Artificial Evolution

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Precisely. They will allow us to precisely recreate an entire race, down to the mannerisms of the drivers. Unprecedented rebroadcast detail. Ms. Yang, I believe you know the presentation best. Please proceed.”

  Louise worked her way through the array of icons, maximizing them and explaining them with the enthusiasm of someone on a tight deadline who had suddenly been asked to conduct a field trip. “Net layout, 2D. Net layout, 3D. Rough Cut Racing logo. Concept of the grandstand. Concept of the climate-controlled spectator seating. The standard daytime hoversled.”

  Lex’s eyes widened and the glass of rum nearly slipped from his fingers. He marched up to the latest concept image, a one-third-scale hologram of a unique vehicle. It had a small cockpit, only slightly larger than the man it would contain. On two long outriggers jutting forward from each of the cockpit’s leading corners were a pair of silvery nodes. Behind the cockpit was an engine easily twice its size, studded with cooling fins and feeding two larger rear nodes and a monstrous pair of thrusters. It looked like a cross between a rocket and a dune buggy. There were glowing hotspots on the hologram. He poked each with a finger, conjuring floating readouts of the various specifications.

  “Look at those thrust characteristics. The power-to-weight ratio on this thing is nuts. And these repulsors. That’s an insane amount of grip. Oh man, you opted for the front-end turn-assist thrusters! The corners you could make in this thing must be killer…”

  Louise smiled. “I knew integrating the specs in the rendering was a good idea.”

  “Indeed it was, Louise. You can go now. Thank you very much. Leave the data and merchandise for now.”

  The busy developer nodded and hurried out the door. Preethy stepped into the display and stood beside Lex.

  “I’m glad you approve of the design, Mr. Alexander,” she said. “It would please us very much to have you at the controls of one of them when they are complete.”

  Lex closed his eyes. He could almost hear his willpower creaking under the strain of this new development. Racing was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. He’d made quite a name for himself in the short time he’d been a professional, and with time he might have become one of the all-time greats. His ejection from the league had been financially and emotionally devastating. The thought of getting back on the track was mouthwatering.

  “Listen… the last time I got mixed up with the mob, it really screwed my life up.”

  “I assure you that Operlo Entertainment Enterprises is an entirely legitimate firm and will operate with impeccable business ethics.”

  “It won’t matter to Michella.”

  “Ah yes. Ms. Modane. I understand she is sensitive to even the most tenuous connections to organized crime.”

  “To put it lightly. And racing on a raceway owned by a crime lord, for a league owned by a crime lord, is not a ‘tenuous connection.’”

  “If legitimacy is her concern, then I invite her to investigate us personally. I’m sure she’ll be satisfied.”

  “If you were anyone else, I would jump at the chance.”

  “Mr. Alexander, if we were anyone else, we wouldn’t give you the chance.” She opened a box on the desk and pulled out a one-hundred-thousand-credit casino chip. “Your payment. Keep the change. Feel free to finish your drink before departing.”

  He finished the rum and cola just in time to corral Squee, who had finished her own drink and was now visibly planning a leap onto Preethy’s shoulders. Preethy led the way out of the office to the front door, opened the parasol, and walked him to his ship. He remotely activated the air-conditioning, cranked it to full, and girded his loins for the sizzling trip up to his seat.

  “Lex,” Preethy said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I admire your willingness to honor your girlfriend’s wishes, but your life is your own. There comes a time when you must make the choice that is right for you. If she cannot accept that, it may be time to find someone who can.” From a pocket she pulled an old-fashioned business card. She leaned a bit closer and slipped it into a pocket of his flight suit. “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

  Lex stumbled his way through a thank-you and good-bye, then scurried into the baking-hot cockpit as though he was an eight-year-old afraid to get cooties. The air-conditioner fought to get the temperature down below boiling. He turned to Preethy as she headed back toward the building. It was shameful, but one of the things he most looked forward to upon any meeting with Preethy was watching her leave. Whether it was intentional or not, something about the way that woman moved set gender relations back to the Stone Age.

  He shook away the caveman thoughts in his head and started up the takeoff sequence. On his lap, Squee had situated herself directly in front of the air-conditioning vent. “What did I say, Squee? Trouble. Nothing but trouble.”

  Chapter 2

  Near an icy, dim planet that had not attracted enough interest from the rest of the galaxy to earn a name, Silo and Garotte were working surveillance. Garotte was an old hand at it, specifically trained for the sort of military missions that result in broken treaties and war crime accusations if they failed, and collapsed governments or economic chaos if they succeeded. Silo was somewhat newer to the role. She was the most recent in a long line of military men and women in the Winters family. Her training was in the area of heavy weapons and demolition, but an overenthusiastic application of those skills had led to a dishonorable discharge. Shortly afterward she joined Garotte’s squad, and not long after that a mission went wrong and she found herself in a Supermax prison for three years. It had been a less than blessed life, which made her decent and courteous attitude all the more impressive.

  Theirs wasn’t the most fearsome ship one might encounter. It had started life as the humble Armistice, the spacefaring equivalent of a utility van: middle of the road in terms of speed, seating for eight, and plenty of cargo space. What made it impressive were the add-ons. A few missile modules and some heavy-duty shields made it no slouch in a fight, but the key improvement was a stolen cloaking device that could render it nearly invisible. After its transformation, Garotte had rechristened his ship the Declaration of War, and it had served them well ever since. Currently it kept them hidden in low orbit while they awaited the arrival of their targets.

  Like freelancing, espionage was a profession characterized by long periods of inactivity followed by frantic action. Different people found different ways to spend the time. Garotte was buzzing with activity, pulling up transcripts, psychological profiles, and police reports for anyone even remotely involved in the task at hand. Silo split her time between working out, maintaining her weapons, and knitting. She’d started a pink scarf when they’d arrived. When she reached the halfway point without any evidence that anyone was nearby, she spoke up.

  “Are we absolutely certain this is the right place?”

  “You heard the messages. They intended to do a surface sweep of this planet in hopes of finding ‘a sample’ or some such.”

  “I still can’t imagine what they’d want with a planet like this. There’s nothing here.”

  “According to the last survey report, which is better than sixty years old, it is a minimally life-sustaining world. ‘Class 7 cold weather flora and fauna’ have been introduced to prepare the environment for future terraforming.”

  “What sort of flora and fauna are we talking about?”

  He swiped at the ship’s console. “Lichen, assorted grasses, and wild yaks.” A sharp beeping noise burst through the ship’s speakers, and the sensor indicators lit up. “Ah, you see? Just a moment’s more patience would have been enough.”

  “Is it them?” she asked.

  Garotte looked over the readings. “Three ships, running hot and sputtering like jalopies. Yes, my dear, I would say these are our boys.”

  “Neo-Luddites. Honestly, you’d think they’d take the time to get their own ships running smoothly before they set off on a mission.”

  “They are a terrorist group dedicated
to the death and rebirth of technology as we know it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that they are more skillful in the death aspect than the rebirth.”

  “So be it,” she proclaimed, turning to the wall of the ship, where an assortment of intimidating weapons were secured. After selecting a grenade launcher with rounds the size of soup cans, she clicked in a clip and chambered a round. “Let’s go rescue some yaks then.”

  Garotte maneuvered the cloaked ship into a pursuit course, then programmed the autopilot to maintain distance while he and Silo donned an additional layer of protection each. The planet’s surface was well below freezing, and the oxygen levels in the atmosphere were lower than ideal, so breathing masks were called for. By the time the ships they were following were entering the atmosphere, both Garotte and Silo had dressed in heavy parkas. Garotte was armed with a small energy pistol and a ballistic sniper rifle. Silo had her grenade launcher and what she called a shot-pistol, which looked like a flare gun and fired shotgun shells.

  “Let’s listen to the chatter. Maybe we can get an idea of what we’re dealing with,” Garotte said.

  He activated their recently acquired secure radio. They heard a short burst of digital distortion, then the quick, efficient exchange of military communications.

  “Activate Quantum Pattern Sensor. Start with wide sweeps. … Weak signature present near equator. Coordinates follow. … I want a squad on the surface. Full complement of countermeasures. Deploy, wait for ships to reach safe distance, and pinpoint with handheld QPS. Once located, identify acquisition scenarios.”

  “Either these are some seriously dangerous yaks, or they are expecting to find something nasty down there,” Silo observed.

  “Worse, they are keeping the ships airborne. I don’t like the idea of having to deal with air support,” Garotte added.

  “Should one of us stay behind? Maybe we can use the Declaration to ground them.”

  “I doubt it. The Neo-Luddites arm themselves pretty well, and we aren’t equipped to take down three of them. Once we fire, they’ll know we’re here. Things would get tricky after that… I think we should get the authorities involved.”

  “We aren’t exactly in a population center, Garotte. Even if we do a top-priority distress call, I don’t imagine we’ll have anyone here inside two hours, and I seriously doubt they’ll be any better armed than we are.”

  “Perhaps not, but they’ll be a distraction. They show up, we fire, they fire, the Luddites fire. Chaos ensues. I always fare better with a bit of chaos in the air.”

  “So I’ve noticed. Okay, make the call. But let’s try to strike fast and hard when the time comes. I don’t want to lose any friendlies.”

  “Agreed.” Garotte cleared his throat and keyed the voice command system of the Declaration. “Voice only secure channel to,” he glanced over a listing of nearby patrol posts, “civilian monitoring post 77872. Command code Alpha Echo Oscar.”

  The computer executed a sequence of complex subroutines, which were more than enough to put Garotte on a variety of military watch lists. This was of little concern to him, though. He was already on most of those lists, in some cases under two or three names. The screens of the ship worked their way through the process of forging the appropriate digital watermark, simulating command priority, and all of the other little details that would route his call to the appropriate headset and computer screen.

  “CMP local 72,” a woman’s voice announced over the ship’s speakers. “How may I direct your call?”

  “I need to speak with your highest-ranking official immediately,” Garotte said. Rather than his dapper British accent, he’d affected the voice and disposition of a harsh Texan.

  “I’m sorry, the patrol chief does not speak to… wait. This is the priority 1 channel. How did you get access to this channel?” the woman asked once the conversation had strayed far enough from her usual interaction to break her out of autopilot.

  “Look at the transmission credentials, Miss. I’m the reason you have this channel. Now put the PC on.”

  “Right away, sir!”

  There was the clatter of a dropped headset, then the hushed sounds of distant voices. After a few more muffled sounds, another female voice answered, this one a few years older and a few ranks more disciplined.

  “PC LeGette speaking. Please state your authorization.”

  “Special Command Agent Busskirk, Teeker Special Forces. Authorization attached.”

  After enough time for the commanding officer to review the falsified credentials associated with the transmission, she continued, “What is the situation?”

  “Do you have eyes on a pissant dirt-clod called Myer-Delta?”

  “Negative. We don’t have the resources to actively monitor every system in our jurisdiction. The Myer system has no high-priority colonies or industries, so we do a monthly sweep.”

  “Well, I do have eyes on it, and I don’t like what they’re showin’ me. Looks like we’ve got three assault ships inbound, heavily armed and with bad intentions. They match the description of those favored by a known terrorist group.”

  “Can you provide us with visual evidence?”

  He plopped down at the controls and pivoted the Declaration until all three approaching ships were within view, then snapped a high resolution still and forwarded it along.

  “Those ships don’t look very formidable.”

  “We’re talking about Neo-Luddites, Chief. They’ve been known to cart along some pretty heavy weaponry when they have a mind to cause some trouble. I don’t think you want to take your chances on them getting their claws into the planet. If they get a permanent base in the area, your life will get a hell of a lot more interesting.”

  “Acknowledged. I’ve got six ships nearby. I’ll order a coordinated sweep. ETA seventy-two minutes.”

  “Much obliged, Chief. We’ll have some commandos on the ground. Should be able to give you a little help.”

  “Understood. End communication.”

  When the connection was closed, Silo shook her head. “You and your accents.”

  “What fun is espionage without a little theater? Now, down to business. We’ve got seventy minutes to learn what we can before the fireworks begin.”

  The three Neo-Luddite ships crackled and sparked their way along in the high atmosphere. They stayed in formation, sweeping toward the coordinates they had identified. Despite the apparent malfunctions that plagued each ship, one could not help but admire some aspects. First, they looked every bit the way the general public imagined spaceships would look in the future. They weren’t much larger than the Declaration, but they were much sleeker. The sweeping curves of their hulls were studded with flashing lights and seemingly superfluous tubes, wiring, nodes, and other details. They were also loaded with truly bleeding-edge technology. Their weapons hit harder, their shields were more durable, and their sensors were more sensitive than anything available to anyone else. That was a tremendous advantage… when they were functional. Fortunately for Silo, Garotte, and the rest of society, bleeding-edge technology had that name for a reason. Each ship in the Neo-Luddite fleet operated on poorly understood, first-draft machinery with no replacement parts and no owner’s manual. They were trying to conquer society with equipment that was never meant to leave the proving grounds. All things considered, it was impressive that they’d had any success at all.

  A few minutes of slow cruising toward the coordinates the Neo-Luddites had identified eventually brought them to a stretch of land just on the bright side of the sunrise line. Whereas most of the surface of the planet seemed to be made up of gray stone and white ice, this stretch had a greenish tint to it, implying the attempts to terraform had been at least partially successful. Garotte put a bit of distance between the enemy ships and himself as they plunged into the atmosphere. The cloaking device was theoretically capable of keeping them hidden regardless of the environment, but theory and practice didn’t always see eye to eye. They had stolen it from the Neo-Luddites,
after all. Even after a bit of careful maintenance to boost its reliability, it had the nasty habit of stuttering and giving off their position at the worst possible times, particularly when in an atmosphere.

  The landscape that revealed itself as they crept closer was hardly idyllic. It looked like the entire planet was one continuous mountain range. Sheer cliffs and rocky slopes spread out as far as the eye could see. What exactly made this slice of frozen wasteland different from the other isolated life-supporting parts wasn’t clear.

  “Whatever it is they’re looking for, they’d best get a move on,” Silo said, glancing at the time display on the ship’s console. “There’re only twenty more minutes before our distraction arrives.”

  “And despite the fact they are speaking exclusively on their secured line, they have been speaking in vague terms. They’ve used so many variations on the term target, I’m beginning to believe a thesaurus is involved. I fear we may have managed to weed out the inept members of their group. We now face the cream of the crop.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign. We’ve got to be near the end, then.”

  “Ah-ha! What have we here?” Garotte said.

  Emerging through the icy haze was a cliff that had seen better days. Wind and the elements had smoothed away some of the rough edges, but it was still clear the whole side of the mountain had undergone some sort of bombardment. Huge bowl-shaped bites had been gouged out of the cliff face. Five in total, each bowl’s center had the glassy black sheen left behind by high-heat explosions. The cliff stood over the largest stretch of flat land that they’d encountered since their arrival. One ship slowly descended, disturbing a small cluster of yaks with the draft from its thrusters. A group of seven soldiers, each sporting the bizarre armaments and obvious battle scars that were a hallmark of the group, piled out with weapons drawn. Before the last of them had even touched the ground, the ship was ascending again. The squad had a posture of extreme caution.

  “They look like they’re expecting something nasty,” Silo said, rolling the barrel of her grenade launcher and tightening the strap.