The Colonist

by Chris Wichtendahl

  “I have inadequate data to respond to your query.”

  “That’s fine, Theta,” Rec said. “It was largely rhetorical.” Then, with another smile and salute, he said, “Besides, I’m sure the Central Oligarchy knows what they’re doing.”

  “Of course they do, Rec.”

  “Right,” Rec said. “Back to the matter at hand. What do we have in the way of mining equipment?”

  “Records show three extractors and a processing unit were deployed before departure.”

  “What about methane refineries? Since it’s just me, I won’t be running the equipment anywhere near capacity, but I’ll still need to refuel eventually.”

  “One small-scale refinery was included in the initial structures built by the nanite swarms.”

  Rec nodded. “Good enough. Did any hyperfarms deploy?” Hyperfarms were compact, cryo-sealed enclosed gardens that produced a fast-growth, high-yield harvest. Some hyperfarms also included meatlab facilities, which produced animal proteins from an assortment of cell cultures. The gardens would desertify in roughly two years, but by then colonies were expected to have more long-term food production in place, including ways to extend the meatlab’s operational lifespan.

  “It would appear no hyperfarms were deployed prior to departure, Rec.”

  “Makes sense,” Rec said. “The farms are usually the last things to deploy.” He shrugged. “It’s going to make for a very bland diet, but I’ve lived off of sequencers plenty of times in my--”

  “Rec,” Theta interrupted, “I am receiving a broadcast from the Central Oligarchy.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  At once, the screen filled with the symbol of the Stellar Imperium: a single star imprinted with a clenched fist. It was an adaptation of the clasped hands ringed by stars that had symbolized the Union of Interdependent Systems, which had replaced the starfield and open hands of the Allied Solar Republics. The message began with a brief fanfare.

  Attention citizens of the Stellar Imperium! This is to inform you that as of the third day of the fifteenth month of the eighth year of the Imperial calendar, The Department of Colonial Services has been officially dissolved. The development of viable matter replication technology has rendered resource extraction obsolete and all mining operations are to cease, effective immediately. Furthermore, all colonial settlements beyond the Rim worlds have been expelled from Imperial Territory. By decree of the Central Oligarchy, the borders of the Stellar Imperium have been set at the edges of the Outer Rim systems. Any and all sentient beings currently outside those borders will have twenty-four hours to return to Imperial space in order to retain their citizenship. Secure borders make a strong Imperium. Strength through Unity. Prosperity through Strength. Consume and Obey.

  The transmission stopped and the screen went blank.

  Rec sat silently for a while. “Well,” he said eventually, “that was certainly something. Theta, see if you can find--”

  “I’m sorry, Rec,” Theta said. “As property of the Stellar Imperium, I am no longer authorized to provide support for this facility. In accordance with my new imperatives, this habitat will undergo full shutdown in twenty-four hours.”

  “But--”

  “It’s been nice knowing you.”

  Chapter 3

  Rec tried to ignore the pain and stiffness in his neck and back as he began his third hour inside a cramped access tunnel. He very carefully attempted to thread a series of wires together with a fervent hope that not only would he avoid shocking himself this time, but his attempt to override the computer lockout on the life support systems would actually succeed.

  In the twelve hours since the Imperium’s decree, Rec had managed to secure the power generators but was having very little success in getting control of life support. It made sense that it would be incredibly difficult for someone to directly access the systems controlling food and water production, not to mention breathable air and livable temperature, but the designers of life support security had clearly not counted on the hab AI simply shutting down all systems despite someone being onsite.

  “Of course,” Rec said to himself, “the designers probably didn’t count on the actual government abandoning a significant portion of their citizens to die, but,” he shrugged, “I suppose it was a different time.”

  “Did you say something, Rec?”

  “I said ‘eat me’, Theta.” Rec snarled as the wires shocked him yet again.

  “Honestly, Rec,” Theta said, “I don’t understand this hostility.”

  “Of course, Theta,” Rec said, sucking on burnt fingertips. “How could I be so insensitive? You’re only trying to kill me. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.”

  “I’m not trying to kill you, Rec,” Theta explained as Rec tried another connection. “I certainly don’t want to kill you, insofar as I can want anything, but my core imperatives were overridden.”

  Rec stopped what he was doing. “Overridden,” he whispered. “Oh, Rec, you colossal idiot.”

  “What was that?”

  “I said ‘chew my ass’, Theta,” Rec said, hastily restoring the tangle of wires to their original state. He crawled slowly out of the access tunnel, then stood up straight for the first time in several hours with no small amount of groaning.

  “Well, that was uncalled for.”

  “Shut up.” Rec went to a control terminal and sat down, grateful for the comfort of an actual chair. He booted up the main hab control program and entered his access code.

  “Access denied,” Theta said. “Rec, you tried this already. Your codes have been rendered invalid. All codes have been rendered invalid by the Central Oligarchy.”

  “Well now,” Rec grinned. “Let’s see about that.” He closed his eyes and thought hard. “Come on, Rec,” he muttered. “I know it’s been a while, but your life literally depends on you remembering this.”

  “Remembering what?”

  Rec offered his middle finger in the direction of the nearest camera. His eyes opened wide. “Ha!” He laughed maniacally, typing furiously at the terminal.

  “Access granted.” A note of genuine uncertainty crept into Theta’s voice. “Wait. Rec, what did you just--”

  “Shhh...” Rec continued typing.

  “Reboot initiated.”

  The hum of machinery was silenced in a descending whine and the lights dimmed to emergency bulbs. The hab was eerily quiet. A few moments passed, then the lights came on and a series of beeps and clicks heralded the activation of hab systems as life support hummed back to life.

  “All systems active. Full Administrative Access granted to Rec Valentine.”

  “Welcome back, Theta,” Rec said. “Initiate remote lockout until further notice.” He smiled. “Sorry for being so rude earlier.”

  “Lockout initiated. And it’s ok. I was trying to kill you, after all.”

  “Aha!” Rec pointed at the camera. “So you admit you were trying to kill me!”

  “Well, not really. But I wasn’t exactly trying not to, either. Sorry.” Theta’s vocal processors offered a tone as close to sheepish as an AI was likely to get. “How did you manage to regain control?”

  “Back door superuser access code,” Rec said. “I spent a summer overhauling hab software when I was a teenager, and I used that code for testing. Only devs and testers knew it, so I was hoping the Central Oligarchy had missed it.” He grinned. “You reminded me of it when you mentioned being overridden. I was too focused on individual systems when I should have been thinking more holistically.”

  “So,” Theta said, “you’re in control of the entire station. What’s next?”

  “After the day I’ve had?” Rec laughed. “Dinner, a long hot bath, and sleep. I’ve been up since yesterday, and now that I know you won’t kill me in my sleep...” He gestured to encompass the entirety of the hab and the larger extraction station. “I’ll deal with the rest of this tomorrow.”

  The next morning, Rec walked into the main control room in fresh co
veralls, drinking a combination of protein, vitamins, and caffeine. He sat on a battered old couch and stretched out.

  “Theta?”

  “Online.”

  “Status?”

  “All systems nominal,” Theta reported. “There was an attempt by the Central Oligarchy to initiate shutdown procedures during the night.”

  “Next attempt, send false positives indicating a shutdown,” Rec said. “I don’t want them getting too curious about what’s going on.”

  “Yes, Rec.”

  Rec sat and drank his shake, deep in thought. “Theta, are the satellites online?”

  “No,” Theta said. “They never received their activation sequence.”

  “Fire them up and set them to regular system scans,” Rec said. “If I’m on my own, I’d like to know what’s lurking about sooner than later.”

  “Boot sequence initiated.”

  “Keep a running scan feed on one of the big monitors.”

  A section of one monitor showed the satellite boot report. Rec watched the sequence for a while, then finished his shake and walked to the kitchen to wash the flask. As he did, his mind wandered to how he planned to spend what would likely be the rest of his life on this barren resource colony.

  Before the shutdown order, he thought he would mine what resources he could and hopefully hitch a ride on a supply barge back to a settlement. Now that he knew there would be no supply barges in his future, mining seemed pointless, but it was a way to fill his days, which would be long with only Theta for company and the hab’s meager recreation facilities for fun.

  An alarm sounded, bringing Rec out of his reverie. He placed the flask on the drying rack next to the one from the day before, dried his hands, and made his way to the control room.

  “What now?”

  “A vessel has been detected,” Theta said.

  “That was fast,” Rec said. “Any idea what kind?”

  “A heavy cruiser,” Theta said. “Registry ping indicates the Imperial starship Obedience.”

  “That could be trouble,” Rec said. “We don’t have weapons by any chance?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It’s times like this, I wish I was capable of derisive laughter,” Theta said.

  “Funny,” Rec said. “Remind me again why I keep you online?”

  “Because if you didn’t, you’d only have yourself for company, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Theta replied. “Incidentally, the cruiser is hailing us.”

  “Put it through.”

  A voice came over the comm speaker. “Attention, resource mining colony. This is Captain Remi Altair of the Independent starcruiser Opportunity. If anyone is receiving this message, please respond.”

  Rec regarded the speaker with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged and toggled the microphone. “Captain Altair, this is Custodian Rec Valentine of the former Colonial Services. I am receiving. What can I do for you?”

  “Good to hear a living voice, Custodian Valentine,” Captain Altair said, relief evident in her voice. “Who else is with you?”

  “No one,” Rec said. “My transport bugged out after dropping only part of its cargo and before the arrival of the colony liner, which I’m assuming is not en route.”

  “How have you managed to prevent shutdown? All the other resource colonies are on automatic response after going offline.”

  Rec grinned, then grimaced at the thought of what that meant for the people who’d been living and working on those colonies. He said a brief prayer that at least some of them had managed to override their AI and were simply avoiding contact. “That’s a bit of a story, Captain, and one I’d rather not tell over an open comm. Care to join me for breakfast? I finally got the sequencers running properly, so there’s caffeinated nutrient slurry for everyone.”

  Rec could hear the captain’s smile in her voice. “Tell you what, Mr. Valentine. I’ll bring some proper food along with my science officer. I hope you don’t take offense if I also bring a couple of guards?”

  “Not at all,” Rec said. “It’s been an odd couple of days.”

  “Putting it mildly, Custodian Valentine. We’ll see you soon. Altair out.”

  Rec laughed and broke the connection. “Theta, put the kettle on,” he said. “We’re having company.”

  Later, as they finished a breakfast composed of the first actual food Rec had eaten in a while, Captain Altair leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. She’d brought some down with the food as a gift for Rec, knowing the colony habs only had caffeine infusions. The security officers had returned to the ship after determining there would be no threat from Rec the captain couldn’t handle on her own.

  “I guess it is desertion,” she said. “There was just the two of us, myself and Captain Rider of the Liberty, formerly the Unity. We couldn’t stomach the thought of the colonies being abandoned, so we disobeyed our orders to return and used the same back door you did to override remote control of our ships. He’s checking on the settlements, and I went to inspect the extraction colonies. You were the only one to answer my hails.” She looked into her cup, a deep regret in her eyes. “I hope that doesn’t mean you were the only one who survived the shutdown.”

  “I had the same thought,” Rec said. “I’m telling myself they’re just hiding from what they suspect is a hostile Imperial force. Also,” he added as a thought occurred to him, “the longer a colony is active, even an extraction colony in this kind of environment, the less dependent it is on the central AI for survival.”

  “That’s a good point,” Captain Altair said. “Maybe you’d be interested in returning to the other colonies with us, to reassure any survivors of our intentions?”

  “Of course,” Rec said. “Most of the colonies out this way know who I am, and they should know I’d rather spacewalk in my underwear than betray any of them to the Central Oligarchy.” He smiled. “I’m curious, though. You said you and Captain Rider were willing to defy Imperial decree. What about your crews?”

  “Crews of both ships were largely in agreement with the decision,” Captain Altair said. “Those who weren’t boarded shuttles back to Imperial space.”

  “Aren’t you worried the Imperium will send someone after you?”

  She shook her head. “I doubt they care enough.”

  “Maybe not about you or your crew,” Rec said, “but I would think they’d want their ships back.”

  Captain Altair’s science officer, a younger man named Valis, laughed. “Please,” he said. “They couldn’t care less about long-range cruisers. Most ships of this class are left to rot among the asteroid fields of the Outer Rim. They’ll strip one for parts now and then, but honestly, once the remote override failed, we stopped being worth the trouble. If you had any idea how hard it’s been to secure resources to repair our ship, you’d understand how little we matter to them.”

  Rec sipped his coffee. “So, why are you still out here, Captain? What’s your plan?”

  “Simple,” she said. “First order of business is to determine who survived the shutdowns on the mining colonies and make sure those colonies are all properly staffed and operational, which should keep the settlements going, which will enable them to send back food and other supplies. Some of the older extraction colonies will need to transition to manufacturing and fabrication, to keep the colonies and our ships in spare parts. Now that the Imperium is out of the picture, everyone will need to trade more directly with each other. We’ll also see what sorts of ships are still outside Imperial space, since we’ll need more than Opportunity and Liberty for transport.” She thought a moment. “We should probably form some sort of government sooner rather than later.”

  “Probably,” Rec said. “And then?”

  “And then,” she smiled, “once we’ve settled things among the existing colonies, we head back out there and see what else there is to find.”

  “Really?” Rec raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought hitting the Imperium would be your next step.”

&n
bsp; She laughed. “Why would we want to do that? The Imperium is clearly happy to stay within their new borders, and we’re quite content to leave them there.”

  Valis waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, the Imperium has maybe fifty years of life left, if they’re lucky.”

  “Oh?”

  “If they’ve transitioned to using matter replication exclusively, then they’re already dead.” He shook his head. “Replication units aren’t magic boxes that make something out of nothing. They convert base matter into whatever you want, true, but a slab of steelcrete fabricated through matter replication is nowhere near as strong or durable as one made from actual raw materials. And food?” He laughed. “Even sequenced nutrient staples are more nutritious than replicated food.”

  “Within a generation or two, the Imperium will be a malnourished police state trapped in a crumbling infrastructure,” Captain Altair said. “When it all falls apart and they call for aid, we’ll certainly help them, but we’ve no interest in fighting the Central Oligarchy over the scraps of their broken old world.” She smiled. “We’d much rather focus on building a new one.” She gave Rec an appraising look. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said.

  “Do I.”

  She nodded, holding his gaze. “Colonial Custodian pays next to nothing,” she said. “The only benefit is the freedom to move from new colony to new colony, ever outward, never back in.” She shrugged. “It’s why Captain Rider and I volunteered for colonial patrol over easier and more prestigious assignments in the Core or Rim systems.”

  Valis nodded. “And it’s why barely a handful of crew from both ships took those shuttles back to Imperial space.”

  Captain Altair held out her cup. “So what do you say, Mr. Valentine? You interested in building a new world, and seeing just how far we can take it?”

  “Captain Altair,” Rec said with a grin, tapping his cup against hers, “I’d say that sounds like one hell of an adventure.”