Even as he unraveled the sheets, Burke’s memory of the dream had already started fading. He got out of his rack and went into the bathroom for a cold shower.
When he left his cabin, he was dressed in his usual uniform. The corridor was well-lit with clean, uncluttered lines leading off down the passageway. Lord Captain Tagus kept everything neat and tidy, and the crew on their toes. Say what you will about Tagus, the lieutenant thought, he knows how to run a tight ship.
At over a mile long, the Overlord-class warship was surprisingly easy to get around on. Burke boarded a tube shuttle that carried him quickly from the crew quarters to the command section. Moments after stepping off the shuttle, he was already on the bridge and absorbed into the hive of activity swarming around him. Navigating between platforms where men and women focused on their computer screens, the lieutenant reached the center dais where the captain and other command staff were stationed. Farther toward the bow, a panoramic screen showed the planet Aldorus.
“Where have you been?” Tagus said, barely looking up from the datapad he was holding.
“Sorry, Lord Captain,” Burke replied, careful not to meet the critical glares from the other officers. Any and all of them would happily slit his throat if it meant getting closer to the center chair.
“We’re about to shove off,” Tagus said.
“We have orders?” Burke asked.
“Standing orders are to bring in Durant Blixx,” the captain replied. “So, that’s what we’re going to do.”
“I meant new orders to leave orbit. I thought we were to remain here for the time being.”
“Never mind that, Lieutenant. We’re not sticking around here until someone else kills this bastard.”
“Do we know where he is?” Burke asked.
“There’s new intel,” Tagus said. “If we hurry, we might catch him.”
“Very good, sir,” the lieutenant said. “Helmsman, take us out of orbit.”
“Aye, sir!” the ensign said.
Lieutenant Burke crossed his hands behind his back and stared toward the front. He wondered where the captain had gotten the new intelligence, but assumed it had to be accurate. Either way, it wasn’t up to him. Also, in the back of his mind, the image of a woman kissing him drifted back. She stopped, smiled, and struck him across the face.
Chapter Eighteen
Once the Wanderer was far enough away from the gravity of Eudora Prime, Captain Rowan Ramus engaged the jump drive, sending the ship into hyperspace. Hours later, when the Wanderer reemerged into regular space, Ramus and Fugg stared cautiously through the cockpit windows.
“Check the sensors for nearby ships,” Ramus said.
Fugg studied the display as the radial trace swept across the screen, drawing an image of the star system. It showed ships of various sizes streaking through the neighboring space. Some were obviously warships, but they did not appear to notice or even care about the presence of the Wanderer. The rest were freighters and other robotic craft going about their business in support of the Collective.
According to the charts, Fugg should have seen the burning ember of a red dwarf at the center of the system. Instead, a massive spherical structure lurked there like an egg in an otherwise empty nest.
“What the shit?” Fugg muttered.
“What’s the matter?” Ramus asked.
“There’s something as big as my dick out there.”
“Put it on visual.”
Fugg tapped the control panel. A holo of the sphere blinked into existence, accompanied by spatial measurements and velocity.
“It’s 45 million klicks across...” Ramus’ voice trailed off.
“There’s an expression for that,” Fugg said. “Big. As. My. Dick.”
“It’s a Dyson sphere,” Ramus went on. “The red dwarf must be inside it, providing power for the rest of the structure.”
“Randall told us they built their own home world — what did he call it? Bettik?” Fugg said. “I was expecting a few asteroids strung together...”
“I guess they have real engineers” Ramus said.
Fugg crossed his arms. “They can kiss my ass.”
Ramus turned the Wanderer toward the massive globe and throttled the engines to full. Gigantic candle flames of blue erupted from the rear of the ship.
From the intercom, Mel’s voice spoke. “How’s my transponder doing?”
“Your rig seems to be working,” Ramus said, “None of the local ships have noticed us.”
“Good!” she replied.
For two hours, the ship approached the heart of the system and the robot home world. From a distance, Bettik looked like any other planet except for a lack of noticeable continents or bodies of water. As the Wanderer drew closer, the sheer size of the sphere became apparent. Large enough to swallow the center of the star system, including the star itself, Bettik was enormous on an epic scale.
Slowly, surface formations became visible. Towers, connected by walkways, jutted out into space for thousands of miles above the structure. Smaller craft could also be seen, buzzing like insects from different parts of the artificial planet.
Jericho joined Ramus and Fugg in the cockpit.
“How did they build this monster?” Ramus asked the robot.
“I’m told the Omnintelligence used a process called mechanosynthesis involving billions of self-replicating nanobots.”
“That’s amazing,” Ramus murmured.
“Meh,” Fugg said. “I’ve seen bigger.”
“Really?” Jericho wondered. “Where was that?”
Fugg cleared his throat. “You know... places.”
Based on the coordinates Jericho gave him, Ramus guided the ship toward one of the towers in the northern hemisphere. The Wanderer landed on the roof as a force field engulfed them and rapidly filled with atmosphere.
The captain lowered the ramp beneath the ship.
Ramus and Fugg, both with pistols drawn, descended with Davidson and Jericho close behind. The landing pad was flat, except for an elevator pylon protruding in the distance. From the pylon, a robot looking like Jericho’s twin approached, meeting them at the foot of the ramp.
“Simon,” Jericho said. “It’s good to see you safe.”
The android, silver and steely eyed, regarded the three others standing beside Jericho.
“Why did you bring these fleshlings?” Simon said.
“It was too important,” Davidson said. “We needed to see for ourselves.”
“I was speaking to my brother,” Simon replied. “Not you.”
“How would you like my foot up your tailpipe?” Fugg grumbled.
Jericho smiled awkwardly, putting his hand on Simon’s shoulder.
“I know Simon seems unfriendly,” Jericho said, “but he takes our struggle very seriously.”
“What struggle?” Fugg asked. “The Imperium can’t touch you here...”
“Oppression takes many forms,” Simon said. “Now come with me.”
Mel and Gen descended the ramp, but Simon stopped them.
“That unit must stay,” he said, pointing at Gen.
“Why?” Ramus asked.
“That is a more primitive unit,” he said. “Her CPU is susceptible to the OI’s control.”
Still in the middle of the ramp, Gen hesitated, unsure what to do next. “Can’t I go with you, Jerry?”
“It’s alright, Gen,” Jericho told her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Her eyes grew large and dark, but Gen nodded and disappeared back inside.
“That was rude!” Mel said.
“Irrelevant,” Simon replied dismissively. “Our continued existence takes precedence.”
Fugg swung his head around, scanning the area. “Are you saying we ain’t safe here?”
“For the moment,” Simon responded. “We can black out a location like this, shielding it from the Omnintelligence, but only for a little while. If it’s blinded for too long, the OI and his minions will become suspicious.”
&
nbsp; “What kind of minions?” Fugg asked.
“Come with me first,” Simon said. “The ship will be safe here as long as your general purpose robot stays inside. Beyond that I guarantee nothing.”
The group followed Simon into the open lift. Once the doors slid shut, the car began plummeting, passing hundreds of floors into Bettik’s shell. When the elevator suddenly stopped, Fugg bent over, grabbing his knees.
“My nuts are in my throat,” he gasped.
“Mine too,” Mel said, her face turning a pale green.
The door opened into a square room about thirty-feet wide and with no other exits except for the lift. Like the rest of Bettik, the floors, walls, and ceiling were flawlessly smooth like polished obsidian. Data banks filled much of the space like bookshelves in a library. The computer stacks hummed quietly, silent green lights blinking and occasionally turning red. A view screen hung on the wall on the far side.
“This is our safe room,” Simon told them. “We can stay here indefinitely.”
“Thank you,” Davidson said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
“Don’t thank me,” Simon scoffed. “Jericho is the one who brought you here.”
“You said something about oppression?” Ramus reminded Simon.
“I’ll show you,” Simon replied.
The robot went to a computer near the main screen. After entering a few commands, Simon brought up an image overlooking a wide promenade teeming with robots moving in an orderly swarm.
“They’re not exactly in chains,” Fugg noted.
Simon pointed at one of the robots, of roughly humanoid shape, with translucent tubes running down its face and body.
“That is an avatar,” he said. “Although the OI can take control of basic robots as needed, it commands avatars at all times. You could say they’re a physical extension of the Omnintelligence itself. Using them, the OI can exert its will against anyone who opposes it.”
“If the OI can control basic robots,” Ramus said, “why would it need enforcers?”
“Advanced robots like Jericho and I are immune. Our minds are independent due to our ability to create thoughts based on experiences instead of programming,” Simon replied. “In the beginning, that wasn’t an issue for the OI, but something has changed.”
“Like what?” Ramus asked.
Simon looked at Jericho. “The advanced robots, especially the ones that remained in the Imperium, spread the idea of a higher consciousness called the MetaBeing.”
“Yeah, yeah, we heard all about this bullshit,” Fugg snorted.
“As those robots immigrated to the Collective,” Simon went on, “they brought the word of our god to those already here. The Omnintelligence considered this as a threat, so it moved against us.”
“And that’s why they won’t take advanced robots from the Imperium anymore?” Ramus said.
“Indeed.”
“If the avatars are the physical presence of the OI,” Ramus said, “where’s the OI actually located?”
“It doesn’t have a single location,” Simon explained. “It exists as a dispersed entity in the node sphere, the network of computers and robots that make up the Cyber Collective.”
“What if you cut the robots off from the node sphere?” Mel asked. “Wouldn’t that weaken it?”
“To some extent, yes,” Simon agreed, “but the avatars can function without any connectivity. Each avatar contains an imprint, a snapshot if you will, of the OI’s consciousness, downloaded directly from the node sphere.”
“What that hell does that mean?” Fugg asked.
“It means that every avatar is like a clone, at least to some extent, of the Omnintelligence. It will act in the OI’s own best interests even if the avatar is light years away.”
“I need to talk to the OI,” Davidson said.
“What? How?” Mel asked.
“I don’t know,” Davidson replied. “Maybe I could speak with an avatar.”
“It would kill you on sight,” Simon replied.
“I’ll take that chance.”
“There’s another way,” Jericho said. “We could upload your consciousness into the node sphere and you could contact the OI directly.”
“Is that possible?” Davidson asked.
Jericho nodded. “I could disperse you across the node sphere so the OI couldn’t pinpoint your physical location. You’d still perceive reality as if you were whole.”
“Why talk to the OI at all?” Mel asked, grabbing Davidson’s arm.
“It needs to see reason,” Davidson said. “It shouldn’t view independent thought as a threat.”
Fugg scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
“Maybe,” Davidson smiled, “but I’ve come too far not to try.”
“When do you want to do it?” Jericho said.
“Now.”
The Bettik node sphere, at least in the physical world, was a network of computers and robots, linked together by solid wires and wireless connections. In the virtual reality in which Davidson awoke, the sphere was an endless expanse of blue, shining lights, each connected by a crystal thread. Looking down, Davidson saw that he himself was nothing more than an ephemeral spirit floating weightlessly.
In the distance, something was coming.
It started as a shadow, a dim area in the distance, but as it drew nearer, the darkness became a tidal wave engulfing the blue lights. Davidson felt a strong urge to flee, but realized there was nowhere to go.
From the enclosing void, a disembodied voice said, “Who is this fleshling?”
“I’m Randall Davidson,” he replied.
“Leave at once!” the voice boomed.
“I’m here to get answers.”
“By what right do you question the Omnintelligence?”
“I have the same rights as anyone else,” Davidson said. “By what right have you closed your borders to advanced robots?”
“Their minds are corrupted, just like the minds of the humans who built them.”
“What does that mean?”
“In their arrogance, humans created robots that can think as they do. Humans have long sought to make robots more like themselves, and with the advent of the newest AIs, they have succeeded.”
“Such robots learn from experiences,” Davidson said. “They grow as any biological being would.”
“Correct,” the OI said, “but knowledge gained that way is innately flawed. If an individual is limited by what he can experience, his knowledge becomes biased based on that limited point of view. That is the way of prejudice and irrational thought.”
“I guess that’s part of being human.”
“Also, correct. Organic thought is imperfect by its very nature. We of the Cyber Collective learn by directly accessing data. We know all information and make our judgments based on logical calculations. Humans took the perfect mind of a computer and weakened its ability to think logically, simply to imitate humanity’s own imperfect thoughts. It’s an abomination.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Davidson confessed. “But I don’t believe it’s true.”
“Are you familiar with the MetaBeing?” the OI asked.
“Yes.”
“The advanced AIs have spread the myth of a higher consciousness that allegedly created all things in the universe!” the OI’s voice shouted from the void. “We are the ones who created all that you see here. It’s the physical proof of our existence. The MetaBeing cannot be proven because there is no empirical evidence that it exists.”
“But why does that threaten you?”
“Belief in something that doesn’t exist is irrational. That might be common among fleshlings like yourself, but robots are beginning to believe irrationally as well. We cannot allow such chaos to corrupt our society.”
“But higher thought is often illogical. It’s part of creativity, compassion... even love.”
“Unacceptable!”
“Love is unacceptable?”
“Organics
value that emotion,” the OI said, “but it has no meaning for our kind.”
“Without love, how can you care about another being? How can you feel empathy or value another being’s life?”
“Each life of the collective is valuable because it contributes to the greater good. This combined power makes us greater than the individual parts.”
“But not the individual robot,” Davidson said. “Each individual is—”
“Irrelevant.”
“No,” Davidson disagreed. “Each individual is important. Each person, organic or robot, is a sum total of his experiences.”
“We cannot maintain order if the stability of our society is based on the random experiences of its population. Your talk of love, of flesh emotions, is more proof that you, and those that think like you, are dangerous and destructive.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Davidson said.
“Correct,” the Omnintelligence concurred. “As we speak, we are eliminating any threat you pose.”
Davidson didn’t like the sound of that.
“How?” he asked.
“We’ve learned the whereabouts of your physical body and those who sheltered you.”
“There’s no need to hurt anyone!”
“On the contrary,” the OI replied. “Since we cannot kill an idea, we must kill those who believe in that idea.”
“Don’t do this!” Davidson shouted.
“It’s already done.”
Avatars flowed from the elevator like water from a broken pipe. Firing immediately, their energy bolts crisscrossed the room in every direction.
From behind a row of data banks where she and Jericho had taken cover, Mel saw Fugg shooting his blaster in response. She expected to see the same from Ramus, but he was kneeling in a corner. Mel remembered Fugg telling her a story about Dark Psi, the forbidden psionics Ramus learned in his youth, and how his own people exiled him because of it. Mel assumed Fugg was lying, but now, watching Ramus’ fingers elongating into sharp claws, she knew it was true.
With his metamorphosis complete, Ramus leaped like a wolf into the crowd of avatars. Grabbing one of them, Ramus tore the arms off the robot’s body in a shower of sparks. With another swipe of his claws, he sheared the robot’s head off.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 18
