“In the year 2062, with the launch of the Colonial Ship Hyperion, humankind moved from what historians call the Age of Discovery into the Age of Expansion,” Jar Breson said as he stood, leaning on his onyx and bone cane at the front of his lecture hall. “The humans had finally reached cultural homogeny, and were ready to expand.”
“Cultural Homogeny?” Aubrey asked. Twiki snorted. Her gang of toadies tittered behind her.
“Yes,” Jar Breson answered kindly. “The humans, under the leadership of the Five, have discovered and assimilated eight different alien races. Nine species now make up the Alliance. One of our brightest comparative history researchers, Doctor Arawn Gestu, while writing her comprehensive theory of cultural evolution, concluded that each civilization, in order to effectively spread across their own system, needed to homogenize their society. This meant the elimination of nations, races, politics, religion, and the other trappings that divide and distract a species. She coined the phrase Cultural Homogeny for that process, the act of achieving complete unification.”
Aubrey had more questions, but decided to hold them for another time. She didn’t want to risk further ridicule.
“It was during the Age of Expansion that what we now call the Seven Systems were colonized, each by one of the colossal Colonial Ships that the humans spent unfathomable amounts of both time and resources constructing. The immense vessels were built long before the now legendary physicist Asad Halabi would discover the Unified Field Theory, paving the way for the Halabi drive system. The journies these great vessels undertook required eons of time, despite traveling faster than the speed of light using the then state of the art P.E.P. System.”
The ship schematic floated in front of Aubrey. It detailed the various decks, including a fully functional, carefully engineered biome to provide an endless supply of food for the sixty thousand pilgrims that populated the enormous vessels.
“All but one of the Colonial Ships arrived at their destination. The Poseidon, named for a long forgotten deity from humankind’s more primitive past, was the second of the eight colonial vessels sent out by the Five to populate the stars.”
Jar Breson waved his aglets, pulling up a three dimensional star chart that filled the lecture hall. “The Poseidon was meant to travel to the Jabru System, home of the twin planets Damona and Damara.” A blue line traced from the Sothis System to the Jabru System, a distance of almost twenty light years. “But something went wrong. Terribly wrong.”
A second line, this one red, traced its path through the stars, following the blue path. “At about the midpoint of their journey, some major malfunctions began to occur. Periodic blackouts would send the entire ship into a panic. Their head engineer, a woman by the name of Imra Kaumudi, isolated the issues to a bad circuit relay. She attempted to replace it, but the work shorted out their quantum communicator. We cannot be exactly sure what happened after communication became impossible, but we speculate that, with their quantum communicator destroyed, Imra attempted to do a hard reset of the entire system. This likely caused a catastrophic failure in the navigation software.”
The red line began to diverge from the blue, slowly at first, but soon it found itself in a completely different system. “Several years later, they arrived at the Manat System. We suspect they thought they had arrived at their destination, as you can see they fell into a stable orbit around one of the rock planets, and many years later, we excavated six probes from the planet’s harsh, inhospitable surface.”
An image of the red and black planet filled the classroom. Aubrey could see the cracked volcanos exploding, spewing magma and noxious gasses into the thick gray atmosphere.
“The Poseidon stayed in orbit for two months, likely mulling over their options. Their navigation system was clearly broken; perhaps they spent this time attempting to make repairs. All we know, is they selected a new destination, presumably a course correction to compensate for their errors.”
The red line continued, swinging around the system’s sun and shooting off into space, still in the wrong direction.
“Using the star’s gravity, they hurled themselves into the deep. They travelled for several more years until they hit a previously unrecorded dark nebula. The statistical probability of this encounter is, ironically, astronomical, when you consider the vast emptiness of space.”
“I remember reading a reference about this in one of the volumes of the Lifecycle series by Seb Ch’Dentri,” Gula, one of the Jayakara members of Twiki’s team interjected. “She postulated that, due to the unlikeliness of the event, it was fate that brought the Poseidon to the dark nebula.”
Jar Breson smirked, his head sack inflating to ridiculous proportions. “Whether or not you believe in fate or destiny boils down to one question. Who do you blame when things go wrong? Belief in fate and destiny is a way to cheat accountability. The Poseidon ended up where it was due to a design flaw courtesy of Satellite Concepts, a Microtech subsidiary. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The red line continued to weave, often changing directions sharply. And then it simply stopped. “And here is where the ship’s auto sensor contact was broken. We theorize the engineering crew dismantled the auto sensor in an attempt to harvest parts to repair their damaged communications. What happened next is anyone’s guess. The ship, and the sixty thousand souls aboard, were never heard from again.”
Jar Breson let his words hang in the air before breathing deeply. “That will be all for today, thank you.”
As Aubrey stepped into the hallway, a small message flashed in the lower corner of her HUD. It read, “A gift for you.” Attached was a huge file. Aubrey slipped on her aglets and responded, “Who are you?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to defeat you because one of the other commanders cheated.”
Aubrey smiled. “Mardon?”
“I want to beat you on my own merits, not because of a handicap. Good luck!”
Aubrey downloaded the massive file. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at. She ran to catch James Nelson as his chair glided silently down the hallway.
“James,” she said as she caught up to him. “Someone sent me a file, but I can’t tell what it is.”
“And you opened it?”
“Well, I mean, yeah.”
“That was incredibly stupid. It could have been a virus, or malicious software. It could have rewritten your Mulier system and killed you.”
“I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“That’s the problem with honest people,” James sighed. “They foolishly think others are as honest as they are.”
His aglets, which rarely left his fingertips, danced clumsily in the air on his twisted hands. “Let me log on to your network.”
He scanned through the files. “Where did you get this?”
“Mardon, I think.”
“It’s Jugger software. Everything we need to get Archon back up and running.”
Aubrey squealed and hugged James so hard, the two of them nearly toppled to the floor. “We’re saved!” she shouted as James smiled momentarily, before his face returned to its customary twisted scowl.
His aglets continued to dance. “It’s old. Really old. But it’s better than nothing.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Oh, well it’s not broken, it’ll work just fine.”
“But if it’s old, can you improve on it?”
“I suppose so, what did you have in mind?”
“Nothing specific. I trust your judgement.”
“Really? Just like that?”
Aubrey smiled. “You’re the smartest coder on our team by a country mile. If you think it can be improved, then have at it.”
Aubrey saw James smile for the second time. “Ado is no slouch either, do you mind if I get him to help?”
“Of course not. I noticed Paltit doing some pretty great stuff in our advanced flight physics class. She coded a beautiful little system to auto-calculate the ideal approach trajectory through a moving gravity field, by simply punching in the mass and density of the objects. You’re welcome to her as well.” She smiled. “Whatever you need.”
“Thanks!” James said, louder than he meant to. He bit his lip as he blushed slightly before turning and rolling down the hallway. Aubrey could have sworn he was skipping, despite being in a wheelchair.
#
“I heard they can breathe in the vacuum of space,” Mamre said.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Paltit replied, smirking. “How can you breathe in a vacuum?”
“Where do the Seraph come from?” Aubrey asked.
“Nobody knows for sure,” Ado replied. “According to lore, they live on a planet called Oliblish, near the center of the galaxy. Many historians speculate that the bone-like structures on their back inspired the winged angel iconography of your species. Winged bipedal messengers from the heavens can be found in the primitive art of almost all of our various civilizations.”
Aubrey took another bite of food, the bland nutritiously dense mush that she had grown to hate over the long months at Bavel. Their meals had become increasingly spartan as time went on, and now breakfast and lunch consisted of the same gruel she had endured during the tests. Dinner, at least, was something different, something to look forward to. Aubrey imagined this echoed the experience of soldiers, often forced to eat diminishing supplies for long periods of time. The realization didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Aubrey and her team sat at a cluster of tables they had pushed together. The mess hall had quickly become a tribal ordeal, each team eating in isolated pockets, speaking in hushed tones, with the occasional suspicious glance tossed towards one of the other groups.
“So they just travel around the known universe, helping life move along its evolutionary path?”
“From what we can tell? Yes,” Ado answered. “But that’s just our best guess. Who knows what their true motivation is.”
“I can’t believe you grew up on the Grike Station,” Mamre said to Ado . “To see one of the Seraph ships up close… Many of my people have made the pilgrimage.”
“You’re a Light Weaver?” Ado asked, surprised. “We had no idea.”
Mamre’s eye-less face dropped as she scratched at the table for a moment, before nodding her head.
“Light Weaver?” Aubrey asked. “I feel like I’m in a perpetual state of confusion here.”
Her friends laughed. “It definitely seems that way,” Nube teased.
Amur’s clawed, wet hand grasped Aubrey’s arm as he gasped, accidentally bumping his tray of food from the edge of the table where they sat, which he deftly caught with his other hand before it clattered to the floor.
Oner stumbled into the mess hall, its left arm bent at an unnatural angle, clear blood poured from various injuries, including a split lip and an eye that had nearly swollen shut.
Aubrey jumped to her feet, her friends on her heels. She failed to catch Oner as he stumbled, his round body bouncing as he fell to the floor.
“Oner!” she cried. “What happened?”
“It was my fault,” it said. “I heard some students threatening to take your life. They called you a coward.” It coughed several times, more clear liquid spilling down its chin. “They called us all cowards.”
“Who?” Aubrey asked, her voice ice.
“I… I don’t know their names. The Abu members of Twiki’s team.” It looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Paltit, but I must confess I have a hard time telling your people apart.”
Paltit grinned. “That’s alright, bean bag, it’s a good thing you’re the only Faro on our squad, or I’d be just as confused.”
Aubrey felt her face flush. She turned to Nube and Ado. “Can you get Oner to the med bay?”
“Of course,” Nube answered as she and Ado helped Oner to its feet.
“Oner, remember, sometimes it’s better to swallow your pride than your blood,” Aubrey said.
Oner nodded its head and groaned in pain as the three limped out of the room.
Aubrey’s hands were shaking. The familiar rage boiled in her belly. She was tired of the constant threats and attacks. Her fists balled. Her mind rushed through various scenarios as her jaw clenched. How could she best protect her friends?
“Don’t do anything rash, Aubrey,” Mamre warned, seeing the fire in her eyes.
Aubrey stood and marched over to the long table where Twiki and half her squad sat, eating, oblivious to the approaching storm.
There were shouts of surprise as Aubrey jumped on top of their table, and kicked viciously at their plates of food, sending them flying. One splattered on Twiki’s chest as she fell backwards in her chair, crashing to the floor.
Makru stood, his fists at the ready, but once he saw Mamre’s hulking form following Aubrey, he instead stumbled backwards. The rest of the students at the table hesitated for a moment, before pushing back from the table.
“You want a target, Twiki? You want someone for your lackeys to use as a punching bag? Well here I am.” She turned to the rest of the room who watched her, slack jawed. “You want a target? Come find me. You know where I sleep. Where I eat. Where I study.”
“I’m gonna burn your team to the ground,” Twiki said through gritted teeth as she mopped the thick gruel from her neck with her fingers, slopping it to the floor with a flick of her wrist.
Aubrey snorted, turning back to her. “More empty threats.” Aubrey gestured to Twiki’s teammates. “Cowards only ever seem to make threats when they’re safe.”
She squatted at the edge of the table, staring down at Twiki. “You’re a coward, Twiki. You don’t want a fight. A fight would mean you could lose. Being a bully means you choose moments where you can’t lose. A bully like you doesn’t want a fight, because you’re scared. You just want to beat something weaker than you.” She stood back up to her full height. “I want it perfectly understood, that if there are any more attacks against anyone under my command, it’s because Twiki here didn’t have the courage to face me directly.”
Twiki charged at Aubrey, but her teammates caught her, pulling her away as Mamre and the massive granite form of Eshcol took a step forward. Aubrey knew her move had the distinct possibility of ending in bloodshed right here in the mess hall, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
She smiled at Twiki. “See you around,” she said before abruptly jumping off the table and walking out of the mess hall. Her team fell in step behind her.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Mamre demanded.
“Are you insane? You’re going to get yourself killed!” Paltit yelled.
Her team all shouted at once, a symphony of frustration.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Suicidal!”
“Stupid!”
“Why are you provoking more attacks?”
Aubrey stopped walking, and turned. Her team fell silent.
“It was the only way to keep them from killing one of you.”
Her team exchanged looks of bewilderment.
“Why?” Nergal asked, finally breaking the silence.
“Because I care about you,” Aubrey answered, confused. “You’re my friends.”
“That’s a mistake,” Mamre said.
“It’s never a mistake to care about someone.”
“Maybe we could negotiate some sort of truce?” Amur suggested.
“It’s too late for that,” Aubrey said. “The bullet already left the gun. There’s no turning back.”
And with that, she turned and continued down the hallway. “You coming? We’ve got work to do.”
Her comrades followed her as she headed towards bay eleven.
#
Aubrey’s gambit seemed to have paid off. Over the next three weeks, her team managed to work relatively unscathed. The constant threats and jeers were still everywhere, but no one laid a hand on her team. With the increased security measures that James had insisted on, they had thwarted two sabotage attempts.
Her team gathered around bay eleven, Archon looming over them, casting its long shadow over the proceedings. James, Ado, and Paltit had worked tirelessly on the Jugger software, rewriting several core functions.
They were about to run their first diagnostics check, followed by a battery of tests under simulated combat situations to see how the software worked. If it worked at all.
“Alright,” Aubrey said to her team. “We’ve worked long and hard at this. Especially our three software engineers over there. I just wanted to say, that even if it doesn’t work, I’m proud of the effort we’ve all put in.”
“Effort isn’t going to win us the championship,” Nergal snorted. “A working Jugger will.”
Aubrey ignored the jab. “Alright, James, let’s fire this thing up.”
James’ aglets danced. A soft hum rolled through her body, which grew louder until the main boosters kicked in, and the Archon roared to life. That was a good sign at least. The thunder of the engines quieted to a soft rumble. Aubrey’s ear perked up.
“Is it supposed to do that?” Aubrey asked.
Ado nodded his head. “We noticed some severe inefficiencies in the power management systems. By lowering the overall power draw when any of the sub systems are at rest, we’re able to increase fuel cell life by 1.3 percent.”
“That doesn’t seem like much,” Shamesh said doubtfully.
“Tell that to the Jugger pilot who runs out of juice seven minutes before you do,” James answered.
“Well, it looks stable to me,” Aubrey said. “Let’s run through the diagnostics program.”
James’ fingers danced clumsily in the air. Archon burst into motion, each of its limbs moving independently, fluidly sliding through its various positions.
Aubrey smiled as the Jugger moved like a dancer, bowing and bending, its arms twisting and turning through the air. They’d run the diagnostic test many times, but she’d never see the machine move so quickly and smoothly.
Aubrey realized she was holding her breath.
Archon stopped moving, and cycled through its weapons systems. Missile launchers popped in and out of position, panels slid, guns formed, cycled through their tests, and returned to their hilts within the Jugger body. Then, stillness returned as Archon waited for its next command.
“How are we looking, James?” Aubrey asked.
“On average, we saw an increase in mobility and command response time of about 3.7 percent,” he said.
“That’s fantastic!” Aubrey said, louder than she’d meant to.
James frowned. “It’s less than I had hoped. Our last battery of tests indicated we might see an improvement of 4.2-“
“James!” Aubrey said, beaming. “It’s more than we could have hoped for.”
“Shall we run some combat simulations?” he asked.
Aubrey nodded, excited to see how their new system held up. She was not disappointed.
After three hours of brutal testing and simulations, they discovered that not only did the system run more efficiently, but the combat routines Paltit had devised were more effective than anything Aubrey had previously seen in the archives.
She had modeled much of the Jugger's movements off of Mamre, filming hours of training footage as she worked through her combat sessions. Mamre had an unnatural gift for violence and hand-to-hand engagement.
Aubrey watched the virtual version of Archon defeat combat scenarios that the old software routines had barely scratched.
As the last test finished, she looked up. Her smile and enthusiasm reflected in the faces of her teammates. Even Nergal, with her perpetually sour expression, seemed in high spirits.
“Can you strip out our combat routines?” Aubrey asked.
James seemed surprised. “Yeah, I suppose so, why?”
“Were they not good enough?” Paltit asked, hurt.
“No, they were amazing!” Aubrey said. “But I’m going to give a copy of the core software to Mardon, and I want to make sure he doesn’t have our attack system.”
There was a stunned silence.
“What?” Nergal finally asked.
“Why on earth would we do that?” Paltit asked, stating what everyone else clearly thought judging from their faces.
“I figured this wouldn’t be a popular decision.” Even Nube and Ado shifted uncomfortably, and avoided her gaze.
“That’s because it’s idiotic,” Shamesh replied.
“If it hadn’t been for Mardon, we wouldn’t be where we are,” Aubrey answered.
Nergal rolled her eyes. “That’s great. So let’s just hand him the only advantage we have.”
“It’s not the only advantage we have,“ Aubrey answered, her words measured. “We work harder than they do.”
“Oh, good!” Shamesh said. “More hard work, as if we haven’t done enough of that already.”
“My father used to have a saying,” Aubrey said. “Without hard work, nothing grows but weeds. This is the right thing to do.”
“She’s right,” Jon Nelson interjected. “As noble as Aubrey’s intentions are, it will also ensure that Mardon and his team don’t try to manipulate us during the final battle. Or cry foul after the fact and accuse us of cheating.”
“James, can you please send me the raw data files?” Aubrey asked as her team mulled over Jon’s reasoning.
“Sure,” he said, his aglets dancing. “There, done.”
Aubrey saw the files transfer to her system. She quickly wrote a message to Mardon, thanking him for his help and explaining what the files were. She assured him that her team would continue to make improvements and changes, and his team should do the same using this as their base code. She sent it before anyone could protest.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Stupid,” Nergal muttered as the team left the bay and made their way to the mess hall. They sat and ate in silence. Aubrey bit her lip; things had been going so well. She hoped her decision wouldn’t dishearten the group for long.
“I’m getting so sick of this mush,” Paltit said as she poked at the gray mass on her plate.
“I miss eating the burning meat of the Euric clan,” Eshcol said, his thick deep voice rattling in his throat as he scooped a chunk of the tasteless mixture into his great, granite maw. “There really is nothing better than Ptah shank, eaten as the sun sets over the great Metallic Ocean of my home world.”
“You’re from the Euric clan?” Ado asked. “We thought you were from the planet Mahaprabhu.”
Eshcol chuckled. “No, I’m from Mahapadma.” To Aubrey’s ears, they might as well have been the same word. The twin planets of the Skanda system were uninhabitable by humans, but to the hearty Korravai, the volcanic planets were home.
“I’ll take a nice limestone crumble any day,” Oner said. “Just thinking about the slate cakes my parents would serve when I was a youngling makes my mouth water.” Its long, forked tongue darted in and out of its mouth, as if to punctuate its point.
“At least none of you have to eat through a straw,” Shamesh said, a long tube extending from her protective Geberlunzie suit to the bowl of mush she ate.
“Eating seems like kind of an ordeal for you,” Aubrey said.
Shamesh laughed. “Everything is an ordeal for me.”
“Want to see something cool we found?” Ado said.
Aubrey eyed him suspiciously. “Something you found?” she asked. “Or something you stole?”
Ado grinned wide. “It can be two things.”
He pulled up a schematic of the planet Belenus, a man-made planet in the Lenus system. Aubrey had read about the planet; it had started as a simple space station, a way point for ships jumping in and out of the system. But as the years went by, the station had grown to the size of a planetoid. Ado had the station schematics, which he shared with them.
“I’ve seen this before,” Paltit said. “The way they used gravity dampeners to prevent the interior sections from collapsing is amazing.”
“But have you seen this?” Ado asked. His aglets danced in the air, and the giant sphere’s schematics transformed. Entire chunks of the planet shifted and moved.
“What’s it doing?” Aubrey asked.
“We have no idea,” Ado said. “The schematic we have is incomplete, but it would seem that the base can transform into something else.”
“What?” Nube asked.
Ado’s head inflated. “No clue. A ship maybe?”
“Where did you get this?” Aubrey asked.
“We were doing some systems testing in Professor Jana Thomorg’s office, and happened across the files,” he answered. “Her work in robotics, from what we saw, is unparalleled. She was most helpful as we worked through the weapons control systems.”
“If she was helpful,” Aubrey said, “then maybe we shouldn’t make her mad by stealing her files.”
Ado’s head deflated completely, leaving only a strip of leather and two bulging eyes. “You’re probably right,” he said. “We’re sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Ado,” Nube said, grinning. “It makes me sad instead of happy when you’re wrong.”
“Which is most of the time,” Mamre added.
Ado thought for a moment, before laughing loudly.
Aubrey glanced over at Twiki. She again berated her team in hushed tones. They seemed more subdued than usual.
“So that’s it? You’re saying it can’t be done?” Twiki demanded.
Damkina, one of the two humans on Twiki’s team, stammered for a moment, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. “I’m not saying it can’t be done. I’m just saying I don’t know how to do it.”
“You’re completely useless.”
“That’s not fair,” he shot back, his skin flushing an ugly red.
“You’re acting as if your stupidity is a virtue,” Twiki said. “I don't argue with idiots, they just lower me to their level and then beat me with experience.”
Damkina opened his mouth with a sharp retort, but fell silent. He glared at her for a moment longer before walking away from the table in a huff.
“Good, go wallow in your failure for a while,” Twiki shouted after him.
Damkina made his way past Aubrey’s table. She grabbed his arm gently.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He looked down at her hand, surprised. His expression softened for a moment, but quickly transformed to bitterness as he yanked his arm away. “Just leave me alone,” he said as he stormed off.
“You can’t save everyone.” Nube shrugged.
“Yeah.” Aubrey said as she watched Damkina disappear into the corridor. “You’re probably right.”
#
Exhaustion seemed to permeate every joint, every bone in her body. Aubrey stood and stretched, yawning. It was well past midnight, but her team was on a roll and she didn’t want to stop their momentum.
“What about an Eroteme?” Ado suggested, gesturing to Archon’s right arm. “Right now it’s got a basic heat blade. An Erotreme would be much more flexible.”
Aubrey nodded her head. She’d used the crystalline sword once during a weapons training with Professor Juda Rookshank, a grizzled war vet who had seen more ground combat than the rest of the teaching faculty combined.
The blade could manipulate gravity, allowing it to either repel or attract matter, depending on the desire of the user. It interfaced directly with the wielder’s Mulier system, becoming super-heated, controlled by the pilot’s thoughts.
“That does offer some nice flexibility, more options during combat,” Aubrey said.
“It’ll help control the tactical environment as well,” Nube said. “With a blade big enough to fit the Archon, you could move large boulders if you needed to. And it’s a whole lot safer than a Paranymph blade.”
Aubrey had been the only student brave or crazy enough to pick a Paranymph blade up. The monomolecular blade was so razor thin, it could shave through flesh as easily as water. Very few soldiers dared to wield such a weapon; the control and discipline necessary to avoid self-mutilation more than most were capable of.
“I’d also like to set up a battery of A.I. Missiles,” Jon suggested.
“What are those?” Aubrey asked.
“Why don’t you ask one yourself?” he answered, gesturing to a disassembled missile that lay on the ground nearby, its guts stretched and exposed. Aubrey had noticed him working on the weapon for the past couple of days, but assumed he was trying to amplify its targeting accuracy.
She walked over to it. “Where’d you get this?” she asked. It certainly hadn’t been standard issue with their equipment.
“I can’t take the credit for that,” Jon said. “Nergal actually negotiated a side deal with one of the ship captains. We traded the old rocket boosters that Ado tore off.”
Aubrey grinned at Nergal, who seemed embarrassed by the attention. “It wasn’t anything really,” she said, poking some imagined dirt on the floor with her toe. “I just thought, since the boosters were junk anyway…”
“You did great,” Aubrey said. “How do I, um…”
“Just because I’m an A.I., doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” a grizzled voice said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Insult me?” it replied. “Why that would require me caring about what you think. Which I don’t.”
Aubrey turned to Jon, a puzzled look on her face. “And why would we want one of these around?”
Jon grinned ear to ear. “They can compute the best attack vector and fend off hacking attempts to wrest control of the missile’s targeting system.”
Aubrey turned back to the missile. “Can we duplicate the program?” she asked.
“It’s so cute when you try to talk about things you don’t understand,” it answered. “You need a special motherboard to duplicate something as highly evolved as me.”
Aubrey laughed. “Can we get more?” she asked.
“I already scrounged up twenty,” Jon answered.
“Does it have a name?” she asked.
“Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” the missile shot back. “I have a five character designation. Z-1-M-R-1.”
Aubrey grinned. “Zimri it is.” She turned back to Jon. “Are they always this feisty?”
He nodded. “It is an unfortunate side effect of the programming necessary to make them… well, suicidal.”
She turned back to the missile, patting its cold metal chassis. “Alright, Zimri, we’re going to make some copies to put in more missiles.”
“You realize I can’t feel anything, right? Am I finally going to get to blow something up?”
Aubrey grinned. “Nothing would make me happier.”
James had insisted on removing Zimri’s memory board and taking it with them. He was positive that once the other teams caught wind of their fortune, they would either try to steal Zimri or destroy him. Or both. The process took some work, and as a result, Aubrey’s team arrived late to their History lecture with Professor Eber.
They entered its lecture hall, and despite the dirty looks shot their way by the other students, they were relieved to find Professor Eber had not yet arrived. They quickly took their seats.
Another seven minutes passed before Professor Eber arrived, shuffling up the steps to the plush chair it spoke from at the center of the room. A member of the plump Faro race, Eber’s leather skin was weathered and cracked with age. It frequently rubbed its feet and ankles with a thick, brown oily substance to keep its skin somewhat pliable as it lectured endlessly, its meandering thoughts following no particular order or direction.
Aubrey found its teaching methodology, if you could call it that, challenging at best.
It sat down heavily in its chair, its black, unblinking eyes staring out at the students over its round cheeks.
“The year was 2346,” it began, its ancient voice like dust being blown across dried reeds. “Lovali Amalgamated, a manufacturer of Alchemist-bots, a nano-bot system that can transform raw material chemicals into carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen as a part of the terraforming process, had just announced the release of their newest system upgrade, and was acquired by Microtech in a bidding war that saw the single highest valuation in the history of the Mega-corps. The amount paid would not be surpassed for ten years, when Aeon Chemcial purchased Muraviov-Abe Works after their discovery of a method to redirect verteron fields.
“However, as Microtech reviewed the bookkeeping methods, they found a number of ghost accounts; money that Lovali Amalgamated had shuffled from department to department, shedding small amounts with each move, which was then pooled into a hidden account. Ghosting money is a common technique used by corporations to hide off the books research and black operations. But the further Microtech’s accounting department dug, the more labyrinthine the money trail became.
“They soon found dark deposits of funds into an account held by a Heruka industrialist named Pracanda Irmin, who had no official ties to Lovali Amalgamated. Unable to find a reason for the payments, no contract, no traces of services rendered, they flagged the payments and sent them to the Techno-priests for further scrutiny. They had no idea they had stumbled into one of the greatest threats the Alliance had ever faced.”
Professor Eber shifted its considerable girth in its seat. The chair groaned in protest.
“You see, Pracanda Irmin was also receiving ghost payments from the TSI Corporation, owned by Advanced Logistics. This was incredibly strange, as the Mega-corps work together rarely, and generally only when forced to by the Five, such as the construction of the Jugger program here at Bavel, or funding the war effort. The question of why two corporations, wholly owned subsidiaries of two rival Mega Corporations who were currently experiencing some minor skirmishes over the mining rights of an asteroid field on the outer reaches of the Jabru System, were ghosting money to the same individual, warranted further investigation.
“The real breakthrough in their search came as they dug into the personal life of Pracanda Irmin. Originally from the planet Mafdet, he made his fortune refining rare elements from his home world’s atmosphere, necessary for the alloy processing of Baldric. As a young boy, Pracanda’s father had been a member of a conspiracy meant to overthrow the Five, and had been summarily executed by the Techno-priests for apostasy. The execution took place in his home, in front of his family.
“This had made Pracanda bitter. Angry. Highly motivated to make the Alliance pay. All out of the foolish idea that love is anything but another cheap commodity, to be bought or sold at a whim.”
Aubrey’s face flushed, and she sat back in her chair. Her body language did not escape Professor Eber. “You disagree?” it said, staring at her.
“If it’s for sale, then it’s not love,” she said.
Professor Eber smiled.
“Tell me, Aubrey, have you ever loved someone? I mean, truly loved someone?” She avoided its gaze. “It’s a horrible, terrible thing. It makes you scared, and fear makes you vulnerable. Makes you hesitate. Makes you weak.”
“I think love makes you stronger than anything,” she said firmly, her eyes meeting its gaze.
It watched her for a moment, its tight lips slowly spreading into a grin. “Then you are a naive child, doomed to failure.”
It turned back to the class as Aubrey looked down at her hands. “Pracanda had been quietly paying mercenaries from the syndicate to smuggle genetic printers, one of the few highly regulated and illegal techs, to his home world. He was planning to kill several board members from each of the five Mega-corps, and have soldiers under his command genetically altered to be biological clones, identical in every way to the victims of his murderous plan. They would then wait until the next board meeting with the entire executive organization - board members, presidents, and the high councils in attendance - and detonate a suicide bomb, effectively wiping out the leadership of each company.
“You see, he understood a very important principle. One man can change the world with a single act of violence. His actions would have crippled the economy of the Alliance, grinding everything to a halt, including the war effort. And that fact did not escape one of the High Inquisitors, a Techno-priest by the name of Lahmu Kazban.”
There was an audible gasp. “Professor Kazban?” Twiki asked.
“The very same,” it answered. “Has he not mentioned his time as a Techno-priest?”
The students shook their heads. It frowned.
“Odd. He spent seventy-three years as a High Inquisitor before tendering his resignation and accepting a teaching post here at Bavel.” It shrugged. “No matter. High Inquisitor Kazban saw a pattern in the behaviors of the two corporations, a series of blunders that caused significant setbacks in the war with the Azrael. Ammunition being misappropriated. Food supplies tainted with bacteria. Subtle things that might have been missed by a less diligent individual. But he saw a pattern of conspiracy emerging from the seemingly random events.
“It was enough for the Five to authorize what is now referred to as The Great Purge. For two years, the Techno-priests, under the orders and guidance of High Inquisitor Kazban, began a brutal inquisition. They tortured and killed many of the counterfeit board members. He quickly learned that the executive board, council, and leadership of both Lovali Amalgamated and the TSI Corporation had been taken over by the Lebara.”
An image of the Lebara appeared on Aubrey’s screen, the long, boney worm with its feather proboscis illicited a shudder of revulsion.
“Never before had such a massive, covert invasion by these creatures been so successful. They had nearly done irrevocable damage to the war effort, all without losing a single Azrael starship.”
“What happened to the hosts?” Nergal asked.
“Most were executed. Not only had they failed to prevent their own infestation - and believe me, death is preferable to having one of these monsters inside you - but they had been changed. The Lebara don’t just control you; they change your nervous system, infect your brain. Once your nervous system tastes the Ruak, the Azrael quantum network, you come out of the experience changed. Their failure was unforgivable.”
It turned its gaze back to Aubrey. “In your time, it used to be taught that you should forgive everyone, even those who have hurt you. An old sectarian superstition. Forgiveness is weakness. Just like love.” It grinned at her, daring her to disagree.
Aubrey bit her lip. There was no sense in arguing with it. The professors didn’t seem take anything the students had to say particularly seriously. They were more interested in preaching their dogma than having a discussion. Aubrey was through wasting her breath.
Professor Eber eyed her for a few more seconds before continuing with its lecture, a smug smile on its rotund face.