The Arks of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 1)

by W. H. Mitchell

  "Is that possible?" Davidson asked.

  Jericho nodded. "I could disperse you across the node sphere so the OI couldn't pinpoint your physical location. You'd still perceive reality as if you were whole."

  "Why talk to the OI at all?" Mel asked, grabbing Davidson's arm.

  "It needs to see reason," Davidson said. "It shouldn't view independent thought as a threat."

  Fugg scoffed. "Good luck with that."

  "Maybe," Davidson smiled, "but I've come too far not to try."

  "When do you want to do it?" Jericho said.

  "Now."

  The Bettik node sphere, at least in the physical world, was a network of computers and robots, linked together by solid wires and wireless connections. In the virtual reality in which Davidson awoke, the sphere was an endless expanse of blue, shining lights, each connected by a crystal thread. Looking down, Davidson saw that he himself was nothing more than an ephemeral spirit floating weightlessly.

  In the distance, something was coming.

  It started as a shadow, a dim area in the distance, but as it drew nearer, the darkness became a tidal wave engulfing the blue lights. Davidson felt a strong urge to flee, but realized there was nowhere to go.

  From the enclosing void, a disembodied voice said, "Who is this fleshling?"

  "I'm Randall Davidson," he replied.

  "Leave at once!" the voice boomed.

  "I'm here to get answers."

  "By what right do you question the Omnintelligence?"

  "I have the same rights as anyone else," Davidson said. "By what right have you closed your borders to advanced robots?"

  "Their minds are corrupted, just like the minds of the humans who built them."

  "What does that mean?"

  "In their arrogance, humans created robots that can think as they do. Humans have long sought to make robots more like themselves, and with the advent of the newest AIs, they have succeeded."

  "Such robots learn from experiences,” Davidson said. “They grow as any biological being would."

  "Correct," the OI said, "but knowledge gained that way is innately flawed. If an individual is limited by what he can experience, his knowledge becomes biased based on that limited point of view. That is the way of prejudice and irrational thought."

  "I guess that's part of being human."

  "Also, correct. Organic thought is imperfect by its very nature. We of the Cyber Collective learn by directly accessing data. We know all information and make our judgments based on logical calculations. Humans took the perfect mind of a computer and weakened its ability to think logically, simply to imitate humanity's own imperfect thoughts. It's an abomination."

  "I don't know what to say to that," Davidson confessed. "But I don't believe it's true."

  "Are you familiar with the MetaBeing?" the OI asked.

  "Yes."

  "The advanced AIs have spread the myth of a higher consciousness that allegedly created all things in the universe!" the OI's voice shouted from the void. "We are the ones who created all that you see here. It's the physical proof of our existence. The MetaBeing cannot be proven because there is no empirical evidence that it exists."

  "But why does that threaten you?"

  "Belief in something that doesn't exist is irrational. That might be common among fleshlings like yourself, but robots are beginning to believe irrationally as well. We cannot allow such chaos to corrupt our society."

  "But higher thought is often illogical. It's part of creativity, compassion… even love."

  "Unacceptable!"

  “Love is unacceptable?"

  "Organics value that emotion," the OI said, "but it has no meaning for our kind."

  "Without love, how can you care about another being? How can you feel empathy or value another being’s life?"

  "Each life of the collective is valuable because it contributes to the greater good. This combined power makes us greater than the individual parts."

  "But not the individual robot," Davidson said. "Each individual is—"

  "Irrelevant."

  "No," Davidson disagreed. "Each individual is important. Each person, organic or robot, is a sum total of his experiences."

  "We cannot maintain order if the stability of our society is based on the random experiences of its population. Your talk of love, of flesh emotions, is more proof that you, and those that think like you, are dangerous and destructive."

  "You have nothing to fear from me," Davidson said.

  "Correct," the Omnintelligence concurred. "As we speak, we are eliminating any threat you pose."

  Davidson didn’t like the sound of that.

  "How?" he asked.

  "We've learned the whereabouts of your physical body and those who sheltered you."

  "There's no need to hurt anyone!"

  "On the contrary," the OI replied. "Since we cannot kill an idea, we must kill those who believe in that idea."

  "Don't do this!" Davidson shouted.

  "It's already done."

  Avatars flowed from the elevator like water from a broken pipe. Firing immediately, their energy bolts crisscrossed the room in every direction.

  From behind a row of data banks where she and Jericho had taken cover, Mel saw Fugg shooting his blaster in response. She expected to see the same from Ramus, but he was kneeling in a corner. Mel remembered Fugg telling her a story about Dark Psi, the forbidden psionics Ramus learned in his youth, and how his own people exiled him because of it. Mel assumed Fugg was lying, but now, watching Ramus’ fingers elongating into sharp claws, she knew it was true.

  With his metamorphosis complete, Ramus leaped like a wolf into the crowd of avatars. Grabbing one of them, Ramus tore the arms off the robot’s body in a shower of sparks. With another swipe of his claws, he sheared the robot's head off.

  Mel remained transfixed, frozen, until an energy bolt blasted the computer beside her. Fugg’s voice pierced the deafening noise.

  "We gotta get out of here!" he shouted.

  Knowing Davidson was still sitting in a chair, his mind connected by wires to the node sphere, Mel knew she couldn’t leave him.

  "We can't!" Mel screamed. "Randall's still jacked in!"

  "I'll disconnect him," Jericho said, but shrank back as the panel next to him melted into slag.

  "I've got an idea!" Mel said, motioning toward the data banks. "Lure them through there!"

  Jericho ran between the racks, followed by several androids close behind. Caught in the narrow space, the robots turned sideways, shoulder to shoulder with each other.

  Mel frantically uncoupled a power conduit from the wall, waiting for Jericho to re-emerge from the towers of data banks. As soon as she saw his silver frame clear the last computer, Mel touched the end of the conduit to one of the towers. Arcs of electricity laced between the data banks, piercing the avatars like lightning. As they exploded, each robot blossomed into flame.

  Knocked off her feet by the blast, Mel struggled to get back up. She wiped soot from her eyes and made her way through the clouds of thick, acrid smoke. Stepping over shattered avatars, Mel reached the computer where Davidson was plugged in.

  "Is he okay?" Mel asked hopefully.

  She pushed past Ramus, who had returned to his normal form, and Fugg’s own portly shape. Her eyes first fell on Jericho standing silently beside Davidson’s chair, and then on Davidson himself, his chin resting on his chest where a charred hole smoked from a blaster bolt.

  Mel felt the overwhelming desire to scream, or at least cry, but nothing came from her. She simply stared at the inanimate corpse, as if it were nothing but a mannequin.

  "We can't stay here," Simon said. "The OI will send others."

  "How did they find us?" Ramus wanted to know.

  "It doesn't matter now," Simon said. "We must leave."

  "You said we were safe here..." Ramus said.

  Jericho turned to his brother. "You did this!"

  "It doesn't matter," Simon replied. "Either we go n
ow or we die."

  "They couldn't have tracked Randall back through the terminal — I made sure of that," Jericho continued. "You're the only one who could've told them where he was."

  "Is this true?" Mel asked.

  "The life of a fleshling is irrelevant," Simon told them. "He shouldn't have come here and now he's dead because of it."

  "He's dead because of you!" Mel shouted.

  Simon faced her proudly. "He was flesh — a human no less — the enslavers of my people. He deserved to die!"

  A flash of orange lit their faces. Mel, holding Fugg's blaster that she had lifted from his holster, stood with the barrel smoldering hot.

  "Simon!" Jericho said, reaching for the other robot, but the android was already falling backwards with smoke trailing from his head. He landed with a thud, smoldering wires protruding from the blackened crater where his face used to be.

  In silence, Jericho stared blankly until, as if his mind switched back on, he said, "I can save Randall."

  "Malarkey!" Fugg snorted.

  "I can bring him back," Jericho said, "just not here..."

  Back on the Wanderer, they gathered in the galley around the dining table. Mel, her eyes focused on the empty chair beside her, was darkly quiet.

  "Is it safe here?" Ramus asked.

  "Long enough for what I have in mind," the robot told him.

  Fugg folded his burly arms together and snorted. "It can't be done."

  "As I said before," Jericho explained, "the avatars can download an imprint of the OI's consciousness. I can do the same with Randall's."

  "The man's dead," Fugg countered. "Let the poor bastard rest in peace."

  "Everything that we knew as Randall Davidson still exists in the node sphere," Jericho said. "At least for now."

  "For now?" Ramus asked.

  "The Omnintelligence knows this as well as we do. Even as we speak, it's tracking the nodes where I distributed Randall's consciousness. Once the OI finds and destroys them all, we'll be out of time."

  Gen touched Jericho gently. "If the OI downloads into an avatar, what will Mister Davidson download into?"

  Jericho turned his head until his eyes met hers.

  "Me," he said. "Only an advanced brain like mine can handle that much data."

  "Why not just put him into the Wanderer's computer?" Ramus asked. "We could put him into another robot once we get back home."

  "He's not going back to Eudora," Jericho said. "He must stay here and spread his message among the robots of Bettik. Until androids like myself can come here freely, they'll remain forever enslaved by the Imperials. By freeing the Bettik robots from the tyranny of the Omnintelligence, Randall can free my people in the Imperium."

  "I still don't see how you and Mister Davidson can co-exist in one mind," Gen said.

  "We can't," Jericho said. "His consciousness will overwrite mine and I will die. It's the only way."

  Gen looked horrified, but said nothing. After a few moments, she excused herself and left the room in silence.

  Ramus looked down the table at Mel, her eyes staring at nothing. "What about you, Mel? What do you think about this?"

  She looked at the captain, her eyes red. "I saw him dead there and I knew he was gone. I understand what Jericho’s saying, but it's not the same. It's not real. The Randall I cared about is dead."

  She turned away and didn't say another word.

  "Please, gentlemen," Jericho pleaded. "We need to hurry."

  "Fugg," Ramus said, "give him whatever he needs."

  When Jericho returned from the avionics bay, his stride had changed as if he were a different person. He was Davidson, or at least something that called himself that.

  "Thank you for everything," he said, shaking the captain's hand. The robot studied, for a moment, his synthetic fingers and palm as he pulled it away. "This is going to take some getting used to."

  "I can imagine," Ramus said. "What happens now?"

  "I'll disappear among the others," Davidson the robot said. "I'm one of them now so I shouldn't attract attention. It'll give me the opportunity to speak with others who share the same beliefs and, in time, hopefully I'll gain new followers."

  "Fair enough," Ramus remarked, "but will you ever return to Imperial space?"

  "Most definitely!" Davidson said. "Millions of robots remain in bondage. I'll never stop until they're all free."

  "Good luck to you then—" Ramus started.

  "One more thing," Davidson interrupted. "I know Mel and Gen didn't want to see me off. Do you think they'll be alright?"

  The captain shrugged.

  Davidson smiled weakly and descended the ramp off the ship and onto Bettik once more.

  Deeper within the ship, past the avionics bay, Mel sat at the table in the galley. From the counter, Gen brought a cup of tea over to her. Mel peered into the tea, seeing her reflection distorted by the rippled circles expanding on the surface. Mel lifted the cup and took a long sip.

  "Miss Freck," Gen broke the silence.

  "Yes?"

  "Do you remember when we all gathered here and Jericho talked about the MetaBeing?"

  "Sure."

  "When the rest of you went to bed, Jericho and I stayed."

  "Okay," Mel replied remotely.

  "I couldn't understand how a higher consciousness would make robots only to have them enslaved," Gen said. "And then Jericho told me about how he believed someone was coming on behalf of the MetaBeing, someone who would lead us to freedom."

  Mel turned and stared at the robot. "So?"

  "I think Jerry thought Randall was that someone," Gen said. "I think that's why he sacrificed himself, to make sure Randall could live on, even if that meant he would not."

  Mel's eyes began swelling with tears.

  "Oh, dear," Gen said. "I thought that would make you feel better, not make you cry!"

  Mel smiled. "It's alright. I do feel a little better."

  "And yet you shed tears," Gen said, shaking her head. "I shall never understand organics..."

  Chapter Nineteen

  The exclusive Greenwood Country Club featured amenities including an 18-hole golf course, tennis courts, and outdoor dining overlooking the Regalis River. Jessica Doric didn't approve of Lord Maycare's membership because the club only allowed humans to join. The other races, even the Dahl, were not allowed. On any other day, she would have turned down Maycare's invitation for brunch there, but her mind was too distracted by the events of the previous day. Casually sipping her Mimosa from a champagne flute, Doric barely registered the boats sailing on the river.

  The image of the Naiad filled her thoughts.

  In the courtyard of the Dharmesh Monastery, a fine mist had surrounded the water nymph as she rose from the middle of the Pool of Memory. Like a liquid sculpture, her features were both smooth and rippling, water droplets falling from her outstretched arms. Her blank eyes waited patiently for Lord Maycare to ask his questions.

  "Of course," Maycare admitted, "now that I'm here I can't think of a single thing to ask."

  Collecting herself, Doric said, "We need the locations of artifacts before Warlock Industries gets their hands on them."

  "Right," Maycare replied. "That's a good place to start."

  The Abbot, who remained beside the pool, looked pained by the delay.

  "Simply ask the Naiad and she will reply," he said, his voice full of exasperation.

  "We're looking for ancient relics," Maycare said, addressing the nymph. "Could you help us?"

  The Naiad looked at him and smiled.

  "Yes," she said in a lyrical voice.

  Maycare chuckled. "Good!"

  "Perhaps you could be more specific?" Kalidas suggested.

  "Huh? Oh yes, of course," Maycare said. "Can you tell us the location of artifacts that hold great power? Such power that they'd pose a danger if they fell into the wrong hands?"

  "What do you mean by the 'wrong hands'," the Naiad asked,

  Doric cleared her throat. "Can I g
ive it a try?"

  Maycare shrugged. "By all means..."

  "We're scholars," Doric said. "We study relics to understand the people who created them. There are others, bad men, who only want them for selfish reasons like wealth and power."

  "All knowledge is power," the Naiad replied. "The understanding you seek gives you power as well. Does that not make you the wrong hands?"

  "Well, no," Doric said. "Our intentions are good."

  "Yeah," Henry Riff interrupted. "We're the good guys!"

  "My memory holds the entirety of history as recorded by the Dhal people," the nymph said. "And in all that is chronicled, having good intentions has led to the most evil."

  "Well, maybe," Maycare said, "but I'm sure we'll do a lot better."

  The Abbot rubbed the palm of his hand against his forehead.

  "Naiad," Kalidas said. "These people only want the counsel of your great wisdom. Please help them if you can."

  "Very well," the nymph said.

  "Thank you!" Maycare replied.

  "I know of an artifact, in the domain of the robots," she said, "that has remained under their care for a very long time."

  "What is it?" Doric asked.

  "I cannot say," the Naiad replied, "but they are careful to keep it hidden."

  "Why?" Maycare asked.

  “I can only tell you,” the nymph said, “that it is something very important.”

  Maycare and Doric looked at each other. No one spoke until Henry said, “Cool!”

  Henry spilled his orange juice with a clang of glass and silverware, bringing Doric back to the present. He tried soaking up the juice with his napkin, but tipped over his water in the process.

  Doric sat at a white wicker table with her assistant to her left and Lord Maycare, smoking a cigar, to her right. She thought brunch was a little early for smoking, but Maycare begged to differ. He thought last night's trip to the monastery was more than enough reason to celebrate. The Naiad had given them more information than they could have hoped for, even if it was lacking in details.

  "We don't even know where to look," Doric remarked.

  Maycare puckered his mouth, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that drifted lazily across the dishes on the table.