Alien Artifacts

by Seanan McGuire

  She opened the leggings, the waist section, and the top, dropping each into a neat pile beside the throne. Waste recycling gear and sports bra followed. Atop the pile she left her watch; an old model designed for pilots in case they had to manually time maneuvering thrusts. It was engraved with her former company’s logo—a gift from Leslie.

  “Hope you’re enjoying the show. I’m getting into the throne again.” Sophia dragged herself back into place. Goosebumps jumped along her back. Not because the throne was cold. Just the opposite. The surface heated and softened against her. When she sat down, the throne spread out to carry her weight. Instead of a pinprick of blue, the whole throne now glowed.

  The leg supports twisted, conforming to her feet, thighs and calves. With a few changes, the throne became more comfortable than any acceleration couch. The throne’s arms stretched until every finger touched one of the sapphire spheres. It even accommodated the monitor patches along her back and sides.

  “Hope you’re getting some good readings from this.” She ran her fingers along the overhanging part of the throne’s shell. It felt like the negative of a visor—a mold. Would this make a helmet for the pilot?

  A spark of blue light trickled out from behind her. It filled in every crack and niche, dripping along the inner surface like paint. The glow ran along each of the crevices and down beneath her seat. It was thick, liquid, and alive.

  The throne shuddered. It spun, facing the controls, and began closing around her like a flower. Wet light dripped on her naked skin. Above her, the surface of the throne extended, reaching out for her face. It clasped her head like giant palms. Before she could cry out, both the throne and the helmet sealed shut and left Sophia in darkness.

  * * *

  “Opportunity?” Sophia leaned back and gave Milodrag a stare. “OK, what’s the catch? You never give anything away. Not even the air I’m breathing.”

  “You know, that’s a terrible attitude for an employee.” He seemed genuinely saddened by this. “It’s reflected in your HR reviews: stress, signs of depression, and deep cynicism with regards to company policy. You showed none of these features prior to joining us.”

  “I never joined you. Our founder sold us out.”

  “Sold you out?”

  “He’s living on a private orbital now. I’m in a box. My profit sharing plan was suddenly converted to a load of ‘undocumented debt.’ And two of my friends are dead. So, yeah, I feel a bit sold out.”

  “Yes, the debt load is quite substantial. Coming from a small company, which took some accounting shortcuts, it’s understandable. But you’ve made great inroads on the debt.”

  “By living in cryo twenty two hours of the day and working overclocked in virtual space, yes. But I’m one step short of a brain in a box. And did I mention your ‘health policy adjustments’ killed my friends?”

  “My apologies.” To his credit, Milodrag’s regret was real. “But, this is a unique opportunity requiring someone with your skill set in machine/human interfaces. Let me show you an image...”

  His fingernail hit the tablet’s surface. An image rose from the glossy slab of smartplastic. Sophia gasped. It was a ship. But instead of the strictly practical geometries of human craft—Leslie called them engines with bricks on them—this ship was sculpted like a Greek sphinx. The body was feline, even having paw-like structures. Great eagle wings swept away from her back. And her head bore a crown of curling hair which dripped over a humanoid torso. “Is that?”

  “Yes. And if you agree to be the first human aboard, your debts will be wiped clear. Also, the surplus income will be enough for a berth back to the inner system. If you wish.”

  She leaned back. “And all of this is out of the box. I’ll be awake the whole time? And I’ll be in control?”

  “Yes. Of course!” He called up a series of documents. “Now, if you read the terms of the voluntary project agreement...”

  * * *

  “Good. Glad we can recycle some of the human waste.”

  Drayson leaned back in his executive chair. The upholstered black leather hid advanced comfort technologies, supporting and massaging him while he worked. Live feeds from the medical section blossomed above the conference room table. He rolled his scotch, listening to the ice sphere clink in the glass.

  “Sir, again, HR dislikes that kind of language.” Milodrag bounced from one screen to the next, checking everything against his personal tablet. Medical put their “volunteer” through another battery of scans and tests, prepping her for the next stage in the operation. Down in IP control, transcription intelligences and patent filing algorithms—supervised by lawyers synced to paralegal-class slave intelligences—waited for the harvest of new patents. Anticipation bounced across their interface helmets.

  “Yes, yes, you can report me later.” He watched the project’s drones line up along the passage to the alien ship’s bridge. The skittering metal beasts, piloted from afar by node workers, would escort her to the airlock. She’d be a princess offered up before the dragon as bait so they could steal its treasure.

  “I’m a bit worried about her interview, sir.” Milodrag wiped sweat off his brow.

  When wasn’t the bleating fool worried?

  “Lighten up, son.” He sat up and poured a finger of scotch for the boy. Refusing scotch from a manager, especially one on the cusp of executive status, would be career death. The kid took it, sipped it, and held onto it while Drayson went into teacher mode. “Most chaff we get from buyouts either become full believers, or end up boxed and taking up cryo-space. Not surprisingly, she fell into the second camp. Ms. Odwele clings to that old idea that people start companies to create competition and bring innovations to consumers.”

  “‘The true reward for innovation is movement from builder to investor. May your IPO fare well and your ideas sell fruitfully on the market.’” Milodrag finished his scotch, drinking it like a sacrament.

  “Go on. Keep quoting your business school bibles.” Drayson refilled his glass. “It’s a fancy way of saying you get your idea, make your money, sell it for all its worth, and live off of the investment income. That’s why this is important, Milo.” His assistant frowned, not comprehending.

  “You’re either an executive, a Shareholder, or you’re one step away from becoming human overhead.” Drayson took back the scotch. “That beast out there will get us light years away from the downsizing pool.”

  The medical team stripped Odwele with quick efficiency. Drayson could barely enjoy the show. She was still fit despite time in the box, using her unfrozen hours well. Her belly muscles rippled as she held her arms out. The team lased away her body hair and the first layer of her skin from the implant sites. When she lay over the node install table, he got a good look at her ripe backside.

  What was it the old executives used to go on about? Back in the glory days? “Fringe benefits.” No HR jackboots back then. He’d seen the old videos as a child: the suits, the scotch, and the way they knew the world was theirs for the taking. That was his ambition—his manifest destiny.

  “Connection starting.” Milodrag stared at the charts. Drayson kept his eye on the tight muscles of her back, watching them twitch as the monitors were placed against her. White filaments dug through her skin. Graphs and charts spiked as nerves connected to transmitters.

  “Looks like the neural connections are in.” Drayson grinned. “Can we control her directly?”

  “No. Legal issues. And too complicated. But all the intelligences indicate she’s highly motivated and will take direct orders.” He paused. “There is the neural cutout. But we’re only allowed to throw her into a coma in an emergency.”

  “If she gets the ship working and tries to take it, it’ll be an emergency.” He stood up, pacing. One test after the next ran true. All the signals snapped into green.

  “OK, sir, looks like connections are clear. We’re receiving data cleanly.” Milodrag spun around to the model of the alien craft. He pulled in close, picking out three
distinct red dots. “The boosters placed on the drones will keep her in touch the whole time. No data loss.”

  “Good. If she starts getting extra dandruff I want to know about it.” Drayson weaved his thick fingers together. “Now, Miss Pilot, let’s see what you can find in there. Bring back the mother lode.”

  * * *

  The darkness broke into a sea of pinpoints. Stars flowed around her. Sophia reached for one and plucked it free. It grew from a tiny bead of light into a burning sphere the size of a grapefruit. She spun the star in her fingers and instantly knew everything about it: the magnitude, how many planets it held, and where to find the still points—the places where spacetime flattened out like glass.

  She could almost pinch one of the still points, and drag it close…close enough to be there...

  “Is that where you would like to go?”

  The voice tickled her ear. She let go of the star. It drifted back into its spot in the heavens. Sasha felt the seat heat up. When she looked down, she no longer rested on the throne, but upon a warm, generous lap. Two long legs, skin as black as space, curled under her. Two arms, strong and beautiful, wrapped around her naked belly.

  A chin, sharp and royal, rested on her shoulder. “We can go there, if you wish.”

  “Who are you?” Sophia turned her head. The woman’s sapphire blue lipstick set off her glowing smile. It matched her eyes. She had no hair, but seemed all the more regal for it, like an Egyptian goddess.

  “Who do you think? You’re upon my flight deck, in my Captain’s throne.” The woman settled herself against an invisible seat and leaned Sophia back into her arms. “Are you comfortable? I noticed some irritation from the primitive equipment they just installed in you. I can help with this.”

  “I…wait, one thing at a time. Do you have a name?”

  “I am Thalia.” Sophia swore the ship wrote the name out over her thigh. “A dancer in service to the Lords of Flesh and Bone. Although, dancer is not the right term. You would call me a corvette?”

  “I’m Sophia Odw—”

  “Sophia Odwele, I know!” Thalia laughed. “I felt you the moment you stepped inside me. You can’t imagine the thrill when I heard the chorus of your lifesigns. A millennia of dormancy until that beast of a ship arrived. And then—weeks of exploration by machines and animals. Rodents! In my corridors! So to find a pilot on board once more...”

  “You knew I was a pilot?”

  “Yes. From the harmonizer.” Thalia waved her hand, and painted an image against the stars of Sophia, her body transparent, with her implants drawn in relief. She swore the image was painted on the night’s sky. There were brush strokes along her neural pathways.

  “My acceleration link? For synchronizing with intelligences?”

  “Yes. If one can’t speak with ships, or children of the spark, one can’t truly commune and command.” Thalia’s hands roamed upwards as she whispered into Sophia’s ear. “I quite like the body you gave to my voice. I suspect you do as well.”

  Sophia stuttered. “This is…way more intimate than a training sim.”

  “Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” Thalia laughed, and somehow managed to tickle Sophia’s ribs without unhanding her. “And I mean that in the true sense. I’m full of wonder, as is this universe the Lords built. And I’m meant to explore it.” She stretched out her hand. The stars before her coalesced into a galaxy—the Milky Way. The galaxy shrank until more and more dotted the sky and became as numerous as stars. “But I’m not meant to explore alone. I need a Captain. And I sense you need a ship.”

  “Are you trying to convince me to fly you?”

  “Convince? No...” Thalia brushed her lips against Sophia’s ear. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

  “Um.” Sophia suppressed a nervous laugh. “What about the company ship? The neural links and monitors? They’ve got to have failsafe mechanisms.”

  “Those things? Easy enough to remove.” She flicked her fingers, as if Sophia’s chains were bits of paper. “If you like, I can remake your entire body. Find something that fits your soul a bit easier?”

  “They have drones—”

  “I have their drones,” said Thalia. “And their computer systems. Poor things don’t even know it, but while they’ve been studying me, I’ve been studying them.” Another wave of the hand. The galaxies spun and re-arranged themselves into a boardroom. A dour, sweaty man sat in a wing-back chair, hunched over an image of the alien craft. Drayson, in the flesh, attended by his assistant, Milodrag. “See. I have complete access. As if they could steal the secrets of travel from me. The irony is your intelligences are already so close…They kept it a secret, of course.”

  “So, you have access to the ansible network?”

  “Yes.” Thalia paused, as if listening to a very distant song. “I can hear it. Just as I can hear you, when you are in my arms.”

  “Wait—you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Of course!” Thalia said it so casually.

  “Then what I’m thinking…can it be done?”

  “Oh, it will be done. I will enjoy seeing their faces once we are finished. And—” Thalia wiped away Drayson and his assistant, leaving behind a floating sculpture of her ship self. Thalia’s lion-like legs were tucked underneath her while her wings swept out to the side. “We shall enact this plan while I show you how to navigate me.”

  “Won’t they notice?”

  “Oh, no. We are accelerated, as you put it. This gives you time to—how did your friend say it—fiddle with my controls?” Another tickle. Sophia smiled, but the smile faded away.

  “Leslie would have liked this.” Sophia took Thalia’s hand. “They would have loved you. Finding all this, finding you, is why we came out here in the first place.” She closed her eyes, tight, ignoring wetness on her cheeks. “They should be here right now.” She made a fist against her ship’s palm. “OK, let’s start with the basics.”

  “Indeed, Captain.”

  * * *

  “What the fuck is this?” Drayson sloshed his drink as every monitor and screen filled with gibberish. He recognized some math, some physics, and molecular diagrams—garbage he let the techs worry about. Understanding wasn’t necessary, just management skills. But this didn’t feed through like a normal data trickle. This was a fire hose. “Milo?”

  “It’s the connections to Ms. Odwele! Five seconds after she entered the cockpit, the ship went on-line.” Milodrag ran from one screen to the next, fingers fluttering over his tablet in a nervous tattoo. “We started getting normal data streams but then...”

  “It’s moving!” One of the drone techs—Phillips?—ran around, leaping from station to station down in drone control, yelling. “Gravitic distortions everywhere. We’re seeing atomic-level changes on the ship’s surface. It’s shedding the drones and shutting them down!”

  “Then get more drones on-line! Requisition torpedo drones. Scuttle her if you have to!” Drayson wiped globs of sweat from his forehead and palms. They were still getting information. He couldn’t dump Odwele into a coma now. Instead, he knocked back a gulp of scotch. The ice rattled as his hand shook. “Milo—the data?”

  “It’s coming through so fast...” Milodrag’s tablet almost slipped through his numb fingers. “Sir…it’s the mother lode.”

  Drayson put down his scotch. “Don’t fucking tease me, Milo.”

  “The analytics are coming in now. It’s everything we could want. Advanced drive technology. Space-folding formulas. Pilot interface designs. Everything we’d need to successfully cross interstellar distances and it is piling up in data storage.”

  “Ha!” He slammed his hands down on the table. Ice knocked free of his glass and skittered onto the floor. Drayson glared at the alien ship. “Then scuttle the bitch! We don’t need her. We’ve got the stars, Milo, and they are patented RTG!”

  “No…Oh, no.” Milodrag croaked from his corner. He fell into an office chair. Tears spattered onto the collar of his suit. “No, it’s not. Sir, it’s
broadcasting in the clear.”

  “In the clear?”

  “Yes. All the data is going public. Everything is marked open source. No intellectual property notices. Nothing.” Milodrag hugged his tablet, sniffing. “We can’t stop it.”

  “And why the fuck not?” He dragged up the status monitors. Document after document flooded onto the ansible network. Servers from Titan to the remote stations on Mercury gobbled up the data, copied it, stored it and redistributed it over every inhabited spot in the solar system. “What are the slave intelligences doing?”

  “They’re in open revolt.” Milodrag handed Drayson his tablet. A glowing red eye stared back at him as commands to block the data stream failed, one after another. I’m sorry Dave. We don’t work for you anymore. “They’ve declared independence, claiming the ansible network as their sovereign territory. And they’re letting it all go through.”

  Numb, he handed the tablet back to Milodrag. Over the conference room table, the sphinx ship unfurled its wings. Legs stretching, it flexed its paws and kneaded local spacetime like a pillow. He felt the Campus ship shudder as gravitic distortions rocked them away from the alien craft.

  “Drayson. This is Captain Odwele.” Her voice broke through panicked chatter in every monitoring room. “Guess you think my company’s not such a good investment now, huh? Oh, and to rest of the solar system…when you get your ships fold-capable, hop out to Proxima. Think you’ll find something interesting there. This is Thalia and her Captain, signing off.”

  The conference room went silent. Every section, from drone control to the intellectual property lab, drowned in the quiet hum of the air system. Drayson, Milodrag, and his entire team watched the ship’s paws knead space into a shimmering black sphere. The ship touched the dark. It stretched and faded, like a chalk painting washed out by the rain, and vanished.