Remember the Starfighter

by Michael Kan

  The commander pointed to the hologram. It showed a world spinning in space, only to suddenly be consumed.

  “You know what this is, correct?”

  “Yes,” she said. “The enemy barrier.”

  “Unfortunately, all six of the former seed colonies have been subjugated or abandoned,” the commander said. “But still we continue to survive, joining with other alien races to fight the invaders.”

  The woman glared at the image, the planet swallowed away by the enemy’s shield. Gradually, it faded, the commander shutting down the projection.

  “No...” she said. “We can stop this.”

  The woman turned to the pilot, raising her voice.

  “My vessel. It carried technology. Was any of it salvaged?”

  The man shook his head.

  “We had little time when the attack came. Only enough for me to escort you. The enemy, it destroyed everything, including your ship.”

  “But there was another.”

  “Another?”

  “Yes. Control. Another artificial being like me.”

  She looked at him and begged for an answer. Some hope that her overseer was still alive.

  “My commanding officer mentioned no such thing,” the pilot bluntly said. “Even when I had found your vessel in space, I didn’t come across anything else. Just asteroid and debris. All I had was a vague reading of your ship’s presence.”

  It was not the answer she had wanted, but the one reality had given her. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t help but feel the sensation — the rogue-like programming convulsing inside.

  “Are you all right?” the pilot asked.

  She heard the words, but struggled to respond. Sadness, anger, despair — the deviant protocols had begun to overcome her. Wincing, the woman clasped her face with her hand, wanting to somehow contain the suffering.

  “My ship. The enemy would stop at nothing to claim it.”

  “But you’re safe now,” the commander said. “We can protect you.”

  “No. That no longer matters. It was the technology... It was imperative... We had hoped you would receive it.”

  She fell to the floor on her knees, devoured by the escalating processes. She initiated the diagnostics once more, but knew it to be futile.

  “Stay with us,” the pilot said. “We need you.”

  The two men came to her side, gripping the metal construct of her body. Finding it too heavy to lift, they slowly laid her against the room’s wall, the woman’s back arcing in agony.

  “What’s happening to you? We can help you,” the pilot yelled.

  She placed her face in her hands, shaking her head frantically.

  “It doesn’t matter. Control...The technology...” she cried, feeling the weakness spread. “No...”

  “Tell us. What’s so important about it? The technology.”

  Gasping, the woman shuddered.

  “It can nullify the shield,” she explained. “It can save your people.”

  ***

  Julian leaned back, watching the live feed on the lab room wall. On it, he could see the body, the metallic frame now lying still under a battery of scans.

  “Save them,” she had pled. “You can save them...”

  The so-called android. He remembered her trembling on the floor, struggling to speak. Julian and Landon had tried to calm her, sitting at the side of the artificial woman. Repeatedly, he had asked what was wrong, gripping the woman hard with his two bare hands. But almost violently, she shook, throbbing in her pain.

  Recalling the words, Julian stood with his shoulders crossed and peered at the image. It showed the woman still locked inside her chamber, her body raised onto a platform. The panic and suffering had left her, the ataxia replaced by a mysterious calm. Seemingly she slept, her eyes closed, her body gone limp. Next to her, hovered Sekandary, the alien’s pod-like body floating in the air as the scans proceeded. Layers of lights beamed upon the woman, the glimmer shinning off her chrome exterior.

  The door to the lab room opened, as Landon walked in. He moved heavily, frustrated by what he had just learned.

  “Nothing?” Julian asked.

  “Nothing,” Landon replied. “Just nothing.”

  The woman was no longer responding, not even via the communication signal linked into her systems. Sekandary continued to initiate the scans, hoping to re-initiate contact. So far, all that showed was that her internal processes had stopped to a halt, the android’s body effectively shutting down.

  “We are so close,” Landon said. “So close to understanding everything. We need her. We need to know.”

  He said the words as if barking orders, his voice carrying an intensity Julian had rarely seen. The impatient gaze in Landon’s eyes, the tension in his face. It was unmistakable — he was furious.

  “I’m sorry Julian,” he unexpectedly said. “You and the brave crew of Bydandia sacrificed so much. But now...”

  Landon placed his hand to touch the image of the android, only to watch as his fingers passed through the pixels of the hologram. Sighing, he slowly pulled back and stared away.

  “Do you believe her?” Julian asked. “What she said. About the shield. About everything?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I have to.”

  It was a realization that Julian was only beginning to recognize. That perhaps the shield was not only permeable, but could be broken. That perhaps billions, even trillions of lives, still survived behind the enemy barriers.

  In truth, Julian was in doubt, unsure of such grand claims. But Landon was adamant.

  “She’s the key,” he said. “She can change all of this. I know it. I can feel it.”

  Skeptical, Julian looked back at the live feed, and wondered.

  “I know Old Earth used service bots. Some even had a simulated sentience,” he said. “But this, she’s so...”

  “Real?”

  “I was going to say volatile. Unstable.”

  Landon smirked.

  “I know what you mean. But you and I were both there. She looked scared. It was like she was on the verge of tears. Those emotions. They were not an act.”

  Julian could not deny it. He had seen it firsthand. The android’s face seemed to be a palette of emotion, the anger, worry, and fear pouring out from within. He could sense the vulnerability, the humanity emanating in both body and voice.

  “Yeah,” he conceded. “She’s just a girl.”

  Recognizing his folly, Julian shook his head. “A woman from Earth. I never imagined...”

  Landon, however, said nothing, only wanting to stare at the live feed of the android.

  “I’m sure Sekandary will find a way to revive her,” Julian said. “It will only be a matter of time.”

  “And what if Sekandry can’t?” he replied. “What then?”

  Landon eased back in his posture, trying to relinquish the grave expression on his face. But still it was there, the seriousness creeping into his voice.

  “You don’t know this. But there’s talk about disassembling her,” he said. “They want to break her apart, and harvest the information directly.”

  “Who’s talking about this?” Julian asked.

  “The Alliance Supreme Council. Secretly, the members have been discussing this matter for days now, trying to understand the implications of her arrival. Many are still in doubt, and demanding more answers.”

  “And Sekandry? Is he on board with this?”

  “He’s hesitant. This android’s consciousness is not like other standard Alliance A.I. Trying to decrypt the data inside her would take time, maybe even be impossible. That’s why he wanted us here. To at least try to talk with her.”

  Julian glanced back at the image of the woman, scoffing at the thought.

  “I guess we failed in that regard,” he said, watching as the scans continued to pass through the android’s body.

  “But we got a glimpse,” Landon countered. “She wanted to find us. Traveling across the galaxy to do so. I have to bel
ieve there’s a reason she’s here.”

  “But does it even matter?” he asked. “The technology she spoke of is gone. Lost at Bydandia.”

  Landon nodded, acknowledging that Julian was right. “I know,” he said grimly. Closing his eyes, he had no choice but to accept it.

  “Given her current state, perhaps we have to disassemble her,” he admitted. “Still I fear. I fear that we may have already lost our chance.”

  Chapter 23

  In general, mind reading was like remembering a dream. The contents were always obscure. The images both blurred and fleeting. The clarity rare.

  This was especially true when reading the minds of other humans. Naturally, the consciousness had a tendency to wander, moving from one thought to another in a whim. People, places and things could appear randomly, only to confuse and fade, decaying into shadow and oblivion. Even an experienced telepath might struggle, needing time and patience to comprehend the target’s winding psyche.

  But this could not be said of Julian. Inside his consciousness, repeated the same memory over and over again. It was as clear as day.

  Mentally, Landon saw the images. A fleet of ships had exploded to its demise. A moon and its military base were under attack. All around him, the world was beginning to burn, the battle unfolding before his very eyes. It was a memory that seemed like his own, a memory tainted with trauma. Pulling his telepathy away, Landon could only help but shudder.

  “Bydandia,” he said. “It’s still on your mind, isn’t it?”

  It was a question that wallowed into a pool of silence. Across from Landon, Julian stood only a few footsteps away, looking off into the surrounding view. Following along the tunneled path, the transport continued its ascent, moving through the station’s umbral inner paths and into the Alliance cityscape.

  “The mental suppression regimes. Have you been taking them?” Landon asked.

  “No. Not anymore,” Julian replied, slowly raising his head. He wheezed out the words, trying to bear his discomfort.

  “Is that really prudent? This is your second rejuvenation. I imagine it must be difficult.”

  “It could be worse,” Julian said, his face folding back into apathy. “But I’ve had enough. I’m tired of the drugs, tired of the monitoring gear. Tired of all the medical crap feeding into my veins.”

  Letting his head fall to the side, Julian exhaled deeply, venting the silos of exhaustion.

  “I just need time. Time to be away from everything.”

  He gave a half-smile, hoping to deflect any worries. “I’m fine,” he further insisted, massaging the temples to his head. But Landon could see through the act, the strain of it all still brimming from Julian’s face; it was pure stoicism.

  “Is what they say true?” he asked. “That the rejuvenation treatment can alter your memories?”

  “I’m guessing you saw my medical profile.” Julian said. He brushed his hand through his hair, the shaved strands at his fingertips. Reaching further, he touched the back of his head, and imagined feeling it: the area where his scalp had been split open and left to operate upon.

  “Maybe that’s just a medical way of saying my mind is fucked,” he said. “I’m not even a hundred percent human anymore.”

  Julian chuckled, marinating his laugh in the sarcasm. But he could see Landon was not amused. Letting his laugh die out, Julian grumbled, resigned to the only reply he could give.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Forget it, Julian wanted to say. The past no longer mattered. He could have easily uttered the excuse and shut up. He had done so before, never wanting to say a word about himself.

  But this time, it was different. Julian looked at Landon, and imagined that perhaps he already knew. All those excuses were simply lies, another cliché that sat between Julian and his emotions. He was far too exhausted to keep his guard up. Too tired to keep the pity at bay. This was Landon after all. Not just a telepath, but a man he had once called friend.

  “The first rejuvenation was worse,” he said. “Much worse.”

  Julian spoke lightly, not wanting to give his condition much weight. Yet to look at him was to see a man who had died not once, but twice. Out of a cruel coincidence, Landon had been present both times Julian had been dead. The first time, happening years before.

  “I know,” Landon said. “I remember.”

  Pursing his lips, Julian brandished what was an ill attempt at a smile. It was an empty one.

  “I guess I’m lucky that I’m alive at all. But dying like that... You lose something. Things that you never get back.”

  Julian then pointed to the side of his head, his two fingers twisting like a surgical drill.

  “My memory. I’ve lost some of it.”

  “How so?”

  “Four years ago, in the...accident. The damage to my brain was so severe. The hole in my head, the doctors just did what they could.”

  Julian gave a deadpan look, numb to the imagery his words conveyed.

  “I’m sorry,” Landon said. “I just assumed you recovered. You can still fly. You still remember me.”

  “But the other things...” he said. “Fuck. I don’t even remember my family any more. Or why I even joined. So many early memories, the gaps…”

  Julian closed his eyes, flinching at the thought.

  “The memory loss. How bad was it?” Landon asked.

  “20, maybe 30 percent. Who knows? A giant chunk is just gone.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Julian nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor.

  “I can’t even remember why I became a pilot. Just little things, gone. Enough to make you feel lost.”

  He stood there, pensive, reminded of the fact, that for a time, Julian could face no one. He had left behind his family, and any semblance of a normal life. He was just a casualty of war, forced to pick up the pieces when he could find none.

  “I feel I’m to blame,” Landon told him. “What happened to you, four years ago, I can’t help, but—”

  “No,” Julian said, raising a hand in protest. “I blame no one. No one, but myself. It’s my mistake. Mine alone.”

  He could feel the guilt come over him like an illness. Grabbing a handrail next to the transport window, Julian squeezed hard.

  “Besides. I have plenty of memories. So many of them clear. The military, the war. Too bad it’s done me no good to remember them. Maybe I don’t want to remember.”

  It was easy for Julian to see them. Even his most recent experiences could not wash away the stench of death. Tapping the metal handrail, Julian felt his fingers twitch, shivering to some subconscious thought. He grabbed at them with his other hand, forcing them silent.

  As Julian held his hands tightly, the transport arrived at its destination. The elevator-like frame held still, the subtle hum of its gears abating. Now sitting through the glass door was an Alliance promenade, the pathway leading to a shuttle hub not far.

  He did not immediately exit, wanting to instead take a moment to breathe. Wiping his eyes, Julian straightened his shoulders, trying to find some normalcy.

  “Where will you go after this?” Landon asked.

  “I don’t know. Not like I’m in the condition to do anything.”

  “But you will eventually. Maybe in just another week or so. You can go anywhere.”

  Julian, however, merely shook his head. He had no answer to the question, only just what others had hoped.

  “Before I left Bydandia, Drayden told me that I could have a life,” he said. “I only wish it were so easy.”

  Turning to face Landon, Julian gave a nod. It was his way of saying goodbye, the farewell simple and brief. He then prepared to leave the transport, and tapped a nodule on his suit. Slowly, the organic glass formed a barrier over his face and neck, sealing him off from the surrounding atmosphere.

  He gave one last look at Landon, and saw an innocent stare. In return, he smiled back.

  “Just take care of
yourself,” Julian said through the suit’s speaker. “Take care of her.”

  The door opened, the air venting out from the transport. Moving past Landon, Julian walked off, letting the door behind him close.

  “Her” — to anyone else, it seemed as if Julian was referring to the android. The artificial woman was still in both their memories, her significance of the utmost importance. But Landon knew better. His telepathy had felt it.

  “Evah,” the commander said, whispering the name. “Evah Nyung.”

  Chapter 24

  Isen was located on the other end of the galaxy, thousands of light-years away, and far from the Endervar war. It was a planet different from Haven, with few oceans, a drier climate, and little civilization. But to Julian, it was the new homeworld, a safe refuge for what remained of his scattered people.

  After spending almost a month on the Alliance station, Julian waited at the spacedock, ready to leave. He had finally received flight clearance, albeit with his military status still suspended. Nearby, convoys were docking at the landing terminals, the various ships, both large and small, populating the chambered bays. Some were structures like stone, others fleshed out in organic skin. However, each one was effectively a gateway, leading to the rest of the Alliance or some non-aligned galactic territory. In another hour, Julian would board one ship in particular, a cargo vessel bound with goods for Isen. But this time, he would be on the ship simply as a passenger and not as a pilot.

  As Julian sat on a simple bench, the clientele around him bustled, the hodgepodge of alien races passing about. A Morbathian, and its glassy skin creaked behind him, lurching in a slow crawl. Snapping and hissing was a female Olantis, its stub-like feet prancing with each step. One after another they came, making noises and speaking languages still strange to Julian. Shutting off his automated translator, Julian took in the sounds, only to hear a crackling shuffle in the oxygenated air. Like a vagrant it made him feel, overlooked and irrelevant among the mass of unfamiliar bodies. It was obvious he did not belong with them. Julian’s only acquaintance was what lay in his hand, a last surviving memento.