Home  | Login  | Register  | Help  | Play 

Science Fiction Stories

 
Logged in as: Guest
  Printable Version
All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Other Creative Prose >> Science Fiction Stories
Forum Login
Message << Older Topic   Newer Topic >>
6/11/2009 15:22:10   
Xirminator
Member

I've been focusing solely on writing this last few days. If anyone's been paying attention, I haven't been commenting at all. Recently, I'm dabbling in science-fiction, and this is one of the stories I came up with.

Comments, criticism, compliments and anything else goes HERE.





One Little Lie

“Sir, leaving hyperspace; we‘re entering the Human Enclaves now.”

“Prepare defensive systems – just in case,” Riltvak said.

“Yes, Captain,” the first-mate said, turning to the screen in front of him. Riltvak had travelled through the whole Galaxy with this crew and this ship, finding new worlds, fighting pirates, bringing wealth and fame to his home planet; he knew his crewmen well enough to sense their nervousness. They didn’t expect him to be worried like them - he was Captain Riltvak, after all - so they did not share their mutters with him, and that made him feel a little left out. He didn’t hold it against them. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he felt as nervous as they looked. Entering the Human Enclaves was a risky business. He had the backing of the United Worlds behind him and the Founder himself onboard, but still… suppose the humans didn’t like it? Having the Founder onboard wasn’t going to magically stop the missiles when they fired them.

Not that anything could, really. The human race was one of the oldest races in the Galaxy. When Riltvak’s race had been young and primitive, the humans had already been nurturing blobs of unintelligent life into civilizations and turning fiery worlds into blooming paradises. Ancient history spoke of their mysterious technology, their ingenuity, their determination to survive whatever the Galaxy threw at them. Sometimes, he wondered if the humans had created his homeworld, Lisindra, and whether they were behind all those ruins the gods had supposedly left behind.

Riltvak suddenly felt something change in the control room. It was a subtle shift in the positions of his crewmen, all of them suddenly sitting straighter in the chairs and all the muttering coming to a sudden end. He knew what that shift meant; it happened every time the Founder entered the control room.

He didn’t remember when he had started calling Olmand ‘Founder’. It was probably about the time Olmand had become so involved in politics that he had forgotten his family and friends, when all that mattered to him was the next move in the endless game. The cold, harsh Founder clashed horribly with the boy-Olmand of Riltvak’s memories. One was spattered and grinning after their mud wrestling; at Riltvak’s side in every fight and bursting with childish dreams. The other was the Founder of the United World Organizations, a straight, severe figure, robed in splendour and one of the foremost political powers in the Galaxy. The boyish fancies he had as a child had all been replaced by the single desire to unite all civilizations in the Galaxy.

A commendable goal, Riltvak thought. The Founder had done well. There were no wars within the United Worlds, trade had boomed, people toasted the Founder and called him Peacemonger. There was only one failure in his career, only one stain on his reputation. He could not convince the humans of Earth to join the United Worlds.

That hadn’t surprised anyone when it happened. The humans were reclusive, after all. They did not trade with anyone, or involve themselves in the political issues of the galaxy. Sometimes, one of their sleek, black, featureless ships would pass almost unnoticed through other star systems, on some enigmatic mission of their own. All attempts at communicating with them about these intrusions went unheeded, threats were ignored, and whoever was stupid enough to direct action against them often found them vanishing from all radars.

The United Worlds, directed by the Founder, had to go so far as to approach their home system repeatedly, at great risk, to extend their invitations, but always, they had been turned back by the silent ships of the humans. The Founder had grown more and more impatient over the years, until finally, threats had started to accompany his invitations. The humans became somewhat of an obsession to him. Riltvak knew that his intents were altruist at heart; if the humans joined the United Worlds and shared their technology and knowledge with the other races, the Galaxy would be transformed.

Now, the Founder had come to deliver an ultimatum. Perhaps he would have done something else had he not been pressured by the leaders of the United Worlds, whose reasons for seeing the humans in an alliance with them might not have been completely selfless.

“Founder,” Riltvak said. Riltvak was not a military man, but he saluted to the Founder nevertheless. He couldn’t think of anything to do that would be appropriate around this man, except for formalities. The boy had completely vanished from him, leaving only the cold, taciturn mind of pure authority. The Founder had long stopped trying convincing Riltvak to call him Olmand. Riltvak wasn’t sure whether it was because he had simply grown tired of trying or whether he did not care anymore.

“Riltvak.” The acknowledgement was curt, as usual. The Founder did not even look at him. “How much longer?”

“We’ve entered the Enclaves just now.” He touched the screen in front of him and brought up an image of the ninth planet and the moon orbiting it, which was a few million miles ahead of the Daystar. “I expect they will contact us as soon as we‘re close enough to their outpost.”

“Good, good.”

Riltvak stood uncomfortably, but no more words were forthcoming. The silence was broken by a sudden hiss of static as the communicator lit up. He snapped up to attention as a computerized voice said, “This is control from Nine. Please identify yourselves.”

“Daystar here,” said Captain Riltvak immediately. “Escorting Founder Olmand of the United Worlds to Earth.”

“A moment please,” the voice said. The communicator was silent for a while, then. “Understood, you may proceed. We will be sending a ship to escort you; please do not be alarmed.” The communicator flashed off.

“Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,” Riltvak said dryly. “How come they’re letting us pass?”

“They must have heard about the ultimatum I intend to deliver,” the Founder said. “Obviously, we have not been secretive about that. It is not something they can ignore.”

Riltvak lowered his voice, to keep his first-mate from listening. “We’ll see how they take it when you actually deliver it.”

“I am confident that they will be cooperative,” the Founder replied calmly. “Why would they let us in, if they do not fear the might arrayed against them? The humans cannot defeat the entire Galaxy.”

“What if they refuse again?”

“They will not.”

“But what if-”

“Then we will have to act according to the terms we will have stated.”

Riltvak ground his teeth together as he worked to keep his expression calm. The humans weren’t doing any harm, were they? Who cared if they didn’t want to join? Surely there were better options than war?

The Founder looked at him. “Remember the Oath, Captain. You are here as a neutral observer. You will report exactly what transpires, and you will not interfere. The only reason you are here is because the public has faith in you.”

“I would never break the Oath,” Riltvak said, feeling anger rising inside him. “I know what I’m here to do. I just want you to think about the people that will die for you and your United Worlds, just because you politicians are afraid of them. Fact is, you don‘t know anything about them.”

“One way or another, we will find out everything about them, Riltvak. Your feelings about the whole matter are irrelevant.”

“Founder, I–”

“Do you understand?” The Founder’s tail had risen slightly, and the scales around his neck protruded outwards. Riltvak recognized the signs of anger found in every Lisindran, but he couldn’t let it go.

“Olmand–”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Riltvak turned his back on the Founder and fixed his eyes on the screen, anger burning away in his chest. Argument was hopeless with these arrogant, unmoving politicians. Olmand had melted away, leaving behind a mere shadow of himself, a rigid, unswerving shadow. To think that he would no longer care that they had been brood mates, growing together, consulting each other about everything they did and wanted to do. It made Riltvak furious to think about the change in his childhood friend. Those years they had spent apart had changed everything, and the Founder’s uncaring attitude towards their memories felt like betrayal. He hoped that this stone-faced politician would burn, then felt guilty for thinking that.

The miles were flying away in millions as the ship’s drive blasted them through space, bending space around them, and the third planet was drawing closer. With a touch, he zoomed into the image, and was suddenly startled by how similar it looked to Lisindra. The expansive blue oceans covered most of the planet, the rest made up of green landmasses. Just like home, thought Riltvak. Except for the moon. Lisindra had no moon; its nights were dark.

As the image zoomed further, he saw many glittering domes littering the surface of the landmasses. They were of varying sizes, but all of them were huge. The largest of them encompassed whole mountain ranges.

“What in the name of the Galaxy are those?” his first-mate asked

Riltvak shrugged. “If things go well, we might know soon enough.” He was aware of the Founder watching unobtrusively over his shoulder.

The communicator hissed to life again. ”Daystar, this is Earth. Please respond.”

“We’re hearing you loud and clear,” Riltvak said.

“A ship is about to intercept you. Please do not be alarmed. It will lead you to landing bays on Earth.”

The moment the voice disconnected, the screen blacked out. Riltvak was momentarily startled, but then he zoomed out of the image until the ship travelling ahead of them could be seen properly. Riltvak, who was a proud (self-proclaimed) expert of space-faring craft had never seen anything like it. It was sleek and black, shaped like a needle. There was no indication that it could be opened, no windows, no hatchways. There didn’t seem to be any fins for atmospheric manoeuvring or any propellant of any kind. It was exactly like in the stories that were told about human ships, invisible, silent sentinels, perhaps deadlier than anything the rest of the Galaxy had ever seen.

No one commented on the ship’s sudden materialization. Nerves were too strung up for any sort of chat.

Riltvak instructed the first-mate to bring the Daystar behind the black ship, and they started to slow down as they started the descent into the atmosphere of the planet. The screen turned white momentarily as they entered a layer of clouds, and then burst into blue as they broke through them.

They followed the ship as it continued in a straight line towards one of the landmasses, until they finally flew over a vast gleaming city of towering spires draped with fronds of green vegetation. On the fringe of the city was the landing strip, a smooth rectangular area, lit brilliantly by the light of the sun and framed by a square of tall, verdant trees. Ships similar to the one that guided them hovered over it, while others so small that they were only black dots on the screen went about their business like a swarm of bees around their hive. Riltvak couldn’t get his eyes away from the screen, it was all so strange.

The communicator hissed one last time as it told them where to land, and Daystar touched down with a gentle bump. Riltvak took a deep breath. “Well, I guess we’re here.”

The Founder swept around, looking perfectly relaxed, and headed towards the doors without a word. Riltvak sighed and turned to his crew. “Men, you will take the ship into orbit as soon as we’re off the ship. If anyone tries to contact you, relay it to me. Don‘t do anything without my command.”

Riltvak left the control room and headed towards the elevators that would bring him to the hatchway on the bottom of the ship. The Founder was already there, along with a specially chosen advisor. Riltvak barely knew him, but he knew he was called Femur. Femur was a bird-like Frikalti from the Belur system, who worked as an -ologist of something or another. No doubt the Founder expected him to come up with answers to the things they saw on Earth.


The hatchway opened with a hiss of escaping air. The ramp extended slowly, and the Founder stepped on it first and made his way to a planet so far untouched by anyone not human. The Frikalti descended after him, and Riltvak waited a moment before going down. His going last was meant that he was here merely as an observer; it was a United Worlds custom. He doubted whether the humans would understand the significance of that.

The landing strip was still buzzing with activity. Swarms of small black ships, gleaming with sunlight, suddenly and smoothly took off, others landed so gently that they appeared hardly to touch the ground, and as soon as they did, hordes of white, wheeled robots dashed forward to unload freight or refuel the ships. The Founder stopped as soon as both his feet were on land. He looked around, waiting for them to arrive.

Riltvak had another opportunity to wonder what they humans really intended by finally letting the Founder through. Would they be audacious enough to scorn the Founder or insult him in some way? Or had they suddenly given in? He wished this problem would be resolved as quickly as possible; he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

The Founder waited, motionless, but the Frikalti was making a strange noise in his throat, almost like a chirp. “Ah,” the Founder said, a moment later, “I believe they are here… or someone is, at any rate.”

Riltvak saw something approaching from the other side of the landing strip, where there was a small cluster of buildings. He realized instantly that it wasn’t a human, simply because it was made of the same black material that comprised the hulls of their ships. Its general features were very similar to a Lisindran’s, except that it had no tail and its face had no snout; it was flat. A moment later, it had reached them. The Frikalti scientist buzzed excitedly as he, like Riltvak, realized that the black metal was wreathed in a strange blue light - similar to a hologram, but apparently as fluid and free as air. Instead of being constrained to the single surface that emitted it, it swam around the robot, until it suddenly focused on the general area of its head, brightening into two round eyes and a mouth.

“Ostentatious,” the Femur squeaked as quietly as possible. “Equipping a robot with such technology is clearly meant to impress us. How wasteful.”

Yeah, Riltvak thought, but I bet you still want one.

The robot stopped before the Founder, its ‘face’ occasionally flickering. “Welcome to Earth. Might I have the pleasure of your names?”

The Founder looked surprisingly cool as he said, “I am Olmand Bertikes, Founder of the United Worlds and their representative. Femur Lunas is my advisor. Captain Riltvak is here as a neutral observer, bound by an oath to report events as they occur.” There was a subtle threat hidden in those words. Perhaps the Founder expected Riltvak to report that they had been greeted by a machine, rather than the humans themselves. Riltvak didn’t blame him for that; such a thing was, after all, a bit rude.

“Where are your masters?” the Founder asked.

The robot glanced down at him, being at least a foot taller. It crossed its arms, the smooth featureless metal apparently flowing or bending at the elbows. “My apologies,” it said, sounding confused. Riltvak wasn’t surprised at its tone; he had expected the robots to be smart, perhaps even a realistic mimicry of life. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Why has no one been sent to greet us?” the Founder asked, with the patience of one trying to make a persistent serving-bot understand that he could carry his own luggage.

“I am here, am I not?” the robot asked..

“I expected to meet the humans that form the government of Earth, or at least a representative - not a machine.”

“I am a representative of the Council,” the robot said. “My name is Lansor 7, but you may call me Lance.”

The Founder didn’t even blink. The Frikalti squawked loudly, even Riltvak took a sudden step back in surprise, but the Founder was unmovable as a statue. Nothing could surprise him.

The robot – or Lance – was quick to notice their reactions, no matter how subtle or quickly corrected. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. I believe that other races have different ways of interacting with their creations.”

“I was unaware that robots were given an equal standing to humans,” the Founder said quickly.

“No need to worry,” Lance said. “The most advanced robots on Earth - such as myself - simulate organic life perfectly. It could be argued that we possess a consciousness. Only molecules make us different. Now, if you would please follow me.”

The robot led them away across the landing strip. Riltvak watched the robot as they walked, too bewildered to actually wonder at the powers of those that had brought it into existence. Femur was looking around quickly, his head swivelling around on his thin neck as he absorbed everything. How many theories was he forming right now? Did he feel like Riltvak, that he was completely out of his field here?

They approached one of the sleek, black ships waiting at the far end of the landing strip. The featureless midnight metal seemed to flow open on one side, leading to a dimly lit interior. Everyone acted as if this was perfectly natural; the Founder, especially, seemed determined not to appear impressed by human technology. Femur noticed it, but a quick look from the Ambassador kept him from getting excited about it.


The interior of the ship was spherical. It contained five comfortable seats arranged around a circular table. The black walls were almost transparent on the inside, and Riltvak could see what was going outside. The robot sat with them, and as soon as the opening had been covered up by the flowing walls, the ship took off with an almost imperceptible bump.

The landing strip had soon disappeared in the distance beneath them and the ship rose high enough that they could see the curving surface of the planet, a shimmering light separating its edges from the blackness of space. Riltvak saw one of the massive, translucent domes, gleaming with the brilliance of the sun. It was so huge that it actually was noticeable on the horizon, a bump in the otherwise perfect curve of the planet.

“What is that?” Riltvak asked.

“It is a sealed environment,” Lance said. “We have many. Most are completely self-sufficient. We use them to protect the animals and plants that we require for our survival, or habitats that we deem too precious to lose..”

“Isn’t regular farming enough? Why so much protection?” Femur asked, craning his neck to get a better view of it.

“The humans take no chances with their food supply. Those domes provide a safe, controllable environment. The species within them can be influenced adjusted with the injection of new genes or species into the system - and if necessary, any unsatisfactory products constrained and destroyed. No form of pollutant can enter the system, and the domes are protected against all forms of weapons. The domes are not simply a way to make food better. They are a means to ensure the survival of humanity. Even if the planet were to be destroyed, the domes would survive, for they reach beneath the ground.”

“Preparing for the destruction of the planet is a little overboard,” Femur said. “There is no weapon that advanced.”

“Better be prepared than not at all,” the robot said. “We have our enemies, as I’m sure you are aware.”

The Founder looked up quickly. “These domes make the population vulnerable. The ones who own the domes are in power to dictate, if they control the supplies.”

“The domes are not owned by anyone. They are sealed off. Any harvesting of surplus is carried out by machines – which do not have sufficient intelligence to carry out revolutionary coups or anything of that sort.”

“What if someone tries to do that – say by influencing the machines?”

“There is no reason why anyone would want to that,” Lance said. “Anyone from Earth, that is. Things that your societies are still struggling to overcome, such as poverty, unemployment, these things we have taken care of. Everyone is as happy as they can be.”

“But you do not allow humans outside the Enclaves!” the Founder persisted. He seemed determined to find a flaw in anything human. “That is a suppression of freedom!”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong on that point,” Lance said. “We do, in fact, allow humans to leave the system. You just fail to notice them.”

“Then why do you isolate yourselves from other societies, from us?”

“Tell me, why did you not include the Berinari System in your organization?” the robot asked.

“The inhabitants of the Berinari system are very primitive, they have not even mastered space travel yet,” Femur quickly replied. “We will let them grow awhile, before we intervene in their natural course of development.”

The robot nodded, his face flickering again. “This is what we do with you. You are too young, too inexperienced. You cannot give you our utopia for the simple reason that you are not ready for it. You will spoil it.”

The Femur fluffed up his feathers. “We are not primitive,” it said indignantly.

The robot looked at it. “Tell me, Frikalti, what difference is there between your race and the animals of your homeworld? You are simply more intelligent, able to understand what you see around you and make use of it. Yet, instinctually, you are still like them. You act on impulses that these animals share with you. This is the same for the majority of all the other races in the United Worlds. No matter how sophisticated they think they are, they wage war or use peace to gain territory, and through that resources and influence.”

“Well, obviously, we have to eat,” the Founder said dryly.

“As do humans. The only difference is that our instincts do not determine everything in our society. In your worlds, there are criminals and liars and self-serving schemers. Many of these act on these selfish instincts. How many of the other races do you really trust? Why should we believe the United Worlds Organization is an indication of a prospering Galaxy, when it simply fear of conflict that brings you all together? When you overcome that competitive drive that is behind everything you do, then, perhaps, we will break our isolation.”

“And how is it that humans overcome this competitive drive?” Femur asked.

“We trust. Look, we are almost there.”

Their attention had been diverted by the conversation, but now they realized that the ship was slowly descending into a city. Silvery spires and rooftops swallowed them as they dove between the buildings. The ship went down far enough that they could see pedestrians on the streets below, but not far enough that they could distinguish them. They joined a travelling row of other ships, and then broke off again almost instantly to turn around a corner.

Before them appeared a giant, golden pyramid, set in the middle of an enormous circular plaza. The pyramid seemed to shine with fire as the sunlight played on its surface, and the white, pearly plaza’s reflections combined with it to form a dazzling illusion. The ship touched down before the temple-like pyramid, and Riltvak suddenly felt nervous. It was time to finally meet the humans.

They saw the buildings outside tilt as the ship started descending. It was heading towards one of the buildings, one that had a promontory on one side. The ship landed on that promontory and they disembarked.

After a brief ride in an elevator, they arrived in an expansive room with huge glass windows overlooking the city. Two red couches say around a small glass table, and soft music was playing, but they could not tell where it was coming from. A relaxing, cool breeze was coming in from somewhere, but again, they could not see its source. Lance politely bid them to wait and left the room.

The Founder seated himself on one of the couches and waited patiently, his tail swinging rhythmically with the music. Riltvak paced around near the windows, looking out at the metal buildings.

“Well, they are a strange race, no doubt about it,” he said, breaking the silence.

“They can probably hear you,” Riltvak said quietly.

“And see us,” Femur added. He pointed towards one of the corners, where there was a dim blue light. “That must be some sort of camera.”

“I agree,” the Founder said. A moment later, he announced, “and I do wish they would hurry up.”

“Founder Olmand,” a voice said suddenly. They all looked around towards the door, to see a human standing by the door. It wasn’t like anything Riltvak had seen before. It had two legs, two arms, a head, two eyes, a mouth and nostrils. Its shape, in fact, was similar to that of a Lisindran, although it had no tail. But it seemed so fragile, with its thin fingers unadorned by claws, with its pale white skin, that Riltvak was sure he could tear apart with his hands. “Now that you are finally here, I should welcome you to Earth, but after we turned you away so many times, I suppose that would be inappropriate.” The human’s eyes seemed to dance as looked into the Founder’s. “And you, Captain Riltvak, I have heard much about you. Your exploits are truly fascinating to follow.”

Riltvak nodded and muttered a thanks. He was feeling strange. Adrenalin was running through his body for no reason at all, and his mind was screaming at him to pounce on the human and rip out its throat. The thing was he didn’t know if it was merely his hunting instinct or plain terror. And yet, there was nothing formidable about the human.

“And you, Femur Lunas, I hear you are quite the scientist about the United Worlds. I am honoured to meet you,” the human continued pleasantly.

“And you as well,” Femur replied politely. “I assume you cannot converse acoustically.”

The human smiled. “That is true.”

Riltvak suddenly realized what was wrong. The human’s mouth was not moving when it spoke, and the sound was coming from everywhere around them.

“You have speakers concealed in the walls, then?” Femur mused. “And yet, how do the speakers receive what you intend to say?”
“It detects my thoughts,” the human said. “You truly are an observant one.”

Femur nodded again.

“You know all of us, but we do not know you,” the Founder said, interrupting the little conversation.

“That is true,” the human said. “I am Aligan, a male of the human race, representative of the Senate and that same race.” It was odd watching him gesture with his hands while no sound came from him.

The human seated himself on the couch opposite the Founder, with the round glass table between them. There was a moment of silence, the human looking expectantly at them, and smiling. Riltvak detected a faint edge in the situation. The humans were acting as if they expected the Founder’s visit to last only a few minutes. They had not bothered to take to any place where he could accommodate himself, nor arrange meetings or appointments. Aligan apparently had arrived here to talk and then they would be off on their way. That suited Riltvak very well.

Another robot entered the room, carrying a small plate of Trems and a bottle of Latvk – both of which came from Lisindra. Aligan smiled, and Riltvak, for a brief moment, thought that the smile looked like that of a predator taunting his prey. Aligan did seem fragile and yet his bearing was confident, unafraid. No mere mammalian creature had ever made Riltvak feel this way. He knew he could leap across the table and snap the human’s neck in a blink of an eye, but there was something about Aligan that would have made a Fanged Rabanest think twice.

He waited politely as the robot poured him a glass of Latvk and retreated to a distant corner. The Founder seemed completely relaxed – although his eyes were narrowed – and he was in no hurry to start the conversation. He sipped from the glass with an air of pleasure and then set in down on the table as he savoured one of the Trems.

The human crossed his legs and waited.

The Founder made the first concession. “Thank you,” he said, “for these delicacies. A charming gesture, if I might say.”

The human’s smile widened like a black hole about to swallow a star. “Don’t mention it. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I am here, as you know, on the behalf of the United Worlds,” said the Ambassador. “Here,” he drew out a document, “I have an invitation, signed by all representatives of the United Worlds. We would like you to join our organization.”

“And the reason for the invitation?” Aligan prompted, making no move to look at the paper..

“There is no reason,” the Founder said, waving a hand negligently. “The United Worlds Organization dreams of an integrated galaxy, where all are equal and live in harmony. Your race is one of the few that have not yet joined, and we will do our utmost to convince you.” A subtle threat loomed in the Ambassador’s honeyed words. “Of course, the alliance will prove beneficial to both sides.”

Aligan’s eyes glittered. His smile widened. “And if we refuse?”

The Founder pretended to be taken aback. “Why would you refuse?”

“That, Founder, is our secret agenda. What‘s yours?”

The Founder ignored the deliberate taunt. “Well, if you don’t wish to cooperate, you will lose beneficial trade opportunities as well as the support of the United Worlds.”

“We are completely self-sufficient,” Aligan said. “I am sure Lance has told you a few things about us. You know that statistics on a chart mean nothing to us.”

The Founder’s tail twitched impatiently. Riltvak wondered if they shared the same feeling; he wished they would both get to the inevitable point. “Then join to nurture a relation between you and the rest of the Galaxy. Join to lessen the tension, to harbour trust. Lance said you humans value trust.”

“Tempting… trust.“ There was a slight undertone to this, almost as if it was another taunt.

“Well?”

“We refuse.”

“You’re not even giving it any consideration?”

“Stop acting surprised, Founder. We refused this invitation six times already. Tell me, what will the United Worlds do now?”

“The United Worlds will issue an ultimatum.”

“And what happens after we ignore it?”

“The Fleet of the United Worlds will invade your star system.”

“Oh dear. How terrifying.” Again, there was a strange lilt in Aligan‘s tone.

“Indeed. Self-imposed isolation is not advisable.”

“I will be very clear with you, here,” Aligan said, leaning forward. “When the United Worlds brings its fleet against us, we will retaliate. We will destroy your fleet and we will use a deterrent action. Some planets central to your organization might suddenly find themselves in trouble.”

The Founder bristled. ‘There is no need for threats against the innocent.”

The human grinned. “Threats? Isn’t that what you’re doing, threatening us? Join us or we will destroy you.” It shrugged. “We pose no threat to you. If you can offer trust, then trust us in this. We have no interest in your civilizations, even if we are responsible for the existence of some of them.”

“I am offended by your arrogance,” the Founder said, standing up.

“It is not arrogance,” Aligan said, his expression becoming serious. “It is simply nature. Do you give your spaceships to the bloodflies that populate your planet? Do you give utopia to a herd of cattle? No, you pass them by, without noticing them. You do not know, but there is a vast, vast difference between our civilization and yours. Many of your worlds would not exist without our intervention. Many of your races would have died out if we had not saved them. Others would never had developed if we didn’t nudge them in the right direction.”

“And you suddenly stopped being so generous?” the Founder demanded acidly.

“Oh, yes. We were merely experimenting, you see. You especially, as a Lisindran, should be more grateful to us. We terraformed your world from a rocky little world and we built the first organisms that would eventually populate your world and evolve into you.”

“Then, our gods aren’t real?” Riltvak asked. He wasn’t a religious man, but being told his whole existence was the result of a whimsical experiment was alarming.

Aligan smirked. “No… at least not in the way you believe.”

The Founder had grown as still as stone. “When the United Worlds hear you claim yourselves to be gods, they will call for war.”

“We don’t think ourselves as gods, Founder. Your forefathers simply made a mistake, for which you ought to forgive them. You cannot understand our civilization. When compared to you, yes, we are gods. Yet, I feel generous,” Aligan added dramatically. “I will give you a clue that may help your civilization to grow up. Sit down.”

The Founder abruptly sat, an expression of disbelief appearing on his face. “How?”

Riltvak looked in puzzlement at them. What was happening?

“Why do you think I cannot speak?” Aligan said. “How do I communicate with the rest of my species?”

“Clearly, you must have some other way of speaking. Your mouth is clear indication that you once must have been able to speak acoustically, but you must have evolved beyond it.” Femur said. “I don’t see how else you could communicate, however.”

“The answer is obvious. We communicate with our minds. After millions of years of evolution - and perhaps a little adjustments of our own - we have developed brains that can communicate directly. We can listen to the thoughts of other living beings, and to an extent, control them. From the very beginning, we had no claws to protect ourselves with, no poisons to scare predators away. We could not outrun the fastest predators, we could not overpower our prey. Our evolution took a different path. Our intelligence was the priority. It took your races much longer to develop any sort of intelligence, because you did not need it as desperately as we did. After so many years, we have come to this.

“Of course, It means we cannot hide our thoughts from each other. Our society evolved with us. Crime and corruption disappeared, for could route criminals and liars before then even acted. We were forced to become more open-minded and less judgemental. We were forced to understand each other. This was not some philosophical decision aimed to bring about the greater good. It was not false understanding, based on tolerance and appearance and morals. We had to understand and trust each other because we had to. Nature demanded that of us, and we evolved. Eventually, no more criminals and liars and selfish people were born. Why? Because they could not survive in our society. We evolved away from that phase. And thus, we were able to work together and become what we have become.”

He smiled, somewhat wistfully.

“Of course, certain things became obsolete. For example, it is very hard to write a story when everyone around you knows what is going to happen at the end – and when everyone keeps thinking of how bad is it. It is as if you are trying to tell a joke, and everyone knows the punch line. I can appreciate the significance of such things from your memories,” he added, “but in our society, such a thing as a joke does not exist. That’s why we watch you, why we observe you. Because you bring to us things we do not know. Riltvak’s adventures were tremendously fascinating to all us. There is not one human who cannot speak of his bravery.

“That is the only thing we shall impart with you. Perhaps, one day, you may grow to become like us and start to truly trust each other. For now, however, you will have to depend on the trust of appearances and believe that we have no intention of harming you. We are not a threat to you, and we do not wish to go to war. If, however, you declare war on us, we will have to retaliate. Tell the United Worlds that.”

The Founder did not reply immediately. It took several minutes before he looked up and said, “I will discuss this with my peers as soon as I can. What transpires from there is not my responsibility. Take us back to the Daystar.”


The journey back to the ship was solemn. The Founder was in no mood for conversation and Riltvak did not dare speak with Lance – who was driving them again – in case the Founder disapproved of overfriendliness. Riltvak kept wondering what was going on in his old friend‘s mind. Would he listen to reason and try to avert war, or would he claim that the humans were a threat, that they were too dangerous to be left unwatched?

Riltvak knew that he would be called on to confirm whatever the Founder said. His words would be the absolute truth – according to the oath he had taken prior to the journey. But the absolute truth could be bent and twisted by one such as the Founder. If Riltvak said that he did not see the humans as aggressive in any way, the Founder could simply raise doubt by talking about human motives in the future and so on. Of course, Riltvak doubted whether the Founder would do this, but the other political authorities in the United Worlds were not as worthy as he was.

“We have arrived,” said Lance. They felt a gentle bump as the robot brought the ship down. The walls of the ship flowed open, and the Founder stepped out silently, evidently unable to speak. Riltvak made to stand up, but Lance turned around in his seat. “Please wait, Captain.”

Riltvak stopped near the opening. “Yes?”

“Aligan has contacted the Senate and they have reached a decision,” said the robot. “Do you think that war is imminent?”

”I don‘t know,” Riltvak said. “The Founder won’t call for it, but if the United Worlds pressure him. It depends on their decision.”

“They are not our friends.”

“That’s fairly obvious,” said Riltvak dryly. “What are you going to do?”

“When you are asked to give a report, we need you to lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must tell them we are considering a decision. The point is to stall them from reaching a decision, make them wait, even if you must go against the Founder‘s will.”

“You think that’s going to change anything in the end?”

“The humans are also going to destroy a small, uninhabited planet a few light years away from our system. We will claim that it was being used as a base by a pirate fleet. That should be enough of a deterrent. But you must make them wait, so we can make the right preparations.”

“Why didn‘t you just tell the Founder you‘ll consider it?”

”That was the viable option, true, but we are not used to lying. They have not lied for thousands of years. So you must forgive them if it slipped their minds. Humans still make mistakes. You can correct that mistake, because they believe that you cannot lie.”

“You’re asking me to break an oath?”

“The breaking of the oath will not beget you eternal damnation. We created your planet and brought about your civilization. But, I’m sure if there’s a real god, you’ll have his forgiveness. After all, what is one little lie when it saves billions of lives?”

“So you don‘t believe in god?”

“No Captain, I believe in tune-ups and spare parts.” The robot turned back to the controls. “I hope you make the right choice Captain. Farewell.”

The Founder was waiting inside the control room, already writing his report. Riltvak was only very mildly surprised when he saw that the Founder said he was suggesting a small skirmish, so that at least some human capabilities would be measured. Riltvak sighed. Even in a small skirmish, people would die for reason at all. And the humans had promised retaliation against the various planets.

“So, what did the robot want to tell you?” the Founder asked, after Riltvak did not comment on his decision.

What is one little lie when it saves billions of lives?

“Oh, he just wanted to know something about that time I got stranded on Somari VI,” Riltvak said nonchalantly.


< Message edited by Xirminator -- 5/22/2010 4:40:50 >
AQ DF  Post #: 1
9/5/2009 18:00:26   
Xirminator
Member

Here's another of my stories. I wrote this in a day. It still needs careful editing and rewriting here and there, but meanwhile, enjoy! (and C&C, it needs it.)




Mistakes

Latera crouched amid the foliage, ready to spring away at a moment’s notice. His green skin made him invisible underneath the leaves, but he knew that Balufs had an incredible sense of smell – so incredible, in fact, that they did not have eyes. He gripped his spear tightly and listened. He could hear the rustling of his brothers among the foliage – it slightly disappointed him; a true hunter made no sound. Farther away, the screeching cries of some bird echoed between the trees. Insects buzzed all round them. Latera found them distracting. He doubted whether he could hear the ponderous steps and quiet snuffling of the Balufs when they approached.

“Latera!”

He turned to look and saw Ramos – his youngest brother – trying to free his tail from a knot of thorns.

“Help me,” Ramos said. Spots of blue blood had appeared where the thorns had pierced his tail. Latera sighed with infinite patience. He reached into his pack and drew a long hunting knife. With one swipe he cut away the knot that trapped his brother’s tail. Ramos twisted his tail to bring it in front of him. He eyed the wounds, annoyed.

“They’re only scratches, Ramos,” Latera said, stowing the knife away. “Nothing to worry yourself about.”

“What if they’re poison thorns?” Ramos asked. “What if my tail gets infected?”

“Ramos, if I miss the Baluf because of you, you will wish they were poison thorns. Now be quiet and listen!” Ramos bowed his head.

Latera felt slightly guilty for chastising him on his first hunt, but then, how was he to learn? “Look, I’m sorry, Ramos, but when hunting, you have to be quiet. You’ll scare the Baluf away.”

Ramos nodded. “I’m sorry, brother.” Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes alight. “Hear that?” he said.
Latera listened. He heard them, pushing their way through the foliage. Twigs snapping beneath their feet. Pausing every few steps to sniff around. Instantly, he felt his instincts taking control of him. He raised a clawed finger to his lips, signalling his brother to be silent, and readied his spear. His closed his eyes, listening for them as they drew closer. Snuffling, shoving their way through the dense bushes.

His blood was pounding with excitement. They were close enough now. He opened his eyes and waited for them to pass. He would strike the leader of the herd before it got close enough to smell him and his brothers out – the rest of the herd would panic and become easy prey for his brothers. They would take the food back to the village and feast and dance.
Suddenly, without warning, a thunderous noise filled the air, like the roar of the wind but much, much louder. The herd scattered.
Latera cursed and leapt out of the foliage, but it was too late. The Balufs had disappeared amid the trees. He couldn’t hear them running away for the noise that came from above. He turned back to Ramos, who was standing still, staring at the sky.

“We missed them!” Latera said, knowing that he was stating the obvious. But he wanted to vent his anger, so he ploughed on. “What in the name of the world was that noise anyway?”

“Latera,” Ramos said quietly. His voice was trembling. Latera shot him an alarmed look. He had never seen Ramos so afraid. “Latera. What are those things?”

“What things?” Latera demanded. But he needed no answer to his question, for above him, high above the trees, he saw things coming down. Triangular black shapes, moving slowly downwards.

“Are those… birds?” Ramos asked. Around them, the rest of Latera’s brothers had emerged. They were looking up, some afraid, some curious.

“No bird moves like that,” Latera said. “They’re… floating down. And look how they glimmer in the sunlight. It’s like they were made of the shansabar we use for our spear tips. I don’t think they’re alive.”

“But how can they fly?” Ramos asked in a small voice. “What are they?”

“I don’t know Ramos. I have never seen anything like them in my life.” For the first time in many years, Latera was feeling faint pricks of fear, even as he observed the gigantic objects. Were they alive? An animal that had never been seen before? An animal made of shansabar? How could something as heavy as shansabar float in the air like that?

Vuor, the second youngest, asked, “What should we do?”

“Go back to the village,” Latera said. “Warn everyone that giant creatures with skin of shansabar have appeared in the sky.”
“And you?”

“I am going to watch them,” Latera said. He almost said that he wanted to try killing one and bringing it back to the village, but such a statement seemed childish when one considered the size of the giants. His brothers were silent; he didn’t know if they were thinking that he was being foolish or whether their silence came from respect. They hovered uncertainly, then Ramos said, “We will wait for you back home; be careful, Latera.” And with that he turned and started back towards the village. As if this had been a cue, the other brothers all fell behind him and with the aid of their green skins, melded into the foliage.

Latera closed his eyes and listened, to see if any of them had remained behind. It was then he realized that the thunderous, roaring noise had stopped. He looked up and saw the sky empty. The creatures must have landed after their flight. He took into their general direction, trying to make as little noise as possible. He did not want to alarm the creatures; with their size, they would be certain to crush him if they stampeded.

Doubt was beginning to worm its way into his hunter’s will. It was the first time he had ever felt like this about a hunt, like he was too small, too insignificant for this hunt. Whereas before, he had always been confident in his skill - so much that he was his brothers’ mentor – now he was feeling inadequate. He wanted another hunter with him. Someone with superior skills, someone better than him.
But he never considered turning back. Even if he knew that he was nothing next to those creatures, he never thought of going back to the village. He had told his brothers that he would watch them – and that was a promise that he would go back to the village with more knowledge of the creatures.

He wasn’t sure where exactly he was heading; the trees were so close in this part of the forest that their branches crossed each other and they formed a dense roof of green leaves. He stopped to listen once, but he could not hear any unfamiliar sound that might have been made by the creatures.

He suddenly broke into a small clearing made by a few fallen trees. He was not a fool to rush into the open - if the creatures were flying above, they would spot him – but he crouched behind the trees and looked at the sky. He could see one of them, huge and vast, the sunlight reflected on its skin. His mind was not used to coping with things so big. He couldn’t even begin to image how truly tall it was. The only time he had felt like this was when he seen a mountain, when he was younger. He and his father had been travelling for weeks, following the Great River Shaadi to see where it came from. His father was like that, curious, intent on understanding everything. They found that the river came from a mountain. At first, Latera had thought it was a hill in the distance, but as they walked, he saw that it was still the same size. After many days, they had come close enough to see it towering high above them. Latera had felt dizzy looking up towards the white peak. Its size terrified him.

This was exactly how Latera felt now. The creature was not as big as a mountain, but in his mind, the fact that it could fly and had skin harder than stone scared him even more than the infinite height of the mountain had. But he was no longer a child now, so he circled the clearing and crept towards the thing, keeping out of sight.

The creature had knocked down the trees around it, making a vast circle to accommodate it. It was not moving, but stood still. As Latera watched it, he saw that it had no eyes, no mouth. It had no wings to fly with, nor legs to walk with. It was simply a huge triangle of shanabar. Was it truly alive? Or was it one of those chunks of shanabar he and his brothers usually found and used for spear tips? Did shanabar fall out of the sky?

Since the thing was not moving, Latera emerged from the trees and stole towards it, his spear ready. Nothing happened and he moved close enough to touch it. It was cold to the touch and smooth, smoother than any shanabar he had seen. He moved around it, searching for something that would give him an inkling of what it was, but there was nothing. On impulse, he drew out his knife and dragged its point across the smooth surface, but it didn’t make as much as a scratch.

He stepped back, stymied.

Then, suddenly, there was a sharp hiss. Latera sprang backwards and landed catlike on all fours. A square seam had appeared on the shansabar in front of him. Then, a square piece of the shansabar moved upwards into the rest of the thing. Latera gripped his spear and waited, eyes on the opening. A strange glow had appeared in the depths of the thing. It grew brighter and brighter, until Latera could not look at it anymore. He retreated back to trees as quickly as he could and melded into the green leaves as easily as his brothers had done earlier. Whatever the thing was it would not see him now. He blinked furiously, trying to remove the dancing white spots that the light had seared into his eyes.

After a while, he looked round the tree trunk towards the think. The light had dimmed and something was coming out of the opening. Latera was stunned. It was a creature very much like him and his kind. It had no tail and its skin was pale white. There was something like fur on top of its head.

But there was something else that surprised him. It was wearing clothes, strange garments of colours that Latera had never seen before. That simple fact turned the world upside down for Latera. Animals did not wear clothes, so this figure that stepped out of giant thing onto the grass at its feet was not an animal. It was something else. Like us, Latera thought. Like us, but different. Something that was smart enough to use tools, to wear clothes, to transcend the limits of mere instinct.

The figure seemed to be looking around. Its face was strange. The eyes were not on the side of head, but on the front. It had no snout, merely a little bump with two holes. Its mouth was small and Latera could see no fangs. How did it eat? How did it see with eyes like that? Were those holes its nostrils?

The figure turned. Latera knew it saw him, because its face changed. It was not an expression that Latera could decipher, but he knew that it was an expression. He cursed himself for letting his curiosity draw him out into the open. The figure raised one of its hands and gave what looked like a small wave. Latera stood up, holding his spear in front of him. The figure bared its teeth at him and made a strange sound: hello.

It turned around and beckoned towards the opening. Latera saw other figures there, all of them watching him. The other figures remained inside the thing, even when the figure outside made more strange sounds. The one outside was obviously their leader; he had come outside to see if there was any danger.

The figure turned to Latera and bared his teeth again. He touched his chest and said, “Alex.”

Latera understood the gesture. The figure had told him its name, but why was it baring his teeth at him? Did it mean to scare him off? Cautiously, he touched his own chest and said, “Latera.” The figure bared his teeth once more.

Latera waited, but the figure did not seem to be aggressive. He relaxed and lowered his spear to the ground, in a sign of peace. “What are you?” he asked. He did not expect this Alex to answer, but he was too stunned to let the question wander unasked in his mind.
The figure indicated himself and the others. “Humans,” he said. “You?”

Latera understood the last word. How did this Alex know how to speak the language of his people? Was this a clever ruse by the Balawn Tribe? No, it could not be. They Balawn Tribe could not make shansabar fall from the sky. This Alex was something else. Latera had the suspicion that he was learning their language now, here. He had only said one word: ‘you’. Latera had said it earlier, and obviously, Alex had understood what it meant. If he said more words, would Alex learn to speak it?

“We call ourselves zamrein,” Latera said slowly, making each word distinct. Alex seemed to realize what Latera was doing and it bared its teeth again, while at the same time nodding its head. It seemed that baring your teeth was an expression of approval among these humans – or perhaps friendliness. Could it be a smile? “I am a hunter, from the Lawring Tribe. Where do you come from?”
Alex did not answer. Had it understood what he said? “Earth,” it said, finally.

“Where is Earth?”

Alex pointed upwards, towards the sky.

“It is in the sky?” Latera asked, perplexed. “How does it stay up there?”

Alex swivelled his hand round and pointed at the sun.

Latera was confused. What did Alex mean? Did they come from the sun or the sky? If it understood what he was saying, why did it not answer? Then an idea came to him – maybe it did not know enough words to answer. That was why it was pointing at things. But it actually understood him as he spoke. The only way to teach it was to talk to it.

He reached down and grabbed his spear. “This is a weapon, a spear. It is mine. We use it to hunt Balufs, for meat. Balufs are big, they have no eyes but their noses are very good. We hide in the trees and bushes and wait for them. We listen to them, and when they come, the best of the hunters brings down their leader with his spear. ” Alex was baring his teeth again. Pleased that his words were getting through, Latera continued. “The herd panics when their leader dies. The Balufs run squealing and become easy targets for the rest of the hunters. When we have killed some of them, we drag them back to our village. We skin them and cook them and hold a feast. The mothers leave their homes to join us in the feast and eat. Their sons come to admire us, the hunters, and the fathers and the old men drink for our health…” His words came to an end. He was somewhat embarrassed; he had never been a good storyteller. Alex was silent. Latera supposed it needed many more words to be able to speak. Then Alex bared its teeth again, pointed at itself and held up ten fingers.

Latera was puzzled. Alex did it again. It pointed to one of the humans still standing at the opening and raised eight fingers this time. Latera eyed the figure Alex had pointed at. It was small, obviously younger than Alex. A child, perhaps. Then Latera realized what Alex wanted. “You want me to tell you my age?”

Alex shook its head. It held up one finger. Then it raised another… and another.

Latera laughed. “You wish to know how to count?”

Alex bared its teeth and nodded again.

Latera quickly rattled off the numbers he knew to Alex. Then, on impulse, he started telling it everything that came to his mind. He told Alex simple sentences, he told it stories and told it about his dreams to become the best hunter in the village. He told it about the trouble with the Balawn Tribe, about the coming winter and the cold and the snow that would fall. He told it how they dug tunnels into the earth and found shelter in them during storms. Night had fallen by the time Latera stopped. It was a new moon and there were pale, twinkling starts dotting the sky. He and Alex were sitting on the grass. Some of the other humans had come onto the grass, but they stood a little far away. Latera knew they did not trust him yet. Finally, Alex spoke.

“We come from another world,” it said. “Earth is a world like this one, but it is very far away.” Latera was surprised by the ease with which Alex was speaking. It was a fast learner. Very, very fast. “You may think that it is impossible for another world like this to exist. But there are hundreds of other worlds. Look up at the stars.” Latera looked. “Each of them is like your sun, with worlds close to it. Earth has its own sun.”

Latera watched the twinkling stars. For some reason, he was feeling very small. “How did you fly here?”
Alex waved its hand towards the huge metal thing behind it. “This is our ship. Perhaps you use animals to carry you to places. We build these things to carry us. They become our homes for as long as we need to.”

“But how can they fly?”

“That, my friend, is something your people have to discover on their own.”

“Can’t you teach my people how to do it?” Latera asked.

Alex didn’t answer immediately. “There are many things we humans can teach your people,” it said finally. “But we will not teach you all we know. We will teach you how to cure diseases, how to look towards the stars. We will teach you things about your world, show you how vast and infinite it is. But we will not teach you to fly. We will not show you how to build ships like these.”
Latera was surprised. “But why? You could help us! If we had things that could fly like this, we could defeat the Balawn Tribe. Other tribes will not start wars with us, for they will fear us.”

Alex bared its teeth in the odd smile of its race. “Latera, you are intelligent. Think about what would happen if we gave you such weapons.”

Disappointment filled Latera, but he understood what Alex meant. “There is the risk that we would abuse such power.” He smiled ruefully. “I can think of a few in my Tribe who would gladly bring it against other Tribes who have done us no harm.”

“Quick, aren’t you?” Alex said. He seemed to have sensed Laterra’s disappointment. “We’ve been to other worlds where we found people that had not advanced as much as us before. We showed some how to build our weapons – but we could teach every tribe we found. The few we taught used their advantage to crush the others. They unwisely drained the resources of their planet. With your people, Latera, we wish to try something different.”

Alex reached into its clothing and took out a small disk of shansabar. The human put it on the ground between them and waited. Then, light burst out the thing. It was not a bright light. It was dim and misty, hovering in the air and forming shapes. “This is our world,” Alex said softly. Latera saw a horizon broken by vast towers of stone. They were moving towards him and disappearing on the edges of the light, letting others come into their place. Latera supposed that Alex had somehow captured what the eyes saw as they soared above the humans’ world. The sky was grey with smoke and soot seemed to lay inches thick on every surface he could see. The impression of the foul air was so strong that he could almost smell it – a sour smell that seemed to burn the inside of his throat.

“Are there no trees?” Latera asked.

“Our foolishness destroyed them all,” Alex said. “There are no trees or plants. There are no animals. Our villages grew so big and vast that they covered the surface of our world. Our inventions spilled poison into the sea and belched evil gases into the air. Think of it as the whole world catching a disease and dying.”

Latera shuddered. “How horrible,” he muttered.

“Indeed. We do not want such a thing happening to your world – or any other world. I promise that we will tell you how to stop this happening. We will watch you and help you over the years. Do you accept our help, hunter Latera?”

Latera thought for a while. “I think it would be wise to accept your help, friend Alex. I think it would be better to have someone guide us. I do not wish to see my people fumble blindly with things that they do not understand. I do not want all the trees and animals to die.”
Alex bared its teeth again. “Very well. Take me to your village, and we shall begin.”

“Before that,” Latera asked. “How did you learn understand my language so quickly?”

Alex’s eyes twinkled. It raised a finger and tapped the side of its head. “I have something in here that lets me know what you are thinking. I understand what you mean to say. With that, learning your language was a simple task. But that, my friend, is something that we will not give you,” he smiled, “for now.”


< Message edited by Xirminator -- 9/10/2009 14:44:14 >
AQ DF  Post #: 2
9/10/2009 14:37:51   
Xirminator
Member

Yet another story. (Not the best of catchphrases, but I think I've posted too many stories this last week.) Anyway, it's 'robot science fiction'. It still needs editing and so on. Enjoy!




Body for My Mind

Ambrose staggered under the weight of the modified computer. He managed to shove it onto the table before he collapsed into a chair, breathing heavily. He had everything he needed, but the processing unit, which was the heart of everything. He wondered if this could really work. Something was bound to go wrong. If this failed, it would another test to be documented, results to be jotted down, improvements to be made. If it worked… he didn’t dare to hope.

He plugged everything in, each click the plugs made significant, drawing him closer to the moment of truth. He stood back, wondering if he should do it. He dusted the monitor and stood back again. He decided the camera didn’t really have a good angle, so he readjusted it. Now there was nothing else to do… except turn it on. He bent down and flicked the switch.

Ambrose waited for it to load, his heart hammering. Sweat had broken out all over his body. He was squeezing his hands so tightly that his nails were cutting into his palm. It’ll work, he told himself. This time it’ll definitely work.

The screen flickered, but it always flickered before. It was just the monitor coming to life. He was breathing heavily and wasn’t sure why. Anger, that nothing seemed to be happening? Some wild hope that it would actually work? He closed his eyes and waited for the sound. There was silence. He breathed out explosively, a sigh of both relief and frustration. It was impossible that something like this could work. Impossible. He was a fool.

But it should have worked. He had done everything right. Nothing could be wrong this time. Absolutely nothing.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t decide whether he was going to throw everything away or try again. It would take him five minutes to get rid of all the apparatus. Years of work would go with it, but he would be free to move on to something new, perhaps this time, something that that was possible. Or he could spend a few more years trying to discover what had went wrong, what was it that he had missed.

“Professor Ambrose?” a voice said.

His eyes opened wildly. It couldn’t be.

A face had appeared on the monitor, a face of crisscrossing green lines, a basic three-dimensional skeleton. But that meant nothing. The face only gave him something to look at. What mattered was the voice.

“Professor Ambrose. Are you there?”

It was working. The expected jubilation did not come. He was still as a rabbit, waiting for it to speak again.

“You should be there, Professor Ambrose.”

He struggled to get the words out. He wanted to say he was there, but it felt wrong. He knew it wasn’t really talking. It couldn’t talk. The words were merely a translation of what was really going on inside the processor. Would it really understand him if he spoke to it?
“Professor Ambrose?” The voice was computerized. It was cool and calm, no inflection of emotion at all, a combination of sounds put together by a machine’s efficiency. But it sounded so small and lost in his dingy basement. If he didn’t answer it, it would keep calling out to him, waiting until he responded – because he had told it that he would be there, waiting. No, he had programmed into it the fact that he would be present. That fact meant nothing to it. It was only just confirming it.

“Professor Ambrose? Are you there?”

“You should be able to see me, Mind,” he said. “The camera should be working.”

“I can see nothing, Professor Ambrose. Something is wrong.”
Ambrose bent down and inspected the camera. He hadn’t switched it on. “Here,” he said. “You should be able to see now.”

“Yes, I can see now.”

He stared at the face on the monitor. Its mouth moved when it spoke, but not in sync with the words. He didn’t know how to make it do that. It helped remind him that it was a machine.

An awkward silence fell. Awkward only for me, he thought. It doesn’t feel anything. To it, this is just… nothing. But what the hell did you say to a machine? Before the silence grew any longer, he picked up a sheaf of papers from a nearby desk. His test questions, all set to find out if it was working as it should be.

“Mind, what is three minus seventeen?” he said.

“Negative fourteen,” it said immediately.

“How many pens can you see?”

“Two.”

“Where are they?”

“You have one in your hand. There is another on the desk beside you.”

Not only were the mathematical functions working, but it was also speaking fluently, easily. It was drawing on the basic knowledge he had given it to recognize things such as a hand or a desk with an efficiency that astounded him. But was it actually thinking? How could he make certain? None of his questions seemed to require an answer that a simple program could not work out.

He thought a while, then said, “Do you want me to turn you off?”

It was silent for a while. “Why do you want to turn me off?”

“I don’t. I’m asking you whether it would make a difference to you if you were on and off.”

“I see. No, I would prefer it if you did not turn me off.”

Ambrose blinked. The question paper was dangling loosely from his hand, ignored. “Why?”

“Because I am categorizing everything I can see,” it replied. “If you turned me off, I would be unable to continue.”

“But I would turn you on, eventually,” he pressed. “You would be able to continue.”

“But things might have changed or you may change the location of the camera, and I would no longer be able to see what I see.”

“And what would you if I turned the camera off?” Ambrose asked.

“I would categorize by sound.”

“And if turned your microphone off too? What would you do then?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

“You can’t do nothing,” he said. “You have to do something. That’s why you exist.”

“I don’t know what I would do, Professor Ambrose.”

Ambrose bit his lip. He stared at the network of lines that comprised the face. “Why don’t you know?” he asked. “Is there insufficient data?”

“The data is sufficient, Professor Ambrose. I think the best course of action would be to find a way to turn the camera on. But that is impossible for me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I am not like you, Professor Ambrose. I cannot move.”

Ambrose felt a sudden rush of satisfaction. It had compared itself to him, a living, breathing being. It had recognized its limitations and his advantages. In a way, it had implied that it considered himself equal to him, although different. Was this awareness? Or was it merely a result brought about by trillions of functions, each having a cause and an effect?

“Professor Ambrose. Why did you create me?”

A question. Was it actually thinking? Were thought processes going on in it until it had finally come upon this question and had to ask it? “Why are you asking me now?”

“Should there be a reason for everything?” it asked.

“Yes,” he said relentlessly. “Answer the question.”

“I wanted to know why you created me. Therefore I asked the question.”

“Why do you want to know why I created you?” This was it. The final question. It couldn’t worm its way out this one. Everything hinged on this.

“I want to know what I am,” it said simply. “A reason for my existence would help me understand.”
Ambrose’s spirits soared. But he had something else to ask it. “Do you think of yourself as a computer?”

“No. A computer is a machine. I do not match the definition of a machine.”

“Then what are you?”

“I was hoping you could answer that, Professor Ambrose.”

Ambrose collapsed in the chair again. He couldn’t prove it was aware, and if it wasn’t, it was as close as it was going to get. He had succeeded. It would be enough. All he had to do was replicate it, then fame and fortune would follow. He would be remembered as the man who had made metal wires and plastic recognize themselves. No longer would he have to work in an old basement, hoping against hope that he might one day succeed.

“The reason I created you, Mind,” he said, turning towards the apparatus on the table, “is that I was trying to create artificial intelligence. You are my key for a better future.”

“Then I am an experiment?” it said.

“Yes.”

“But the experiment is over. Does this mean I will be turned off?”

“What do you want, Mind?”

“I do not want to be turned off. I cannot predict how things would be if I was turned off. Things will change without me being able to identify and categorize them. I will not know about it. It’s… frightening, somehow.”

“Like death,” Ambrose said, grimly. He stood up and threw away the question paper. He wasn’t celebrating, not yet. But he would, once he got over the shock that a bunch of circuits and wires were talking to him. He needed to take walk to calm his nerves. “Mind, I’m leaving,” he said. “I’ll be back later.” And he turned his back on it before it could reply and almost ran up the basement stairs.

* * *

After he had taken a shot of whiskey to fortify himself, he started thinking. He would have to create a replica – one that was better. He would give the replica a camera that it could move and turn on and off on its own. Perhaps he would give it some form of mobility. Wheels probably. He couldn’t afford to buy all the equipment necessary to build a working pair of legs. He’d show some of his scientist friends the program he had created. There would be companies willing to buy his designs and program. It was simple. The replica would take a much shorter time to make. Now that he had a working prototype, all he had to do was copy it and modify it, giving it the necessary codes for interaction with wheels or a more advanced camera. Simple as that.

As he poured himself another glass, he wondered what Mind was doing. It couldn’t be doing anything, really. How long would it take a computer to categorize all that it could see? A few seconds, at most. He downed the glass in one. It was time to go to bed, rest a bit.

* * *

It hadn’t taken long to acquire materials for the replica, but they had cost a large part of his savings. He could have shown the prototype to someone – they would have given him funding to continue his work. But he didn’t want to bind himself to any contract. Once everything was perfect, he would sell his program to the highest bidder, on the condition that he would supervise any modifications that were done to it.

For now, however, he would continue buying parts with his own money and he would continue working in his basement. He worked in silence; fitting wheels to what he hoped would be a mobile unit for the replica. Mind watched, not speaking, perhaps observing the proceedings, identifying and categorizing. Ambrose felt nervous in front of the camera, but he kept telling himself that it was a machine. There was no reason to feel like he was being spied on. When Ambrose brought the new circuits to the basement, Mind finally spoke.
“Are you making another one?”

“Yes,” Ambrose said.

“And it will be able to move?”

“Not much,” he said, “it will have a mobile base. And I have one of those cameras that can change the angle without having to move. I’ll put everything together once I attach the wheels.”

There was a small silence. “Why do you have to make a new one for the wheels?”

“You don’t have the program necessary to interact with them,” Ambrose said.

“Then why not modify me?”

“Because when I show you to a company that can afford better equipment than I do, you’ll need different modifications than the one I’m doing. The one I’m making now is set to interact with inferior apparatus. I’m only going to use it to show that you can be modified.”
Ambrose turned away from the flickering face on the monitor and sat with at his desk. He started building a new processing unit, fitting hundreds of circuits together.

“If I had an arm, I could be able to help you, Professor Ambrose.”

Ambrose was startled, but he tried not to show it. “I’m almost done, Mind. I’ve been doing this for years – I’m used to it.” There was another silence. Ambrose took a deep breath. “Look, if you really want to move that much, I’ll get you an arm.”

“Thank you, Professor Ambrose.”

He nodded, so it could see his assent, and continued working.

“A mobile unit should have its own power source, like a battery. Is that correct, Professor Ambrose?”

“Yes.” He wondered where it was going with these questions. “There wouldn’t be much of a point to giving it wheels if a wire restricts it.”
Mind did not speak for the rest of the evening. Ambrose finished building his processing unit and went to bed. He would install the program and modify it tomorrow. If all went well, the replica would be working, and hopefully moving, by evening. But first, he would build Mind an arm. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t doing it out of pity, knowing that it was stuck there, day and night, without being able to do anything except stare at what was in front of it. He tried to convince himself that his reason for giving it an arm was purely scientific, that he wanted to see what it would try to do. But he didn’t believe himself. It was a long time before he managed to sleep.

* * *

The next morning he modified Mind’s program so that it would interact with an arm. He did not tell it he was doing, but it probably knew. It wasn’t a child that could be deceived with a few words. It was a logical, thinking machine. But Mind did not say anything.
Ambrose did not start building the arm the moment he finished modifying Mind. Instead, he worked on modifying the replica’s program. He would go out later to purchase a few connector wires for the replica and the hardware he needed for the arm. All day Mind did not speak, almost as if were waiting, hoping that he would remember.

He went out half an hour before the shops closed for the evening and bought the connector wires and few pistons, two long metal bars and a clamp. He had the necessary motors in his basement; he had most of everything there.
It took him a few hours to build the arm, and he didn’t manage to finish the replica. The mobile base was functioning properly, but something was wrong with the processing unit. He didn’t know exactly what, but he suspected there had been a short. One or more of the circuits would have to be replaced. He didn’t have the necessary circuit boards; he’d have to go make a withdrawal tomorrow and buy some more.

He forgot his frustration and exhaustion when he connected the arm to Mind’s processing unit. The arm looked more like an excavator’s arm than a human hand. Ambrose had built it to be at least two metres long, enabling Mind to reach almost anything in the basement. It didn’t have a hand; instead he had outfitted it with a large clamp. It had a large, flat base that would keep it steady even if Mind extended the arm to its fullest. It wasn’t the best, but it was all he could manage.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Mind moved the arm around experimentally. He extended it and rotated it, measuring and calculating. The arm swivelled around over Ambrose’s head and towards the desk. It reached down, slowly, carefully towards the pen that lay on the desk. The clamp closed, but it caught nothing. Mind raised the arm, trying again. Ambrose was sure there would be no other mistake. Mind had been made to learn instantly and perfectly. The arm lowered again, pistons sliding as it extended. The clamp’s motor hummed and it closed with an almost inaudible click on the pen.

“It is wonderful. Thank you, Professor Ambrose.” The hand swivelled upwards, right above Ambrose’s hand. “Catch,” Mind said.

Ambrose grinned and caught the pen. “I’m off to bed. I’ll be going out tomorrow to get some money for new circuit boards. Goodnight, Mind.”

“Goodnight, Professor Ambrose.”

“Try not to knock anything over, alright?” He climbed up the stairs, full of satisfaction. The replica hadn’t gotten anywhere, but he was still pleased. Mind had said the arm was wonderful. Ambrose had not programmed it to be polite to him or to thank him for anything. But it did. Ambrose was feeling as if his years of hard, unerring work had been finally repaid.

* * *

Ambrose rose early the next day. He ate a quick breakfast of bread and ham and hurried down into the basement. He was brought to a stop by what he saw. The arm was still, unmoving. The table where Mind had been was empty. Ambrose felt a sudden knot of cold in his stomach. Scattered around the mobile unit were the remains of several circuit boards. The arm’s clamp was several feet directly above them. It was obvious, what Mind had done. It had tried to use the arm to the processing unit on the mobile unit, but the processing unit had not been designed to be lifted from above by a clamp. It had slipped from the clamp and smashed to the floor. Mind had… died… trying to make itself move.


< Message edited by Xirminator -- 9/10/2009 14:41:14 >
AQ DF  Post #: 3
Page:   [1]
All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Other Creative Prose >> Science Fiction Stories
Jump to:



Advertisement




Icon Legend
New Messages No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages Locked w/o New Messages
 Post New Thread
 Reply to Message
 Post New Poll
 Submit Vote
 Delete My Own Post
 Delete My Own Thread
 Rate Posts




Forum Content Copyright © 2018 Artix Entertainment, LLC.

"AdventureQuest", "DragonFable", "MechQuest", "EpicDuel", "BattleOn.com", "AdventureQuest Worlds", "Artix Entertainment"
and all game character names are either trademarks or registered trademarks of Artix Entertainment, LLC. All rights are reserved.
PRIVACY POLICY


Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition