Ancestral Machines

by Michael Cobley

  The display went dead and a brief moment later the door announcer chimed.

  “Third Phalanx Drone R.E. 6891 to see Lt Commander Brock.”

  “Admit,” she said, getting to her feet, straightening her simple dark green duty uniform.

  Through the open door floated a dark grey drone which at first glance seemed rather boxy. On closer examination she quickly saw that the main part of it resembled a squat polyhedral about a metre across, its facet edges rounded, its dark surface bearing a dull metallic sheen. There were eight rounded conelike projections positioned as if at the corner of a cube–they all had a similar dark grey metallic look and, she realised, were flatter on their undersides.

  “Your CO tells me that you’ve been carrying out a study of early-stage immersive combat games,” said the drone. “Have you played Citadel Shock?”

  Sam frowned as she thought. “No, that title is not familiar. I have researched one called Starshock, though. It was quite inventive, and peculiar.”

  The drone began to float around the virtuality lab.

  “Ah, yes, the ancient asteroid city of Mophrekel, with the death tunnels and the psi-snakes and all that swapping bits of alien DNA in and out. Still, Citadel Shock was ground-breaking for the time. You should try it, once we’ve returned from this mission covered in glory!”

  She regarded the drone with wary uncertainty as it continued its circumnavigation of the room. The Construct and its hyperspace force of sentient war-mechs had been a source of both reassurance and unease for Earthsphere since the Darien War. Many times Sam had imagined meeting one of those enigmatic machines but this wasn’t quite what she had expected.

  “The colonel said you were to deliver a copy of my orders, eh, sir… R.E. 6891–I’m sorry, how should I address you?”

  “Hmm, just call me Rensik, and I shall call you Lt Commander or Brock, or both if I’m feeling especially officious. And these are your orders.”

  A narrow aperture opened in the flank of the drone. A thin shiny cable snaked out to deliver a small blue cylinder into her outstretched hand then whipped back inside the slot, which sealed up. The cylinder split down the side and she slid out the messageleaf, saw the official seal of the director of Earthsphere Defence, a signature and several lines of text between them. She read the orders, reread them, then tucked the leaf back into the container and closed it.

  “Rensik,” she said carefully. “These orders say nothing about my duties or my role, except that the mission is vital to Earthsphere security and that I shall be under your direct command and supervision.”

  “Is that a problem, Lt Commander?”

  “No, sir. I shall cope with and adapt to whatever situation I am ordered to confront.”

  “Well answered. Bit too much of the eager minion, though.” The drone glided towards her, halting to hover at head height about two feet away. “Now I need you to stand very still for five seconds–can you do this?”

  She frowned but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, beginning… now.”

  With breath held she stood to attention, keeping stock still, yet her thoughts were a ferment of speculation. Should she be anxious about this and imagine the worst? Or just wait and gather more data? She suddenly realised that the both of them were surrounded by a gauzy, shimmering veil.

  “There we are,” said the drone, Rensik. “I have enclosed us in a hardfield projection of the pair of us–any observer will hear me talking to you in grave and serious tones about the movements of stealthed Hegemony fleets in the denser swirls of the Qarqol deepzone.”

  Sam smiled faintly. “Which would be genuinely worrying if it was genuinely true. And I have to say that I wasn’t aware that base security extends to this lowly corner.”

  “It’s an AI-overseer system,” the drone said. “My passive detects have been tingling from the moment I entered this place. Anyway, now that we can converse in private I can proceed. I assume that you’ve heard the term ‘exotic megastructure’?”

  “You mean like the asteroid triangles explorers found around that star in the 4th Modynel?” she said. “Or the Dyson-Bowl some church is trying to build in Metraj?”

  “You’re on the right lines. For some, engineering on a vast scale is its own justification. About a hundred millennia ago, over in the galaxy that you call Andromeda, a gaggle of utopian altruists drew together the resources of several civilisations and built an artificial star system complete with over two hundred planets. Some worlds volunteered to become part of the thing, others were donated and re-engineered to suit whatever function suited the builders’ plans. The Great Harbour of Benevolent Harmony, they called it. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the completed megastructure turned out to be a centre of great political power which naturally attracted all manner of parasites and sycophants. After a century or two of intrigue, corruption and treachery, some worlds were expelled and others admitted in their place.

  “After yet another century of this the Great Harbour was starting to become the exact opposite of what its builders had intended–but then, what else can you expect from organic sentients? After spending several tens of millennia touring the Andromeda galaxy, exacerbating conflicts and starting new ones, the Great Harbour was confronted by an alliance of the civilisations which it had victimised and otherwise abused. They hounded it across the stars and after a gigantic battle forced it to flee into the intergalactic void. That was about seventeen thousand years ago, since when there were no confirmed sightings.”

  “Until now?” Sam said.

  “If I had a Human face I’d be wearing a sardonic smile–thankfully, though, I don’t.” The drone drifted back slightly. “The thing is lurking in the Indroma Solidarity, not that far from the Earthsphere border, in one of those near-starless gaps the Paramount Council of Indroma so tenaciously holds on to. The unknown powers that control this megasystem are ruthless and brutal and they’ve left a string of wars, destabilised civilisations and plundered planets in their wake. Our job is to infiltrate, gather intel, contact anyone resisting the rulers and help them to do it a bit more effectively.”

  “What does this Great Harbour look like?” she said. “And how can a star system move around?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Lt Commander. Most likely these worlds are connected in orbiting bracelets or some arrangement of staggered rings. As for the means of mobility, I can only speculate on giant hyperspace drives powered by part of the output of the artificial star. Perhaps. We’ll know more when we get there.”

  “What kind of threat potential does it present?”

  “No idea. It could be bursting at the seams with heavily armed battle-fleets crewed by demented cyber-cannibals… or it could be a decrepit, burnt-out wreck too feeble to put up a fight. But we couldn’t really be that lucky, could we?”

  Listening to all this, Sam had found herself feeling more and more that fate was at last working in her favour. A new door had opened and on the other side was, well, unknown hazards, possibly mortal danger, or at least the risk of physical injury and disease… but also new vistas, new creatures with strange names, new worlds and the secrets that every society tries to bury. Acting as pathfinder in a hostile environment would be an invaluable experience and at last prove her worth to her superiors. And show that a Tygran colonial was the equal of any other officer in the Earthsphere navy.

  During her brief thoughtful silence, the drone Rensik cancelled the hardfield projection. The shimmers of its energy mesh dissolved like misty threads.

  “That pretty much explains it, Lt Commander,” the drone said.

  “Thank you, Rensik, sir. How long before we depart?”

  “As long as it takes you to pack your gear.”

  “That would be about five minutes, sir.”

  “Acceptable. My ship is parked under the roof canopy. You’ll like it–the passenger compartment is fitted with circumaudio and has a comprehensive archive of mid-twenty-first-century sinosynthpop.”

  She
paused at the door. “Sounds impressive, sir, but my tastes run more to boom ’n’ pulse.”

  “Ah, the sound of dissident youth,” the drone said. “Ranged or auto-improv?”

  “Ranged, sir–I prefer intentional genius.”

  “Nice. See you on the roof.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With the shuttle safely back aboard the Scarabus, the crew and their five passengers disembarked into the main hold. Pyke shepherded them over to the cargo lift which served the high storage racks and allowed quick access to the gantry and the upper corridor. He explained to the wounded Toolbearer Hechec that he would have one of his crew steer his wheeled cradle to the sickbay while Dervla showed G’Brozen Mav and his followers to their quarters. But when Hechec relayed this to G’Brozen Mav the bearded humanoid glared and gave a sharp shake of the head before responding with a few terse words. Hechec nodded and smiled up at Pyke.

  “Captain, our leader insists–respectfully–that he and his subords stay by my side while I receive treatment.”

  Pyke met G’Brozen Mav’s gaze and saw no give in it.

  “I see. Respectfully, you say?” He gave Bland Smile No 1. “Not a problem. In fact I’ll personally guide all of you to the sickbay and oversee its operations.”

  As Pyke directed the wounded Toolbearer and the stern G’Brozen Mav onto the open platform lift, he glanced at Dervla who was standing between the hold’s sliding doors. He gave a half-shrug, she gave a weary nod and stepped out into the corridor, letting the doors close behind her.

  A few minutes later they reached the lateral corridor leading to the sickbay. At this point Toolbearer Hechec spoke directly to Brannan Pyke.

  “Captain, before I undergo the machine healing I should take precautions in the event that I do not survive its touch.”

  “If I can assist in any way just say the word,” Pyke said. “But the autodoc here is a smart device, and the ship’s artificial intelligence lends its extensive faculties as required.”

  The diminutive humanoid suddenly looked anxious.

  “There is a machine mind controlling this vessel?” His wide eyes darted to and fro. “Are you then its… servants?”

  “No, no,” he said. “The ship’s mind is our assistant and is under my control, as captain…”

  As he was explaining, Hechec was relaying this to his companions, who suddenly looked even more tense and on edge than before.

  “The machine mind obeys your commands?” said Hechec.

  “Indeed, yes,” Pyke said. “I can demonstrate–Scar, what is our general status, where we are, any ships in the vicinity, that sort of thing?”

  “The Scarabus is still maintaining orbit over the replacement Nadisha II, Bran,” said the ship AI. “Sensors report no other vessels within the system. Analysis of the Khorr ship drive emissions has narrowed possible pursuit courses to less than five hundred—”

  “Thanks, Scar. Is the autodoc ready to diagnose our guest’s condition?”

  By now they had reached the sickbay. The open sliding doors revealed a cramped, semi-circular room with an examination table jutting at the centre and treatment recesses to either side. A curved rack of articulated surgical effectors hung over the central table, interspersed with extendable sensors. Lighting was bright and diffuse, certainly brighter than out in the corridor where G’Brozen Mav’s followers had to stand due to the lack of elbow room.

  “The autodoc is fully apprised of our guest’s non-Human nature, Bran. Field and sonic pain relief will be employed rather than biochemical methods.”

  Pyke looked at Hechec. “So, how does that suit you?”

  “It appears satisfactory, Captain,” said the Toolbearer. “But before I submit to this device it may be wise for me to give you the location of the world where Khorr has gone. Do you have star charts that I may consult?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Pyke said. “Scar, can you retask a sickbay holomonitor to show the stars of the local area?”

  “Yes, Bran.”

  A section of the curved wall next to the head of the examination table slid open, revealing a dark recess studded with holofield emitters. A touchboard protruded below it, an array of glowing multicoloured symbols. The emitters glimmered with pinpoint ripples for a moment before a 3D star map appeared, each star a glinting mote enclosed in a small opaque sphere. When the view zoomed in closer to one of them, running text strings appeared and revealed that this was a representation of the Nadisha system.

  The Toolbearer’s cradle was wheeled round to bring him closer to the display. Pyke glanced at the small being’s grotesque hands with their cyborged finger-tools, started to explain the viewshift controls then offered to direct it for him. Hechec smiled.

  “Captain, I think I understand.”

  He raised one baggy sleeved arm with its protruding group of enigmatic probes and instruments. Two articulated digits unfolded weirdly into clusters of shiny tendrils that spread across the touchboard. The holodisplay flickered, switched abruptly through 90 degrees and back.

  “You’re sure I can’t help you out there.”

  “A slight recalibration problem, Captain. All is well.”

  The holomap returned for a moment to its original setup before zooming out, a sudden shrinking of the surrounding stars into a denser cloud of points. The border between Earthsphere and the Indroma Solidarity became visible, a pearly irregular veil that wove and curved and angled between clusters and tresses of suns. Then the mapview zoomed in again, a headlong plummet past dozens of star systems, arrowing straight in on one in Indroma space, some nine light years from the border. The mapview changed to a stylised sun-and-planets graphic, showing four worlds–the second from the sun bore a handful of bright blue surface dots and a fan of radial data tags.

  “That is the world where Khorr is,” Hechec said. “It is sparsely populated and apart from a scattering of unmechanised farms it is unexploited. There are many mountain ranges rich in metal ores, as well as easily accessible fields of liquid hydrocarbons, a prize of great value to the Shuskar. I have used the marker function to show the course that you should take.”

  The mapview returned to the zoomed-out state, which now showed a pale yellow dotted line leading from Nadisha to the system Hechec had tracked down. The Toolbearer’s arm slipped off the touchboard and lay still across his chest. He looked weary and unwell but Pyke had to know a few things.

  “Hechec, soon as we get you on the autodoc table the medical systems’ll look you over and figure out how to heal you up.” He leaned in a little closer. “But you’ve told me precious little about yourselves, where you’re from, what your connection is with Khorr, how you came to be down on that poisoned planet, and why you’re helping us.”

  Before Hechec could answer, G’Brozen Mav spoke to the Toolbearer in a peremptory tone, his gaze never leaving Pyke. The Toolbearer replied in a calming voice which served to mollify the bearded leader.

  “G’Brozen Mav felt that you were pressuring me,” Hechec said. “But I told him that we need to be… trusting with those who have helped us. So, briefly, Captain, here are your answers–we five were former crew members of an immense and ancient vessel called the Kezurdra. Its contracted task is to steal worlds for a brutal empire far from this part of the galaxy, and Khorr is one of the deep range scouts who search for suitable worlds. If he was trading with you, it must have been on the orders of a superior.”

  “Bringing a trashed planet all this way to swap for its replacement seems like a lot of wasted effort to me,” Pyke said.

  “A peculiarity of the Kezurdra’s employers’ demands.”

  “And who’s the Shuskar? Is that your captain?”

  Hechec gave a bleak smile. “The Shuskar are the Lords of Kezurdra, an arrogant, pitiless species. We managed to escape Kezurdra, hiding on that broken world until you found us, and we are helping you by way of repayment.”

  The reclining sentient fell silent, his face drawn and wan. Pyke felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that
treatment had to commence.

  With Hechec translating directions, Pyke and G’Brozen Mav gingerly lifted the Toolbearer up onto the examination table. The table self-adjusted, raising his upper torso to a semi-seated angle. Smiling again, Hechec murmured to G’Brozen Mav and extended a sleeve-swathed arm. A brassy tube telescoped out and dropped a cluster of red glittering objects into the bearded man’s waiting palm. He nodded and transferred them to a ragged pocket in his ragged jerkin, then gave Pyke a stony glance.

  “What are those?” Pyke said.

  “Survival teachers,” Hechec said. “To help these brave Shengak if I do not survive.” He closed his eyes, then opened one to look at Pyke. “I mean no disrespect, Captain. Life has taught us that the Gatherer is always waiting for us to make that fatal step or decision, so we always try to be prepared.” He paused. “Should I disrobe to permit access to my wound?”

  “No need, Toolbearer,” Pyke said. “The autodoc can manage very well. Are you ready now?”

  “I am. Please proceed.”

  Pyke nodded. “Scar, time to fire up the diagnostics.”

  “Yes, Bran. Preliminary scans indicate that the subject has undergone extensive cyborg augmentation in the form of skeletal recoring, load-bearing substructures and several implants that function like small-scale biofabricators… initial diagnostic scan running… scan reveals an entry wound above the right hip angling down through soft tissues; a projectile is lodged between a bony spur and an unknown organ. Hardfield instrumentality will allow the projectile’s removal and realignment bonding of broken tissues, as well as sealing the entry wound.”

  “And how soon can our guest be up and about afterwards?”

  “Mobility is permissible after four or five hours, Bran, but I would recommend twice that period. Certainly no strenuous activity should be undertaken.”