by Will Crudge
I have a mission to accomplish above all others. Revenge.
Revenge is a dangerous proposition for one of my kind. It’s an obstacle to enlightenment, for sure. I don’t know if I’m rationalizing the need for it or not, but I keep telling myself that by achieving vengeance, I can move on to meet my destiny. I know it’s a lie. But the broken husk of flesh that I occupy is scarred. My Rage has abandoned me. I’m left with nothing more than a mortal shell. A shell that is probably severed from the higher realms of existence.
I’ve come to one conclusion over the last ten years... If I am spiritually broken, then perhaps it won’t hurt to avenge Trixie. She was more than just a UAHC Fleet sentient AI. She was more than a Chief Warrant Officer in the Fleet Forces. She was my friend. She was a mentor to me, and the only mother Marbles has ever known. She ensured my survival and set the conditions for Marbles to attain sentience.
But I have no game plan. In fact, we don’t even know what part of the galaxy we are right now. The star measurements aren’t reliable from the planet’s surface. They seem to shift and fade. We’ve suspected atmospheric dynamics are at play, and we can only hope to get our bearings when we escape the ionosphere.
All we can hope to do is approximate our location, and navigate to the closest outpost of human habitation we can find. From there we’ll trek back to Unum. Vengeance is my preference, but it’s not realistic in the short term.
The tracking beacon that I attached to that Crimson fuck-face, Peterson, is likely burned out or discarded by now. Even if it was still sending passive pings, it would be more likely that we’d stumble upon the Ark of the Covenant than we would the beacon’s signal.
Pragmatism is my watchword. We must get to safety. I must fulfill whatever shattered destiny that remains for me. Most of all, I have to find a place for Marbles to thrive. He’s my brother. He is my rock.
I pass by the XT-80 food prep unit and gleefully offer it an array of whole-hearted obscenities. It may have kept me alive for decades, but I’m convinced it fed me all that festering sewage as a way to keep itself entertained. I know that’s not true, but I might as well send it off with the disdain I feel I owe it.
As I walk towards the area that we had landed the space donkey, I notice the lights flicker. I can hear the audible frequency change from transformers winding down. Marbles must be powering down the reactor. Not good. If we end up failing in our plan to reach civilization, then this wreckage is our only backup plan. Without Trixie, we may never get the reactor started again, and we’d eventually starve from lack of food or power.
“What the fuck are you doing, Marbles?” I shout ahead. He’s likely using the remote engineering terminal near the skiff, so I direct my voice there.
“Putting the reactors on standby!” He shouts back. I feel dumb. Of course, he is. Making the reactor go completely cold would serve no purpose, but dialing it down into standby mode is smart. The energy signature would be reduced in case someone or something sees us leave this planet’s atmosphere. It would lower the risk of an unwanted guest rummaging through our only backup plan.
“Just checking!” I shout, but a little lower this time. I’m almost to the space donkey now. I walk up to see Marbles bent over with his hands studiously doing something within a side compartment in the ship’s hull.
He hears me approach and turns his head to look at me. “I’m making room for your duffel bag.” He says.
I just nod passively and walk up to stand next to him. I look down to see the bottom of the compartment is stuffed with a tightly configured array of rifles. “You do know that we’re not going to war, right?” I chuckle.
“Says you!” He jibes. “My only experience with entities besides you and Trixie was a small scale battle. My only context for humanity is warfare.”
He’s got me. I can’t argue. We have no idea what lies beyond the atmosphere of this nameless planet. Most of humanity had been in a prolonged period of peace during my upbringing, but a lot can happen in thirty years. We have to be prepared for anything. “Ok, shiny-ass… Scoot over so I can put my bag in there.” I say. He nods and steps clear.
With my bag secured, I turn to take one last glimpse of the Nova. Even in her prime, she may not have been the biggest or most powerful warship out there, but she has been our home. Our means of survival. Perhaps, I think to myself, I’ll come back one day and try to salvage the hull for preservation in a museum somewhere. It deserves no less.
I wipe a single tear and then climb into the tiny cockpit. Marbles is already seated in the cockpit. The control panels are lit up, and gages are all glowing green. I can only assume green means ‘good’. Then I notice Marbles has a data cable attached to an auxiliary port on the control panel, and it’s linking to his chest port.
“Having a good conversation with the donkey?” I ask as I gesture towards the cable.
“Well, space is a very dynamic place. Everything is moving all the time, so the star maps and NAV data onboard is ten years out of date.” He explains.
I roll my eyes as I reach up to close the canopy. “Fine, then let’s pretend I actually understand what you’re getting at.”
“The NAV system in this thing is a basic computer. Not even a standard NSAI. Any form of AI is against LISD rules, so updated star maps and NAV data have to be manually updated before the race, or at key checkpoints.” He explains. He doesn’t answer the question. He never does. He has a bad habit of assuming I’m on his mental wavelength. I think he forgets that even though it’s an advanced quantum computer, my biological brain is just a lump of nerve cells and chemical cocktails.
“Ok, so no AI’s. Sentient or otherwise. Manually updated NAV data. Got it. Now how’s about just telling me what in the fuck you’re trying to do?” I say with my most eloquently annunciated sarcasm.
“I’m going to basically take star measurements with the shipboard visual sensors, put them through a UAHC standard NAV algorithm, and try to make accurate map updates as we go.” He says with a tone that reflects no shortage of defensiveness.
“Marbles, I love you. But sometimes I want to choke you.” I say flatly.
“It’s a good thing for me that you lost your Rage. Even your War Master genes can’t help you crush my virtual wind-pipe!” He chuckles. He’s right. I could still probably punch through light to medium armor or even a standard infantry drone. But his reinforced hide is top notch.
“Ok, well let’s get this space donkey off the ground!” I say as I glare meaningfully at Marbles. Even though he’s incapable of articulating facial expressions, I can tell he’s glaring back at me straight-faced.
“You’re the pilot, genius!” He says playfully.
“Ha! Seriously, let’s get moving.” I say. He doesn’t say a word. After an awkward moment, he nods his head towards the helm controls in front of me. He’s serious. Oh shit!
“Why the fuck am I flying?” I scold.
“Because I’m navigating.” He answers.
“And you sleep twenty-three minutes per day! And that’s just for a routine systems check and reboot. It’s not even something you have to do!” I say as a feebly counter.
“Sorry, slutty-snatch! You’re destined to be a War Master one day. War Masters are expected to be competent spacefarers. The baby bird has to leave its mother’s nest at some point, right?”
I hate it when he’s right. Besides, I think he’s scared. He’s never left the atmosphere since he was effectively ‘born.’ I think he wants me to guide him into the great unknown. Granted he’s poured through the data archives of the Nova over the years. He understands history, science, and pop-culture. But he doesn’t have the first-hand experience to make it truly a part of his world. A world he was conceived from, but he’s yet to see for himself.
He’s afraid alright. Excited, but afraid. I think crunching numbers and manually updating ten-year-old star maps might be more therapeutic than useful. I’m sure he knows that.
The universe may always be in motion, but cons
tellations don’t rapidly shift in ten years. He talks a good game, but he’s not fooling his big sister.
“Ok, tin-man! Let’s get out of here!” I declare. Then I reach for the controls before I realize there aren’t any. I see the coppery pewter hue of his arm in my periphery. He reaches out to flip a switch.
A U-shaped steering yoke rises up from nowhere. A moment later, a throttle lever pops out of the small center console. Normally on the left side of a pilot’s reach, the throttle is centrally located for use from either seated position.
Realizing that I am out of my element, he gives me a crash-course in the operation of the smaller switches and thumb levers on the yoke and throttle assemblies.
“Now remember, cum-dumpster… LISD rules only allow for minimal inertial dampening. Basically just enough to keep you from dying from an unexpected vector change… The controls are speed sensitive as a result. Even someone with your strength will have to struggle to change vectors at high speeds. Bottom line, rough ride… Find a vector and stick to it. Any questions?” He finishes.
“None, molester-bait!” I say with a smile. I reach down to grip the controls tightly, and I manage to get the space donkey off the ground. Marbles retracts the landing struts with a few flips of some very archaic looking toggle switches, and I tilt the nose of the donkey upward. We still haven’t moved from our hovering position, but rather just aimed ourselves at our planned escape vector.
I wait for Marbles to check his data. He gives me a thumbs up. I push the throttle lever forward with all my might. This Fucker really is stiff! But I don’t have time to complain… The thrusters fire and my soul is being forced out of my anus.
“I was going to tell you to ease into it, but ok.” Marble says casually. His digital voice is unaffected by g-forces. He just enjoys the view. I just pray the sharp pain in my abdomen doesn’t mean my spleen and uterus have switched places.
Amazingly my grip strength keeps my hands on the controls. But the blood is being forced from the tips of my fingers and into my hands… then wrists… and now I have no idea how my hands are still working. Marbles casually reaches over to the throttle lever and guides it back.
The g-forces ease off, and we achieve a far more subtle rate of acceleration. Just in case you were wondering, I am a big fan of breathing. I’m pretty good at it, actually. But not when I punch it in a space donkey, apparently.
The blood vessels in my eyes begin to right themselves, and my vision comes back to me. I can’t even remember losing my vision. Maybe I just dreamed it all. I have no clue.
“Did you wet yourself?” Marbles asks with a chuckle.
“I’ll let you know when I have feeling in my lower abdomen again,” I say as I steady my breathing and fight the urge to vomit.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly release it. I open my eyes and see blackness. Unbridled blackness. It’s beautiful. I look at Marbles to see his reaction. Despite a lack of facial features, his body language can be quite telling. He’s leaned forward, and methodically scanning the blackness around us.
My biological eyes are limited to what I can see, but Marbles is probably having the time of his life. I just smile and check my vector. Satisfied, I just await Marbles to tell me where in the fuck we are. That’s the big mystery. The planet’s atmosphere made star measurements difficult. We could only ever narrow down our general position, but that meant we could only eliminate two-thirds of the galaxy. Not very helpful.
As planned I go into a high orbit. I want to roll the fighter so that the planet would appear above us in relation to the canopy, but I can’t. Marbles has to cross level the visual sensor data with his own line of sight in order to measure the stars accurately. Then he has to be able to find some kind of matching pattern within the existing mapping data. Only then can we pinpoint what system we’re in. And then plot a course to the closest known pocket of humanity.
I just want to see the planet from the viewpoint of space. It has a lilac colored glow about its horizon. I can’t quite see down enough to take it all in. I can even toggle the visual sensor. Marbles needs it. The process could take a few minutes, or it could take several days. Either way, we have plenty of fuel, and we can always go back to the Nova in order to top back off.
But we wouldn’t have to wait long…
“Holy horse shit!” Marbles gasps as he rocks back into his seat and lets his arms drop loosely on his lap with a metallic ‘clink.’
“What is it?” I ask.
“No wonder we could never get a fix on our place in the cosmos!” He says as he turns to look at me. “This place is a UAHC secret facility!”
ENLIGHTENED DONKEY CREW
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’ve seen the documents in the secure archives on the Nova. If only Master Sergeant Conrad had survived the crash… Her command tokens could have decrypted the locations of each of these facilities!” Marbles explains but in classic ‘Marbles Style,’ he doesn’t actually answer the fucking question.
“What facility?” I ask angrily. “All we’ve ever seen were rocks and soil!”
“The entire planet is a facility. A secret one. After the second War of Humanity, the UAHC developed a program to relocate civilian populations or key military facilities on a series of terraformed planets across the cosmos. They kept the locations secret, and there’s a network of deep space beacons out there that disrupt long-range visual or energy scans from any vessels passing by this system. This entire system is strategically located outside of normal shipping lanes. The entire concept was to minimize the atrocities that the previous wars bore witness to. Having back up locations that were secret would help prevent the risk of the repeated bombardment of population centers or strategic assets.”
“Finally! An explanation I understand.” I say. “So, basically this place is a planet-sized refugee camp?”
“I guess you could call it that.” He says with a shrug. “But here’s the kicker… These planets are supposed to be periodically surveyed every thirty-three years by UAHC engineers. They assess the atmosphere, soil, and geological stability.”
“And the kicker is that we would have been rescued in three more years?” I ask. Marbles shakes his head.
“Planet C-547 was due for global inspection three months ago.” He says.
“If they showed up and actually did their job, then they would have surely picked up on the Nova’s presence, wouldn’t they?”
“Exactly. The required periodic tests would have easily picked up the energy signatures. But they would have most definitely have detected the distress beacon.” He says.
“So, you’re saying that they’re over-due. Is that odd? It is a government program, and periodic inspections often are done behind schedule.” I say.
“True, but the sensitivity of this program is classified at the highest level, and is likely well-funded. I wouldn’t think they’d let a required inspection slip by when they depend on a massive cyclical budget to keep the program alive.” He points out. He’s right. Even if the program had been canceled, it wouldn’t make sense for them to hang on to a multi-trillion credit planet. Especially one that’s been thoroughly terraformed and is nearly identical to Earth’s gravity. They would have sold it in short order, and we would have been likely found by its new owners by now.
“How did you get all this info?” I ask.
“The beacons. I’ve uploaded an overlay of Trixie’s UAHC tokens in the transponder. As far as the NSAI’s that run the beacons are concerned, we’re a UAHC Fleet vessel with proper tokens for a status query.”
I rub my chin for a minute. “So, you can ping the beacons for basic info, but can’t you extrapolate our current location from them?”
“No. Trixie’s tokens have only very basic access rights.” He says. I exhale in exasperation. “Don’t worry, dick-magnet! I’ve triangulated enough celestial data to give us a heading!”
“Lead with that next time!” I say as I hit him with
my elbow. It certainly hurts me worse than it hurts him… which is not at all… but it feels right to me.
“This system isn’t super huge, as far as binary systems go. We can realistically be in interstellar space within a few weeks. After that, I calculate a fifty-six percent chance we’ll find a shipping lane or deep space NAV beacon within a month.”
“So, I’m going to be sitting in this seat for at least six weeks? And then possible several more weeks before we encounter another vessel?” I ask.
“Quit whining!” He grumbles and slaps a level next to my seat. The seat flops back into a flat position and then rolls back into the hull. Inside the hull is a tiny space with a wash basin and a medieval-looking toilet-like apparatus. I hear another click of a lever, and the seat rolls back forward, and I’m seated again.
“Well then. Let’s hope we can find civilization before that shitter eats my lady bots and then tries to burn me for being a witch!” I chuckle. I’m relieved. To a small degree, in any case. It’s still going to be cramped and miserable, but we can survive.
The next several weeks go on without a hitch. We slingshot past several gas giants and a very sizeable asteroid belt. We continuously pick up velocity, and the space donkey is able to stretch its legs. It’s a fast little fucker too. Even many high-end starships wouldn’t be able to leave a binary star system within a few weeks without FTL. Binary systems have strong gravitational forces and tend to have much vaster heliopause. But we pull it off as predicted.
Interstellar space. My old friend. The days creep on, and although a sanctioned body of the LISD might fine us for using an auto-pilot apparatus, Marbles remotely takes the helm when I need a break. It’s hard to stay in shape under these conditions, but I make due with isometric exercises and masturbation.
We have plenty of food also. Marbles hacked the old XT-80 into thinking it was preparing a huge holiday feast for the crew. He then dismantled the stasis containment system and rigged a food storage compartment. We have roughly five months of piping hot portions of real food. The tiny ship has more storage then I originally thought it would. But it makes sense for an endurance racer to have storage for food, spare parts, and additional fuel. It’s a tiny wonder of engineering, and I’m completely stoked to have found it.
