Forerunner Read online

  Overall, they had abilities that complemented each other rather well, Jain thought. He had them practicing virtual combat sessions daily, and they experimented with the different tactics they had stored in their databases, coming up with some of their own. When whoever did this to them eventually returned, there would be hell to pay.

  At least, that was the plan.

  Maybe we’ll be on the receiving end of that hell.

  “So, a little over two months have passed since we arrived,” Medeia said. “Why haven’t any reinforcements been sent? Considering how much each of our ships cost…”

  “How much do they cost,” Sheila said. “Wait, I don’t want to know, actually.”

  “It’s in your database,” Mark said. “Over twelve trillion credits each.”

  “Well, I always knew I was worth a lot,” Medeia commented.

  “This is odd,” Sheila said.

  “What is it?” Jain asked.

  “I just picked up what looks like a vessel of some kind,” Sheila said. “It just drifted into view from the far side of the third gas giant from the suns. There’s no thermal signature, so it’s dead in space. It’s too far to get a visual ID. Oh, and here’s the kicker: it’s in a decaying orbit.”

  Jain glanced at his tactical map, and a new dot appeared next to the third gas giant from the sun, the one Jain had nicknamed Ol’ Faithful because of the relative regularity of its powerful radiation emissions. “I see it. Xander, how close can we send a probe?”

  “We can get as close as a hundred thousand kilometers,” Xander said, materializing beside him. “Any closer, and the probe will be lost to the gravity well. If you want to retrieve the derelict for salvage or exploratory purposes, you’ll have to send a ship.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Jain said. “Decaying orbit, huh? How long until it reaches the point of no return, so that not even our ships can get close?”

  “We have three months,” Xander said.

  “Well that’s a bit of leeway,” Jain said. “Send a probe. Let’s get an ID on that derelict.”

  “Will do,” Xander said. “It will take a few days before it arrives.”

  “Hey, I just thought of something,” Mark said. “Maybe we were sent here to find that ship.”

  “Well, if so, then we just completed our mission,” Jain said.

  4

  Jain allocated twelve-hour shifts for all of the Mind Refurbs, with the Accomps taking over the rest of the time. That left six hours for relaxation, and six hours for sleep—downtime was a requirement to maintaining a healthy neural net. Something inherited from the days when they were human.

  When the twelve-hour workday was done—the virtual combat sessions were included in that figure—the team usually met in VR to relax and bond. They chose a different member to host each night, and today, while the probe was only halfway to the derelict, it was Gavin’s turn to host. Jain had gotten used to Gavin calling in voice-only on the bridge, so it would be a change to see his avatar in person once more.

  Gavin had set up a virtual camping environment. Logs surrounded a central campfire under a starry sky. Tents had been erected behind those logs, while trees hemmed in the clearing beyond: their branches were gnarled, and the shadows between them flickered because of the flames, giving the place a slightly creepy vibe, at least in Jain’s opinion.

  Sheila appeared, and glanced about. “Love what you’ve done with the place.” Jain couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

  “Thank you,” Gavin said from the log he was sitting on. “The trees are high-ploy models I came up with myself. And I modified the particle system used by the flames to get the most realistic ray-traced shadows possible.”

  “Someone’s devoting a lot of processing power to a simulation that’s meant to be a fun diversion more than anything else,” Cranston said, taking a seat on a log next to Sheila.

  Gavin shrugged. “What’s the point of having all these spare cycles if you can’t play with them once in a while?” He held a bundle of sticks in his lap, carved small spears onto the tips of each with a knife, and handed them out one by one.

  The team members accepted the spears in turn, poked marshmallows onto the sharp tips, and roasted them over the flames.

  “Not bad,” Medeia said when she ate hers. “Tastes almost like the real thing.”

  “Of course,” Mark said. “VR has been around for a very long time. The programmers have had a lot of time to fine-tune the different tastes and textures of the available food. So don’t think Gavin had anything to do with the realism.”

  “Actually, I did make my own tweaks, yes,” Gavin said. “The marshmallows taste a little more caramelly than they ordinarily would. Of course, I’ve upped that caramel quotient tenfold in my own marshmallows.” He popped a roasted specimen into his mouth and smacked his lips as he ate it. “Divine.”

  “You always gotta brag about having the best stuff, huh?” Mark said. “‘I have the best ship. I created the best VR environment. I make the best marshmallows and save the greatest for myself.’ On and on he goes.”

  Gavin shrugged. “Genius has its detractors.”

  Jain roasted his own marshmallow, and when he bit into it, he had to admit that it tasted very good. He probably should have slid the entire thing into his mouth, because he was a bit unready for the mess that resulted: he pulled the marshmallow away from his lips, but it stretched, still connected to his teeth, and he had to wrap the sticky threads around his finger to break it away.

  Medeia giggled. “You’d think you’ve never eaten a roasted marshmallow before.”

  “It’s been a while,” Jain admitted

  “Here.” Sitting beside him, Medeia leaned toward Jain and wiped a piece of melted marshmallow away from the corner of his mouth. She rubbed it on the log between them.

  When Medeia looked up, she frowned. “What?”

  Jain glanced toward the others and realized that everyone was staring at them.

  Medeia straightened suddenly. “Oh no. No. It’s not like that. I was just helping out a friend in need.”

  “Oh, sure you were,” Mark said. “This is how it starts. Wiping away a bit of marshmallow from the mouth, sneaking glances at each other when you think no one is looking, one thing leads to another, and then you’re fraternizing...”

  Jain chuckled at that.

  Medeia glared at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Jain said. “Just the word he was using. Fraternizing. What do you think we’re all doing now, Mark? Listen, I got news for you. We’re all robots now. The rules and regulations that the navy came up with are good initial guidelines for us, but we don’t have to follow them all to the letter. Those rules were meant for humans. Something we’ll never be again.”

  “What about laws in general?” Sheila said. “Larceny. Grand theft. Fraud. Are those optional, too?”

  “Essentially,” Jain said. “We’ll have to come up with our own laws out here. At least until we return to human space.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go back,” Cranston said. When all eyes shifted to him, he looked up. “I mean, look, we’re free out here. As soon as we return to human space, we’re going to have to start following orders again.”

  “I kind of agree with him,” Mark said. “I mean, it seems obvious that humanity abandoned us out here, left us for dead. Why go back? Maybe when we build the Rift Gate, we should head away from Andreas I.”

  “I tend to agree with you,” Jain said. “Except for one thing. What if humanity needs us? We should at least check on them, make sure everything is all right. What if whoever did this to us has moved on? What if they’ve entered human space?”

  “Yeah, and what if they haven’t?” Cranston said. “If so, as soon as we set foot in a human system, if we try to leave, the human vessels—probably manned by Mind Refurbs like ourselves—are going to disable our engines and impound us.”

  “They can certainly try...” Gavin said.

  “W
e still have a few months to decide our destination,” Jain said. “We haven’t built the Rift Gate yet. I think I’m going to go back, but I’ll leave it up to the rest of you on what to do. The Gate can take you anywhere… you can travel further coreward, if you want. Or anywhere else. Because as I told you before, I don’t want you to feel that you’re required to be part of this group. The only thing I ask is that if it ever comes to combat, you don’t desert the rest of us.”

  The team roasted a few more marshmallows in silence.

  “I don’t know why I ever volunteered for this,” Gavin blurted out. “I was well on my way to becoming admiral in Earth’s sea navy. And now... this.”

  “Sure you were,” Mark said.

  “I was!” Gavin insisted.

  “I just checked the navy’s personnel logs in the database,” Sheila said. “You never did make admiral. You did become a captain before you died, though. Of a boat. If it’s any consolation.”

  Gavin’s face darkened. “Well according to this, Sheila, you remained a lowly machinist’s mate your entire navy career.”

  Sheila shrugged. “I know.” She chewed a marshmallow and glanced at Jain. “Have you looked at your file?”

  “I have,” Jain said. “The early parts, from when I rose from ensign to lieutenant commander, stirred memories in me, or at least feelings. It mentions the schools I went to, the jobs I held, but most of the memories to go with them are missing.”

  “What kind of lieutenant commander were you?” Sheila asked.

  “SEALs,” Jain said.

  “That should tell you a lot right there,” Cranston said. “About how tough you were, at least.”

  “Maybe,” Jain said.

  “SEAL training is a bitch.”

  “No more than other disciplines, like the Green Berets,” Jain said.

  “Oh ho!” Gavin said. “He’s humble, too.”

  “According to my file, I transferred over from an oceangoing warship to train as a SEAL,” Jain said. “I went through SEAL training, hell week, the works, and graduated. I remember bits and pieces of it. My OERs helped fill in the blanks.” OER stood for Officer Evaluation Report. “According to the file, after I had my scan, eventually I worked my way up to captain, and retired shortly thereafter. Never went on any deployments. There weren’t any. Stayed on base most of the time, participating in hell week every year. Retired, got married, died. Didn’t have any kids, and my wife didn’t remarry when I passed.

  “Maybe that’s a relief, because it means I don’t have to worry about contacting my descendants. I can’t contact what I don’t have, after all. Still, a part of me wishes I did have kids. That I had some offspring with a bit of my DNA in them still living on Earth. To help me feel like I still physically existed in some form, as a living, breathing entity, rather than just some soulless silicon. But again, maybe that’s for the best, because there’s nothing connecting me to that planet, so I won’t feel too much regret if I can never go back there.”

  “I’m actually slightly offended by what you just said,” Cranston told him.

  “Really?” Jain said. “Why?”

  “Well, not all of it,” Cranston said. “But the ‘soulless silicon’ part. Why should we be any different than organics, when it comes to the soul? We exist. We have consciousness. We’re making an indelible mark in the higher dimensions that exist above this one. Who’s to say that some parts of our psyches won’t continue to exist if we are physically destroyed.”

  “That’s a good point,” Jain said. “I don’t know the answer. None of us do.”

  Jain retrieved another marshmallow and slid it onto the tip of his wooden spear.

  Medeia sighed. Jain glanced at her: she was gazing intently at the flames. He could see the reflection of the fire in her eyes. It was almost as if it burned inside of her.

  “You have no connection to Earth, you say?” Medeia commented. “No kids?” She shook her head. “Wish I could say the same for myself. I had three kids before I had my scan. Two girls. A boy. I remember them all as if I’d just talked to them yesterday. One of the drawbacks of having your mind in a machine, I guess: your memories are as crystal clear as if you just lived them all mere moments before. I see their faces, I hear their laughs. And sometimes I wish… why did I have to do this to myself?”

  Medeia sighed anew. “I checked the archives. Did you know we have the birth and death dates of all citizens, as recorded over the past hundred years? It’s just some of the random data we have stored in our cloud. So I checked, and… my kids are all dead, just like the real me. They have offspring though. I hope one day I’ll be able to visit them. Or at least contact them, if we ever return to a system that has Interstel access.”

  “You have to stop thinking of your former self as the ‘real’ you,” Sheila commented. “Because you, in this moment, are the real you. There’s no one else. We know no other reality. This is real.”

  “I do think that,” Medeia said. “Just sometimes… I lose control and have to dull my emotion subroutines.”

  “We all do,” Mark said. “It’s one of the small mercies that being a machine grants us.”

  The group remained silent for a long time after that.

  Gavin suddenly leaned forward to stare intently at Jain. “So you admit you’re a former SEAL lieutenant commander?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said,” Jain said.

  “Ah ha!” Gavin sat back and crossed his hands triumphantly over his chest. “Whereas I was a lieutenant commander on an actual oceangoing vessel.”

  “I served on an ocean ship before joining the SEALs…” Jain said.

  “Well, I became captain of an actual ship after my mind scan,” Gavin said. “Whereas you became captain of a shore station. Maybe you shouldn’t be the one leading us.” He glanced at the others. “Just saying.”

  “Captain of a navy boat doesn’t necessarily qualify you to be captain of a starship, let alone fleet commander,” Cranston said.

  “Yeah, well, we’re all qualified to be captains of starships,” Gavin said. “Thanks to the extra data and subroutines we got shoved into our heads after becoming machines. My point is, that data isn’t enough to command a fleet. The tactics are different.”

  “We all have fleet combat tactics stored in our databases,” Jain said. “But trust me, if we ever have to fight, I’ll be asking for input from all of you.”

  “And ultimately deciding what course of action we all have to follow,” Gavin said.

  Jain stared at Gavin defiantly, not wanting to back down. He couldn’t, not on this. If he did, he’d lose the confidence of the entire team.

  “We’ve been attacked,” Jain said slowly. “Another attack could come again at any time. It makes sense, I think, to have someone like me in charge, someone with an actual background in combat, even if that background relates to infantry combat. The men in a SEAL team have different abilities and specializations, just like the ships under my command. It’s not so huge a leap to go from leading a platoon to commanding a fleet, especially considering the hundreds of extra subroutines embedded in my head to help out with the latter.”

  Gavin didn’t break eye contact, but he also had nothing to say to that.

  Jain dearly hoped Gavin wouldn’t give him trouble in the days to come.

  Time would tell.

  “Who wants to tell a ghost story?” Sheila said suddenly, breaking the tension.

  Gavin finally looked away, and Jain returned his attention to the campfire.

  “Well?” Sheila pressed. When no one volunteered, she added: “Come on, it’s traditional! When you’re gathered around a campfire, someone has to tell a ghost story.”

  Cranston jabbed a finger toward her. “You tell a ghost story.”

  “Noooo,” Sheila said. “I’m the requester. That means I want to be scared. And I can hardly do that if I’m the one telling the story.”

  “Sure you can,” Cranston said. “Just tell a really scary story.”

  S
heila sighed.

  “All right,” Cranston said. “I’ll tell a story.”

  Sheila sat up straight and grinned in anticipation. Cranston meanwhile leaned forward and warmed his hands over the fire.

  “A man once woke up in the desert,” Cranston said. “He was naked. His clothing and belongings had been stolen. And he was suffering from amnesia.”

  “Uh oh!” Sheila said. “I don’t like this story already.”

  “Since it was too hot to travel during the day, the man waited until night came before he set out to find civilization,” Cranston continued. “He wandered for many nights in the desert and slept through the days. Without food and water, he soon became delirious. He often traveled on into the early hours of dusk, when the temperatures weren’t too severe, and imagined oases where there were none, and huts where there were cacti. Eventually, he simply collapsed.

  “That night he saw the ghost. It appeared to him, beckoning from the east. The man, frightened at first, realized that the ghost was trying to help him. So he got up and stumbled after the ghost. He found a small pool of water along the way and drank it dry. He continued all through that night, until day came, and he was forced to rest. The next night, the ghost appeared again, and once more the man followed. Again, he found water, and he believed more than ever that this ghost was his savior.

  “Day came, and he rested. On the third night, the ghost appeared once more, and the man followed it yet again. The journey was particularly grueling, because this time he stumbled upon no pools of water along the way. In the middle of the night, the ghost ceased its advance. The man continued to approach, and the ghost didn’t move. This was the first time the ghost had allowed him to get so close. When the man arrived, he asked the ghost: ‘Where are we? Have we reached civilization?’ In answer, they ghost merely gave him a blank stare.

  “The man spotted movement around him, and he realized he was surrounded by more of the specters. A whole lot more. As they closed in, he realized that the ghost hadn’t led him here to help him, but to trap him. When the specters closed, they feasted on his body, and his screams could be heard throughout the desert nearby. When he died, he joined the ghosts, and some say his screams could still be heard to this day.”