by G J Ogden
“I wouldn’t know, because you shot the only other examples…” Taylor hit back, with matching tenacity.
Sonner seemed oddly impressed by Taylor’s pluck, but didn’t react and instead picked up where she had left off earlier.
“At first, we didn’t understand why the Hedalt had attacked; it wasn’t like they had a shortage of other worlds they could colonize,” Sonner continued, “But once we managed to gather some intelligence, their motives became clearer.” Sonner flicked out her index finger. “Firstly, they specifically wanted Earth. We don’t know why, but they saw it as some kind of damn trophy to hang on their wall.” Sonner then flicked out her middle finger. “Secondly, they needed Humans. Or, to be more specific, they needed our human brains.”
Taylor frowned. Even without the ability to feel physical revulsion, the notion of an alien species attacking Earth because they wanted to harvest human brains was deeply disquieting.
“I’m know I’m going to regret asking this,” he said, knowing what was inside his own artificial head, “but why did they specifically need human brains?...”
SIXTEEN
Sonner smiled weakly and then coughed again. She was obviously struggling, but managed to soldier on, regardless. “Their need for human brains is where you fit in,” she answered, pointing a finger at Taylor. “But, I’m sure you’ve guessed that part already.”
“Something about the lab-grown human brain you mentioned me having sort of gave it away…” Taylor replied, sarcastically.
Sonner croaked a laugh, and then nodded. “Remember me saying that space travel was dangerous – even fatal – to most Hedalt? That’s why they created these simulant automatons; they needed bodies to drive the expansion of their empire. But they wanted them to be adaptable, self-sufficient and subservient, and they needed a sophisticated machine for that to work. An organic computer, if you like.”
“So, you’re saying they, what... programmed my brain instead of a computer?”
“Yes, in essence,” said Sonner, who had moved behind her chair and was leaning on it, looking ready to collapse.
“But why not just program a computerized brain,” said Taylor, “you know, an AI? Surely that would be a lot easier?”
Sonner snorted, “And you’re an expert in artificial intelligence, I suppose?”
Taylor scowled, “Well, no…”
“That much is obvious…” Sonner cut back in, with extra snark, causing Taylor’s scowl to deepen. “You can’t just create life on a computer, Captain. None of the genius science boffins on Earth even got close to a true AI, and it seems the Hedalt couldn’t do it either. But by modifying a living, sentient brain, one with its core faculties intact, they achieved something similar.”
“But why?” Taylor said, starting to get frustrated both with Sonner’s prickly nature and the lack of real answers. “Why did they send me out into the galaxy with this whole mixed up, made up history in my head?”
“You’re no ordinary simulant, Captain Ray,” Sonner answered, sounding freer and more natural than before. “After the Hedalt finally smashed through our defenses and nuked Earth, what remained of Earth Fleet fled, jumping randomly all across the galaxy, trying to escape. The Hedalt made you, and other ships and crews exactly like yours, to hunt us down.”
The mention of crews compelled Taylor to chance another glance at Satomi and Casey. He managed to maintain eye contact with their immobile, lifeless frames for a few seconds, before unease compelled him to look away. The faces and bodies were manufactured, but inside the engineered skulls were real brains, the same as inside his own head. They had not been aware of what they were, not in the way he was now, but something organic had still died inside them. They were more than just machines, at least to him.
Sonner caught him glancing at them, and sensed his obvious discomfort. She felt a stab of guilt, realizing that her macabre display was in poor taste, and perhaps even cruel. She hadn’t considered that a simulant could experience emotions in the same way as a human, but she couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for this facsimile of Taylor Ray just yet. She still had larger concerns, one of which was ensuring this unique simulant was truly free from the Hedalt programming that had compelled him to attack her earlier.
“Before, you saw these two simulants as the real Satomi Rose and Casey Valera,” Sonner went on, continuing to lay it on the line for Taylor. “The modifications to your brain made you perceive them as human, just as they made you see me as a Hedalt soldier, an enemy you were already preconditioned to hate. The Hedalt weren’t physically capable of jumping all across the galaxy hunting down Earth’s survivors, so they messed with your memories and your perceptions, and programmed you to do it for them.”
Taylor nodded; as crazy as it sounded, it was actually starting to make sense. “They made us believe we were hunting down the remnants of our deadly alien enemy, when in reality we were mopping up the last dregs of humanity.”
Sonner laughed and then coughed bitterly, “It’s hard to keep it all straight, isn’t it?” Then her expression hardened and she was momentarily lost in her own thoughts. “You know, if Earth had won the war, we’d have pursued the Hedalt to the ends of the galaxy too, exactly as you thought you were doing. That’s why your brain is accepting of the lie, Captain, because it’s so believable. We’d have shown them no mercy, so I guess we should have expected no less in return.”
Taylor thought about this for a moment. He’d always told himself that the DSR missions were about self-preservation; a necessary evil to ensure the Hedalt scourge was gone for good. Or perhaps that’s just how he’d been programmed to think of them, it was impossible to know. Sonner yawned loudly and stretched, which drew his silver eyes back to her.
“Perhaps this is just some sort of cosmic karma for the brutality of Earth’s history, you know?” said Sonner. “Maybe it’s the universe teaching us a lesson.”
“I wouldn’t have put you down as someone who believed in karma or destiny,” said Taylor, surprised by Sonner’s comment.
Sonner shrugged. “When Earth was lost, I found it easier to believe that there had to be a reason why some of us survived, and managed to escape, unseen, to this backwater part of the galaxy. I told myself that it somehow meant the Contingency wasn’t doomed to failure from the outset.”
Taylor laughed and shook his head, “The universe just isn’t that connected, Commander. Things happen because of what people do, whether they are humans or Hedalt, not because of any higher plan.”
Sonner moved around the chair and sank heavily down into it, “I’m not talking about God or gods or anything like that.”
“Then what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, shrugging wearily. “You have to believe in something, though, right? Look at us, for example.”
Taylor laughed again; it was a strange sound that he was still getting used to. “Are you saying the two of us are entwined in some cosmic plan?”
Sonner’s eyes widened, “A cynic, eh?” she said, with a hint of sass. “Look at the evidence, Captain. I alone survive here, and no sooner do I wake up, but you manage to find an unfindable base, and are somehow ‘woken up’ too.” Sonner smiled, “Hell, you could even say that you were re-born. Why… how… I don’t know, but it’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Now it was Taylor who shrugged, “Life is just a series of coincidences on a universal scale.”
Sonner coughed another laugh, “See… cynic.”
“What would you call it then?”
Sonner pondered the question for a few moments and then smiled again, causing her striking, strong features and sharp eyes to momentarily soften. “How about hope?”
Taylor glanced briefly at the simulant frame of Satomi and then sighed. It was an involuntary reaction – an instinctive human response prompted by a human brain – and it puzzled him that his body still reacted to emotions, even though it no longer felt them physically.
“Hope is something I ca
n get behind,” he replied, solemnly. “Most of all, I hope that this is just some insane coma-induced nightmare. I hope that any moment now I’m going to wake up and see Satomi and Casey and Blake again.”
“Ah, but you already have woken up,” said Sonner, enthusiastically. “Now you see the truth, in all its ugliness. Frankly, I’m astonished you’re able to cope with any of this, what with those circuits in your head popping. I have never seen a simulant woken like you, and I’ve never heard of it happening before.”
Sonner coughed again and then rubbed her chest to relieve the spasms, before wilting against the backrest of the chair to recover her breath. That her condition seemed to be worsening hadn’t gone unnoticed by Taylor, and he found himself worrying about her; another involuntary human response.
“No offence, but you look terrible.”
Sonner managed another croaky laugh, “Gee, thanks.”
“Are you sick?”
Sonner shook her head, but then changed her mind and half-shrugged a confirmation. “Sort of. It’s stasis sickness; I was stuck inside that damned chamber for a hell of a lot longer than I was supposed to be.”
“How much longer?” Taylor remembered that Satomi had not been able to accurately assess for how long the stasis chambers had been active.
“Oh, about two hundred and seventy-five years longer, according to the time recorder on the base,” said Sonner, speaking the number as dismissively as if she was apologizing for being a couple of minutes late to a meeting. “We were supposed to be in stasis for fifty years,” she went on, “enough time for this base to automate the manufacturing of our new Nimrod Fleet, and long enough that the Hedalt would have assumed the human plague to have been cleansed from the galaxy, giving us the element of surprise.” Then she looked Taylor in his silvery eyes and sighed, “Sadly, it would seem that we vastly under-estimated quite how persistent those alien bastards would be, seeing as they’re still hunting us three hundred and twenty-five years later.”
“Did you know the others, in the stasis chambers, I mean?” asked Taylor, suddenly realizing that Sonner must also be dealing with an enormous emotional burden. She was not only coping with the loss of Earth, but also of the loss of one hundred and fifty-nine of the last remnants of humanity, many of whom she must have known personally. He could see from Sonner’s reaction that it was a distressing subject, but Taylor was still keen to move their discussion away from himself, because it meant respite from having to face the fantastical new reality that Sonner was describing to him. The less he thought about what he was, the more at ease he felt, and the more he felt like himself. Myself? Am I even really Taylor Ray?
“Yes, I knew many of them; most were colleagues, but some of them were my friends too. One or two I knew closely…” Sonner’s reply seemed to drift off and she suddenly looked desolate as well as exhausted. It only lasted a moment, before she composed herself and continued, “This base was built in a hurry and I guess some jackass didn’t do their job right.” Then she smiled and held up her hands, “But, hey, I’m still here. One Earth Fleet officer against the entire horde!”.
The mention of numbers reminded Taylor that Sonner had said there were more ships and crews like his. He stole another glance at Satomi and Casey, pondering what that could mean. “How many are there?” he asked, his head hung low. “Simulants like me, I mean.”
“In total? Millions. Billions. The honest answer is I don’t know,” said Sonner, shrugging. Then she raised a quivering finger at Satomi, “But if your question is how many are there of you four, as in Captain Taylor Ray, Satomi Rose and the rest of your crew… Well, that’s a different question, though no less tricky to answer.”
“Why?” asked Taylor leaning forward in the chair, as much as possible given the restraints, which he’d almost forgotten about until that point, since he felt no discomfort or pain.
“Our intel told us the Hedalt had successfully harvested ten brains in total,” explained Sonner, “You see, brain harvesting was the hardest part. It required months to extract all of the memories and other synaptic nuances that made that person who they were.”
“You mean, their soul?” said Taylor, trying to condense what Sonner was saying into a simpler concept.
“I thought you were too cynical to believe in such things?” replied Sonner, recalling the sterile way Taylor had talked about the nature of life only moments earlier.
Taylor glanced down at his feet, “I never used to believe in anything like that,” he said, quietly, “but now… I don’t know. I guess I need to believe that I’m something more than just a laboratory experiment.”
Sonner observed Taylor’s sorrowful reaction, recognizing it as a genuine and natural human emotion; something that could not be faked. Whatever he is, there is something still human inside... she told herself.
“There are the four brains that crewed the Hunter ships; ships like yours, Captain,” Sonner continued, though Taylor was still staring blankly at his feet. “These are simulants in the truest sense; near perfect replicas, possessing the memories, experiences and personality traits of their original hosts, just altered to perceive the universe differently.”
Taylor let out a pitiful laugh. “‘Hunter ships’... We called it ‘deep space recon’.”
Sonner smiled. “More believable that way, isn’t it? The honorable Earth Fleet wouldn’t deliberately hunt aliens to extinction; instead they do reconnaissance to track down the remains of a belligerent and hostile nemesis...”
“What about the other six?”
“Those were used for everything else,” replied Sonner, “But they were lobotomized automatons, not at all like you. They were programmed to work in factories, mines and so on, and many of them were used to crew their ships. It’s how they were able to vastly expand their armada, and eventually crush us.”
“You mean they’re used as slaves…” said Taylor, condensing Sonner’s description into the cold, simple truth.
“Yes,” said Sonner, though she was loath to admit it. She preferred to avoid using this description because the thought of millions of human-cybernetic slaves made her blood boil. As if the Hedalt nearly succeeding in committing speciocide wasn’t already bad enough, the fact they had enslaved human brains to do their work was almost worse than annihilation. “As I said, there could be millions, even billions of those by now, but after three hundred and twenty-five years, it’s quite possible you could be the last Hunter in the galaxy.” Then Sonner held up her hands, “Sorry, deep space recon ship.”
Taylor was silent for a time, trying to process everything that Sonner had said. The evidence backed up her story, but then how could he trust what he was seeing or hearing? If Sonner was correct, he’d spent his entire life living a lie. It was impossible even to know how long had he been alive, if ‘alive’ was the right way to describe his existence.
As he was pondering these questions, Sonner got up and moved behind him. Taylor frowned, his artificial face reproducing the expression faithfully, but then a moment later the binders restraining his arms and legs fell loose. He brought his hands around to the front and stared at them; they didn’t ache, as he would have expected them to after so long held in restraints. He flexed his fingers and watched the pale pink-gray digits move as instinctively as real hands. He was suddenly aware of Sonner watching him with interest, and he stood up, grabbing the back of the chair for support, which crumpled under his grip. He stared at the mangled metal in astonishment.
“You’ll have to get used to your new strength,” said Sonner, “Honestly, these binders would never have contained you if you had tried to break free, not that you knew that, of course.”
Taylor let go of the chair and held his hands in front of him, away from his body, as if they were explosive charges that could go off at any moment.
“Why have you released me?”
“When I fought you, and attacked your crew, it was because you were my enemy; just a simulant doing the will of the Hedalt.”
Taylor again glanced to the two bodies at the side, and the pain of losing them surged inside his mind like a reflex. He forced himself to look away and back into Sonner’s tired eyes. “And now?”
Sonner folded her arms and peered intently back into Taylor’s silver orbs, which despite being made of metal, still somehow glinted with the spark of life. “When I came out of hibernation, I discovered I was the only one who survived; one human being out of the one hundred and sixty that made it out here. But now, we are two. And if I’m going to take the fight back to the Hedalt and kick their alien asses out of Earth, I’m going to need everyone I can get, including you, Captain Ray. Because, for reasons I can’t fathom, and against my better judgement, I truly believe that’s who you really are.”
Sonner’s heartfelt answer came as a surprise to Taylor, and he felt lifted by it. “Well, that makes one of us, at least, but I appreciate your trust.” Despite being unsure of what he was, he still felt like an officer in Earth Fleet, and knowing what he now did about the true fate of Earth, he found himself feeling as Sonner did; a compulsion to do his duty, and fight back.
“Give it time, Captain,” Sonner continued, “time to get to know yourself, and the truly unique individual you are now.”
Taylor nodded then held out his hand. Sonner hesitated, looking at the mangled chair. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to crush it.”
Sonner took his hand and shook it. “That’s my second gesture of trust. Now it’s your turn, cynic.”
“I’m not actually a cynic,” said Taylor. “In fact, I was always the optimistic one. Always the one to see the glass half-full. Or I used to be.”
“You can be again. You can be whatever you want to be, Taylor Ray, and do anything.”
Taylor looked at Casey and Satomi and forced himself not to look away this time. He hated what the Hedalt had turned them into, and had turned him into. “I don’t know what I am, or what I can become,” he said, turning back to Sonner, “but I do know that I want to fight whoever did this to me.”
