He looked at himself in the mirror field and nodded. “I am ready,” he said, flatly. “When do we depart for Darius?”
A moment later, he caught himself. He should have known when they were departing, but the memory was gone. The sheer immensity of AI thoughts, to say nothing of their vast database of information, was too much for a biological brain, even one designed to be smarter than anything mere evolution had ever produced. He’d known that he would be weakened, that he would be crippled, but he hadn’t fully grasped what that meant, until now. Knowing was very different from experiencing... everything that wasn’t related to Darius had been sliced out of his memory. And even then, some thoughts were just too much for his new brain to comprehend, vague concepts that slipped away whenever he looked at them.
The AI representative took pity on him. “This ship is currently heading for Travis’s Star, where it will rendezvous with PKS Hamilton,” she said. “There, you will meet the rest of the research team. They are smart, so there is no point trying to hide your true nature from their sight. Their personnel files are stored in your wristcom for when you are ready to study them.”
Dacron nodded. No embodied AI could hope to pass for human, at least not without years of experience. The other members of the team would know him for what he was the moment he opened his mouth. They might find him strange, or repulsive, but there was no other choice. The only technology that worked consistently on Ancient worlds – and Darius, they assumed – was biological. An embodied AI was the closest the AIs could come to studying the mystery that bedevilled their minds. If only they were capable of maintaining even a basic communications link.
“I understand,” he said. He found himself struck with a sudden longing he didn’t know how to comprehend. “Are there other humans onboard this vessel?”
“You will need to be tested first,” the AI representative said, firmly. Dacron knew better than to argue. He thought he was sane, but the AIs wouldn’t take chances. A door hissed open in the far wall, revealing a second room studded with holographic projectors. “Walk through the door.”
Dacron nodded, feeling a flash of very human frustration. To the AIs, it was nothing more than an irritant, more of an illusion of an emotion rather than an emotion itself. To a human, frustration was a powerful – and dangerous – force. He stepped forward, wondering just how humans managed to control themselves, and into the room, shaking his head when he saw a holographic simulation of a gym, complete with a tutor. The first stage in the tests would be proving that he could control his human body.
“I have a question,” he said, thirty minutes later. His body might have been designed and then woven together in a clone tank, but it had never been exercised. He ached all over. “Why do I not have a neural link?”
“It would distract you from learning to be human,” the AI representative informed him. “We did not wish you transcribing yourself into an AI core before we were ready to re-assimilate you. Besides, only a small percentage of the human population has a neural link. You might well become dependent upon it and then discover that it was useless on Darius.”
Dacron nodded, feeling another flicker of human emotion. The AIs showed no sign of recognising it; instead, they threw another simulation at him, and then another. He worked his way through them one by one, trying to understand the often illogical nature of the simulations. Was it really likely that a human would try to seduce him?
Of course it was, he reminded himself, a moment later. The vast majority of the Confederation’s population spent their first century chasing pleasure in all its myriad forms, changing their bodies to suit themselves. There were no taboos within the Confederation, with the possible exception of incest. A human who saw an embodied computer might just try to seduce him, if only to see what would happen. Dacron pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the simulation. It grew harder to maintain his control as the holograms pushed their way further into his personal space.
“You will remain under close observation until we reach the Hamilton,” the AIs said, finally. “Once you are cleared, you will be permitted to operate freely among humans.”
“Thank you,” Dacron said. They didn’t trust him! Cold logic said that they would be wise not to trust him until they knew he could behave himself, but cold logic seemed to be powerless against human emotion. “I will not let you down.”
“Good,” the AIs said. They’d probably keep pushing him into simulations, including scenarios he wouldn’t realise were simulations. An AI would notice an artificial world at once, but that was beyond his human senses. “We will be depending on you.”
CHAPTER
THREE
There were those who said that the human race was possessed of an incurable wanderlust. Indeed, nearly half of the Confederation’s population lived on starships, ranging from the giant planetoids and cityships to the relatively small cruisers that made up the mainstay of the Peacekeeper fleet, or the clanships and slowboats that carried extended families on permanent voyages across the galaxy. Who would want to live on a planet when they could have the endless vistas of space?
Elyria smiled as PKS Hamilton came into view, floating against a massive gas giant that played host to a remarkable species whom the Confederation had recently contacted. Inhabited gas giants were rare and finding a new species was always interesting, particularly one that had managed to reach into space long before they were discovered. Making contact hadn’t been easy and had largely relied on the AIs, but once communications were established the aliens had been delighted – and astonished – to discover that they were no longer alone. It was humbling to realise that humanity hadn’t taken the discovery so well. But then, humanity’s First Contact had been a bloody disaster that had resulted in the First Interstellar War.
Hamilton looked nothing like a civilian ship, unsurprisingly. Peacekeeper starships, even survey ships, were sometimes called upon to fight to defend the Confederation and they couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. She was a flattened cylinder, ten kilometres from bow to stern, her silver hull glittering in the reflected light from the gas giant. Starships were the greatest form of artwork in the Confederation and even the nastiest warships had an elegance designed into them by the shipyards. Hamilton, in a very real sense, was the Confederation, the first starship spacefaring cultures were meant to encounter. She was designed to make a good impression.
Elyria’s wristcom buzzed. “We are now within teleport range of Hamilton,” the ship’s RI informed her. The Harvest of Love was a liner, providing fast transportation from star to star for civilians who wanted to travel. It had also been the quickest way to reach Hamilton, although that hadn’t stopped her using the ship’s luxury cocoons to enjoy herself. “Do you wish to be teleported immediately?”
“Yes, please,” Elyria said. She’d exchanged messages with Hamilton’s Executive Officer, who had made arrangements for her quarters on the giant survey ship. It wasn’t as if she needed much, beyond her wristcom. Anything she was likely to need could be produced onboard the survey ship.
“You don’t wish to say goodbye first?” The RI asked. “You spent time with several young men during your voyage.”
Elyria smiled, inwardly. RIs, particularly the ones designed to help look after civilians, could be alarmingly mothering. The Confederation had never been entirely comfortable with leaving everything to the RIs, not after the disaster on Armadillo. One planet had placed everything under the jurisdiction of RIs governed by the ancient – and largely discredited – Three Laws of Robotics. The RIs had taken complete control of the population’s lives, purely for their own safety. Eventually, the Peacekeepers had had to step in to liberate the population from a very strange tyranny.
“I don’t think they will miss me,” she said, ruefully. The luxury liners played host to hundreds of thousands of youngsters on pleasure cruises. Eventually, they grew out of it and started doing something more serious with their lives. “I’d like to be teleported now, if you please.”
The world blurred out around her in a shimmer of red-gold light. When it faded away, she was standing in a teleport chamber on the Hamilton, facing a young woman who had extensively modified her body to look like a cartoon character. Her eyes were big, her body was weirdly proportioned and her smile was too bright. There were primitive worlds whose inhabitants would have taken one look at her and known that she was a fairy, or a demon.
“Welcome onboard,” she said. “I’m Commander Anastasia, Executive Officer for my sins. You’ll be pleased to know that half of your team is already onboard and burning with curiosity.”
“That’s good,” Elyria said, with a wink. The Peacekeeper briefing notes had stated that no one, apart from Captain Thor, knew the ship’s destination, or what they expected to find there. Indeed, much of the ship’s research staff were being transferred to another survey ship which would continue the discussions with the gas giant’s inhabitants. “I hope to settle their curiosity once we get underway.”
“Excellent,” Anastasia said, as she invited Elyria to follow her. “I don’t know if you’ve ever travelled on a Peacekeeper ship before, but the rules are a little different here. There are parts of the ship that are off-limits to civilian personnel, all listed in the plans uploaded to your wristcom. You’ll be expected to obey orders from Peacekeeper officers, whatever the situation. The Captain has the authority to restrain you if you refuse to follow orders, endanger yourself, others or the ship itself – or if you compromise the mission.”
Elyria nodded. She had been on Peacekeeper ships before, although the first voyage had been a nasty shock. The Confederation had very few laws and civilian ships were little different from a Planetary Ring, or a Habitat. On a Peacekeeper ship, however, there were rules, many of them throwbacks to what the vast majority of the population would consider the Dark Ages. And yet they had to be followed.
“We don’t allow internal teleports except in emergencies,” Anastasia continued. “If you need to get around the ship, walk or use the transport tubes. You will have access to part of the ship’s computer core, but not all of it; we cannot risk contamination of the internal datanet. And the crew is not there to be your personal servants. If you need something the RI cannot produce for you immediately, place a request through my office.
“But don’t let that worry you,” Anastasia added, a moment later. “The crew is used to working with civilians. I’m sure there won’t be many problems.”
“I certainly hope not,” Elyria said. She’d never worked with a Peacekeeper crew while monitoring primitive populations. Rumour had it that they were cautious to the point of paranoia. It shouldn’t be a real surprise – Peacekeepers often dealt with alien races who shared the Confederation’s technological prowess – but their caution could be an impediment on a primitive world. But then, Darius was no ordinary world. “We will do our best to ensure that there is no friction.”
Anastasia stopped outside a door and pressed her hand against the sensor panel. The door slid open, revealing a barren compartment with a bed, a chair and a small washroom at the rear. Two large windows looked out into interstellar space, which would allow her to lie in bed and stare out at the stars. There were no decorations, but that wasn’t too surprising either. She would be expected to decorate her quarters to suit herself. A small collection of clothing waited for her in one of the storage compartments. Anything else she needed would have to be produced by the onboard fabricator.
“The final members of your team will be boarding this evening,” Anastasia said, once Elyria had checked the terminal and configured the user interface to suit herself. “Once they are onboard, we will be slipping into hyperspace and heading for a destination the Captain has seen fit to keep to himself. I assume you will be briefing us all then?”
“Definitely,” Elyria said. She could understand the XO’s irritation, but the CSC had wanted to keep certain details classified until the mission was underway. It would be a great deal harder for anyone to tip off the news agencies once they were in hyperspace. “I look forward to briefing you all.”
“And the Captain wishes to speak with you,” Anastasia added. “Will 1400 be convenient?”
Elyria blinked. “I think so,” she said, glancing at her wristcom. It was 1314, Confederation Standard Time. “Am I allowed to visit his ready room?”
“I’ll have someone escort you,” Anastasia said. She grinned as she walked back to the door. “And I can’t wait to hear about the mission. I’m sure it’s something extraordinary.”
“It is,” Elyria assured her.
She watched the XO leave her quarters and then sat down in front of the terminal. As she’d been warned, parts of it were clearly unavailable to her, but it was easy to access both her personal mailing account and the secure address she’d been assigned by the Peacekeepers. One prospective researcher had agreed to join the mission, only to change his mind at the last moment, apparently because he’d picked up a better offer elsewhere. Elyria studied it for a long moment, decided that he was fishing for more information and then discarded it. An expert on gunpowder firearms would be helpful, but there was enough cross-specialisation among the team that his presence wasn’t essential. Besides, they did have access to the Peacekeeper database, which included all known forms of military tactics. He’d regret his decision when the files were finally declassified.
A second message informed her that Colonel Jorlem, a Peacekeeper attached to something called the Prometheus Project, had been assigned to the team and would be boarding the Hamilton later in the afternoon. Elyria glanced through the files, but even with her improved security clearance she wasn’t able to find any information on the Prometheus Project, or even the Colonel himself. The AIs could presumably have told her, yet she knew better than to try to ask. They picked up all kinds of pieces of information and rarely shared something they knew to be classified, or personally embarrassing.
There was a chime at the door, which opened to reveal a young man with feline facial fur and a rather toothy grin, wearing the standard grey uniform. “Begging your pardon, Professor, but I have been assigned to escort you to the Captain,” he said. Elyria glanced at her wristcom and saw, to her surprise, that it was 1350. “Would you like to come with me?”
Elyria smiled. “Why not?”
The command section of the starship proved to be something of a disappointment. There were a handful of consoles on the bridge, but most of the actual work was done through neural links and specialised RIs. Elyria had only a few seconds to glance through the bridge before the door leading to the Captain’s Ready Room hissed open, allowing her to step inside. Captain Thor stood up to greet her, holding out one hand for her to shake. Unlike his crew, he looked reassuringly baseline human, although with long blonde hair and too many muscles.
But at least he was human. The Changed could never be allowed to go down to Darius. They’d simply attract far too much attention.
“Welcome onboard,” Thor said, as he motioned for Elyria to take a seat. “I have been fully briefed by Peacekeeper Command on the true nature of the mission. It is fascinating, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Elyria said, unable to avoid a hint of nervousness. The Captain might not be in command of the research team, but he was in overall command of the mission. “Solving the mystery of Darius is a major priority for the Confederation.”
“Because of the Ancients,” Thor said. He stood in front of the producer and tapped it. “You drink tea?”
“It is socially impossible not to drink it,” Elyria said, dryly. Besides, her re-engineered taste buds could help her to tolerate it. No human had to force themselves to swallow something awful after the genetic engineers finished with them. “You believe that the Ancients destroyed themselves?”
“I think that so many dead worlds, with comparable ruins and sharing the same... energy signature that causes advanced technology to glitch, suggests that something terrible happened to the Ancients,” Thor said. “I used to be on patrol
in the Thule Sector, where multiple worlds were destroyed during the war. There was very little uniform about them, Professor, but all of the Ancient worlds are practically identical. Unless you count Essence – and I understand that the jury is still out on the question of Essence being an actual Ancient world.”
He shrugged. “The evidence suggests that the Ancients destroyed themselves and their worlds in a single moment,” he added. He held up a hand before she could object. “I know – there’s no theory that can account for what happened, or at least none that can be proved. But it could be a Polaris Disaster, except on a much larger scale. We may never know for sure.”
Elyria scowled. Two thousand years ago, the inhabitants of the world humans would eventually call Polaris had suffered a major energy crisis – and tried to solve it by tapping their own sun through a zero-width wormhole. Somehow, they’d miscalculated and triggered a massive solar flare that had sterilised their world, exterminating their entire population. The lucky ones had died quickly. Later, human archaeologists had discovered proof that their society had been bitterly divided on the whole issue of tapping their sun. The naysayers had been right.
“Peacekeeper Command understands the importance of the mission, but I have strict orders not to risk exposing the Confederation’s existence to the locals,” Thor continued. “I know we will eventually have to go down to the surface, but we will be operating under strict security protocols at all times. Matters will not be helped by the glitches in our most advanced systems. We might be unable to teleport someone out if they ran into trouble.”
Sufficiently Advanced Technology (Inverse Shadows) Page 3
