by Jay Allan
He had been examined, he’d realized that much. Not like a medical exam, at least not entirely. More like someone encountering a human for the first time, determined to satisfy scientific curiosity. His captors had clearly been unconcerned with his discomfort, but that was no surprise. His thoughts were taking shape again, his judgment reacquiring its clarity. He’d been captured by the First Imperium. That was the only possibility.
He argued with himself at first, recalling that the First Imperium had never shown interest in captives…or live humans of any sort. But still, he knew that’s what had happened. He remembered the final moments in the shuttle, waiting for death. The Gremlin was in close pursuit. Then there was a hit, abrupt, hard. The ship was going down, plunging deeper into the atmosphere.
Then Harmon’s memory became spotty, his recollection beginning to fade. There was something…a light. A beam? He wasn’t sure. But that’s the last he remembered of the shuttle. The next thing he knew he was in the room…that room. Under that light, that terrible white light…
He shook as he recalled the things they had done to him in there, the pain…the awful pain. He’d been prepared for death since the moment the shuttle had been hit, but the torment had been more than he could endure. He felt broken, defeated. He knew he should try to escape, but the strength wasn’t there, not anymore. He exhaled hard and let himself lay back quietly…waiting. He closed his eyes, still struggling to forget what had happened to him.
“Greetings.” It was a strange voice. Not human, he knew that right away. But not vastly different.
“Who are you?” he replied, his voice startled, but still soft, exhausted. He was in no mood for proper greetings.
“I am Command Unit Gamma 9736. Or at least, that is the closest translation to your tongue.”
Harmon had been distracted, unsettled. He just realized the strange voice was speaking perfect English.
“How the hell do you know my language?” Harmon knew that was a foolish question. There were AIs on the shuttle, added to all the other debris the First Imperium forces had no doubt analyzed since the war began. A hundred ways an enemy computer could have analyzed human languages. Now that he considered it, he’d have been surprised if the thing couldn’t have communicated with him.
Not to mention whatever they sucked out of my head.
“That was a relatively simple effort. The surviving parts of your vessel included considerable memory banks…including a full set of language material. I find it interesting that your people use so many different methods of verbal and written communication. If appears to be a highly inefficient system.”
Harmon felt his anger growing as his strength returned. This…thing…was talking to him in a pleasant tone, and that just pissed him off even more after the torture he’d just experienced. “Well, nobody asked for your opinion.”
“Indeed,” the voice replied. “Nevertheless, my study of your data records results in an anomaly I cannot reconcile. It appears that your people employ a variety of seemingly pointless inefficiencies in many areas of endeavor beyond simple communication. Yet you are staggeringly effective when conducting war. My review of the battles fought against you suggest that you were outmatched in every instance, yet you frequently prevailed. Can you explain this seeming disparity?”
“Eat shit.”
“Based upon context, I believe that was an idiomatic expression, one intended to communicate hostility. It has been many centuries since I interacted with a biologic, so please excuse me if my manners are not in keeping with your social norms. First, allow me to apologize for the discomfort you likely endured during our analysis. I understand that biologics can experience significant displeasure from activities that are only very mildly damaging.”
“Mildly?” Harmon was incredulous.
“Indeed. If you take the time to review your condition, you will find that there is no…”
“It hurt like hell you piece of shit,” Harmon interrupted, his anger gaining control as he slowly recovered his strength. “But you are all a bunch of murdering, bloodthirsty monsters, so why should I be surprised.”
“You refer to the war. To the losses your people have suffered, correct?”
“The war you started. For no reason.”
“Hostilities were initiated because one of our worlds was apparently attacked. The Regent declared your people to be an enemy of the Imperium. In the context of the time, my review of its determination confirms its analysis to be at least nominally correct within the margin of error.
“Attacked? We explored an abandoned planet. There was nothing there but ruins. That is hardly an excuse for war…much less an all-out xenophobic assault.”
“Based on my analysis of your peoples’ historical databases, at least those I have been able to obtain and review, I would submit that far less has generally considered sufficient to commence hostilities. Indeed, it would appear that very little provocation was needed to start many of your intra-species wars.”
Harmon felt another flush of anger, but he stayed silent. He hated the First Imperium, detested this machine speaking to him. But part of him knew the Unit was right. Millions had died in the Third Frontier War, and the causes of that conflict had been so vague and non-specific that the histories said little more than that ‘rising tension’ had led to war. And in the Rebellions, Alliance Gov had been ready to nuke Columbia.
They would have too, if it hadn’t been for Admiral Compton.
Still, Harmon couldn’t get the images of those who had died fighting the First Imperium out of his mind—friends, comrades. Images of devastated worlds, of the surface of Sandoval, a bleak radioactive nightmare, left that way after Erik Cain’s Marines had fought their desperate defense there. Man’s savagery to himself wasn’t an excuse for the Regent’s xenophobia. Harmon wasn’t ready to give up his hate toward the First Imperium, not the slightest bit of it…not even enough to acknowledge that men might have reacted the same way given the chance. He felt anger burying his confusion, and he tried not to think about how desperately he needed that hate, how much he relied on it.
“Nevertheless,” the Unit continued, “such a debate is of little consequence now. What has already happened has happened. And now I possess additional information, data that requires me to investigate further. To determine my next actions.”
“What did you do to the landing party on X48 II?” Harmon’s thoughts had focused on the expedition. “Did you massacre them?” His voice dripped with hate. The thought of the burned bodies of his comrades lying across the planet’s charred plains had driven away his momentary moral ambiguity.
“I did nothing. The biologics on the surface of the planet have not been attacked by units under my command.” A short pause. “Indeed, system 17411 is forbidden, to my forces as well as to those of any other Command Unit. Only the Regent may approve access. Had I not been expressly ordered to follow your fleet, none of my ships would even have transited into the system.
“They are still alive?” Harmon seemed to teeter between excitement and disbelief.
“As I stated, no forces under my control have harmed them. Further, I have detected no other vessels or fleets approaching the planet. I cannot meaningful address whether units already stationed there have engaged your expedition. My information on this planet is virtually non-existent. I can offer you no reliable estimate of surviving ground-based strength.”
Harmon had felt a brief surge of relief when the Unit said its forces had not attacked. He didn’t know why he believed the entity, but he found that he did. But his spirits fell a bit with the mention of ground forces. He’d seen the vids from X18, the battles against the enemy’s surviving forces on that world.
Still, we’ve got 1,500 Marines down there. They can handle a few security bots…
He tried to convince himself the Marines could defeat whatever they found down there, but he just wasn’t sure.
“I have some questions I would ask you.”
Harmon made a f
ace. “Drop dead. Why would I tell you anything?”
“I understand your resentment. You are a biologic, unable to truly separate judgment from emotion. Yet, I would urge you to cooperate. I will not ask you questions of military significance…though if I chose to employ pharmaceuticals and aggressive interrogation techniques, it is virtually a certainty that I could break your resistance and obtain any information that you possess. You may wish to consider the fact that I am not doing so at present.”
Harmon felt a shudder pass through him at the thought of what passed for ‘aggressive interrogation’ in the estimation of a First Imperium AI. He had no doubt the Unit could indeed break him, and for all his hatred and determination, he didn’t suspect it would take long.
“However, there is another reason for you to cooperate. It may improve your situation. My orders from the Regent are clear. Terminate all humans. My initial intention was to conduct an extensive interrogation and then dispose of you, in accordance with my directives.”
Harmon felt another wave of fear at the reminder of his situation. The Unit spoke so calmly, so reasonably, it was easy to forget he was the prisoner of a deadly enemy, that his chances of ever getting back to the fleet were almost non-existent.
“It is not within my range of determinative options to violate the Regent’s orders. However, I find myself facing a paradox, one I cannot fully explain. I must have more data. I must understand the implications of what I have discovered.”
“What have you discovered?” Harmon was confused. His captor seemed strange, genuinely curious. He had no idea what the Unit was speaking of.
“I must understand your origin. That of your entire species. Our knowledge in this area is severely lacking.”
Harmon felt the rage again, the hatred for this First Imperium creation. “You must be mad. Why do you think I would tell you anything about my people? You are the enemy…a butcher. I would destroy you if I could, send you straight to hell, just as I would every other artificial intelligence and warbot in First Imperium space.” He spat out the last words, caustic rage taking control.
“Your anger is understandable, considered from the perspective of a biologic. If it is of any satisfaction to you, my own analysis does not match the Regent’s. If I had been in command, there would have been no war between us…or at least it would have required additional aggressive action on the part of your people.” There was a short pause. “Though based on my limited data, further hostile human activity seems to have been possible, if not likely.”
Harmon felt the jab again. He was too angry to consider data fairly, yet he still understood, some part of him at least. If the First Imperium had made contact, not as enemies but as neighbors…seeking redress perhaps for the ‘invasion’ of Epsilon Eridani IV, would the Superpowers have provoked a war? Would they have sought gain for themselves, or to enlist the alien power against their Earthly enemies?
Yes, he finally thought. Probably. But that didn’t matter. The First Imperium had done what it had done. He just sat quietly, not saying a word.
“Again, however, I will urge your cooperation. I had planned to compel it…indeed, there is little doubt that you would have told me everything you know.”
“Then why don’t you get to that and stop harassing me?” Harmon was struggling to keep up his courage, but inside he shuddered to think what this machine could do to him. He wished he had a weapon, some way to kill himself before he was forced to tell all he knew. But there was nothing.”
“I cannot,” the Unit replied. “Based upon the newest information available to me, it is no longer an option.”
“And why is that?” Harmon didn’t know if this was some kind of sick game, perhaps a way to raise his hopes only to dash them a moment later when he was dragged off to some torture chamber. Psychological torment designed to break him faster. “Never mind,” Harmon added before the Unit could respond. “Then stop boring me to death, and just kill me. Be done with it.”
“I do not believe that is an option either, though my orders from the Regent require it.” The voice paused, almost like a hitch, the first hint of uncertainty or nervousness Harmon had noticed. “But regardless, I must have an answer. I must know why your DNA is virtually identical to that of those who built me so long ago. Are you one of the Old Ones? Are all of your people?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Excerpt from the Screed of Almeerhan (translated)
Kahldaran passed beyond today. He was my closest comrade from life, and so it remained through the millennia we stood vigil together. He tried to endure, to withstand the ravages of immortality. But, at last, he could no longer go on. He asked me to relieve him, to let him go. And thus I did.
He was the hardest for me to release, for he was not only as a brother to me, but he was the last. One hundred of us entered this fortress many ages ago. First we endured as long as possible as what we were, living creatures. Then we began a far longer vigil, living as shadows, as numerical equivalents of ourselves. And we endured time almost beyond measure, eons that dwarfed the years of the Imperium, of our peoples’ rise and decline. Time that defied imagining. But now there is but one left, alone, to carry the legacy forth, to somehow endure until our children come…to take the burden, to begin the New Age.
I am that one.
But will I endure where my brethren have not? I recall Kahldaran in battle, when we stood side by side and fought the Regent’s death machines. Was he not my equal? Indeed, was he not the superior warrior, for he had more kills than I…and he saved my life when my opponent bested me? Of the hundred—the best remaining of our race—who strode into this sanctuary, this prison, how is it I have survived the longest? None would have chosen me to outlast others such as Kahldaran. And yet so that has happened.
Do I have the strength to go on? To continue into the great endless depths of time, alone now, as I have not been before? Can I find the strength? For I ache to join my brother, and the rest of my people. To discover what lies beyond, and if that be nothing then to pass into the soft blackness of oblivion.
But I must endure. I must continue to believe the seeds we planted will bear fruit. That our children will come. But if they do, will they be ready to hear what I must say? To take upon themselves the great weight I bear for them? I must go on to gain that answer…hold my place on time’s relentless march forward. One day they will come. I believe that. I must believe it.
X48 System – Planet II
Beneath the Ruins of “New York City”
The Fleet: 116 ships, 28198 crew
“Doc!” Kyle Bruce’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the corridor. “Where’d you come from? I was just looking over there.”
“Let’s get moving, Lieutenant. I’ll explain, but we don’t have a lot of time. There will be more First Imperium bots here soon…and then all hell’s going to break loose.” Cutter felt a little spaced out, almost drunk. Too much information, far too quickly. He needed time to think, quiet, uninterrupted. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not any time soon.
Bruce stared back with a confused look on his face. “How do you know that?”
“Where were you the last twelve hours, Kyle?” Cutter asked. “Can you tell me?”
Bruce paused. “I was unconscious. We all were.”
“Yes, that’s true. Or at least partially true. But you remember the corridor, don’t you? The bot?”
The Marine stared back, his helmet retracted, exposing the confused expression on his face. “Yes…the corridor. The bot. I do remember. But…what happened? How did we end up out here?”
“Like I said, Lieutenant, it’s a long story. But if we don’t get the hell out of here—and now—nobody’s ever going to hear it.”
“Okay, Doc, whatever you say…hey, what is that you’ve got there?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Kyle, but I think it is some kind of extremely sophisticated information storage device. And I suspect it is full of all kinds of data we need.”
“Kyle, we really don’t have time. I’ll fill you in later, but for now we’ve got to get moving.”
“Right,” Bruce replied, sounding obedient but not entirely satisfied. “Let’s head back toward the camp while things are still quiet.”
Cutter nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around the silvery cylinder. It wasn’t heavy, not really, but it was bulky, hard to carry.
Bruce turned and snapped off a series of orders to the five Marines standing off to the side. Whatever had destroyed the enemy bots had also knocked out their coms. All the Marines had their helmets retracted, and they were communicating by the decidedly low tech method of yelling to each other.
Two of the Marines trotted forward at Bruce’s commands, and another two dropped back about ten meters behind Cutter. A single hulking figure remained, his close-cropped red hair tangled in curly knots as he stared wordlessly toward Bruce and Cutter.
“McCloud, I want you to stay close to Dr. Cutter. We’ve got to get him out of here with this device.” He gestured toward the cylinder. “Whatever happens, you’re right there…understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Duff McCloud never sounded obedient, but this was as close as Bruce had ever heard him come. The events of the day, poorly remembered and understood as they were, had clearly made an impression. Even on the Marines’ number one unshakable discipline case.
Bruce looked over again at Cutter and nodded. Then he activated his com and said, “Alright, we’re moving out…back to the camp. And I want everybody to take it slow and be careful. I want your eyes everywhere, and your ears too.” He gestured with his head, signaling for Cutter to follow him. “Let’s go, Marines.”
