Revenant

by Raymond Bayly

Nothing they had done brought down or even slowed the craft. Then, it just disappeared, along with Craylor’s hopes and dreams.

  The ship escaped to who knows where as it activated its slip drive to leave behind a very confused crew floating around in life pods.

  As soon as the Empire realized he couldn’t duplicate his success, he had become a pariah.

  He had lost everything, starting with his top floor executive office, his staff, and his swank apartment which overlooked the Craxian Sea.

  He had spent every waking moment since trying in vain to recreate the ship and the interface.

  He could redesign the ship with ease. Hell, he could even improve upon the design, but it was the damn box he couldn’t replicate.

  Despite taking full credit for it, the device which allowed a biological entity to merge with a Virtual Interface in a true melding of being and the machine to create a real Artificial Intelligence had not been his invention.

  In fact, he didn’t think it was anyone’s, at least not anyone alive.

  The little box had come to him by way of an associate in the Galactic Museum. It had been found on Gracial 4 in a fringe system of the Empire. Supposedly, they had such nonsense; history was never Craylor’s strong point.

  The box looked simple enough: a small, blue, crystalline structure with what looked like hairline cracks in it that randomly shimmered when held up to the light.

  So, his friend had asked him to take a look at it. Craylor agreed, and it sat on his desk for weeks.

  One day, while he was working through the newest VI code for the Armesis destroyers, there was an exciting occurrence.

  He had been hooking leads to his head, which would allow him to interface with his computer, to see if he could foster some basic intuitive behavior through simulation response testing.

  He had inadvertently touched a lead to the box while reaching for a small laser probe, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up two hours later. That wasn’t even the odd thing;

  His code had changed! In fact, it had rewritten itself of its own accord.

  The VI had begun making changes to its own code, the same modifications Craylor had intended, but better.

  He had typed to it at first, asking fundamental questions and getting necessary answers. Then, it had directed him to hook a speaker to the console.

  As soon as he did,

  it spoke in an artificial voice through the speakers.

  It actually spoke!

  It demonstrated knowledge of things it couldn’t possibly have known.

  Over the next few months, Craylor realized that this box could take commands directly from his mind and execute them.

  The VI was quiet and only spoke when asked a direct question.

  It linked into the WorldNet and searched through informational systems at an alarming speed. Craylor could never keep up.

  The box was the most fantastic thing Craylor had ever seen. By using discreet proxies armed with small amounts of data, he spent extensive time and credits trying to ascertain what it was made of, where it had come from, and if there were more to be found.

  In all cases, the answers were negative.

  No current technology could penetrate the box or map its internal contents.

  The only thing that could be said for sure was that it contained both unknown biological components and trace metals never seen, not in 100 worlds.

  This was indeed a black box,

  and it was all Craylor’s.

  Of course, he had to ensure that it remained that way. Luckily, Orthon, who was always looking for an angle, had appropriated it at the dig site without anyone knowing it had been there.

  As far as the museum was concerned, it had never existed.

  Orthon may have been a friend, but business was business, and to a Cheverice, there wasn’t any pursuit higher than that of building your family’s standing, power, and wealth.

  Apparently, there could be no connection between him and the box from that dig, not if he wanted the credit for it.

  Orthon’s funeral had been beautiful, and Craylor had said some pleasant things about his dear friend.

  With the threat eliminated, he went into a full testing mode with the box.

  The ability to give sentience to a computer was a problem that every scientist had been trying to solve for ages, but no one had been able to do it thus far.

  No amount of code would allow a machine to make intuitive jumps or emotional connections.

  Until now.

  With the information provided by the box, he integrated it into his ship’s mainframe. Then, using the box’s design, Craylor came up with a strategy to interface command from his chair to the box.

  It had been brilliant!

  Now, he was a joke:

  the genius who never was.

  He couldn’t even get a meeting with the assistant of an assistant to a council member!

  More than once, Craylor thought about ending his own life but never had the guts actually to do it.

  He looked at the new design floating above his table and wondered why he even bothered.

  No one would ever want to see his designs ever again!

  He was a cautionary tale to young engineers and a joke to peers.

  Looking back, it was possible that he had been too quick to end Orthon’s life since he’d probably been the only one who could have possibly told him where the crystalline box had indeed come from, and more importantly, who had made it.

  He had even gone so far as to orchestrate break-ins at Orthon’s home and office (to what end?) but had turned up nothing.

  When that line went bust, he had begun to hire informants and mercenaries to track down the rogue ship and her captain, though the captain could take a spacewalk for all he cared.

  All of this was to no avail.

  Every lead turned out to be cold or a fake.

  Craylor finally gave up and resigned himself to the fact that the ship was probably derelict and floating in space or had finally crashed on a planet somewhere.

  Both options left him empty-handed and relegated to a long exile within the Empire.

  Neera burst through the door, interrupting his melancholy.

  She was a member of a race the Empire had conquered a few decades ago.

  She wasn’t much to look at either: tall and gangly, with sickly pale skin that shone translucent in the light.

  Her mouth was beak-like, and her wide-set, deep-blue eyes always seemed to be too big for her small head.

  Extending from her midsection were six small arms, each one always appearing to be carrying something, or performing some menial activity. Craylor could never remember the name of her race and didn’t much care to.

  Neera was not a citizen of the Empire, but an indentured servant working off her debt.

  She was very good at keeping him organized, which is probably why he had kept her around for so long.

  They were not a very athletic race, but it appeared she had just run over to him.

  Craylor waited impatiently until the gangly creature could speak through the sucking breaths wheezing in through her beak.

  ” I had asked not to be disturbed. What is so important?” He barked at her when she appeared to have regained her composure.

  “Sir, the beacon just went off!” she forced out, still trying to catch her breath as her chest heaved rapidly.

  Confused, Craylor tilted his head.

  “Which beacon? If it’s not in danger, we can take care of…”

  That was as far as he got before Neera interrupted him.

  “Sir, THE beacon, the Nismel. It just pinged our network.”

  Suddenly, a smile spread across Craylor’s face. Because of the failsafe he had secretly integrated into the ship, he could surmise that Vasimer was no longer alive or had somehow been separated from the vessel.

  Either way, he could now track the ship, and finally, recover that which was his.

  He could regain his honor, his power, and
his creation box! Neera took a visible step back at his smile, then regained her composure.

  “What would you like me to do, Sir?” she queried. Craylor thought for a moment, then pulled up his console. He located the pinging beacon, but there was no location listed with it.

  “Neera, where is the ship?” he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

  “The ship is well outside our known tracking network. The system is currently trying to triangulate its position. It could take a while, as the area of space they are in is not mapped and remains unknown to us.” She answered Craylor slumped a little.

  So close, yet so far.

  “Inform me the second the system pinpoints a location… The Second!” he demanded, thrusting a

  long-webbed finger at her for emphasis.

  Neera nodded, spun, and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  FIVE

  Dinner Party

  Blake awoke in a dark room. There was no sound, and barely enough light to assess his surroundings. Shifting his shoulders, he felt cold metal under his back.

  Slowly, his right arm slid over the table, searching for his gun. Much to his dismay, there was nothing there except for a slightly raised edge.

  He cursed under his breath. As the last of the fog lifted from his brain,

  Blake realized his entire backside was on metal.

  He patted his body curiously only to discover he was naked.

  Blake carefully sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. Probing his neck with his left hand, his fingers felt the telltale bump directly over his carotid artery.

  Probably ketamine or something, he thought

  wincing as a sharp pain shot up his neck in response to the pressure he’d put on the bump.

  He squinted into the darkness and could barely make out the surrounding walls.

  He estimated the dimly lit room to be about an eight-foot square and through the low light he couldn’t make out any edges, doors or sensors. Military? He wondered.

  This had top secret written all over it.

  Shit, I’d put money on a drone test flight and probably blundered right onto it.

  No good deed goes unpunished!

  Now, I get to go through the standard Homeland interrogation and spend my otherwise restful weekend getting grilled by the suits.

  He began to stand up.

  “Please remain seated,” a female voice stated. Based on the lack of inflection, Blake surmised it was more likely an automated response.

  “First, fuck off! Second, where the hell am I? Third, lawyer, and not necessarily in that order. Okay, Microsoft Barbie?” Blake barked out at the dark room.

  He stood up, and his feet shot out from under him suddenly, landing him ass-first on the floor. “Fucking great,” Blake exclaimed to no one in particular.

  “I warned you not to stand yet. Please, give it a moment to wear off.” The voice stated dispassionately

  Blake planted both hands on the ground and pushed on his heels, testing his legs to ensure they would cooperate.

  Once he felt they were strong enough, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and pushed up. He was halfway to a standing position when his legs failed once more.

  Pain shot up his spine as his posterior fell crashing to the hard floor.

  “Shit on me,” he whispered to himself as he settled into a sitting position.

  Since he wasn’t going anywhere, he might as well find out where he was.

  “Alright, so are you going to tell me who you are and where the hell I am or am I just going to sit here with my junk hanging out all over your nice clean floor?” he groused.

  The lights began to rise in the room, and the voice seemed to come from everywhere.

  “This is the Nismel, an experimental battleship of the great Preaton Empire. You were brought here to see if you might be of service to me. I apologize in advance and assure you this won’t hurt a bit.”

  As the last words echoed away, to his horror tendrils of gas began to snake its way down the walls to pool along the floor.

  Blake, now in a full panic covered his mouth and nose with his left hand and began to frantically feel along the walls for some sort of hidden exit.

  Before Blake could make it across half of the room; a curtain of darkness fell over his eyes and mind and not for the first time today,

  Blake fell unceremoniously to the floor with an audible thump.

  Shiasla studied Blake as he laid unconscious.

  The man was by no means perfect, but he would do. In fact, he was exactly what she needed.

  A slender arm protruded from the wall, and a needle emerged from it.

  She had to know more.

  The Captain had voiced his reservations, but still, she had to remain positive, this had to be the race if not all would be lost.

  There would be no second chance in this.

  The needle slid into Blake’s neck, and a stream of microscopic nanites poured into his bloodstream through the needle’s pointed tip.

  As they entered his system, the nanites began to search out nerve endings they could attach themselves to.

  Once integrated, they started transmitting data which gave a detailed overview of this human.

  This being would do nicely, but alterations would have to be made before Shiasla could interface with the subject.

  This would be both for immediate and long-term pairing needs.

  We were successful, Vasimer, Shiasla thought with a hint of sadness.

  More mechanical arms appeared out of the walls of the small room and lifted the subject back onto the table he fell from.

  Reviewing the Medical AI’s scan of the human Shiasla had learned a great deal about this creature and his kind.

  She was satisfied that Blake not only held the DNA marker for pairing but also had the malleable biologic makeup that would allow for advanced augmentation.

  Shiasla knew she would have to hurry with this one. The medical AI-powered up all its components and systems to begin the process of augmenting Blake.

  It would complete this subject, then hold him in stasis while it collected the others.

  He seemed unusually willful, and Shiasla thought he might cause trouble while she was focused on the others.

  While part of her worked on Blake, another part of her consciousness began checking the data on the probes to ensure they were making progress on recruiting her other crew members.

  There would need to be three: a captain, a ship engineer, and a pilot.

  Plans within plans began to turn.

  The members of her crew had an arduous task ahead of them, one that they had no knowledge of, nor would they until the time was right.

  As Shiasla viewed the memories within the subject’s brain, she saw his life, the war, and every experience that he had experienced.

  She was now certain... This was the species.

  They would not back down.

  They would not bend their knee to anyone who tried to force them.

  She had found her potential leaders.

  As laser sharpened knives and instruments began to go to work on Blake, other machines used suction to collect the excess blood.

  The muscle was reinforced with nano-fibers, the bone was injected with malleable metal, and his scalp was detached…

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  SIX

  Our Lord and Savior

  Seafu knelt in front of the eternal flame while he fought to calm his mind.

  Fear crashed against reason like waves against a jetty during a storm.

  Unable to find peace, He focused on what was bothering him.

  Having received the last message from the box called Shiasla more than a day ago telling him of her success and giving two sets of coordinates.

  Up until that moment, his life’s work had been a theory, an intellectual exercise at best, but that had changed in an instant with the message:

  “It is almo
st time.”

  Now, it was real, It was happening.

  I am just a monk. How am I supposed to lead these people? He thought,

  his mind betraying his fears.

  He had known this time would come ever since he had been asked to place one of the boxes in some ruins on a distant planet.

  The message had come from a still yet unknown source who had directed him to remove one of the boxes from the tomb.

  He had felt uncomfortable, but orders with that clearance could only come from one much higher, possibly the boxes themselves.

  He brushed the long, white strand of fur out of his red eyes with one of his talons and sighed.

  Staring at the flame did nothing to still the fear and doubt he was wrestling with.

  He did not know if he could do this.

  Once the universe knew of the boxes and what was coming, his people would be hunted for any information by the likes of the Empire, and worse. In truth, he was more than a monk.

  He was the spiritual leader for the Initiates of the Path, but he was sought after for direction rather than military strategy, political tact, or logistical advice.

  He sighed and prayed to whoever was listening for guidance, but none came.

  As Seafu sat in the Temple, he could hear the slow, steady breathing of another presence.

  He knew she was there, there and excited at the prospect of sneaking up on her teacher and surprising him.

  She had waited patiently, searching for just the right time.

  He was proud of Xera;

  she was one of the best students of the Path he had taught in a long time.

  Xera was a Creaton, a warrior race bred by the Empire to fight their surface battles.

  They were strong, fast, intelligent, and very feral. Despite their function as enforcers, they were beautiful creatures that moved with the grace of skilled dancers.

  Bred to move quickly and quietly, they were able to see in complete darkness and could track their prey by scent or movement.

  In essence, they were some of the deadliest warriors in the entirety of the Galaxy.

  Seafu had found Xera amidst a battlefield two decades ago.

  Her parents had died in the Kairngerm revolt when the Empire had begun to expand its borders yet again.