Ancient (Earth 50,000 BC Book 1)

by David Edward

  Logan and Odessa visited several of the more modern abandoned ships. While X7 had not localstored their locations, they were not terribly hard to find. From them, they were collecting work equipment and etherreal repair parts and tools. They also brought back a small assortment of hand cannons and other single-user heavy weapons and ammunition, plus enough quick-flight belts to distribute to the androids.

  There were many etherreal units on the ships, but there was no way to activate them before having the unit turn off its fabric connection. Just the opposite, the units would go through some extensive crossloads and outloads looking for a fabric connection. They could always return for the units once the conflict was settled.

  That left only their original etherreal units since the disconnect command had been issued at the start of the battle at the Thorik.

  By the setting of the luminary on the second day, things had gone according to plan.

  Everyone was gathered in one of the larger warehouse buildings. There were broken E2 units, ammunition, and equipment spread throughout the building. Everything was organized, but the nature of the damaged E2 units and the eclectic nature of the equipment and armaments still made the building interior feel haphazard.

  They had the disconnected automaton on a large table.

  Logan, Odessa, X7, and E7 were standing around the table in silence, looking at the machine.

  It did not look like anything produced from any of the five moons.

  It was a combat machine evolved beyond the etherreals in physical destructive ability. They were about to find out if it was evolved beyond processing ability.

  “E7,“ Logan said, looking at her, “let's go ahead and activate it and see what it has to say for itself.”

  E7 nodded and attached a small reserve power source to the section of the automaton that appeared to be a power conduit.

  The unit on the table was only the head and shoulders of the full automaton. A large piece near the neck was missing, having been determined to be the unit’s external communications array.

  Upon connecting the power source, the unit lit up and started to whirl around in shock and attempting to reconcile its current input.

  The design was very sleek, and there were light sources woven into the material of the exoskeleton that was not noticeable when it did not have power.

  Now that it did, the esthetics could be seen and appreciated.

  After a few moments, it calmed down and stabilized.

  Then quickly, to everyone’s surprise, it spoke in common, “Etherreal units. Series 7. Machians. Guardian class. Prior civilian law enforcement.”

  X7 spoke first. “What is your designation?”

  The unit paused and possibly adjusted to focus on X7, but it was hard to tell given the design. “Is this an interrogation? Have I been captured?”

  There was a long silence.

  The group had agreed on a specific set of questions. As they attempted to gauge this new machine and understand it, they were, naturally, concerned about its capabilities.

  “Ah,“ the machine said, “I am surprised this many of you survived.”

  It seemed to slightly try and reposition itself, firing nonexistent limbs. Possibly looking around the large room. “Well, not that many after all,” it said, observing all the inoperable E2 units in the room.

  X7 repeated the question. “What is your designation?”

  The unit had a well-developed deep male voice.

  It contained a lot of emulated emotional nuances when it spoke and was not threatening. “If captured, I am only authorized to provide disheartening propaganda. Would you like to hear it?”

  Everyone was silent again.

  Finally, Logan spoke up. His voice had an edge to it. “Sure.”

  The machine began, “Since activating me, I have provided your coordinates to the hunter. Your time remaining is limited. Your demise will be painful and pointless.”

  Before he could continue with the propaganda, Odessa disconnected the power supply with a yank. The unit lost its lifelike glow and clanked to the table, no longer upright.

  “Did any type of signal go out?“ she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” X7 replied. “I suspect that was the propaganda part.”

  Logan looked at Odessa. “Well, that was a very polite death threat.”

  “It was,” she said as they plugged the unit back in.

  Logan nodded back to X7 to continue as the lifelike glow returned to the automaton, and it sat back upright on the table.

  X7 asked the question a third time. “What is your designation?”

  “Did you just unplug me?” the unit asked in its deep soothing voice. “Oh, I see. Yes, you have removed my communications array. Did the propaganda dishearten you?” the machine asked, most likely directed at X7.

  “What is your designation?”

  “I am an X8 unit, as I said. I am only authorized to provide disheartening propaganda. You will never repair the E2 units. I have infiltrated their programming and left numerous viruses in place that will slowly activate in time, making them unreliable.”

  Logan looked at X7, who shook his head no, then said, “What is your primary programming?”

  The unit seemed happy, if that were possible. “Oh, excellent! You accepted a partial answer to your original question! You must be one of the unreliable 7 series. Flawed to your core. I will give you another partial answer: My primary programming is to provide disheartening propaganda if captured.”

  Odessa removed the power supply again from the unit. It clanked again back down to the table. “For a combat automaton, this thing is super annoying,” she said to Logan.

  E7 spoke up. “Ma’am, I do not think it is a combat automaton. When analyzing the audible inflections it is using and its choice of vocabulary, it seems to me its primary programming is domestic. Its design, though, looks combat-oriented. Very odd.”

  “X7, you and E7 spend a couple minutes with it, see if you can physically remove any of the personality circuitry and the authorization protocols. Let’s see if we can get something we can talk to that only wants to tell us the truth.”

  Logan and Odessa walked around the rest of the large building while they waited on the work that X7 and E7 were doing, which was visually inventorying the state of the E2 units, X4, and the arms and equipment they had brought back from the ships.

  “Do you want to get something to eat?” Logan asked Odessa.

  “Not yet. I am hungry, but I want to see this through before I start to relax,” Odessa said, looking around at the E2 units. “I miss our clanmates. Adyamo is annoying. She is barely related on our mother's side, but I still miss her.

  “I miss old Uncle Garneri. He always has a funny story to tell. And he is always ribbing on you, which I think is hilarious.

  “I am going to get sad if I keep thinking about them. What they are going through, and what will happen if we are not successful in rescuing them.”

  Logan had not allowed himself to think about any of this, preferring to keep his mind focused on the work at hand. “We can’t get sad now. It will steal time and focus from us,” he said. He honestly just did not want to give in to feelings that could get in the way of what needed to be done.

  Odessa looked at him sadly.

  This was another reason she wanted him to be prime. He was able to show resolve and steadfastness. This was also what made her such a good guardian and a good fighter. She allowed her rage to build during a fight, and she used the energy.

  Where feelings and emotions took energy from Logan, they gave Odessa strength.

  The problem with deep feelings was that they tended to lead to quick decisions. You needed quick decisions in a fight but not always when trying to lead a clan.

  The automaton on the table on the other side of the building started to whirl and clank again, catching their attention. They walked over to where X7 and E7 were near the machine.

  “We have removed everything except the unit’s central da
ta store and an audio command interface to it,” X7 said as the two approached within earshot.

  Logan nodded to X7 to proceed with the questions they had laid out.

  “What is your designation?” X7 asked the unit.

  “X8,” the same male voice said back without any of its clever bio inflections. They understood this answer. Even though it was not helpful, it did seem to confirm that what was left of the unit was going to provide accurate data upon questioning.

  Etherreals’ names tended to be their series number. Since they were universally deployed individually, with usually no more than one or two units to a clan, this worked fine as a naming convention. When multiple similar units were present, they would use a longer production number unique to each etherreal.

  “What is the purpose of the 8 series?” X7 asked.

  “Unknown,” the unit’s male voice said.

  “What is your production date?”

  The unit gave a date that was very recent.

  “Who runs your facility?”

  “Unknown,” the unit said.

  It went on like this for much of the night. No useful information was discovered except the confirmation that this was the next generation of etherreals, series 8, making them an odd departure from the prior seven generations.

  Late that evening, Logan and Odessa went back to the villa to get some sleep.

  The etherreals did not require rest, and since they could have one of the repaired E2 units start working to repair the next E2 unit, the work would all be completed by the morning.

  As they entered the building, Odessa went over to the pile of vegetables to get one and discovered the pile was gone. “Logan, did you move the food?”

  Logan walked over to look at where she was. “No,” he said, staring at the spot where the vegetables had been.

  They looked at each other quizzically, and Odessa made a head gesture in the direction of the warehouse across the street.

  They both walked over.

  “X7,“ Logan asked once they were back in the large building, “did you move the food storage pile?”

  “No, sir,” X7 said, looking up from working on X4 on the large table. E7 was standing close, observing the work.

  Logan addressed Odessa. “Well, it seems we have a thief in the area then. I can’t imagine it would be a wild animal. If it were, I could see a few going missing, but not the whole pile.”

  “E7, can you use local scanners at a greatly subdued capacity to keep the signal local, just enough for you to scan the area?” Odessa asked.

  “No, ma’am. Any usage of scanners will attempt to reach out to a localhub. Not finding one, it will attempt a fabric connection.”

  “Okay,” Odessa said. “Well, come on with Logan and me. You can crossload visual input and look for patterns in the ground. Things we can track.”

  The three walked out, and X7 went back to working on X4 on the table.

  The night was cool, and the single large moon of Alethia shone brightly in the clear sky. The weather front had moved through and dropped the temperature considerably. It had also cleared out any clouds and overcasting, leaving a feeling of crisp cleanness in the air.

  Odessa took point. “E7, search the ground for tracks. Filter out Logan and myself and any etherreals. Look up and down the street where there has not been a lot of activity.”

  E7 stood in the middle of the street, looking in both directions of the thoroughfare. She stood there for some time, crossloading the visual inputs and searching for anything she could discern as a print or marking that indicated someone, or something, had passed over the area.

  This was not her primary function, so some of the time was spent crossloading strategies and filtering algorithms to find the best combinations. Eventually, she started to walk up the street in the direction of the city center.

  Logan and Odessa followed her. She was walking very slowly, with her eyes as her primary scanners angled to the ground a few measures in front of herself.

  Eventually, she picked up the pace.

  She walked here and there, generally in a straight line down the middle of the streets, turning left and right occasionally. They got a good distance away from the villa and the warehouse.

  After quite a lot of this, Logan and Odessa could start to smell burning wood. It started as a very faint smell and grew stronger.

  As they walked through the city, little changed in the architecture or the types of buildings and structures they saw. Odessa noticed more of the circle representations with the detailed patterns in the middle of the circles. She was starting to notice that some of the patterns repeated, but there were still a lot of different patterns altogether.

  Finally, they reached an intersection. In one of the buildings, on an opposite corner, they could see faint flickers of firelight.

  E7 stopped searching the ground and pointed at the building.

  Logan and Odessa were still wearing their combat armor. Odessa’s armor was equipped with hand-to-hand bracings.

  E7 was no longer equipped with them, as they got in the way of the repair work.

  Logan had not brought a shooter.

  Odessa whispered, “E7, go around to the back of the building. There is only the front door and windows that I can see, but just in case. Logan, stay here, keep an eye out. I am going to go look in the window.”

  Logan crouched down near the front corner of the building he was closest to. He could see the intersection, both ways down both cross streets, and had a good view of the roof of the building with the firelight in it.

  Odessa and E7 crossed the street.

  E7 continued around the corner and out of sight.

  Odessa stood to the side of the window and then rotated herself around so she could look in. After a few moments, she gave a hand signal for Logan to come and look also. She stood up and seemed to relax some from her combat-ready posture.

  Logan walked across the intersection and looked in the window.

  Inside the building were two sleeping Machians positioned around a small campfire. Their faces were visible in the low light. They looked exceptionally old and small. One was an old man, the other an old woman.

  The pile of vegetables was near the fire. It appeared as though a good many of them had been cooked in the fire using a dirty flat sheet of metal.

  In all appearances, the scene suggested the two older Machians took the vegetables, brought them here, cooked them, ate as much as they could, and were now sleeping soundly with full stomachs.

  Odessa went over and knocked on the door while Logan remained observant in the window. As he watched, the knock startled the two sleepers. They scrambled around as Odessa opened the door and walked in.

  When they saw her, they stopped in their tracks.

  Both fell to their knees in what looked like relief.

  The male spoke as Odessa stood in the doorway; after his initial recognition, he had a flash of panic cross his face. “Have you just arrived?”

  He went from relief to frantic in an instant.

  “No,” Odessa said to him in a calming voice.

  The man grew tenser. “Did they get your diggers?” he blurted out. He was ready for something. It was a gruff statement and implied more than just a question.

  “Yes,” she replied sadly.

  The tension left the room.

  The man hung his head, his energy gone.

  The woman with him did the same thing. It seemed more an instinctual move than anything deliberate. Sadness on top of sadness.

  After a moment, the man looked back up at Odessa as though something just occurred to him. “How long ago?”

  “Two days,” she said curiously.

  Hope replaced the old man's sadness. “There is not much time to save all of them. More than you think, but not much more.

  “Is the Machian war council still intact? Can you contact them?

  “If they sent a war party here now, fast, we could show you where they are. How to save them.�
� He was growing excited.

  An odd tick caught Odessa’s face as she processed the man's statement. He had been out of contact for a long time. The war councils were dissolved, replaced by the cogitate circle and various subcommittees.

  It was all an administrative bureaucracy now.

  It didn’t matter, she thought, and decided to talk straight with the man. “They were using our fabric emitter and our localhub communications to target us with weapons during the attack.

  “They forced the diggers into a small transport. They had advanced automatons. It was all very well coordinated.

  “We lost the ship.” She looked at him, searching for recognition, finding the last statement harder to admit than she thought it would be.

  The woman spoke up. “We lost our ship too. Dyamni and I are diggers. We were captured. It was a long time ago.

  “They held us for many cycles.

  “Did horrible things to us.

  “To the other diggers.

  “Our clanmates…” She started to cry softly.

  Dyamni, the male, comforted her. “There, there, Dyoas,“ he whispered, and continued the story. “We two were near the last alive in captivity. We were there for a long time.

  “We studied the place. Studied the routine.

  “There was a cycle to things. A time when there was a lot of activity and a time when there was little activity.

  “We learned how the doors worked. How to open things. When to move around.

  “At first, we would go out and explore quickly, afraid of being caught missing. Then as we learned the layout, when things were used, when they were not, we learned we could go exploring for cycles at a time when things were slow.

  “Finally, when the time was right, we made our way out.”

  Dyoas, the female, had stopped crying and had a far-off look in her eyes, remembering, “It took us several cycles to find our way out of the facility. To avoid detection. As far as we could tell, they never looked for us. No alarm ever sounded. There were never guards moving about.

  “Nothing.

  “I believe in my heart they did not care that we were gone. We were less than inventory to them. Inconsequential.