
“Yes.”
“The location of your planet is not in the Galus-Net’s database. Are you willing to designate a name for your planet and species, as well as any reason they may be considered sentient, under this definition, known as The Pillars Three?” At that, a window popped up onscreen, reading ‘The Pillars Three’. It appeared to be a test for sentience, based on one’s ability to recognize that they are alive, that they can die, and that at any given moment, they may or may not want to die. A solid definition, if not absolute. Miles thought for a moment, making sure he didn’t rush his response.
“This planet is named Earth, and the... self-declared dominant species on it, to which I disdainfully belong is called Humans. There are many, many other species on this world as well, some likely sentient, most likely not. As for the humans, I can confirm their sentience by this definition. Techbooth, grant Xenidar access to Earth’s internal communications and information networks. Although, I’m afraid you’re going to have a lot of junk to sort through if you take all of that at once. I recommend designated libraries for the bulk of it. And maybe an army of strong-willed volunteers...” Miles finally said to Xenidar.
Xenidar took a look at a few things, then nodded. “Ok, yeah, you guys are definitely sentient. Tell you what, though... the Conclave would probably reject them from joining the wider universe’s community. I’ll file the humans as a Class 3C, a partial recognition, but large-scale communication with the species is still not allowed, due to an established unreadiness... I’ll say under... immoral ideals?”
“Certainly fits,” Miles remarked. “There’s more reasons than that, though.”
“I only need the one right now,” Xenidar said as he typed on his end. “All right, Miles. I’m giving this device access to the Galus-Net. You are responsible for protecting this device from other members of your species, or granting access at your discretion.”
Miles nodded.
“On a personal note, Miles, I am curious what that wavelength was you wanted to cross-reference. The Hideout is the single largest repository of information in the known united universe,” Xenidar said curiously. “Of course, I only mean united as in communicable with each other... it’d be pretty fuckin’ silly to have multiple galaxies under one banner...”
“Techbooth, send Xenidar the data Malin gave us.”
Xenidar took a look, and then a double-take, with a rather worried expression on his face.
“Miles, are you sure these readings are accurate?” he finally asked.
“Not at all. This is data taken from a rather primitive energy scanner, and perhaps I could get schematics for a better one.”
Some blueprints and material manifests showed up on Miles’s screen.
“You should be able to make one of these with the materials on your planet. It’s a seventh-generation energy scanner. Pretty standard issue, and connected to the Galus-Net’s databases on energy types. Once you’ve done that, I’d appreciate if you’d let me know the reading, because I hope this one you’ve sent me isn’t entirely accurate.”
“We’ll worry about it when we do, I suppose. I’ll get on it. Thanks, Xenidar.”
“Welcome to the universe, Miles Radien.”
Xenidar’s transmission switched off, and Techbooth was back to its desktop of sorts, awaiting the next input, which took Miles a moment to figure out.
“Tell you what, using Xenidar’s schematics for that energy scanner, find out what tools and what materials we need to make it here on Earth, and how much that might cost. Draft me up at least five options, sorted by, say... priority on which one will have the most use in creating higher technology further down the line.”
Techbooth made its confirmation noise before getting to work, anticipating a few minutes before the calculations were done. After all, it had the entirety of Earth’s knowledge to sift through, both true and false. The doorbell of the shop rang again.
Chapter the Fifth
Miles walked up and saw an unfamiliar woman at the door, alone. He unlocked the door remotely and let her in. Although she did seem a bit off, more in just the execution of being a person, which was a bit of a tip.
“Veralis, if that’s you, then that’s a pretty sad attempt at subtlety,” Miles said cautiously, to which the woman nodded, then a blue mist surrounded her, and Veralis stood in her place.
“It was worth a try,” Veralis said. “Anything to report, or tell me, or whatever?”
Miles recounted the story of Malin and ETAL-RARC, as well as what he had been doing personally over the time he spent back on Earth, even that little epiphany of his. Veralis seemed particularly intrigued at that.
“That’s... an interesting way to put it. I knew there was more to you when you were granted The Aura, I’ve always known it, honestly. I’ve just never been sure what, exactly. I’ve got a few theories, but I don’t want to be wrong, so I’ll just keep them to myself until they get shown to be one way or the other.”
Miles nodded understandingly. He didn’t want to get oversold on something he would turn out not to be. Besides, the idea of fated roles didn’t particularly appeal to him.
“But this Malin, and ETAL-RARC... it’s a lot more wisdom than what you’ve told me the humans are like. But I did take the time to look at some of the
ir history... no wonder you hate them. And honestly, that phrase you told me of ‘A person is smart, but people are dumb, panicky animals’ makes a hell of a lot more sense now. I can definitely think of single humans that could be trusted as part of the wider universe, but the whole species? Gods, not a chance. What a conflicting bunch, your kinsmen.”
“Yeah...” Miles partially lamented. “On the one hand, I don’t think the universe would miss them if they all up and died. On the other, they’ve had some good ideas.”
“They’ve had you.”
“Oh, don’t give them credit for that.”
The two laughed. Miles got a ping from the computer on the shop floor, and led Veralis down into the basement with Techbooth.
“Ok, Techbooth, what have you figured?”
“Utilizing Galus-Net data and material availability, I’ve created a list of tools you could create or otherwise acquire to have a fully-functional planetary base, as per the guide mentioned in Flora Valtarius’s ‘Best Practices of Planetary Base Building and Equipping’ manual.”
The screen then flashed with a list of things the base should be capable of doing, and the tools needed to fulfill that role.
MAIN PLANETARY BASE, PERSONAL-SCALE
oSUSTENANCE MANUFACTURING AND PROCESSING CABABILITIES (ALREADY PRESENT, DESIGNATION “KITCHEN”)
oPOINT AND AREA DEFENSE (RECOMMEND AUTO-TURRETS, KINETIC PROJECTILE GIVEN LOCAL TECHNOLOGY)
oTOOL FABRICATION CAPABILITY (RECOMMEND ATOMIC FORGE, CAN BE CREATED WITH EARTH MATERIALS, BUT THE DEVICE WILL BE RATHER BULKY, ABOUT THE SIZE OF THE AVERAGE EARTH CAR)
