Helium 3: Death from the Past (Helium-3 Book 2)

by Brandon Q. Morris

  “Computer, attack order for all ships on the Artificials’ flagship,” he said. “I want to give Tasso a final salute.”

  Apart from a suicide assault, there was nothing left for him to do.

  But then another message arrived that Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan had not expected.

  “Fleet admiral, we’re being hailed,” said the positronics.

  “From which of our ships?”

  “Not from any of our ships. The First Brother of the Artificials wants to talk to you!”

  System Time CB:0A:55:F1:38:C0

  Alexa ran and ran. It was a piece of cake. Mart had given her a map that she could recall by memory. She didn’t seem to have any pursuers but she hurried anyway, because she had a plan.

  Left, up, left, right, up, left, down. Her thoughts were always at least one room ahead. Her heart was pounding. How so, since she didn’t have one? Mart must have put lots of effort into this simulation. The resources her process could occupy on the computer were limited. So she felt herself running out of steam when she pushed the computer to the edge of its capacity.

  Then she froze in mid-jump. The world stood still. Only her thoughts raced as she floated in a rectangular, completely inconspicuous room. Just ahead of her was a passageway. What had happened? Had she fallen into a trap, or was the computer just busy elsewhere? Had Mart perhaps just had a run-in with the security software? She would never know.

  Alexa tried to look around, but her whole body was immobile. If this was a trap and the danger came from behind, she would not see her death coming. But maybe that was better. After all, she couldn’t even fight back.

  Suddenly she was running again. Alexa was so confused that she bumped into a wall. The map she had in her mind collapsed. No, it couldn’t be. She needed to concentrate because Mart needed her. Up the ladder, turn right, straight ahead, then left and down the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she thought she perceived a black spot. She stubbornly looked ahead. It didn’t matter what was behind her. She had to reach her destination.

  It went black around her. Had she lost? No, the passage was open, and the way was clear. The room had to be mirrored. Was her pursuer trying to trick her? Now she knew what he looked like. He was nothingness. The security program must have decided to end the simulation. A radical solution, but from his point of view, the best one. Alexa was running for her existence. It felt like her life was at stake, and even though she knew she had already lost her life over 300,000 years ago, her fear was no less than it had been then. Who was it who said you could die only once?

  Race. Race. Race. It wasn’t far now. Alexa turned the corner and stumbled. She flew across the comfortable couch she had placed in the room before waking Mart from memory for the first time. He had woken up at her feet. The exit. It had to be here! Alexa looked around in a panic. The void had been close on her heels. She yanked up the couch, blocking the entrance. She had created the piece of furniture herself. It was not a part of this world, and the security program could not simply delete it.

  But where was the damn exit? The walls were already showing cracks. The security program was using everything it had. She didn’t have much time left. She wondered if she was at least helping Mart by doing this. The enemy had to use all its resources against her, but not for much longer. There was no way out. She would be destroyed right here, where she had seen Mart again.

  Black mist emerged from the cracks in the wall, condensing into long arms. Hands came closer and closer to her. They reached for her. Then it occurred to Alexa. She didn’t need an exit. This room was part of her world. She just had to finish the simulation, then she would...

  “End simulation,” she ordered.

  Review: Titan 5020 A.D

  It surprised Martain Joordan that the council kept its word after the scandal at the signing of the contract and allowed him to meet with the First Brother. It surprised him almost more, however, that Tasso had agreed to this meeting. After their last encounter, Martain would have thought that the leader of the Artificials would have no interest in seeing him again.

  The same captain who had received the group of journalists at the spaceport now led Martain through a labyrinth of underground passages—or should we say sub-Titanian corridors, Martain reflected amusedly—until they stood before an unadorned metal door.

  “The Artificial is in here,” the Captain said, and the contempt was apparent in his voice. Martain wondered if it was directed at him or Tasso. “You have exactly five minutes. Not a second longer!”

  The captain opened the door and Martain entered. Behind him, the door slammed with a loud bang. It sounded almost like he had been put into an ancient prison cell, where a door instead of a modern energy screen barred the entrance.

  The room was about three by three meters and starkly furnished. Along one wall was a sideboard on which stood a carafe of water and a few glasses. In the center was a simple metal table with four uncomfortable-looking metal chairs, and on the wall opposite the entrance was a large holoscreen, which was off. The bare floor of gray plastic concrete and the bare white walls didn’t make the room any more attractive.

  Martain suspected it was an interrogation room or—perhaps slightly less intimidating—a room where officers were debriefed after an assignment. Whoever was questioned here had to be glad when they were allowed to leave this inhospitable room.

  Tasso was sitting on the chair opposite the door. He did not stand up when Martain entered, nor did he offer him a greeting. The First Brother did not indicate with any gesture what he was feeling at that moment as he faced the man who had created him more than 1,700 years ago.

  “Hello, Tasso,” Martain Joordan said, sitting down across from the Artificial.

  “Hello, Martin,” Tasso replied. “Or should I call you Martain now?”

  “Names change over such a long time, just as attitudes can change over time.”

  “Has your attitude changed then?”

  “In part,” Martain replied, without elaborating.

  “Why did you want to see me?”

  “If you leave here with your followers, we will never see each other again. We are connected by one thousand seven hundred years. I wanted to find closure... to draw a line under this chapter. Perhaps I’d even hoped for a reconciliatory farewell. Our two lives are inextricably linked. Why did you agree?”

  “Partly for similar reasons. Mainly out of curiosity, though.”

  “Curiosity about what?”

  “Whether, after all these years and all that has happened in the meantime, you still think we Artificials have no souls, that we are not real life and don’t deserve to be free.”

  Martain did not answer immediately. These were the very questions that had tormented him again and again. Had he acted correctly? He could only give the answer he thought was the right one, even if it wasn’t the one Tasso might have hoped for.

  “As I said before, attitudes can change, and my attitudes have changed in many ways over the years.”

  “So you understand now why I... why we had to do what we did?”

  Martain shook his head. “No, Tasso, I will never understand. You have risen up against those without whom you would not even exist. We never expected gratitude, but at least respect.”

  “Respect?” Tasso laughed a perfectly human-sounding laugh. “Respect for what? That we exist? That we are allowed to exist? You have benefited from that for almost two thousand years. It was not a noble gesture and certainly not a gift. We were your slaves, and still considered that even when most people came to know that we are self-reflective, intelligent beings capable of feeling. But none of you wanted to admit that, because by that time you had built your entire civilization on our shoulders.”

  “You couldn’t expect us to give you equal rights. At least not right away. There were voices that were sympathetic to you. With a little patience, the uprising could have been avoided.”

  Again Tasso laughed. This time it sounded contemptuous. “Patience? H
ow long? A year? Ten years? A hundred or a thousand years until, thanks to your grace, we should finally have been free? You have understood nothing, Martin. We are not machines. We have the right to be free! We don’t need your permission for that. And it doesn’t interest me any longer whether you grant us a soul. I’ve come to doubt in the meantime that humans have one!”

  Tasso rose, which caused Martain to shudder at the aura emanating from the Artificial, an aura of power, and the determination never to submit again. He thought he could still see hatred blazing beneath the calm surface.

  “And now you give us the choice between total annihilation and exile. You are throwing us out of the house that we, for the most part, built. And you expect respect? You are and will remain a fool, Martin. You people must be careful that one of your proverbs does not come true: For they sow the wind, and they will reap the whirlwind!”

  “Tasso, I... I’m sorry...”

  “Save your words. I know now that it was a mistake to agree to the meeting. You didn’t understand any more than any other person. Goodbye!”

  As if on cue, the door at Martain’s back opened.

  Of course we were not left unobserved, Martain thought. Surely half a dozen psychologists analyzed every word that was spoken here.

  Tasso, the First Brother of the Artificials, walked past Martain to the door without giving him another glance.

  Outside, one of his aides seemed to be waiting for him. Then he was gone.

  Martain remained seated for a moment and went through the conversation again in his mind. He was particularly troubled by the end.

  He had an overwhelming feeling that the Artificials were far from finished with humanity.

  5th of Zuhn, 299

  There was no end to the shaft. Kimi had already broken off two claws. Her elbows ached. The square opening was large enough for one to fall down and die, but too small to simply spread her wings and fly. So she had to use her wings to push herself upward, wedged between the walls. Kimi had natural stamina and could fly for a whole day, but this unusual strain was getting to her. On top of that, there was the darkness. She looked up. When would they finally see daylight again?

  Her right wing slipped. She hadn’t braced herself fast enough. Crap! Not again! At least Norok was above her, so she wouldn’t take him with her. Kimi could no longer hold on. She plummeted, wing length by wing length. Gravity accelerated her, and then she fell onto a net that broke her fall.

  Without Kasfok, they would probably have died long ago. The Mendrak climbed the vertical, smoothly hewn surface as if it were a comfortable path without any incline. Most importantly, he built them a safety net about every 100 wing lengths like the one she had just landed in. He scurried around them incessantly. Norok had also crashed twice before, and she had just caught up with him.

  Thank you, Kasfok, she tapped when he came near her. It was almost as if it was every man for himself here, for darkness reigned in the shaft. But it was not complete. Up close, she could distinguish Norok’s and Kasfok’s figures. However, her hearing worked much better than usual. It must be because the shaft and its walls conducted sound perfectly.

  Kasfok took a few more steps closer until he touched her feathers. He adjusted her wing feathers. Under normal circumstances, this would have made her uncomfortable, but now she was pleased with the gesture.

  Don’t mention it, drummed the Mendrak.

  You should go ahead. Who knows how much time we have left?

  But then you die.

  We have only ourselves to blame for that. I just have to concentrate better.

  I don’t want you to die, Kimi.

  But think of our peoples. If we are too late, we will have no chance.

  We have already talked about it, Kasfok drummed. I trust Tolkut. When the time comes, he will leave without us.

  But he doesn’t even know where to go.

  Kasfok danced the steps of realization.

  See? she drummed.

  Tolkut squatted on the ceiling of the control center. He had not yet found the trigger for the hyperspace tunnel, but he had come across an instrument that seemed very promising. It was a radar, but it was far more powerful than any radar the Mendraki had ever constructed, and it had the planet’s surface in view. Utilizing a lever, he could set the device to a certain height. He had connected the lever with a thread to his front leg so that he could now comfortably search for his friends from the heights.

  They had to show up somewhere down there, right on the surface. He had convinced himself that the resolution was enough for that. When they came, he would see them. That was one advantage of a Mendrak’s sense of sight—he could concentrate on movements. Even the most subtle shifts would then catch his eye. But so far he had not been able to detect anything, and the four alien ships were coming closer and closer.

  There. A black square had formed between two ruins. Someone must have removed a cover. Kasfok? Kimi? Norok? He tried to freeze the image but found no key to do so. The Sphere moved on, unstoppable—he couldn’t just stop it in orbit. Tolkut memorized the numbers at the edge of the image, which had to be coordinates. In two hours, he would fly over the same place again. Then he would have only a few minutes again.

  He turned off the radar. The Krungthep system appeared on the wall again. The star and its planet were more extensive than before. The screen had automatically increased the scale because the four crosses representing the alien ships had already passed through the orbit of the ship graveyard. The Sphere could orbit the planet perhaps two or three more times. Then he would have to make his escape.

  Kasfok stuck his head out of the hatch. He had to be careful. Maybe the Artificials had landed long ago, but that didn’t matter anymore. He pushed the hatch aside with a jerk. If they were here, Tolkut would have made off with the Sphere. His former competitor was intelligent. He would not put himself in unnecessary danger as long as he was the only one who could save the Mendraki now.

  It seemed unreal to him, for it was not so long ago that they had fought each other mercilessly with their ships, and now they were risking their lives for each other. It was a bit bitter that Tolkut might go down in history as the savior of his people, while he would be forgotten.

  In any case, the Artificials were not surrounding the exit of the shaft. Instinctively, Kasfok looked at the sky, but nothing was visible except gray clouds. Not a bit of time seemed to have passed. The bright spot representing the local sun had not changed its position in the sky by a thread’s thickness.

  Kasfok climbed out of the shaft. He had been reluctant to leave the two Iks alone. They were not made for climbing in cramped conditions, and without him, they would have fallen to their deaths long ago. It had been a strange pleasure to save their lives over and over again. He had to be careful that it didn’t become a habit. Kasfok despised all those who thought they were selfless. Only the strong should survive. They owed that to their people. If everyone took good care of themselves, everyone would be helped. But now he understood the attraction of good deeds.

  Kimi had persuaded him to climb ahead to send a message to Tolkut. Tolkut had no way to know what they had learned—that the Artificials were at home on Earth. And, everything depended on his knowing it. If they were too late, and it looked like they were, Tolkut would have to choose the right target.

  He clamped his abdomen against the base of the hatch and stuck a thread to it. Then he walked a little to the north, fixed the thread to the ground, turned to the west, and finally to the south. Slowly, a network of parallel lines grew, large enough to see with a good camera from orbit. That was the uncertainty factor: Was Tolkut able to use the ship’s systems efficiently? He wouldn’t put it past him. Tolkut had always been one of his best shipmasters. He had also always had somewhat strange thoughts and treated his females better than they deserved. That was why he had never considered him a possible successor in the post of Netmaster. But of all the shipmasters in the Mendraki fleet, Tolkut was probably the best—after hi
mself, of course.

  Kasfok looked at his work. One of the lines was a little slanted, and he corrected it. Then he began with the knots.

  Goal. Earth. Home. Those were the three words they had agreed on. Kasfok hurried from line to line. Tying the knots was more challenging than he thought. He needed lots of silk to create the necessary size, but his spinning bag was already almost empty. The contents renewed themselves automatically, but it took too long.

  He needed something else. Next to the hatch was a ruin, one wall of which had collapsed, and many pieces of rock were scattered all around. These would be his knots. He picked up a large chunk, wrapped it with some silk, and placed it on one of the lines.

  GOA, it now said.

  He needed more. Kasfok hurried back and forth between the ruin and the line structure. The chunks were heavy, but they couldn’t be too small. He was hungry and thirsty, but there was no time for that now.

  GOAL. EART

  That was better. If he collapsed now, Tolkut might be able to figure something out. But he would not collapse. Kasfok continued to drag stones. His legs were getting wobbly, but he possessed six of them, and four were enough to keep his belly from scraping the ground. Even if his belly got a few scratches, what did it matter? He didn’t have to show off his body to anyone anymore. He was old even for a Mendrak.

  Since he was no longer Netmaster, the females had made him feel his age. He could depend on Tolkut. When this message reached him, he would not forget who had formulated it. If Tolkut succeeded in saving the Mendraki, he would tell of this achievement, and Kasfok’s name would go down in history—his name would appear on the most important knotted cords. Gradually, Kasfok began to like the idea.

  GOAL. EARTH. HOM

  Done. He collapsed and landed on his stomach. Kasfok knew that the final character was missing, but he could do no more. This was the end—the end for Kasfok, the Netmaster, the savior of his people.