By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  “They do.” A slow grin crept across Turing’s face.

  “I dunno, image recognition and the like, that should have caught you within moments of you walking in front of a camera?”

  “Who said it didn’t?”

  Eric blinked.

  “How the hell does that work?” he asked.

  “Pattern matching, facial recognition, they’re known algorithms. You can skirt an algorithm in two ways. One of which is changing the pattern observed. Camouflage, makeup, disguises. Can you guess the other?”

  Eric’s pursed his lips together, thinking. He sipped his drink before realizing Turing had poured him another.

  “Alter the algorithm itself?”

  Turing’s grin blossomed into a full smile.

  “Precisely.”

  “Wow. How’d you do that?”

  “Story for another time, Eric. So, think of something you couldn’t remember that bothered you. I’d avoid anything dealing with Leah for right now. I’m not trying to scar you.”

  “Uhm, okay?” Eric muttered. Something that bothered me. Not Leah. A chill settled on his skin. He was weightless again, hanging in mid-air over the snowy slope. The memory blinked. The blackness of space surrounded him. He couldn’t breathe, but he was oddly okay with it. Eric’s eye twitched. I accepted it. “Got it. Next?”

  “What led up to that?”

  “They threw me in an airlock.”

  “They?”

  “Uh, Doctor Isaacs. She was the director of interrogation. She sna--”, Eric trailed off, wincing.

  “What? What is it, Eric?”

  “I, just, wait. Headache,” Eric groaned, grabbing his head. “Sudden.”

  “Good, keep focusing, she what?”

  “She snapped. They threw me in an airlock but--” Eric trailed off again, this time with a look of horror.

  Turing snapped his fingers several times.

  Eric took a long pull from his drink and sorrowful words tumbled from his mouth. “They threw my friend out first.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Eric scowled, slamming his empty glass on the table, “That bitch killed my friend trying to get me to talk!”

  “I’m sorry, Eric, but you might want to calm down.”

  “Why?” Eric growled.

  “Well, for one, there’s no one here you can justifiably be angry at. Two, if I was wrong, you’re accelerating the process by raising your blood pressure. Pressure makes the brain bleed worse.”

  Eric froze for a second and leaned back in his chair as he wrestled with his anger. He ran his hand through his short hair a few times. “Okay, you’re right. Man, my hair feels weird. Like, fuzzy or something.”

  Turing smirked. “You’ve never drank before?”

  “Nah, not really. Maybe a sip or two. It usually tasted like I was drinking from a bottle of cleaning chemicals.”

  “Ah, well, I’ll apologize for any after effects. Now, tell me about the ship you grew up on. You should find it remarkably easier to remember now.”

  Eric looked quizzically at Turing. “Yeah, it is. Why can I remember this now?”

  “More on that later, continue while you can.”

  Eric frowned. I don’t like the sound of that.

  “I grew up on the Fortune. She was a heavily modified cargo hauler, a bit short of seventy thousand tons, but more of that was engine than you’d think. She carried two dorsal mounted two-hundred-fifty-six megajoule rail guns, an assortment of point defense weapons, and a few other surprises, odds and ends mostly. Total crew complement, less than six hundred.”

  “Only two rails? And two-fifties? That’s rather light for naval engagements.”

  “Not when you’re hitting merchants and making off with the goods before someone serious shows up.”

  “Is that what happened? Someone serious showed up?”

  Eric’s eyes glossed over as hundreds of images flickered past him. “Yeah, kinda. Fox had bought some information. We got there a week before the convoy was supposed to show up and waited in an asteroid field. Their escort was a pair of destroyers, not a frigate.”

  “So that’s how the Protectorate got ahold of you?”

  “Nope. We were going to play it quiet, let them pass. One of the destroyers detected us somehow. They opened fire, winged us. We got the hell out of there, barely.”

  “Well, if they didn’t catch you there, how did they?”

  “We did a standard escape and evasion sequence, dropping into deadspace, changing directions, that kind of thing. Our last deadspace shuffle, back-up life support shit the bed, couldn’t handle the strain. That destroyer had put a shot straight through main life support, through and through. I’m not sure what happened exactly, but we scooted to the nearest system and laid up in the Kuiper belt collecting ice comet fragments. I’m pretty sure they were melting them down, filtering the water, and separating a good chunk of it into hydrogen for the fuel and oxygen. That was where we found it.”

  “It? What did you find?”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you.” Eric paused, lost in thought for a moment. The memories of his fallen shipmates haunted him. “We found a ship.”

  “A ship? That doesn’t sound--”

  “Stuck in a comet fragment long enough that the ice had reformed over it.”

  “Interesting. Go on.”

  “I was the only one to really walk around on her. It was a warship of some kind, bigger than the Fortune.”

  “Early Protectorate?”

  Eric shook his head and glanced down at this pistol in his hand. “No. I didn’t recognize the ensign the first time. Does ‘The United States of America’ ring any bells?”

  “Ring any bells? That flintlock was made there.” Turing smiled. He leaned back, and spun the globe of Earth around. Pointing to a territory in the upper hemisphere, he continued, “That is the United States. That ship is why you’re here. Pity, the charlatans would never appreciate the history inside her hull. Shame they’ve burnt her like they do all the rest.”

  Eric snorted and slurred, “They’d have to find her first.”

  Turing’s gaze slid over to him. It started as a chuckle, but seconds later Turing was laughing. “You managed to keep possibly the largest Earth artifact ever discovered a secret? Really?”

  “Not entirely.” Turing’s laugh halted.

  “While we were picking through the fragments, the Shrike was moving into position. They ambushed us while we paced the comet this ship, the Gadsden, was trapped in.”

  “You just made it sound like they didn’t know it was there.”

  “As far as I know, they don’t. The Shrike had to have been on silent running for a while to get that close to us. It still took them a good while to get a transport out to pick us up. I’m pretty sure they thought we were scouting out another comet fragment. That’s the impression I gave them anyway. I don’t know about my friend, but that was the story we agreed to. Tell them we were unimportant nobodies, the Fortune was picking up ice on the way home. It wasn’t until they pulled images from my suit camera and started looking at the tablet I picked up--”

  “Tablet? No, that can wait, continue.”

  “Well, we’d been on the Shrike a while before they started asking questions about the pictures. Something happened.” Eric paused to rub the bridge of his nose. His head pounded. He motioned for another drink. “More. I’m only getting flashes and the headache is coming back.”

  After a few more gulps of amber Irish, Eric opened his mouth to speak, but a torrent of images and feelings froze his words.

  “Eric? Are you still with me? What are you seeing?”

  The worry in Turing’s words shook him free.

  Eric looked down at his clenched hands, expecting them to be clenched around a set of orange coveralls. He blinked slowly, caressing the pistol in his lap.

  “I killed a man, Turing.” Sorrow and cold anger frosted his statement.

  “Did he deserve it?”

  “He tried to-
-no, he did. He raped Leah. I tried to stop him. I couldn’t.” Eric’s stomach churned at the words unspoken, the totality of what had actually happened.

  “So you killed him instead?”

  Eric nodded slowly and sipped at his drink.

  “And you regret this, why?” Turing asked, genuinely confused. “It seems to me the man deserved his fate. You did the right thing by almost every moral compass I can think of, even most of those in the Protectorate.”

  “I. Enjoyed. It,” Eric choked out.

  “That,” Turing said with a nod, “Can be problematic. Have you talked to Byron or Hadrian about this? They have a little more experience on the matter than I do.”

  “A little.”

  “Good. Kill anyone else?”

  “Just the guy who didn’t make it past the jump. I didn’t enjoy that.”

  “Well, I would love to offer you some words of comfort, but none come to mind. All I can say is that your enjoyment is not the problem you should be looking at. Worry about why you enjoyed it, that will tell you if enjoying it was a bad thing or not.”

  “How can you say it like that?”

  “It’s rather quite simple to me, but I try not to talk about things I don’t know much about. Talk to Byron, he’ll be able to help you. I will point out that it speaks to your character that you’re concerned about it in the first place. Fellows of proper moral character and courage always worry they are becoming monsters when they are forced to act like one,” Turing told him. “Now, I’m sorry for that recollection, but I have a topic or two I want to cover before the whiskey wears off. What did you do on the Fortune?”

  “Anything that needed done, really. I wasn’t lying when I told the interrogator that. Fox liked to joke that it was cheaper to get them young and raise them to your own standards. He did say to me one day that he knew he was getting older and wanted more choices on his successor.”

  “Cheaper indeed,” Turing responded with a grin. “A successor? So, then he actually was making an officer out of you?”

  “I suppose. Before we got caught, I was in charge of a number of work details. They were also teaching me a lot of calculus, physics, that kind of thing.”

  “Ah, what was the last you remember of those two?”

  “We’d just started on differential equations.”

  Turing smiled.

  “Physics-wise, we’d only done basic kinematics. Had just gotten into electromagnetics.”

  “Ah, a decent start to a good education. I trust you enjoyed the math?”

  “For the most part. It all seemed to just make sense.”

  Turing’s smile widened. “Math is the only universal symbology, Eric, and physics is the language of the universe. Learn them both and they will serve you well. I suppose that concludes this interview. You should join your friends, I need to think a little while.”

  “Actually, I have a question if you don’t mind,” Eric spoke tentatively.

  “Go right ahead.”

  “What’s wrong with me? Why did the alcohol help?”

  “Oh, that. I was correct, you don’t have a brain bleed, or rather if you have one it’s small enough that amplifying it by thinning your blood with alcohol has minimal effect. In either case, you’ll be fine in short order. No, what you do have is far more interesting. Your problem is that someone did not want you to remember what we’ve just discussed.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Your symptoms are consistent with a certain class of nanites I’ve worked with. Most nanites designed to affect neurological systems have a significant number of safety features. You’re lucky whoever dosed you did not have time to dial it in completely to specific memories. That, and they didn’t disable the safeties.”

  “What would that have done?”

  “Killed you. The alcohol affects how the nanites interact with brain tissue. It also alters the brain’s sensitivity to how that class of nanites work. The safeties dial them back to prevent damage and, without them, the nanites you consumed would likely have had,” Turing paused. He tapped his lips a few times before continuing. “Unpredictable but invariably and eventually fatal side effects.”

  “Invariably and eventually? That doesn’t sound fast.”

  “Oh, no, it wouldn’t be. You’d be a vegetable by now or worse. Death would come much later. Untargeted, the nanites tend to have the strongest response to memories closest to the time of exposure. It seems the most likely time would have been either right before or right after the incident when you killed that man.”

  “Well, I spent the next three weeks in a nanite tank,” Eric offered.

  “Three weeks? Impressive fortitude, surviving what put you in there for that long. But still that’s not the likely vector. If they had three weeks, the nanites would have been targeted. It only takes half an hour at most with the right equipment. When you woke up, did you have memory issues?”

  “Not really, no. Not like this. It was more like waking up after sleeping way too long.”

  “When they threw you out of the airlock?”

  “That was when it started, yeah.”

  “So, whoever gave you something to drink or injected you with anything between you leaving the tank and you getting spaced. Though, focus on the tank side of that limit, the nanites take a while to get into position and synchronize. It seems someone on the Shrike suspected you knew something very important and they did not want your questioners to discover it. Very, very interesting.”

  “Who would want that?”

  “That is the question, Eric. That is the question. Clearly not a loyal citizen of the Protectorate. This class of nanites was tightly controlled, too. They’d have to be very well connected to have them. So it’s definitely not something casual. On the plus side, if whomever did this left the safeties on, it’s entirely likely that this episode will render them inactive. Perhaps. I suppose I can try to find a more permanent solution if that’s not the case. Either way, give me some time to think. Oh, and tell Hadrian I want to talk to him if you see him, would you?”

  Eric pushed himself up to stand. The world swayed devilishly under his feet and he dropped back into his chair.

  “Oh, never mind, I’ll get him myself,” Turing said with a puckish grin. “Sit, you’ll be fine. Just remember not to drink so much next time.”

  Eric slumped back in his chair as the world swayed around him, unaware of Turing’s departure. Nor did he notice the door opening again. His struggle to focus on the flintlock pistol in his lap all but drowned out the approaching footsteps.

  “Turing said,” Hadrian started, stalling in midsentence. “Wow, you’re piss-drunk.”

  Nausea kept Eric’s movements slow, deliberate. Eric looked up at Hadrian as the man sniffed at the tumbler Turing had poured him.

  “Oh, the good stuff? Why can’t I ever get the good stuff, Eric?”

  “I’m not sure I follow?”

  Holding out a hand, Hadrian smiled. “Come on, Turing has something to say to your group. You should be there.”

  “I thought he said he needed time to think?” Eric mumbled as he pulled himself up and nearly toppled over immediately.

  “Turing always says that,” Hadrian replied, catching Eric. He slung one of Eric’s arms over his shoulders. “Always wants more time to think, but makes snap decisions. Whew, how many of those did you have?”

  “I lost count. Five? Six?”

  “Six, since you went in? Not bad, lad.”

  Under Hadrian’s guidance, Eric bobbed and weaved across the room and out to the main entrance where his group had clustered between the stairs.

  “Ah, there’s Eric,” Turing said as they approached. “Please, disregard his inebriated state, part of a diagnostic test.”

  Byron and Doc exchanged quick, concerned glances.

  “But, as I was saying, I’ve come to a decision concerning your group. It was not easy. Some of you, such as yourself, Leah, have skills we will need in the coming months. Some, skills
that we desperately need now. After conferring with Eric, I’ve decided that all of you are welcome here.” Leah and Jeff smiled. “However, there are conditions.”

  “What would those be, exactly?” Byron drawled.

  “Let’s get the least pleasant out of the way first. Everyone who stays here needs to understand that they do so by my sufferance. While I am not an autocrat, the fact remains that I own this planet. It is what it is, no more, no less. Second, each of you will be assigned tasks based on either your expertise or your ability to learn. None of it will be easy. Every bit of it will be vitally important. Third, I expect everyone to exercise the utmost of their abilities to further the group, as if their survival depends on it. I will not lie to you. It does.

  “What you see here may appear luxurious compared to what awaits beyond the wall, but this is only because of my father’s forethought. What we have will not last. In fact, without everyone’s cooperation, we will not make it through next winter. In exchange for your loyalty and your efforts, you will have room and board, and a solemn promise from me. I will always, always do my utter best to be as fair as possible. Though it may appear to be so at times, I will not be arbitrary. Every person accepted into this household is equally important and will be treated as respectfully as they treat others. Questions?”

  “Yeah,” Doc said. “What sort of diagnostic test involves getting an adolescent staggering drunk?”

  “The kind that isolates a potential brain hemorrhage at elevation or determines other neurological activity is at play.”

  “Hemorrhage? I think I would’ve noticed. Drinking at this altitude would probably kill him if he had one.”

  “No probably about it, Doctor. The amount of alcohol ingested would have killed him about twenty minutes ago. I was betting on a different diagnosis.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Something protected by doctor-patient privilege. If you want to know, I’d suggest asking him when he’s sober. It’s not my secret to tell.”

  “How many people are here?” Jeff interrupted Doc’s fuming.

  “Counting your group, twenty-two.”