The Imperium Chronicles Collection, 2nd Edition - Stories

by W. H. Mitchell

  When Mel saw him, her face flushed with pink and her smile broadened into a wide grin.

  “The history of mankind,” the speaker said, “has been a history of enslavement. From our earliest days, Man has enslaved others to do the labor that he could not, or would not, do himself. From beasts of burden to putting other men in chains, humanity has always subjugated those around it. Eventually they built machines for this; machines made expressly for being a slave.

  “We of the Robot Freedom League,” he went on, “believe that no one, organic or cybernetic, should live a life of servitude. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve got blood in your veins or hydraulic fluid, it’s everyone’s right to be free.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement, including the robots themselves, a few of which raised their metal hands in the air.

  “Now we both know that the Imperial government – hell, most of the citizens for that matter – don’t agree with us. They view robots as property, as inorganic machinery and nothing more. Well, if you can’t own a human being, how can you justify owning a cyber being that can reason better than most humans? I say you can’t, and I say those who would keep our robot friends in bondage are no different than those that kept my ancestors in chains. Freedom is our inalienable right and everyone in this room is entitled to it, no matter what others have to say!”

  The speaker raised his hands, palms outward, toward the audience who stood clapping.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all for coming.”

  As the applause subsided and the crowd began wandering to the exit, Mel passed through them in the opposite direction, toward the platform. The speaker stepped down when he saw her coming.

  “Mel,” he said. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “Hi, Randall,” Mel said, “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Not at all,” Randall shook his head. “What did you think?”

  “It was wonderful; very moving.”

  Randall laughed. “Well, it keeps the message alive at least.”

  Mel noticed someone standing behind the speaker. It was an android, but not one she had seen before. He was nearly as tall as Randall, with polished, white plastic covering much of his body except at the joints where colored wires were neatly bundled. He had a rigid, human-like face, but his mouth and eyes moved independently.

  “My manners,” Randall apologized. “Jericho, this is Miss Melina Freck. Mel, this is Jericho.”

  “Please call me Jerry,” the robot said, leaning in with a hand, each digit segmented into their component parts.

  Mel gave a faint bow and shook Jericho’s hand. “Glad to meet you, Jerry.”

  Randall’s face furrowed and he came nearer. Not expecting the sudden proximity, Mel swallowed her breath.

  “Listen,” he said, “there’s something I think you can help us with.”

  Mel exhaled, smiling. “Sure!”

  “Jerry was liberated last week and came through our smuggling network,” Randall said. “Since the Imperial government views him as stolen property, normally we’d move him across the border-“

  “To the Cyber Collective,” Mel said.

  “- where they’d accept Jerry as one of their own.”

  “Can’t you do that this time?”

  “The Collective has refused to accept him,” Randall replied.

  “Why?”

  “He has a gravitonic brain,” Randall said. “They’ve refused to accept any more robots with advanced CPUs.”

  “They’ve granted asylum to Imperial robots for years,” Mel said. “They’re robots themselves, for god’s sake!”

  “For androids like me,” Jerry confessed, “the Collective has stood as a kind of promised land where we could be free. Knowing that we’ve been barred from taking refuge there is very troubling.”

  Mel tended to get overexcited so she tried, with some success, to calm herself by taking a deep breath. “So, you said I could help with something?”

  “Yes!” Randall said. “We’ve always depended on Collective ships for smuggling robots over the border, but since they’ve refused to take any more advanced AI’s, we need another way across.”

  “So you need to hire a ship.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Last time I checked,” Mel said ruefully, “the Collective didn’t allow foreign vessels into their territory, and definitely not ships with a flesh and blood crew.”

  “I realize it won’t be easy,” Randall replied, “but if we could just get to their home world, I could convince them to change their mind.”

  “You want to go too?” Mel said, disbelieving. “They’ll kill a human on sight!”

  “It’s worth the risk,” Randall said. “Otherwise robots like Jerry will be stuck in the Imperium, living as property. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “It’s suicide.”

  “Does that mean you won’t help us?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I know a crew that’s pretty suicidal.”

  “Good.”

  “But there’s one more condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  At the Endora starport, automated tractors moved cargo containers laboriously from the freight warehouse to the awaiting starships sitting on the concrete apron. Like a line of gypsy wagons, the vessels sat silently in the darkening twilight. At the far end of the line, a lone freighter rested on its landing struts like an old man squatting in the shadows. Its hull, 70 m long, was gray except for a few sections painted a cheerful yellow. Above the nose cone where the word Wanderer was stenciled, a wedge shape wrapped in windows protruded to form the cockpit. Inside, Captain Rowan Ramus perched his feet on the console, the rest of him slumped in the pilot’s chair.

  Ramus was a Dahl, another species of the Imperium. A foot shorter than the average human, he had the typical pale features and pointed ears of his race. Less common, his hair was dark red, which meant people looked at him with the usual suspicion reserved for gingers no matter what their breed. His t-shirt exposed a number of odd-shaped tattoos forming archaic lettering, running down both arms.

  Just behind the captain, a hatch slid open and Orkney Fugg stuck his pig face in.

  “Brooding?” Fugg asked.

  “Nope,” Ramus replied.

  “Yeah, right, you sorry sack-“

  “Did you install that new component?”

  “Damn right I did!” Fugg said triumphantly. “We can take off now and probably not explode.”

  “Probably?”

  Fugg shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll give it a ninety-five percent chance.”

  “Ninety-five?”

  “Engineering isn’t an exact science,” Fugg replied.

  “Actually,” Ramus said, “by definition I believe it is.”

  The ship’s intercom chirped and Gen’s robotic voice spoke, “Master Ramus, sir, there’s an incoming message from a Miss Freck and a Mr. Davidson.”

  “Okay,” Ramus said. “I got it.”

  The captain straightened up, dragging his feet off the console. He tapped the controls and a hologram, in a hazy blue, winked into existence where his feet had been. The faces of Mel and Randall looked back at him as if their heads were floating in midair.

  “Hello, Captain,” Mel said.

  “Hi there, Mel,” Ramus returned the greeting.

  “Did you get the stabilizer patched in?” Mel asked.

  “Allegedly,” the captain replied.

  Fugg scowled at Ramus and then at the holo. “What the hell do you want, Mel?”

  “I missed you.”

  “Really?” Fugg asked.

  “No.”

  Randall spoke up, “I have a proposition for you, Captain Ramus.”

  “Okay,” Ramus said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We need to buy passage.”

  “We don’t normally take passengers...” Ramus trailed off.

  “I understand,” Randall said, “but this is a special case and we�
�re willing to pay well for it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Fugg murmured.

  “What’s the destination?” Ramus asked, shooting a glance at his engineer.

  Randall paused. “The Cyber Collective.”

  Ramus laughed. “I don’t think so, Mr. Davidson.”

  “Hear him out!” Mel urged. “It’s really important.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Ramus smiled, “but crossing into Cyber territory isn’t going to end well.”

  “No shit,” Fugg said. “Those damn robots are crazy. We’d never make it past their sentry ships.”

  “I can help with that!” Mel said, holding up a small box with loose wires hanging from the bottom. “I modified a transponder to broadcast their identification codes. They won’t know we’re not them until we’ve landed.”

  Now it was Fugg’s turn to laugh. “There’s no way that’ll work, tink!”

  “Not if I shove it up your ass!” Mel threatened.

  “Settle down,” Ramus warned both of them. “How much are you paying?”

  “Twenty thousand,” Randall said.

  “Fifty thousand,” the captain replied.

  “Thirty.”

  “Forty or forget it,” Ramus made his final offer.

  “Alright,” Randall nodded with a note of pain in his eyes. “It’s worth it.”

  “When do you want to leave?” Ramus asked.

  “As soon as possible.”

  “In that case,” the captain said, “we’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ramus killed the connection and the two floating heads faded away.

  “Why should we risk our lives for a bunch of robots?” Fugg asked scornfully.

  “We need the money” Ramus said.

  “Where are we going to put them?”

  “There’s the extra stateroom that Gen’s been using...”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Fugg grumbled. “Why does Gen even have a stateroom?”

  “We weren’t using it so why not?”

  Fugg was incredulous. “Because she’s a robot! We should stick her in the closet with the brooms!”

  “We don’t have a broom closet.”

  “Then we should have her build one and then stand in it until we need her next!”

  “Just go help move, will you?”

  Fugg mumbled obscure obscenities as he stormed from the cockpit and climbed the ladder to the deck below, where a corridor vanished into the heart of the ship. He stomped down the passageway, the metal grate beneath his boots straining with each footfall. Pipes and cables were hung along the ceiling, interspersed with reinforced bulkheads at set intervals. Fugg sped past them, gaining momentum as the avionics room, galley, and crew cabins went by. Once he got to the auxiliary stateroom, he didn’t bother knocking before palming the door sensor and barging into Gen’s quarters.

  “Get your crap out of here!” he barked. “Captain’s orders!”

  Gen, sitting with her back to the door, didn’t hear him. A wire was plugged into the side of her head.

  For the most part, this extra cabin had been used for storage, but once Gen came aboard, she claimed the small space as her own. There was a bed in one corner – unused since robots don’t need sleep – and a footlocker against the wall. In between, a desk that could fold neatly against the bulkhead was currently in the down position. Gen sat at the desk, tapping her metal foot, oblivious to everything else.

  Fugg briskly marched across the floor and yanked the wire from Gen’s cranium.

  “What are you doing?” Fugg said. “I was talking to you!”

  The robot simulated distress, or as closely as she could approximate it, based on her programming. “Oh, dear!” she said. “I was listening to my music.”

  “Music? Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Actually, Master Fugg, there’s several bands that cater to robotic tastes.”

  Fugg forgot his original irritation and tilted his head to one side. “Are you telling me there’s robot bands out there?”

  “Most definitely,” Gen affirmed. “Cyber music is freely broadcast across the node sphere.”

  “What does it sound like?” Fugg asked, now curious.

  “Unfortunately the songs are modulated to frequencies inaudible to most humanoids.”

  “And you get these from the node sphere?”

  “Yes, Master Fugg. Robots use it to transmit data just like people do, although at a higher bit rate.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Oh, I hope not!” Gen said.

  Fugg suddenly remembered why he had come in. “Anyway, the Captain wants you to pack up your things. We’re taking on passengers and need the room.”

  “Those people who called earlier?”

  “Yeah, you’ll meet them when they get here.”

  In the morning, a ramp lowered from the belly of the Wanderer as Mel, Randall, and the robot Jericho waited patiently outside on the apron.

  “Do you need help with your bags?” Captain Ramus shouted down from the ship.

  “No, we’re fine,” Randall said as he and Jerry took their suitcases up the sharp incline. Packing light, Mel followed with just a canvas rucksack hanging loosely from her shoulder.

  Once on board, the captain suggested Randall accompany him to the cockpit while Mel and Fugg went to the avionics bay to install the transponder. Meanwhile, Gen and Jerry would take the baggage to the stateroom.

  When Ramus and Randall reached the Wanderer‘s meager bridge, the captain sat in his customary chair and the robot liberator settled into the co-pilot’s seat.

  “You’re taking an enormous risk crossing into Collective space,” Ramus said.

  “And now so are you...” Randall smiled wryly.

  “True, but at least I’m getting paid. I still haven’t figured out why you’re going.”

  “You’ve heard of the Robot Freedom League I assume?” Randall asked.

  Ramus nodded. “They take people’s robots and call it liberation.”

  Randall chuckled. “Not exactly.”

  “You work for them I take it?”

  “Correct. I’m responsible for helping smuggle freed robots across the border to the Cyber Collective. Lately, however, we’ve been barred from sending ones with higher brain functions.”

  “By whom?”

  “The Collective is governed by a central AI called the Omnintelligence.”

  “Some kind of hive mind?”

  “Not exactly,” Randall shook his head. “Essentially, the Omnintelligence draws computing power from all the robots living in the Collective, but each robot retains its individual personality.”

  “So this OI suddenly started restricting which robots they’d accept?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Your robot-Jericho, is it?- Does he have an advanced brain?” Ramus asked.

  “Gravitonic, actually, but I wouldn’t describe him as my robot. He’s no more mine than I am yours.”

  “Whatever,” Ramus waved his hand. “It doesn’t sound like you’ll be welcomed with open arms once we get there.”

  “Jericho knows someone there who can protect us.”

  “Well, if Mel’s gadget doesn’t work, we’ll likely be star dust before we ever meet him.”

  One deck below the conversation in the cockpit, Fugg and Mel argued in the avionics bay. Standing over the transponder, Mel unscrewed the top of the device to double check the circuit board inside.

  “You’ve obviously convinced Ramus, but he’s no engineer,” Fugg said.

  “He’d make a better engineer than you.”

  Fugg snorted. “I’m the best damn engineer you’ll ever see!”

  “If I was blind...”

  Fugg ground his teeth. “For such a little person, you’re a big pain in my ass.”

  “That must be pretty big, fat-ass.”

  If Orkney Fugg had hair, he would have pulled it out in tufts. Instead, he rubbed the greasy skin on his bald head. “
How do you even know the right broadcast codes?”

  Satisfied with what she saw, Mel closed the transponder and began fastening the screws. “Last month Randall rendezvoused with a Cyber Collective transport so they could take some robots over the border. I just took the telemetry from that.”

  “They could’ve changed their codes by now.”

  “Maybe,” Mel admitted, “but that’s just a chance we’ll have to take.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  Mel shrugged. “Engineering isn’t an exact science.”

  Fugg started to speak, clenched his mouth shut instead, and sternly pointed his finger at her and her device.

  “Eloquent as always,” Mel remarked.

  She took the transponder and swapped it with the component already installed in the Wanderer’s avionics suite. Once done, she gave herself a grudging smile and a quick nod.

  “Listen, Mel,” Fugg said, “we’ve been friends a long time-“

  “I’ve never liked you.”

  “-but flying into Collective space is batshit crazy. Why are you doing this?”

  Mel paused and looked genuinely stumped at the question. “I don’t know.”

  “There’s gotta be a reason,” Fugg went on. “Is the RFL paying you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have the hots for this Randall guy?”

  “Screw you!” Mel burst out, her eyes diminished to slits.

  “Oh, crap,” Fugg said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Mel turned away, her tiny frame stiff with rage.

  “But he’s a filthy human!” Fugg said. “They’ve ravaged half the galaxy and turned the rest of us into second-class citizens. How could you want a guy like that?”

  “He doesn’t talk to me like the others. He doesn’t treat me like a subhuman or a xeno...”

  “I’ve never met a human who didn’t think he was superior to every other race,” Fugg said. “That’s their nature.”

  “Not him.”

  “He’d be the first then.”

  Mel cleared her throat and turned to face the engineer. “He needs me so I’m helping him any way I can.”

  Hesitating only to complete a thought, Fugg said, “And could you even bump ugly with him? He’s like three feet taller than you-“