Foreign Devil (Unreal Universe Book 1)

by Lee Bond

  Arriving on the scene some twenty-nine thousand years ago and saving Humanity from a mess they couldn’t have survived on their own, Trinity had made several things abundantly clear; one, It’s desire was to see Humanity spread to the furthest corners of the Universe in which they lived. Two, it would do as little as it could to see Humanity exploited or tainted by the presence of aliens.

  Trinity claimed that xenophobia was not at the heart of It’s policy-making concerning non-Humans. It stated –and proved- that caution was required when dealing with the inhuman; working from the impossible-to-understand strata of near-galactic proportions, the AI was well aware of exactly in which light many ‘Offworld’ beings viewed the Human race, and wanted to minimize the threat of galactic war. Beyond the possibility of Offworld humanophobia, there was also the fact that the vast, vast majority of technical advances that could benefit Humanity were beyond even the most intelligent human to comprehend, which would therefore require a continued Offworld presence in systems throughout Trinityspace.

  A toe –or tentacle, or gripper- hold in human space by a possible alien threat was something Trinity would not countenance. And so, by using a combination of threat, control, and sciences illegal for anyone else to even imagine let alone implement, Trinity forced every single non-human race within Its own rapidly growing borders to stay within the confines of their own systems. This enforced the growth of humanophobia in some races but overall, everyone was -if not content- willing to cooperate.

  Naturally, dozens of Conglomerates did illegal business with these Offworlders. It was permitted, so as long as the technologies were comprehendible by human scientists and did not fall within the carefully ordered –and long- list of proscribed sciences.

  It was therefore not unheard of for an Offworld technology to make a significant impact in Trinityspace. A case in point was Q-Tunnel technology.

  “This is not the case, my Lord.” Spur drew a slender finger across Jordan’s desk, loading the accumulated data into the resident computer.

  Jordan read the abstract quickly. “This is … disconcerting to say the least, Spur. I don’t like the idea of another Conglomerate stealing from me, nor do I wish to wade through the rest of this … this … waste of time. If I wanted to read, I would not have demanded your presence.”

  Spur bowed. As he had initially surmised, Jordan was angrier than he’d been in at least fifty years, and was feeling … petulant. “This tech is first generation, Lord. Invented in the field by Captain Garth Nickels, mercenary captain in the employ of Special Services. Initial design specifications were engineered from a larger model, then patented by the Captain for deployment with SpecSer personnel. A notation in the file I was able to procure indicates Captain Nickels forced Supreme Commander Aleksander Politoyov to purchase the hardware on a unit by unit basis and to lease the software.”

  “Innovative. Continue.” Supreme effort kept Jordan’s wintry-green eyes from blazing with anger.

  “In addition to the payment schedule, Captain Nickels received consultation fees for other research and development and displayed a surprising flair for systemic stock trading. Investigation shows that while Nickels himself did not specifically create revolutionary turns to extant sciences all the time, each and every instance where he was involved, innovations were made. The sums for participation were minimal by our standards. Owing to the nature of the Captain’s relationship with Special Services, it is evident that there was an ulterior motive for the pricing scheme he forced Politoyov into.”

  “Which was?”

  Spur clasped his hand together behind his back, sealing his fingers together inside the voluminous sleeves of his red and gold silk brocade robes. “The other information I managed to acquire came at great price, my Lord, and is of a sensitive nature. Possessing it will get us into trouble should it come to light of day.”

  “Get on with it, android.”

  Spur nodded. “Slightly over ten years ago, a Tynedale/Fujihara mining operation discovered an ancient relic deep within Pluto’s crust. Forced to heel under the aegis of Trinity’s Historical Services, they contacted a Historical Adjutant to oversee the operation the moment a storage container was discovered. Along with fourteen other people, Captain Nickels was removed from deep cryogenic suspension ten years ago at a remote Tynedale/Fujihara facility. In accordance with Historical Services’ mandate, the Adjutant attempted to gather information about the time period from which these people came. Historical Services would have absorbed all costs for the operation for even the smallest of insights.

  This was not the case; all fifteen of them suffered devastating suspension amnesia, leaving them with no information beyond their names. The Adjutant on the scene, Kant Ingrams, directed to send the costs back to Tynedale/Fujihara by Trinity, did so. It is alleged that fourteen of the fifteen Decantees were killed during an escape attempt, an attempt raising the ‘resurrection’ by several hundred million credits. Trinity AI resolved the issue by finding the remaining Decantee financially responsible. Owing to the apparent military background, amnesia or not, the Decantee, Nickels, was indentured into Special Services, the most potentially lucrative assignment available to him. As I am sure you divined, placement in Special Services would have safely prevented Nickels, should he have proven a threat to Trinityspace even after exhaustive examination by Historical Services, from causing any significant damage this side of the Cordon. His Service record is unavailable for purchase at any price.”

  “Get on with it.” Jordan waved his fingers in irritation. “The device, Spur.”

  Spur nodded imperceptibly. “Garth Nickels used this so-called gravnetic shield generator to cut short his stay in Special Services by upwards of twenty years.”

  “How long were they suspended for?” Jordan asked, suddenly intensely curious. Through various avenues, he was familiar with Kant Ingrams; the wiry, obsessive man was Trinity’s heavy-hitter when it came to Historical Services. Ingrams was overly zealous, oftentimes operating on the outer extreme of Trinity’s tolerance. His forte was destroying evidence of dangerous technologies and burying the truth before it got out into the open. The thin, high-strung little man had a death toll numbering in the thousands. He had a Trinity Enforcer at his beck and call. For him to draw a simple Decantation was … disconcerting.

  “The report, though shocking, maintains that the entire group had been in stasis for approximately thirty thousand years, placing them before the First Exodus War, the first Dark Age and the ADAM Wars.”

  Jordan stroked his goatee. That certainly explained Kant Ingrams’ involvement in the matter; much was lost to each galactic Dark Age that Trinity’s domain suffered and with these … cavemen … from the dawn of time in his hands, Kant must have surely thought answers would abound. Every Historical Services minion believed the key to prevent the threat of another Dark Age was to plumb the depths of time and space, to travel backwards as far as possible. Trinity approved the research as a matter of course, but never actively encouraged them; much of what remained from each Dark Age was distinctly dangerous, and from reports Jordan had seen, really and truly did need burying. Mankind was awfully good at devising Weapons of Mass Destruction. Jordan saw how eager Kant would’ve been, and how terribly dismayed at the tremendous lack of illumination. “How very frustrating.”

  “My Lord?”

  “Lost in thought, Spur. You say these people came from so far? Thirty thousand years? How is that possible? Surely the technology of thirty thousand years ago pales by comparison.” Jordan consulted his reference software. “The oldest recorded Decantee is Stephen Shambell, Decanted just after the last Dark Age. Frozen for four hundred years, with a long, difficult recovery. I concede these new people were Decanted and managed to survive, but I still fail to see how they survived for that long. And you say they almost escaped, destroying much of Tynedale/Fujihara’s outpost at the same time. This strikes me as aberrantly atypical for people recently interred into suspension, let alone cavemen.”
r />   Spur paused, digesting the information at his command. “The time period in question is rumored to have been a Golden Age, if you will, of scientific prosperity. Do not forget, this is just prior to the First Exodus, the First Exodus War and the ADAM Wars. Such things could not have reliably happened without at least the beginnings of a truly technically advanced society, Offworld intervention with Quantum Tunnels notwithstanding. According to Trinity’s own databanks, technological developments were happening so fast at that time that civilization had very little opportunity to fully explore any one of them before it was supplanted by another. Since the first Dark Age appears to have occurred some two hundred years after these people were interred, it is unsurprising they knew nothing of the mechanisms concerning that first, momentous occasion. Trinity further offers the theory that in many ways, the people of that time were far more advanced in certain areas than we are today: they did not suffer from the restrictions that we do today. Attempts to reverse engineer the vessel have thus far met with failure. Current time to complete the analysis of both the alloys of the craft and the field generators that apparently assisted in their cryogenic sleep is minimum eighty years.”

  There were far too many ‘could haves’ in conjunction with this Garth Nickels and the time he allegedly came from, making Jordan very uncomfortable. “That is not so long, in AI-measured time.”

  Jordan stared at a picture of the man Spur claimed was responsible for the loss in revenue. A caveman, a throwback from a time so far ago that it was impossible to appreciate. He even looked less civilized, with ragged black hair, blue eyes and battle-hardened face. Regardless of his personal feelings, Jordan had to admit that Trinity’s hypothesis on Man’s level of technology back then was plausible. Unlikely, but plausible.

  Regardless of the imperfect information concerning the era from which these Decantees allegedly came from, there was the undeniable fact that right then, at that very moment, there were more than a thousand devices of varying complexity in use that could not be duplicated, reverse-engineered, and in some cases, even understood. Trinity’s attention to these particular Decantees was understandable, even appreciated, especially with the imminent threat of another Dark Age looming uncomfortably close on the horizon. If they weren’t from thirty thousand years ago, when were they from? If they only appeared human, which Offworld species did they belong to, and what was their purpose? If their technology was so advanced, how advanced was it?

  Bothersome questions indeed.

  “That is in AI processing time, my Lord. The metallic frame has thus far resisted every test known to Man, and the fields protecting the inner workings prolong the examination. Trinity scientists have coined the term ‘suspension field’ to describe the phenomena. Their current hypothesis is that, once activated, the field renders anything within outside time in some way as yet not understood. In an effort to explain how the high-resolution deep crust scanners employed by Tynedale/Fujihara missed the ship, technicians working on the case have posited that a second field cloaked the vessel in some way, rendering it invisible to all but the naked eye. The drill, a kilometer wide at its smallest, collided with the craft and either damaged the mechanism powering the field or disengaged it.”

  “It is my understanding, Spur,” Jordan said slowly, trying desperately to digest the impossible, “that these Decantees, from this mythical time before time, were unable to offer Ingrams anything in the way of importance.”

  “That is so, my Lord.”

  “Then what, by all the Gods, has this caveman created, and how?”

  “My Lord, as I said, the device is known as a gravnetic shield generator. A unique combination of antigravity/gravity waves are created and manipulated by a series of complex emitters. These waves are handled by a further series of machines. The machine itself is powered by direct absorption of electromagnetic waves. Nickels designed the units for use in combat, but Trinity purchased the patent and re-engineered the design to be driven by manmade black holes, increasing the capacity a thousandfold. Quite succinctly, it supplants all other forms of planetary defense and environmental shielding for inhospitable planets, aiding in speedy terraforming. I have provided you with a detailed assessment for later perusal. Captain Nickels’ design is flawless, sire, yielding one hundred percent efficacy against hostile forces. In light of maintaining safety, Trinity has opted to refrain from testing Hand of Glory missiles, but virtual tests show high levels of resistance from the planet-busters, possibly even total. Trinity has not tested against Offworld technology at this time, but the current level of threat from non-Humans is Green. Once activated, power required to maintain each facility is categorized as less than minimal. Operating on a planetary scale, this device is more cost efficient than the energy it takes to run the software. Access holes for ships entering or exiting can be made on the fly by wave manipulation. I feel it incumbent upon myself to mention that the disparate technologies used to create this device have been existent for hundreds of years and in no way come close to violating Trinity’s restrictions. It seems that while Captain Nickels was unable to provide any insights into Human history, he is able to work within the present. As per existing defense contracts with all Conglomerates, Captain Nickels receives a percentage of each planet’s gross income.”

  “And since,” Jordan grated, “it is cheaper and better to use these ‘gravnetic generators’, the dollar value assigned to each planet has tripled.”

  “This is true, my Lord.”

  “Has this … caveman invented anything else likely to shake the Firmament of Heaven?”

  “No, my Lord. He has since quit Special Services and is currently wandering throughout Trinityspace. I am unable to locate him, and during my initial efforts, I was warned away by a representative.”

  “With good reason, Spur, with good reason. He is not a Conglomerate, which makes him vulnerable to … mishap. Find him. Then employ someone to kill him. This caveman had his chance to live in peace, but he waived that right the moment he took money from me. When he is dead, we’ll start a smear campaign. Something flashy, something about the dangers of manmade black holes. All under the guise of sincerity, of course.”

  “As you wish.”

  DAY THREE:

  When God Soldiers Attack

  Garth wondered how in the hell any of the contenders hoped to win The Game if they spent their nights drinking their damned fool heads off and getting into unsanctioned fights with each other the next day. As a man who needed very little sleep, he was accustomed to having the wee hours of the morning to himself, time he spent in deep contemplation of the navel or whatever happened to be on television. Unfortunately, all the crap on TV at three AM was a regurgitation of the crap they aired during the day and, he suspected, intentionally, abrasively pro-Latelian. Since he already knew what his navel looked like, he had ample time to learn all he could about the stolen gun.

  And, of course, he got to practice ignoring the screams, howls and battle cries of five hundred or so drunken loons cavorting through the hotel trying to kill each other.

  Thankfully, the protean system in the Hotel was one of the only things working properly; now, a heating conduit problem trumped the air conditioning problem hands down. If you stood still for more than a minute, you started cooking.

  Thus, Garth learned the handgun –oversized even for his larger-than-average hand span- was an ‘Obenstrech .60 caliber’ automatic machine pistol. The ‘Stretch-gun’ -or simply ‘Stretch’- was a favorite of street thugs because they were easy to come by; for over four hundred years, they’d been the official sidearm for God army infantrymen system-wide but less than fifteen years ago the handgun had been decommissioned in favor of high density energy weapons. Enterprising soldiers in charge of destroying the weapons had made themselves a fast buck by selling off entire caravans to the highest bidder. A sting operation eventually caught the entrepreneurs with their pants down, each of the fools charged with treason.

  Footage of what Latelians did to
traitors was interesting, in a Marquis de Sade kind of way.

  His Stretch gun was special; someone with a dab hand at high-tech tomfoolery had remodeled it to work with one helluva silencer. The previous owner of his new lead spitter had been no mere thug out to riddle some poor schmoe full of holes: only top-notch greasemen and gangsters had the dollars to spring for silencers. Especially one that could’ve won a science award for most complicated doohickey.

  Just why someone with that kind of juice wanted him dead after less than 24 hours on the planet was a mystery that needed solving, but research into the logo engraved onto the credit chips hadn’t yielded any usable results, other than that it belonged to ‘a gang’. If he wanted to get any further than that, Garth suspected he was going to need Huey’s help; with Latelians having the sorts of control issues they did, it was a good bet that gang coverage was at an all-time low for The Game.

  Other than the particulars of the Stretch –who made it, why, the methods of making it, interesting side notes- it developed that any citizen caught with one of the guns, even in a collector’s box, won a one-way ticket to ‘The Peak’. Garth guessed it wasn’t a fine dining establishment.

  Lucky for him, though, anyone could own bullets for the gun. At first Garth was worried that by calling up gun store and asking for a few dozen cases of ammo, he’d set off alarm bells somewhere, but in the course of looking for a distributor, he learned that there were collectors who snapped up neat bullets by the truckload. Ordering a few boxes was as easy as one, two, three and carried no more risk than buying a pack of cigarettes. Garth entered a request with a place called ‘Sa John’s Bullet Emporium’ for a few boxes and headed down for a quick breakfast getting his day started.

  As soon as he entered, a handler immediately accosted Garth. Since the debacle the day before, The Game promoters had decided it was in their best interests to assign one handler per person.