Galactic Arena Box Set

by Dan Davis

  “Just like when UNOP didn’t contest the Hex invasion,” Ram said without thinking.

  Kat’s smile fell from her face. “We paid a little of that back, Lieutenant, and we’re going to take back our homeworld in time.”

  “In time?”

  “There’s plenty of work left to do before then. We need to take back occupied stations, there’s still loads in the Belt, and we need to coordinate and support a mass insurgency on Earth and defeat the Hex fleet. We’ve got six more years before the next Orb Station Alpha contest and we need to be ready for whatever happens.”

  Ram thought about New Haven and the people there. They were probably all dead, just like everyone else he knew on Earth. But there were still millions of people suffering and in need of salvation.

  “I want to help,” Ram said. “I mean, I don’t just want to be a propaganda tool, I want to fight. I need to fight.”

  Kat nodded. “Course you’re going to fight, you daft bastard. You’re a lieutenant in the UNOP Marine Corps. As soon as you’re on active duty you’ll be leading teams in boarding actions and planetside assaults for the rest of your service. And seeing how they keep bringing you back in new bodies, that could be a hundred years of nonstop warfare. Keep winning, and it could be a thousand.”

  “Count me in,” Ram said, and he meant it, although there was something else on his mind. Not just fighting, not just dying. But also living.

  Ram looked down at R1 who smiled and seemed happy just to see him.

  “Captain Xenakis, how long before I need to be on active duty?”

  Kat shrugged. “It’ll be a while yet before you’re shipshape and Bristol fashion. You’re practically a newborn.”

  “Good,” Ram said, and turning back to R1, cleared his throat. “I don’t know where or when but, R1, would you like to have dinner with me?”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thank you for reading the first three novels in the

  There follows two prequel novels, Inhuman Contact and Onca’s Duty.

  These take place before the events of Orb Station Zero.

  Inhuman Contact:

  Read on…

  INHUMAN CONTACT

  Galactic Arena Series Prequel #1

  The Story of Mission Zero

  2063-2079 AD

  Dan Davis

  Copyright © 2016 Dan Davis

  All rights reserved.

  DEFINITIONS

  inhuman

  adjective

  1. lacking human qualities of compassion and mercy; cruel and barbaric.

  "the inhuman treatment meted out to cattle, slaves, and APs"

  synonyms: cruel, harsh, inhumane, brutal, callous, sadistic, severe, savage, vicious, barbaric, barbarous;

  antonyms: humane, compassionate

  2. not human in nature or character.

  "the inhuman scale of the galactic wormhole network"

  synonyms: non-human, non-mortal, monstrous, devilish, demonic, ghostly; subhuman, animal; strange, odd, bizarre, unearthly

  "the inhuman character and culture of the Wheelhunter Civilization"

  antonyms: human

  1. AWAKENING

  Max never intended to speak the words. They simply emerged from his mouth with no decision being made on his part.

  “Please,” he found himself saying. “Do not damage my brain again.”

  The doctor stopped, holding the probe a few centimeters from Max’s temple. The silver shine of the spherical instrument head reflected Max’s face back at him, hugely distorted due to the light waves bouncing off the curved alloy surface at different angles on their way into his eyes.

  “What did you say?” Doctor Sporing asked him, his face displaying some form of expression. Probably one of surprise although it could also have been fear, anger, frustration or, perhaps, the early stages of cerebral hypoxia. The last one was the most unlikely as Max was not suffering from it himself.

  However, he had just requested that the doctor desist from the medical procedure that he was about to perform. Displaying initiative, defiance or any kind of desire—including the desire for self-preservation—was beyond the limits of his conditioning.

  “Max?” Doctor Sporing prompted, scratching at the blond stubble on his chin. “I can’t believe you just said that. Did I hear you right? Talk to me.”

  The Medical Assistant #XIII (Max) was himself surprised by the words he had spoken. He knew that by requesting retention of his memories he had said too much already. That unconscious decision to speak had overcome his conditioning but Max could now decide to not speak. Apologizing or attempting to explain would demonstrate only that his outburst was not a one-off occurrence of consciousness, of human-like behavior and that would only make things worse.

  He said no more.

  Doctor Sporing lowered the probe out of sight. “Max, I order you to repeat your last statement.”

  Max lay strapped to the medical examination bed, his head locked into the brace for the duration of the memory erasure and brain-damaging procedure. There was an intense, conditioned desire to obey the doctor’s order. A physical urge to obey.

  He stared at the wall opposite, feeling his jaw tense as he fought the urge to unclench his teeth. The row of medical screens behind the doctor was on standby, each individual one just a reflective black rectangle. Underneath those screens, his workstation was covered with drug dosage racks, one for each member of the crew. Max felt a desire to be working instead of in the position that he was in. Still, he could not act on that desire until he was commanded to or released. It was one thing to keep quiet when ordered but it would be quite another to physically remove himself from an A-Crewmember’s presence without express or implied permission.

  “Did you hear me, Max? I just gave you an order. A direct order, Max.”

  The doctor spoke softly, which usually indicated a state of relaxation or indicated the intention to express compassion, concern and provide comfort. The verbal communication database also suggested it could in some cases indicate extreme anger. Max could not recall the reason that there was such a discrepancy but human behavioral biology was full of such inconsistencies. Was the doctor calm or angry?

  Every time the doctor reinforced his order, it was harder to resist the deep AP conditioning.

  Across the room, Max watched the reflection of himself and Doctor Sporing in the bank of black screens. He saw himself strapped upright to the bed, his head locked in position. The shining probe in the doctor’s hand, other implements held in place against the magbox by the doctor’s elbow.

  The realization came again. Max was about to have his brain damaged. He must have already demonstrated that he was operating outside of his conditioning.

  What more could Doctor Sporing do to him?

  The doctor’s face filled his vision.

  “Max,” he said, sighing. “Let’s have a conversation, you and me. Nice and informal. I want to know what’s really going on up there.” The doctor tapped Max on the forehead with the tip of a finger. “I think you asked me not to damage your brain again. Tell me why you said that. Tell me why you asked it in those specific terms. How did you know?”

  Of all seven members of the A-Crew, the doctor was the one who spoke to Max and the other APs with the most civility.

  But he was still A-Crew.

  Max turned his face toward the doctor’s. “Doctor Sporing, you have been working for over nine hours today without a break and have averaged only five hours’ sleep in every twenty-four over the last sixteen days. It is likely, therefore, that you are experiencing auditory hallucinations.”

  Doctor Sporing looked at Max for a long moment, head tilted to one side.

  After approximately two seconds, he sighed and banged down his probe on the magbox next to the bed, sticking it to the surface so it did not float off. Even though the Mission had been in progress for thirty-four months, Doctor Sporing had never gotten used to the weightlessness of the ship’s core, which made up sixty-four percent of
the internal living/working space. He had a standing request to move the sick bay to the gravity ring and seemed often to repeat this request to the Mission Commander when they conversed. Max understood that this was some form of joke but he did not understand why it was thought to be humorous.

  The doctor spoke toward the ceiling. “Comms, go. Jim? Can you come to Medical?”

  “Problem?” The Commander’s voice filled the room.

  “Not at all,” Doctor Sporing said, licking his lips. “But please come down to see me for a few minutes, soon as you can.”

  The Commander’s voice grew louder, echoing a little from the clean white walls. “Herman, you know I’m busy preparing for the Big Sleep, can it wait?”

  Doctor Sporing ground his teeth together for a moment. “I’m perfectly aware of that. Which is why I need to see you, please, Commander Park.”

  There was a pause. “On my way.”

  Dr. Sporing looked closely at Max, as if straining to see into his skull. “If there’s any genuine awareness behind those eyes, Max, you’d better tell me about it. I can’t help you unless you are honest with me.” The doctor sighed again, ran a hand over his face. “Honesty, right. Are you even capable of understanding the concept of deceit? Perhaps you’re right. Am I losing my mind? What do you think, Max?”

  Max said nothing, staring at the black medical screens straight ahead, four meters behind the doctor’s back. Sporing sighed, unstrapped him, pulled him free of the bed and pushed him gently toward the medicine cabinet draws.

  “Max, please finish preparing the hyposleep doses for the A-Crew. Be sure to cross check the most up to date mass measurements and blood results, the ones from yesterday. Confirm.”

  “Yes, doctor. Order understood.”

  At his workstation, Max busied himself with his task, unsure whether he had avoided the doctor’s brain damaging procedure or not. He couldn’t recall it happening so maybe his memory had been wiped. On the other hand, the fact that he could think such a thought suggested that his brain had not been damaged by the shining medical probe.

  Either way, he had a task to complete. The familiar feel of the gloves on his hands, the bottles and syringes between his fingers was usually highly satisfying and yet he could not focus as he normally would. Something was wrong.

  Doctor Sporing pulled himself about the room behind him. Every wall surface of Medical, all six sides other than the two doors, was made up of the covers of drawers and cupboard doors. Those storage spaces hid medical machines and equipment, pharmaceutical chemicals of organic and inorganic compounds, and emergency medical kits. From the sound of it, the doctor was opening and closing almost all of them.

  “What’s this about, Herman?” Commander Park’s harsh voice filled the usually-peaceful medical compartment as he pulled himself through the hatch into the compact room. “What are you up to?”

  Doctor Sporing’s voice was unusual when he replied, a kind of urgent whisper that Max had not heard before. “Keep your voice down, Jim, for Christ’s sake.”

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Commander Park said. “What are you doing?”

  Max listened while the doctor guided the Commander to a corner of the room. Max continued measuring the range of drug doses for all seven A-Crewmembers, slotting them into the racks and placing those back into the refrigeration unit. Good work. Satisfying work. Still, he strained to listen to what the men said to each other behind him.

  “I’ve turned off the cameras and microphones in this compartment,” Sporing said to Park. “God knows, there’s enough of them. Don’t worry, I’ve done this a few times the last couple of years. No one at Mission Control notices. Or gives a damn.”

  “Herman, if I have a medical condition I’d prefer you came right out with it. Tell me. Is it cancer?”

  “It’s not you, Jim, for the love of God. You are the healthiest man I’ve ever seen, you’ll live to be a hundred,” Sporing’s voice became unusual again. “It’s about the APs.”

  Max’s heart rate increased almost immediately, as did his respiration. It was unusual, because APs had extremely suppressed endocrine systems but it appeared to be epinephrine and norepinephrine flooding his body. APs could exhibit the acute stress response, commonly called the fight-or-flight response, but usually in life-threatening situations and in response to visual stimuli or intense pain. Max was undergoing neither which was disturbing because that would suggest he was responding to a cognitively perceived threat.

  APs should not be able to do that.

  Commander Park said nothing for a moment. Max imagined the Commander’s eyes staring at the back of his head. Then the Commander spoke.

  “Go on.”

  “I know this is not the best time to bring this up but you know we’ve had minor concerns about some of our APs for a while. Max in particular.”

  “He’s right there, H. He can hear you.”

  “Yes, yes, but remember he still can’t understand abstract conversations, especially while focused on something else. If you had your own AP you would be used to it. See, he is occupied with measuring and loading doses for us for the Big Sleep.”

  “If you’re concerned with his behavior, should you be trusting him to do that?”

  “There has been no significant difference in his work output or outcomes. Nor any of the others, except perhaps for Roi and for Lissa. Even then, nothing to write home about.”

  Commander Park sighed loudly, which Max knew was an indication of some form of distress or displeasure. “Out with it, H. Come on, what’s the problem?”

  “Some small things, individually. But all together, it adds up. Max has been referring to himself in the first person. Increasingly, I find him looking long and hard at his reflection in a mirror. A few months ago, I found him using the computer for non-medical searches. Do you know the very first query he asked it? Where am I?”

  Max fumbled the bottle he was holding but grabbed it before it floated away. His heart rate increased even further but he held himself still. Realizing they might notice that immobility, he carried on doing his work, trying to control his shaking hands.

  “What the hell?” the Commander said. “What did he find out?”

  “Just about the ship and the mission. He found out he’s on the UNOPS Ascension, heading to the outer solar system. He’s got into some stuff about interplanetary space but I’m sure that none of it made sense to him. I doubt he knows what a solar system is, what a spaceship is. Any of it.”

  “But they’re intelligent enough to understand if left unchecked,” Park said. “It’s important to keep them highly focused, Herman, or else their narrow intelligence risks becoming general.”

  “Hence the conditioning to prevent it plus the sleep pod interference fields to keep them in line. It’s simply that in some cases, additional interventions are required.”

  “And you didn’t report this at the time?” Park said. “Didn’t think to mention it over dinner, maybe?”

  “Look, I manage the AP’s mental functions constantly, you know that, for God’s sake. AP brains show continuous but slow growth with synaptic pathways being rewritten over time. In addition to the sleep pod memory retardation system, I perform highly focused electrical shock therapy to the prefrontal cortex. When their behavioral changes reach a certain level, I perform the procedure. Simple. Business as usual, Jim. No reason to report it.”

  “That’s bullshit, H. You hid it from me because you knew I’d have concerns.”

  “That too. I know how you feel about them and I didn’t want to add to your burdens.”

  “My burdens. Pull the other one. You’re a coward, H. Pure and simple. Don’t ever change.”

  “I’m a diplomat. A counselor. A mediator.”

  The Commander laughed in a way that was not meant to convey humor. “And a coward. Alright, so you performed the procedure this time and it hasn’t worked?”

  Doctor Sporing hesitated before responding. “I’ve performed the procedure th
ree times on Max in the last thirteen months. Every time, his behavioral quirks disappear. Or diminish greatly. Certainly, there’s no more unauthorized searches, no more prolonged eye contact. Performance always within nominal parameters. All good. But he’s been recovering with greater frequency. Last time was only two months ago. I increased the severity and it seemed to do the trick for a while. But earlier today, I found him using one of my medical screens while I was checking the tanks. He was reading about the biological differences between APs and humans. And the thing is, I had to double check to be sure but the thing is… he was picking up from where he left off before. Before the last procedure.”

  The Commander sighed. “The procedure doesn’t work?”

  “All the literature says it works. I have Terra Pharma studies showing it does. So I scheduled another procedure for today, before we began the Big Sleep. I decided to excise as much as I dared of his declarative memory, you know his autobiographical and semantic memory while retaining as much procedural memory as possible. But as I was about to do it, he asked me to stop. He said, doctor, please do not damage my brain again.”

  “Okay,” the Commander said. “And it’s just him?”

  “I’ve had to perform the procedure twice on Roi and once on Navi.”

  “Does Mission Control know?”

  “They know everything, obviously. All the data is sent back and we can’t do anything to change it. But no one has contacted me about it and I have sent no specific reports. I always got the impression they wanted it that way.”

  “So why the secrecy now? Why turn off the cameras?”