Robot Empire_Dawn Exodus

by Kevin Partner

  “None of which would explain the interest of the chancellor,” Indi said, unable to hide his disappointment.

  Dropping her empty tumbler on the table, Bex moved somewhat unsteadily towards the door. “We’d better take a closer look, then. Shall I plot a course, captain?”

  Indi nodded. “Yes, navigator. Get us there as quickly as safety allows, I want to know what Lucius was trying to hide before we report to her majesty.”

  The asteroid dominated the bridge display. Relentless had approached it from the side and its landscape could be seen gently tumbling beneath the ship, giving the impression that they were approaching it more quickly than they actually were.

  “Mass estimates confirmed,” Bex said from the navigator’s pit, “it’s too light for its composition. And there’s not a hint of wobble in its rotation.”

  Indi leant back in his chair, his gaze flitting across the multitude of displays that appeared to hover in front of him. “And yet it looks perfectly natural. After all, it can’t be man-made - even the ships of the empire weren’t as large as this and I never heard of the imperials flying asteroids.”

  “Hold on, I’m detecting electro-magnetics, and pure metals. Tracing the source of the readings and magnifying. Accessing drone footage of the far end of the asteroid,” Bex said, her hands playing across her console with all the speed and dexterity of a concert pianist.

  A section of the display squared itself off and leapt out.

  “By the gods, what is that?” Indi said. He was pointing at a group of circular markings on the otherwise browny-grey surface. As the picture sharpened, it resolved itself into a cluster of domes positioned precisely in the centre of this end of the asteroid - exactly on its axis of rotation. The probe had matched the asteroid’s spin so the structures remained apparently stationery and there, to one side, was the unmistakable shape of a Vanis Federation yacht.

  “Red alert,” Indi said.

  Threat

  “This is the destroyer Relentless hailing the asteroid. We are transmitting on all radio frequencies to be sure that you receive this message. You are sheltering a known criminal who has stolen property belonging to Her Majesty Victorea, Empress of the Vanis Federation. Release him to us or prepare to be boarded.”

  Arla stood in Comms and watched the soundwave dance on the display as the message was played again. She’d found it hard to understand at first but her time with Hal had acclimatised her, at least somewhat, to the local accent and dialect. Aside from her and the impassive space-suited figure of Lieutenant Commander Patel, Comms was unoccupied. Hal had been kept in the airlock and all passageways between there and here had been emptied.

  “Analysis?” Patel said.

  Arla looked up, imagining she could see through the shaded visor. “It seems pretty clear - though we don’t know what their capability to harm us is, it might be all bluff.”

  “Computer, display schematic analysis of Relentless.”

  A wall panel flickered alight and a line drawn rendering of the destroyer faded in. It was beautiful in the same way that a shark is - a triumph of killing efficiency over aesthetics. There was no cohesive outer plating, the external skin being made up of a hodge-podge of interlocking hexagons that presumably acted to absorb the energy of impacts, whether these were the random hazards of space or a deliberate attack.

  “Show weapons systems,” Patel barked.

  The bright white schematic was overlaid with red flashing areas.

  “And these are all weapons?” Arla said. “You’re sure?”

  Patel pointed at the display. “These areas are emitting more energy than any other parts of the ship, even the engines. I think it’s safe to assume, given they’re pointing in our direction, that they could, if they wished, destroy the command centre even if they couldn’t reach the valleys themselves. In fact, there’s no reason to believe that they know the valleys exist at all: an external scan of Dawn would reveal nothing more than this dome, the thrusters and the attitude control engines.”

  “So how are we going to respond to them?”

  Patel shrugged. “That is why you are here. You’ve spoken to the prisoner - quite deliberately at a level our microphones couldn’t pick up, I might add.”

  “But then I am, after all, dispensable, as you explained to him when you threw me in there,” Arla snapped.

  “We didn’t want him to believe he could achieve anything by taking you hostage,” Patel said. “And, in any case, this is now a matter of the survival of us all - there is no time for personal vendettas. What is your analysis?”

  Arla sighed. “Well, I think, overall, his story is genuine. After our mission launched, a technology was developed that allowed for fast interstellar travel so while we drifted between stars, humanity spread in what it called The Sphere - a kind of galactic empire. But then it all collapsed and split into smaller units like the Vanis Federation.”

  “And their technology? It must be considerably advanced compared to ours.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Arla said, waving her hand at the schematic, “though it wouldn’t be hard to outgun us as we’ve got barely any weapons at all.”

  “True: most of our capability is designed for pinpointing and destroying natural threats that might collide with us, the mission planners didn’t foresee armed conflict,” Patel said. “Perhaps we should have known that human ingenuity would defy the laws of physics, but that mankind wouldn’t outgrow its baser instincts.”

  Arla looked up at the suited figure beside her. Patel was a slim man of just under two metres and, therefore, half a metre taller than she was. She couldn’t see his face behind the visor but she imagined him sadly shaking his head.

  “Aside from weaponry, however, the only tech I saw was his suit and it didn’t look much different to ours - he definitely didn’t strike me as a man from the future,” she said. “And they don’t have any robots or AIs.”

  Patel grabbed her arms. “What? How can that be? They’ve had centuries to progress beyond us in robotics. Are you certain?”

  “I can only tell you what the prisoner told me,” she said, pulling herself from his grip. “There was some change to their programming and they all left. The Sphere never recovered. He says robots are to blame for its collapse.”

  “Impossible. The duty of all robots is to serve humans. How can that be achieved by causing the collapse of their society?”

  Arla was puzzled. She’d been surprised when Hal had told her this, but Patel seemed genuinely shocked and at a loss for any response. He stood perfectly still as if thinking it through, with no regard to her at all.

  “So, what are we going to say to them?” Arla asked the frozen figure beside her. “What does the captain think of all this?”

  Patel’s helmet swung slowly in her direction. “Yes, the captain. He must be informed. The obvious course would be to hand...” he paused momentarily as if searching for the perfectly obvious next word, “...over the prisoner, but this must be done under the captain’s authority.”

  “No! That can’t be right - he’s a human being, not a bargaining chip.” Arla was surprised at her own vehemence, it wasn’t as if she particularly liked Hal.

  Again, Patel seemed to pause as if constructing the next sentence. “The needs of the five thousand people on Dawn must outweigh those of a single human,” he managed. “But it is the captain’s task to make such ... decisions.”

  “Then I want to see the captain,” Arla said, hardly able to believe what she was saying as the words came out of her mouth.

  Patel turned on his heels and walked away. “That is impossible as you well know,” he said over his shoulder. “The captain is the most important person on the ship and must be protected from the risk of infection at all costs.”

  He reached the door which slid open and then shut again behind him, locking with a final clunk.

  Arla collapsed into one of the chairs. It was very strange to be here alone but for the quiet chirruping and occasional beeps o
f the machinery. Whenever she’d been in Comms before, whether during training or on shift, the place was packed and the dominant sound was the low hubbub of conversation. Standing here in a spacesuit was even weirder - almost like going to bed in your work-clothes.

  Even more odd was the experience of being in the physical presence of an officer. Instinctively she glanced across at the largest display, set in the middle of the main wall. Dark at the moment, this was the portal through which the officers had always communicated with the crew. It was only in the gravest situations that officers would appear in person, the last being when a meteoroid had punctured a weak spot on the Command Centre dome - it had been the officers who, in their pristine white spacesuits, had led the repair efforts and saved everyone. In fact, were it not for these rare appearances, there would have been no evidence they were any more than AI projections themselves.

  “Arla? Are you receiving?”

  The voice was coming from her helmet speaker. “Ki? Is that you?”

  “Thank the Goddess,” the voice continued. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, where are you?”

  “This line is not secure. Isolate one of the consoles, use our encryption code.”

  Arla twisted off her helmet and dropped it onto the chair next to her as she seated herself at the nearest console. With a touch, she brought it to life and began working on the mechanical keyboard. She and Kiama had been close friends when they’d first joined the crew and had agreed a particular password they’d use if they ever needed to communicate privately. Since that time, Kiama had become a gifted crew-member marked, presumably, for command while Arla was considered something of a loose cannon. So, their friendship had waned as neither could quite understand the other. But she still remembered the password.

  NorthAndSouth

  As soon as she’d typed those words in, the console’s communication stream came online and Kiama’s face appeared on the desktop display.

  “Where are you?” Arla asked.

  Kiama looked left and right as if worried she’d be overheard. “We’ve been evacuated to the hub. As far as I can tell, you and the officers are the only people in C Squared - except for the prisoner. What’s happened?”

  “A ship is approaching and it’s demanding we hand Hal, the prisoner, over.”

  Kiama’s mouth dropped open. “So it’s true - people got here before us.”

  “Yes, by over a thousand years. Long enough for an empire to be born, live and die while we were in transit. Patel wants to hand Hal over - he’s gone to ask the captain to make a decision.”

  “Good grief,” Kiama said, brushing an errant curly lock from her forehead. “The captain’s not been called on for a command decision in years.”

  Arla knew this. In fact it was a key subject of the scuttlebutt amongst the crew. Rumour had it that the captain who, like the officers, transmitted his orders through the displays, spent his time in a private penthouse set into the outer wall of the asteroid where he could gaze out at the stars, dine on the finest stored produce and drink rare wines. He was also reputed to have a working model of an old sailing ship steering wheel which he used from time to time to make course corrections. And no-one knew how long he’d been captain - none of the crew could remember any previous commander.

  “This is the destroyer Relentless hailing the asteroid. We are transmitting on all radio frequencies to be sure that you receive this message. You are sheltering a known criminal who has stolen property belonging to Her Majesty Victorea, Empress of the Vanis Federation.

  If you do not respond immediately, we will consider that an act of aggression and will launch our attack. Be warned, we are arming our weapons.”

  “By the Goddess,” Kiama said, “quick, Arla, you must respond!”

  “Me? Are you serious? I can’t speak for the ship!”

  Kiama’s face loomed large in the display. “You must, Arla. They have nukes!”

  Response

  “Captain, we’re receiving a transmission!”

  Indi woke instantly from the half-sleep he’d been enjoying. “Where from?” he said as his mind lagged behind his mouth.

  “The asteroid, sir.” Fortunately Comms Officer Rembrant was sensible enough to overlook the stupidity of her commanding officer’s question. It had been a long shift for all of them. Mind you, if she’d been dozing on the job she could imagine what his reaction would have been.

  “Patch it through to the duty room,” he said, ignoring the disappointed look on Rembrant’s face.

  He waited until the door had hissed shut behind him before sitting at the only station in the tiny room. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his crew, but he felt that this conversation might be best had in private.

  He touched the flashing red rectangle on the panel and transferred his gaze to the display above it. “I’m having trouble matching protocols, captain,” Rembrant’s tinny voice said. “Audio is easy enough, but the stream contains visual data and I’m working with Nareshkumar to modify our algorithms on the fly.”

  “Acknowledged,” Indi said. He wanted to see who he was talking to - you could learn so much more that way. Technician Nareshkumar was some sort of savant genius; Rembrant had done well to ask for his help. If he couldn’t whip the ship’s algorithms into shape no-one could.

  Sure enough, within seconds, a dancing haze appeared on the display which slowly, pixel by pixel, began to organise itself into the image of a face.

  “That’s about as good as it’s going to get, sir, at least until we can devote more time to sharpening the procedures.”

  It was a young woman. Indistinct and almost submerged beneath white noise, he could see her lips moving but could hear nothing. He almost barked into the microphone before he realised that he’d shut off the volume himself so Rembrant and the geek wouldn’t be able to hear. He flicked the toggle.

  “...not a threat. Repeat, this is Dawn responding to Relentless. Are you receiving me? We are an unarmed vessel and mean you no harm. We are not a threat. Please acknowledge.” The voice was so heavily accented that he was forced to replay it twice before he could fully understand it.

  Indi punched the console. There was little point trying to gain any more information from the display: he could make out the general appearance of the woman’s face but nothing about her surroundings. “This is Captain Indi of Relentless, do you have the occupant of the stolen vessel?”

  The face froze and for a moment he wondered if the video feed had been lost, but then the lips started moving and the voice followed a second or two out of sync. “We have him safe, Captain,” the woman said, this time speaking slowly. She seemed so young. It puzzled him: what sort of an outpost, even one as outlandish as this appeared to be, had a mere girl as its captain? Everything about this situation seemed odd. What was this “Dawn”? He felt as though the next few moments might be career-defining.

  “Prepare to hand him over,” he said, also slowing down his speech to be sure he could be understood, “our transport will arrive shortly. Please be aware that it’s armed and we will use deadly force to retrieve the traitor if necessary.”

  Another pause. “We need time to prepare to hand over the prisoner,” the girl crackled. “We evacuated our command centre when your vessel approached and it will take time to re-establish normal operation.”

  Indi grunted. “You are stalling,” he said, “but I will keep the transport in orbit around your ...vessel... for one hour. I expect to see the prisoner on the surface when my ship lands.” He stabbed down on the contact and the face disappeared.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Arla strode up and down the metallic walkway, running her hands through her hair and shaking her head.

  Kiama had tried to calm her, but Arla wasn’t listening, she continued to walk up and down, glancing occasionally at the command display in the hope that an officer would appear and tell her what to do.

  “Where are they?” she said, “I mean, of all the times to go AWOL, they can’t all be
consulting with the captain can they? What if they have a plan? What if I’ve just messed it up by pissing off Relentless? What do I do, Ki? What do I do?”

  “You can stop wearing out the gantry, for a start”, Kiama said, “Now, sit down so we can talk face to face.”

  Arla dropped into the chair and looked down at Kiama’s face. She could feel the sweat running down her back. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

  “I don’t know where the officers are,” Kiama said, looking about her as if one might have been hiding in a corner of the room she was broadcasting from. “We’re locked out of C Squared and there are none out here with us. I guess they’re with the captain, but maybe they don’t know about the deadline.”

  “So, what should I do?”

  Kiama leaned forward, her face filling the display. “You have no choice, you have to see the captain.”

  “What? Are you insane? No-one sees him, no-one’s ever seen him.”

  Shrugging, her friend leaned back again and said, quite casually: “Well, in that case, there’s only one thing for it. You’ll have to shove the prisoner out of the airlock.”

  It was dark in the cabin of Lucius, Lord Chancellor of the Vanis Federation. The only illumination came from the holographic display that extruded from the desk he was sitting at. His fingers played over the lightboard with an almost inhuman speed and accuracy as he watched dense lines of characters cascade across the viewport.

  The task itself was well within his capabilities, though he’d have been unable to make even a start without help from Navigator Bex who’d provided the access codes for the ship’s computer system. The code was crude - as in so many other ways, programming skills had declined since the days of The Sphere - and he found navigating the sprawling alleyways of poorly constructed code an almost painful experience. Technician Nareshkumar was the only person he’d met - aside, perhaps, from Bex herself - who was competent enough to make changes to the ship’s systems and Lucius wasn’t sure yet whether he could be trusted.