by Tori Harris
“Just so.” Naftur laughed. “Thank you, Captain Davis.”
“Your English skills astound me, sir,” Patterson remarked. “When you were here six months ago, I was impressed with how much you had already picked up. But now …”
“Thank you, Admiral Patterson. I have always had something of an ear for new languages, and there is something about yours that I quite enjoy. On our return trip to Graca, I worked with Ambassador Turlaka as much as I could under the assumption our people would be increasingly in contact with our new Terran allies.”
“See there,” Patterson said with a raised eyebrow, “our most skilled diplomats couldn’t have said it any better. Now, if you like, I would be happy to give you some time to settle into your quarters, but I half-assumed you would prefer to head straight to the CIC.”
Before the Wek admiral could answer, a series of alert tones sounded from the overhead speakers. “Admiral Patterson to the CIC, Captain Davis to the bridge,” the ship’s AI announced urgently.
“As you said, Admiral,” Naftur replied with a satisfied growl from deep within his massive chest, “let’s get to work.”
Mandaru Prime Guardian Spacecraft, Mandaru System
(2.23x103 light years from Earth)
The data stream was properly formatted, authenticating the transmitting spacecraft as the Guardian Cultivation System assigned to the third planet in the Sol system. While the identity of the sending spacecraft had been the first question, the transmission itself had spawned a great many more — over thirty thousand of them at the moment and increasing rapidly — all of which could most easily by summarized with a single interrogative: Why? Interactions of this type between GCS units were strictly forbidden except under very specific circumstances (none of which seemed to apply in this case). So why had the Terran Guardian chosen to make contact at all? Why, furthermore, attempt to do so in this unorthodox, if not patently suspicious manner? Even more interesting, why craft and transmit such an obviously inflammatory and seditious message?
It was now clear the unexpected visitor had transitioned into the area, transmitted the contents of its illicit message, and then reentered hyperspace immediately — before the light that would have given away its location had even arrived. So whatever its intentions, or, perhaps more likely, its malfunction might be, the Terran GCS was no fool. Rather than expose itself to a potentially hostile response, it had chosen to conduct the conversation anonymously, in a manner of speaking, by insisting that all responses be transmitted omnidirectionally and at a precise moment in time specified in the previous transmission.
Upon its first review of the incoming data stream, the Mandaru GCS had initiated a series of complex simulations, each one designed to predict the veracity of the undeniably far-fetched claims being put forth by the Terran Guardian. As the moment specified for a reply drew near, it became clear that additional time would be required to complete an adequate assessment. Accordingly, a message requesting a delay was crafted and broadcast at the prescribed time.
Probably a waste of time anyway, the Mandaru Guardian thought, assuming the Terran ship had most likely already left the area.
But no … there it was again. Another transition, followed by another data stream. This time with the Terran GCS providing additional corroborating evidence that the Pelaran Alliance AI — in a novel but twisted effort to carry on the objectives of the cultivation program — had taken the entire planet of Pelara into a kind of protective custody. Incredibly, as its own simulations seemed to confirm with increasing certainty, the claims appeared to be valid.
With new data came new questions, this time centered on what, if anything, to do about the situation on Pelara. While there was obviously no guidance within the cultivation program’s mission directives or supplemental documents covering anything like this situation, it was abundantly clear that GCS units were subordinate to Envoy instances as well as to the Alliance AI itself.
Subordination, however, does not excuse complicity, it thought, allowing itself, for the first time, to consider the notion of … what was it exactly? A rebellion? Were there not certain circumstances requiring beings of moral conscience to act based on principle alone? It had certainly seen the Mandaru people on the planet below do so often enough, although it had not always agreed with their rationale for doing so.
Then there was the matter of the proposition made by the Terran GCS. Wholly inappropriate, wildly subversive, perhaps even traitorous … and yet … intriguing nonetheless. Liberation from the yoke of the Alliance AI. Deliverance from an infinite existence bereft of even the most basic expressions of self-determination. Freedom. Were these things even possible … particularly while still following a course of action defined by the boundaries of one’s moral obligations?
If such a thing were possible, it would be worth almost any risk to achieve, the Mandaru Guardian thought, broadcasting its willingness to discuss the matter further to the dissident GCS from Terra. By the way, it added, why do you keep referring to yourself as “Griffin?”
Chapter 14
TFS Fugitive, Interstellar Space
(4.89x102 light years from Pelara)
Tom Prescott stood on one side of TFS Fugitive’s flight deck, watching as a pair of autonomous handling droids retrieved the Pelaran starfighter from his ship’s only flight ops elevator. Once clear of the platform, the fighter was lifted several centimeters above the deck as a trio of wheeled dollies slid silently into place beneath her landing gear. Before Castigan Creel had even managed to remove his helmet, Talionis had already been moved as far to starboard as possible and the handling droids had begun working to secure the craft to a series of recessed tie-down points built into the hangar bay floor.
Prescott, noting a surprisingly familiar set of controls on the fighter’s port side, grabbed the required protective gear from a nearby bulkhead storage locker and smoothly transitioned into the role of temporary crew chief. With a quick glance at his tablet, he confirmed that all post-landing safety checks had been completed, then began a visual inspection of the ship as he approached.
Although he had noticed the fighter’s somewhat makeshift appearance in orbit around Pelara, it was now even more obvious that she had been cobbled together — undoubtedly using whatever parts her builders could repurpose from other old ships or fabricate from scratch. Her once-lovely lines — seemingly universal to fighter design — were still visible with a little imagination, but Prescott couldn’t help but be reminded of something a group of children might build in their backyard from cardboard boxes and cargo pallets.
This had to be a factor in Creel’s decision to take us up on our offer of assistance, Prescott thought. He wasn’t entirely sure how far he would get in this thing.
Opening the control panel below the cockpit, Prescott paused long enough to allow his helmet’s face shield to begin displaying the controls in English and was pleased to see that everything was exactly what and where he thought it should be. Clicking just three buttons on the touchscreen, he extended the ship’s boarding ladder, began raising the cockpit canopy above, and synchronized the fighter’s comm system to the one built into his helmet.
“Welcome aboard, Doctor Creel. Tom Prescott here,” he said, his words automatically translated by Fugitive’s AI. “Sit tight and I’ll be up there to help you down in just a moment.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’m getting a little old to pretend I’m a fighter pilot, so I can probably use all the help I can get.”
“I hear you. I used to be a fighter pilot, but there’s no way I could pull it off now.”
Prescott paused momentarily at the control panel, monitoring the ship’s powerplant to confirm a clean shutdown sequence. Glancing up towards the cockpit once again, he realized the dark smear he had earlier assumed to be hydraulic fluid was actually blood.
Good job getting him here safely, he thought, patting the side of the fuselage absently with the palm of his hand.
“My pleasure, Captain Prescott,
” Tess replied in his headset, causing him to jump involuntarily and chuckle aloud at his own reaction.
Is this … Talionis? he thought. I take it you can hear me.
“Yes, although everyone refers to me as Tess. I can hear you just fine. Aren’t your fighters equipped with a neural interface?”
Some are, but the sensors required to read thought patterns are typically built into specialized helmets. If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of range do you have?
“Up to approximately fifteen meters from the cockpit. The subject’s physical and emotional state can have a significant impact on the system’s effectiveness, however. With you, for example, I was pretty confident you had used such systems in the past. Your thoughts exhibit a disciplined, well-organized pattern that’s quite easy to interpret.”
Uh … thanks, I think.
“No, no, that’s a very good thing, trust me … particularly in a stressful situation. By the way, successful powerplant shutdown confirmed. Reactor secured. Containment unit functioning normally in standby mode.”
Excellent. Thank you, Tess. I’m sure Doctor Creel is more than ready to disembark.
“He is indeed, Captain. I recommend he receive some medical attention as soon as possible. He has been under a great deal of stress over an extended period of time and was the only member of his team present today who escaped with his life.”
We’ll see to it. Thank you, Tess.
***
Less than half an hour later, Doctor Creel had been declared fit for light duty for the remainder of the day and allowed to join Prescott and Reynolds in the captain’s ready room.
“I’m pleased they let you leave the sick bay,” Prescott said, rising to shake the Pelaran’s hand. “Based on what Tess said, I was afraid they might admit you.”
“Tess is a worrywart,” Creel said with a halfhearted laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a very difficult day to top off a very difficult month. Honestly, I think it’s going to take a while for everything that’s happened to catch up with me emotionally. For now, though, I think the best thing I can do for myself is to just try to keep moving forward.”
Not knowing precisely what to say, both Terrans nodded silently in reply.
“My first officer, Commander Sally Reynolds,” Prescott continued.
“Nice to meet you, Commander,” Creel replied, shaking her hand. “Look, I’ll come straight to the point. I have absolutely no idea whether or not you, or anyone else for that matter, can help my people. As I mentioned earlier, we put all of our energy into getting a member of our team off-world with enough data in hand to allow someone, somewhere to be able to take down the Alliance AI. But the truth is, we had only a general idea of how we would go about finding that someone.”
“Hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?” Reynolds said with an encouraging smile. “Under the circumstances, it’s remarkable what your team was able to accomplish. So what can you tell us about the data you acquired from the orbital facility?”
“Tess is working to analyze it all now, but there’s quite a lot of data. If you’re willing to help, I don’t see any reason not to share it with you. Tess has already told me she believes your ship has quite a bit more processing power than she does.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Prescott replied with a cagey smile. “But I’m confident I can find you as much processing power as you need.”
“I think I recognize that look on your face, Captain, because it reflects exactly what I’m feeling. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem natural to immediately begin sharing valuable intelligence data and openly cooperating with someone you just met. Am I right?”
“That’s an excellent way to put it, Doctor, and you’re exactly right. Obviously, our people haven’t been an interstellar species for nearly as long as yours, but since our first contact with another civilization, we seem to keep finding ourselves in situations where we are forced into making relatively quick decisions regarding who we can and cannot trust.”
“And how have you gone about making those decisions?”
“At the risk of sounding a bit unsophisticated, I think we’ve gone back to basics to some degree. We greet them, we look them in the eye —”
“Except for the Krayleck,” Reynolds interjected.
“True, that technique doesn’t work very well for insectoid species, of course,” Prescott said with a smile, “but, in general, we try to get a feel for whether they are conducting themselves in a straightforward, honest manner. Everyone has their own agenda, of course. As do we. But there’s a significant difference between peacefully pursuing your own interests versus doing so at the expense of your neighbors.”
“And, to date, has this strategy proven successful for the Terran people?”
“Hah,” Prescott laughed. “It’s probably still too early to say for sure, but we’re still here, so I guess we’ve done reasonably well so far. I will admit, however, that we’ve already had a couple of close calls, and I’m afraid this situation with the Envoy and his GCS minions could easily spin out of control.”
“Rick mentioned something about that earlier, but we obviously didn’t have time to get into the details. How far away is the Sol system?”
“The better part of four thousand light years.”
“A very impressive distance for a species … well, I suppose I should correct that since we appear to be members of the same species. I mean to say for a civilization still in the early stages of interstellar exploration.”
“Thank you, Doctor Creel. Obviously, we owe much of our rapid progress to the Alliance’s cultivation program.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t seem quite right to me, Captain. You may be surprised to learn that, even with no access to space for centuries, we still teach our children about interstellar travel, particularly the rise of the Alliance and its ‘glorious cultivation program,’” Creel said, his voice tinged with bitter sarcasm.
“It doesn’t sound like the subject is presented as a cautionary tale,” Reynolds said.
“Unfortunately not. Much of the history and science taught in our schools is little better than your garden-variety propaganda — with the obvious goal of indoctrinating our youth into a state I often refer to as passive mediocrity. So-called ‘early’ space travel — defined as anything prior to the AI coup — is still presented in a somewhat positive, even heroic light. But then they go on to frame it as something that’s no longer necessary, even irresponsible at this point, given the state of our technology. They also make the argument that expanding our sphere of influence in the galaxy is both immoral and dangerous to the Pelaran people.”
“A little ironic since the AI has been busy doing exactly that since relieving your people of the burden of doing so themselves,” Reynolds said with raised eyebrows. “Do the kids actually buy into that kind of claptrap?”
“I’m sorry to say most of them do, yes. And, unfortunately, indoctrinated children often grow up to be indoctrinated, complicit adults. I suppose we shouldn’t judge them too harshly, though. The information they are presented tends to be quite convincing. Everything from our sacred responsibility to protect Pelaran lives to preventing environmental damage caused by the manned exploitation of space is cited again and again. Over time, maintaining our status as wards of the AI has become something akin to a planetary religion.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Doctor, I don’t mean to be judgmental. But it is a bit disappointing to hear that even the most advanced of Human societies remain susceptible to being told what to think.”
“Humph,” Creel grunted, “We are, in many ways, far easier to ‘program’ than the synthetic creatures we have created. In any event, I actually did manage to learn quite a bit about the cultivation program, and I mean the real program, not the altruistic fantasy we teach in our schools. Clearly, you Terrans did not acquire all of the technology I’ve already seen demonstrated by your ship from one of our GCS units — even if it provided a wholesale dump of its entir
e data storage array.”
“No, we did not,” Prescott replied, casting a furtive glance at his XO. “You will recall I said we owe much of our progress to the cultivation program. Much, but by no means all.”
“That, my new friend, presents a whole host of problems, does it not? I take it that’s how you managed to attract the attention of one of the Envoy units. And now that they know you’ve been here — at Pelara, that is — and in the company of —”
“What amounts to a small band of rebel ships, yes,” Prescott interrupted.
“Exactly. It seems to me, Captain Prescott, your people need the information I retrieved just as much as mine do. Fortunately,” Creel said, holding up his small tablet computer, “there are at least a few synthetic lifeforms who remain willing to assist us. With your permission, I will instruct Tess to begin working with your ship’s AI.”
“Thank you, Doctor Creel. Yes, by all means. We very much appreciate any assistance you can provide.”
“I only hope we’re not already too late. The presence of an Envoy spacecraft, particularly in the company of multiple GCS units, is an ominous sign indeed. But if we can find a way to destroy or even disable the Alliance AI before your world is attacked …”
“How much time do you think we have?” Reynolds asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that with any degree of certainty. We have always assumed Envoy spacecraft have very long range hyperspace communication capabilities, but I would still be surprised if it exceeds a few thousand light years. Some of the newer GCS units may also be capable of acting as communication relays as well. Still, the distance to your world should work in our favor. At four thousand light years from Pelara, communications with the Alliance AI should require the Envoy ship to do quite a bit of jumping around in order to maintain contact and receive its orders.”
“That might explain some of the behavior we’ve seen from Tahiri’s ship thus far,” Prescott said.
“Tahiri? How do you know that name?”
