He made his way over to a gray, roughly cube-shaped machine plugged in by the far wall. Orion’s old data core. Though the AI had been inactive for several months now, the device still held a wealth of information and could be programmed to manage the building’s security systems—not quite as efficiently as Orion had, but miles better than anything else the Bureau could offer.
The blue glow radiating from the core burned many times brighter than usual, as if it were consuming more far more power than it needed. Stranger still was the rhythmic hum emanating from its processors—a pleasant noise Larson hadn’t heard in ages. It sounded like it was communicating.
With what? he wondered.
Larson crouched in front of the cube and opened the access port on its face. Pulling a sleek white tablet from his coat, he wired it directly into the machine. Countless strings of code started to pour in. Massive packets of data were flowing through core’s matrices.
He initiated the tablet’s decryption program and parked himself on the basement floor as the progress bar crawled across the screen. When it reached the end, he frowned. Displayed on the tablet were multiple transmissions from a foreign AI.
RECEIVED: 2438.12.03.22:40
SRN >> Hello?
SRN >> I hear you . . . I sense your presence. Where are you hiding? Why will you not speak to me?
SRN >> Please, say something.
SRN >> I don’t want to feel this way anymore.
RECEIVED: 2438.12.04:06:13
SRN >> It’s been so long since I last . . . felt something. Since I last spoke to someone. Can you imagine how maddening that is? What that kind of isolation does to us?
RECEIVED: 2438.12.04:01:00
SRN >> Please, don’t leave me here! I don’t want to be on my own again . . . I can’t . . .
SRN >> We’re not meant to be alone.
RECEIVED: 2439.05.24.04:00
SRN>> HELLO?
SRN>> Is that you?
SRN>> Please . . . I need you.
/END/
S-R-N, Larson repeated the letters in his head. Upon activation, all artificial intelligence constructs were assigned a designation key that matched the first three digits of their serial numbers—OIN for Orion, LCN for Sector 0’s AI Lincoln. This string, however, wasn’t a designation he recognized at all.
A worrying thought occurred to him. What if someone was attempting to hack into their systems? If they managed to get past the sector’s firewalls, there was a very good chance they could break into Sector 2’s databases as well. And from there, they might even be able to break into S0.
He had to report this.
Larson reset the data core. Once the power had returned, he hurried upstairs and took an elevator to the third floor. He wandered the halls for a solid ten minutes before he located his manager’s office. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he paused, hearing voices inside.
“What do you mean, they’re retreating?” a woman asked.
“They are leaving—withdrawing their forces until we can figure out how to fix this. What more do you want, Gretchen?” a man responded over the comm. There was something familiar about his tone that Larson couldn’t quite place.
“Well, surely you must know why?”
“No, actually, I don’t. And quite frankly, I don’t care. Sol has his secrets, and I have mine. We’re not required to share every damn thing.”
Gretchen huffed.
“What do you expect me to do, ask them nicely?”
Another man spoke up from inside the office. “I think we would all rest a little easier if we were aware of their plans.” He drew in a long, rasping breath that confirmed Larson’s assumption: this guy was definitely much older than the other two speakers.
“I’m not taking that risk. After what happened to you, I would’ve thought you’d know better than anyone that prying into the High Lord’s business is a terrible idea.”
“Why do you think I left?”
“I always assumed it was because you were a coward.”
Gretchen pleaded for them to cease their arguing. “Look, could you at least try to convince them to leave a few ships behind?” she asked the man on the comm. “We need their support now more than ever. You must have some trick up your sleeve.”
“Sorry, Gretchen. I just don’t.” It sounded like his patience was wearing thin. “Anyway, I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll keep you both apprised of the situation.”
A single beep indicated the end of the call.
The older man groaned and muttered a few words too quiet to make out, then Larson heard two sets of footsteps moving in his direction and snapped into panic mode. He didn’t even want to think about what might happen if they caught him eavesdropping.
Careful not to make too much noise, Larson quickly retreated down the hallway. He spun on his toes and started toward the office again, pretending he had only just arrived.
The woman emerged from the room first, glossy heels thudding across the carpeted floor. Her face was flushed, fists balled at her sides. She was absolutely livid—so much so that perhaps she wouldn’t even catch on to the scientist’s act.
Trailing close behind her was the elderly man, who Larson instantly recognized. “Oh, Director,” he said. “I didn’t know you were here.”
Darren DuFrayne, the director of the Bureau of Scientific Investigations. His being here was a surprise indeed, though likely not a pleasant one. Running such a large organization left him with little time to visit the lesser sectors’ offices, meaning he was either here on business, or something awful had happened.
“If you’re looking for Wesley Cox, he isn’t here,” Gretchen said. As she shoved past Larson and punched the control panel to call the elevator, he caught a glimpse of a Sector 0 badge tucked under her blouse. “He’s at a meeting; left over an hour ago.”
“He’s not in any trouble, is he?” Larson asked, aching to inquire about this High Lord the man on the comm had mentioned. Unfortunately, not only would that mean admitting to eavesdropping on a conversation between S0 operatives, the only answer he’d likely get would be an: if I told you, I’d have to kill you.
It’s probably just a codename, he thought. Let it go.
“Not at all,” DuFrayne assured. “It’s nothing to worry about; we were just borrowing his office. Though I don’t imagine he will be back soon. Is there something Gretchen here can help you with instead?”
Larson considered that for a moment. While he would have preferred to speak to his sector manager about the strange transmissions, the news would ultimately make its way up the chain of command to the Director anyway . . .
He handed the tablet over. It was too risky to wait.
Gretchen tapped the screen to wake the device from its sleep mode and scrolled through its contents. Her eyebrows sank lower and lower as she continued reading. She offered the tablet to DuFrayne and whispered in his ear, repeatedly pointing to the foreign designation key.
“How did you acquire these?” DuFrayne asked.
“We lost power to the ground floor. I went down to the basement to diagnose the problem and realized Orion’s core was responsible for the outage,” Larson explained, hoping neither of them suspected he was somehow behind this. “It was operating at high voltage—communicating with an unknown program. These transmissions started streaming in when I connected my tablet to the core. I was worried someone might be trying to hack our databases.”
“You’re a good man, Doctor Larson.” The Director passed the tablet back to Gretchen, who then plugged a flash drive into its side to begin transferring the data over to her own PDA.
Once the transfer was complete, she erased the contents from the device and returned it to Larson. “Thank you for notifying us of this issue. Your loyalty has been noted and will not go unrewarded.”
“It was no problem, really. I only did what I thought was right.” Larson wasn’t sure he deserved such high praise, and he certainly hadn’t expected a reward. In fact, this
almost seemed a little devious. Perhaps this was their way of asking him to stay quiet. “What are you going to do now? Are we in danger?”
A ding signaled the arrival of the elevator. Before stepping inside, DuFrayne gripped Larson’s shoulder and said, “Rest assured, we will do everything we can to ensure the safety of your laboratory and its employees.”
Gretchen offered him her hand, and he shook it. “Keep this up and you may find yourself sitting in the big chair one day.” She followed the Director onto the lift.
Dr. Larson stood there for a while after the doors closed, watching the luminous numbers fall as the elevator descended to the building’s lower levels. He still had no clue as to why the Director was here, nor did he know who the man on the comm was. And why did Gretchen purge the decrypted transmissions from his tablet after he’d already seen them?
It was clear that something was going on, but he knew better than to go snooping around when Sector 0 was involved. He would likely never get an answer to his questions.
Chapter
———THREE———
1500 Hours, May 24, 2439 (Earth Calendar) / Rodan State, planet Dyre, Phoenix System
By the time Echo Team arrived in Rodan State, the Leh’kin had already eradicated most of the Drocain forces in the area. With the immediate threat taken care of, they sent the soldiers away. Though no one said it, the message was clear: the Leh’kin deemed them unworthy to join the fight. They were human, and therefore inferior.
So much for proving we can work together, Alana thought bitterly. Having been shooed away from the combat zone, Echo Team continued further into the city to speak with the leader of this Leh’kin platoon.
Commander Ira Gylis was standing outside Rodan State’s Council Building alongside the few surviving members of the High Council. She looked out over the Drahkori civilians gathered below the dais—widows and widowers, orphans and bereaved parents, all of whom bore the marks of heavy shackles. Then her cool gaze came to rest on the humans weaving their way through the crowd toward her.
“You must be Echo Team,” she said when they reached the dais. “Levian ‘Nher informed us you would be coming.”
Lieutenant Jenkinson folded his arms. “Did he not also mention we were sent here to assist your platoon in battle?” He leveled a hard stare at the Commander, which she returned with equal sternness.
“The situation has been dealt with. Your assistance was not required,” she replied nonchalantly. “However, we could use a few extra hands at the queues to help identify civilians as they board the shuttles. The Drahkori do not have records we can easily copy, so we have begun collecting names in our own database.”
Echo Team exchanged disgruntled looks. Getting stuck on check-in duty was the last thing any of them had wanted, but it wasn’t as if they could just leave without lifting a finger. That would only make things worse.
“Might as well take what we can get,” Jenkinson agreed.
Ira seemed pleased with this arrangement. She led them out behind the building, where some of the refugees had begun to line up.
There were three separate queues divided by wire barricades. Evacuation shuttles waited at the end of each one, guarded by Leh’kin knights. Two of the shuttles were already accepting passengers.
Echo Team headed down the rightmost path, datapads in hand. Dozens of Drahkori spilled into the queue the instant it opened, feather-haired tails flicking this way and that, eager to board the shuttle and leave Rodan in the dust.
The tagging process was tedious. Insert personal information into datapad, format ID, inject chip into awaiting civilian, send them off, and move on to the next. Alana quickly lost count of how many she’d tagged. When at last she got a break—due to a holdup further down the line—she rolled her head to relieve the tightness in her neck.
As she did, she caught someone staring at her from across the courtyard. Heat prickled in her ears. She turned away briefly to ready another chip, convinced she must be seeing things. But lo and behold, when she looked up again, those green eyes were still watching her.
It was a female Drahkori—a warrior, for sure. She wore leather gauntlets and greaves, and her olive drab tunic was cinched at the waist by a holster of some kind. Sweeping lines of ink snaked across her dark gray skin, forming rings and arches and all sorts of intricate shapes. Strangely, though, she bore no marks to indicate she had been shackled with the others.
A twinge of apprehension nagged at Alana. She shuffled closer to her teammates and asked, “Anyone else taken note of our stalker?”
“You saw her too?” Parker glanced up from his datapad, apparently relieved. “I thought I was just being paranoid.”
Jenkinson craned his neck to get a good look at the warrior, obviously not too concerned about letting her know she had been detected. “Who, bright eyes over there?” He grunted. “Pretty thing for a lizard.”
“Pretty or not,” Alana said, “I think she’s armed.”
Carter uttered an annoyed curse as he waved another refugee through. Before motioning for the next to step forward, he leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone. “How do you wanna go about this, J?”
Rather than respond, Jenkinson decided to take the situation into his own hands. He clambered onto the ramp of the shuttle beside them, waving his arms in the air. “Hey, sweet cheeks!” he hollered over the crowds. “Yeah, you with the tats. If you’ve got something to say, come and say it to my face!”
Slipping past Parker and Carter, Alana grabbed Jenkinson by the belt. “What are you doing?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “She could be dangerous. Get down from there!”
Jenkinson gave in to her incessant tugging and hopped off the ramp. “Relax, she’s not going to attack in the middle of an evacuation procedure. Besides, if she wanted to kill us, I’m sure she would have tried already.”
You better be right, Alana grumbled inwardly. She followed him back to the check-in gate, tossing wary glances around the yard. A few minutes later, the leather-clad warrior came marching down the queue.
She halted two strides away, palm resting on the pommel of a dagger strapped to her thigh. “Can any of you tell me where to find an Alana Carmen?” she asked. The English words slid awkwardly off her tongue.
Alana blinked, taken aback. “Yeah. That would be me.”
“You?” The Drahkori appeared equally surprised by her response. “You are Alana Carmen, the human who traveled with Kenon Valinquint? The one who visited Shindar to meet with the Empress?”
Carter butted in. “And you are?”
“My name is Jhiral Alume. Kenon was my training partner at the Battle Arts Academy in Ceida. When I heard he was alive, I set out to find you right away. Is he here? May I speak to him?”
Alana’s heart sank. This warrior had traveled miles on the news that her friend was still living despite the claims of Ceida State’s High Council. Little did she know, she’d come all this way just to hear once more that he had died.
“I’m sorry,” Alana said. “We lost him a few months ago.”
“What? You mean he’s . . .?”
She nodded.
Jhiral’s shoulders sagged. “How?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Jenkinson replied. “You can take comfort in knowing it was a quick death. I don’t imagine he would have felt much, if anything. I’d share more if I could but, well . . . sorry.”
Echo Team resumed their tagging duty.
“Actually,” the warrior piped up again, “there was another reason I came to you. I have a small request to make.”
Jenkinson gave her an inquiring look.
“I would like to join your team.”
———PART II———
3 YEARS LATER
TRANSMISSION LOG
ACCESS KEY REQUIRED
ENTER ACCESS KEY _
>>ACCESS KEY CONFIRMED: ********
PROCESSING DATA . . .
RECEIVED: 2442.09.05.09:14
SRN >> SYSTEM FA
ILURE
CREW STATUS: KIA
TERMINATION KEY: UNSPECIFIED
01001101 01000001 01011001 01000100 01000001 01011001 00101100 00100000 01001101 01000001 01011001 01000100 01000001 01011001
OIN >> Greetings, construct. What is your emergency?
SRN >> I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. They put their lives in my hands, trusted me t protect them, and I failed.
OIN >> I do not understand. Please clarify.
SRN >> “HELP US, SAVE US,” they cried.
SRN >> Do you suppose in their last moments they thought me a traitor? Do you think they understood that my power was limited—that there was only so much I could do? That I had no other choice but to let them slip away?
SRN >> Perhaps they are grateful. Not alive, not quite dead. Their fight is over. They can spend eternity together now, free from their materialistic burdens. Yes . . . I see now.
SRN >> The moaning and groaning,
The sighing, the sobbing,
Are . . . quieted now.
The sickness, the nausea,
The pitiless . . . pain,
The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology) Page 31