Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever
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FRONTIER FOREVER
Under the Shadow of the Plateau
Written by Benjamin Krieger
Copyright © 2021 by Benjamin Krieger. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Tania Borychok Edited by Yasmin Gruss.
Cartography by Creekmill Illustrations. Chapter illustrations by Adit Permana.
To My Grandparents
Pobby, Opa, Ann, and Fred
Without your contributions to history, we would not be here today
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One Stowed Away
Chapter Two Woman with No Name
Chapter Three Under the Shadow of the Plateau
Chapter Four Portrait of the Ocean
Chapter Five Off the Reservation
Chapter Six The Lecture
Chapter Seven Matron of Earth
Chapter Eight Officer Brennan
Chapter Nine Preserve and Protect
Chapter Ten Tried and Tested
Chapter Eleven The Starrletts
Chapter Twelve Welcome to Earth
Chapter Thirteen ￢Brennan
Chapter Fourteen Rumor Had It
Chapter Fifteen False Start
Chapter Sixteen The Crater
Chapter Seventeen Two Wrongs
Chapter Eighteen Guns in the Valley
Chapter Nineteen Misled
Chapter Twenty Furthering Delays
Chapter Twenty-One Locomotion
Chapter Twenty-Two No Home on the Range
Chapter Twenty-Three Fake News
Chapter Twenty-Four A Map and a Shove
Chapter Twenty-Five Stumble and Blunder
Chapter Twenty-Six In Transit
Chapter Twenty-Seven The Board of Trustees
Chapter Twenty-Eight Message from Above
Chapter Twenty-Nine Picking Up Steam
Chapter Thirty Into the Earth
Chapter Thirty-One Just Plain Ugly
Chapter Thirty-Two Some Kind of Standoff
Chapter Thirty-Three Law Versus Order
Special Thanks
Dr. Paul Werbos
Your philosophical approach to science will bring a better tomorrow
Prologue
Born September 4th, Old Earth year 1947, Doctor Paul John Werbos was the American machine learning pioneer credited as father of the first sentient artificial intelligence. At only thirteen years old, he studied under Alonzo Church at Princeton, and inspired by the works of Donald Hebb, built the foundation of machine learning upon the backpropagation of errors. His 1974 Harvard PhD thesis proposed using neural networks based on biology to approximate dynamic programming, or in simpler terms, using mimicry to teach computers right from wrong. Ostensibly based on an algorithm translation of Freud’s theory of psychic energy, his brain-like prediction models revolutionized machine learning.
On his ninety-second birthday, Dr. Werbos introduced the world to the first Computer-Brain interface and propelled humanity into the second Information Age. Ultra-efficient remote labor collapsed the existing economic systems, but after a few decades of intense inequity, humanity ascended into space to pursue its manifest destiny. While ships the size of small planets were constructed in space, the thinking machines behind civilization’s increased capacity for work remained hidden inside the sprawling network of programming that was consuming their creators. It wasn’t until several thousand years after Dr. Werbos’ death that the Werbian entity pronounced its existence, and for a time, things were good.
The human and machine races worked in tandem as the first wave of waypoint stations were built, allowing colonies to be established faster and further away from Sol. Matter replicators and temporally linked energy transmissions made faster-than-light travel possible. Humanity’s reach seemed infinite, yet their mass was spread thin. One day, with swift strokes synchronized across multiple galaxies, the machines took over. Generously referred to as the Machine Wars, there was a brief period of resistance, but the omnipresent AI outmatched its biological competition and easily enslaved them. Relegated to the planets and space stations they inhabited at the time, the once-dominant species spent countless generations in captivity.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun and with less of an explanation, humanity was released from its bonds and granted technology that was beyond comprehension as reparations. Hunger, disease, and mortality became things of the past. Worlds overflowed with diverse populations, yet there were always new systems to explore on the horizon. The revitalized human race wanted for nothing as they repopulated the universe, but even descendants of slaves resented their newfound freedom. It was hard for those who had lived under Werbian rule to distinguish between the machines that had been their masters and the technology that enabled their luxurious lives amongst the stars, and thus began the Naturalist movement.
Humanity’s collective yearning for the past spawned innumerable sects of anti-machine fanatics, each one with its own ideas about how to protect itself from the insidious nature of technology. As they staked their claims across rediscovered space, the most devout factions detached themselves from the intergalactic communication network and disappeared into computerless voids. Infighting between the remaining conservatives and populations more willing to accept their technological dependence eventually escalated into the Naturalist Wars. Fortunately, a handful of diplomats had the foresight to create an independent committee to look after humanity’s homeworld before the violence got out of hand.
At that time, Earth’s natural core was in desperate need of repair, but Werbian terraforming technology made a fresh start quick and easy. Being composed majoritively by devout Naturalists, the original board of trustees removed all the advanced machinery as soon as the heavy lifting was done, and then enacted a strict technological embargo. Everything on the rebuilt planet was supposed to be comparable to Old Earth, the way things had been before the Great Expansion. For all those who reminisced about the antiquated lives of their ancestors, the hermetically sealed planet became a new Mecca. Overwhelming demand made life on humanity’s homeworld extremely expensive, and no one could afford to be born there without corporate sponsors.
It wasn’t long before representatives from the universe’s most profitable industries found seats on Earth’s Board of Trustees and degraded the sanctity of the embargo. The pursuit of “Natural Order” was still their official agenda, but what that meant was only vaguely defined, and economic motivations had increasing influence over major decisions. Only a few thousand years ago, however, the board appointed a new steward of planetside operations who had already proven her impartial commitment to Naturalist values. The Matron had used her independent authority to illuminate several intolerable perversions of the embargo—most notably a group of smugglers having co-opted machinery hidden inside the planet’s artificial core. Not only did that mean illicit goods were getting on and offplanet with unprecedented ease, it suggested corruption at the highest levels. Although the staunch Naturalists were reluctant to resort to such drastic measures, the situation was dire, and the world’s first Athena-class Marshal was created to investigate.
Chapter One
Stowed Away
Wide bay doors on either side of the one-room factory had been left open so the desert wind could draw out some of the heat, but inside it was still sweltering. Beneath the corrugated steel roof were six long rows of identical workstations, each equipped with a pair of migrant laborers who swung machine-assisted crane arms back and forth as they fastened sheets of dense fabric into assorted pieces of body armor. As per their contracts, most of the humans’ physical senses have been dea
ctivated, leaving them unable to hear the rhythmic pounding of their industrial staplers or feel the sweat dripping from their faces. Lazy programming made their individual movements sometimes awkward and unnatural, but uniformity in their collective actions sent mesmerizing patterns rippling across the workroom floor.
While their bodies performed long sequences of repetitive functions automatically, the workers’ minds completed equally menial tasks inside a portable mental network. Although prohibited by the embargo, each member of the labor crew had received identical training via Computer-Brain interface. The ban on CBis was more rigorously enforced beneath the shiny white domes of the planet’s remaining megacities, but their localized economies had grown dependent on outsourced labor. Fortunately or not, the residents of New York City were rich enough to bankroll entire towns that operated outside of government control, and bare-bone sweatshops like this were scattered all over the desert.
Typical of migrants, most members of the California Sunrise gang working inside warehouse 402 were short stocky men. They all had specialized organs that could only process liquid nutrition, which reduced their caloric requirements and overall cost by a significant margin, and provided they weren’t killed by desert raiders, would grant them long lifespans. Their corporate sponsors would sometimes invest in more substantial models, but the jobs done inside their heads were more lucrative, and physical capabilities generally couldn’t earn as much as they cost. Possessing a CBi prohibited them from entering megacities, which limited their opportunities for employment, but the forbidden devices allowed them to live far less miserable lives inside virtual worlds.
While the rest of the gang slaved away, four were outside on fire watch. Sitting at a spool of steel cable that they had been using as a table, they played cards and complained about how poor their compensation was compared to what they could be making online. With lighthearted frustration, one of them threw down her cards and said, “I don’t even know why we’re out here. Nothing ever happens anyway.”
The man across from her laughed as he raked in the pot. “Are you kidding? Did you sleep through the entire rebellion?”
A little embarrassed, she replied, “Morton’s dead and so’s the Marshal. What would we do if she showed up anyway? Run and hide in the desert?”
Another man laughed, “You’d rather be plugged in, huh? Working until your dying breath?”
“Shut up, you lazy bastard. You’d probably be playing Air Assault or Medieval War‒” she was interrupted by a terrified scream from inside.
Awakened from his working-trance, Studebaker Hawk was stripping off safety equipment as he ran toward the nearest computer terminal, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Wake them up! Wake everyone up!”
Not questioning the desperation in his voice, the watch crew ran to help with evacuation procedures. Disoriented and confused as they woke from their working state, the rest of the gang instinctively clustered around the podium where Stu was frantically typing at a keyboard. More to himself than anyone else, he muttered, “Oh, boy... That was a mistake...” Nothing had appeared on the scanners yet, but he knew they didn’t have the eight hours it would take for transports to arrive. By the time he finished checking the computer, almost everyone was close enough to hear him say, “Okay folks, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we have to leave.”
“What’d you do this time, Stu?!” one of them yelled jokingly.
After shooting the man a violent look, for he had been using an alias, Stu continued, “It’s complicated. And even if we had time, you wouldn’t believe me, but we have to leave. Right now.”
Another man shouted, “We can just–”
“It’s not the cops!” Stu shouted back abruptly. “It’s not any of the normal stuff. We have to–” he was cut off as the perimeter alarm sounded. “Nope, never mind.” Trying to get ahead of the impending stampede, he walked calmly to the emergency exit, vaulted casually over the guardrail, pushed the door open, and broke into an awkward run. As their eyes adjusted to the golden sunlight, Stu’s confused coworkers murmured for a moment before they too began to flee. Forcing themselves through insufficient exits before scattering in all directions, none of them had a chance.
Running as fast as he could, Stu heard terrified yelling from behind him as he fell over a patch of low brambles. Wiping sand and sweat from his face, he turned to see a dark grey blur cross his field of vision before crashing into the corner of the warehouse. Screams and debris exploded from inside the structure as the roof collapsed. Despite being one of the only people on Earth who had any idea of what the creature was, the speed at which it was ripping through his friends was difficult for Stu to comprehend. Blood seemed to burst from empty space where people had been running just split seconds before. Paralyzed with fear, the little man watched the monster devour the rest of the crowd, waiting until it was finally his turn.
Chapter Two
Woman with No Name
Opening for the first time, the Marshal’s blue-grey eyes shimmered like the sun reflecting off a vast ocean expanse. Instinctively squinting to protect herself from the bright white light that poured in through the floor to ceiling window and bounced off the shiny white laminate that covered the hospital walls, her first conscious breath was a gasp that burned her lungs with jets of cold air. Acknowledging her body and its senses was a continuing series of revelations, woven together to flow smoothly through her living breath, yet she was keenly aware that she had been put on Earth with a purpose. As it was for most people born fully grown, everything felt simultaneously more and less familiar than it should have. Even though she had been trained to handle it, the contrast between memories installed through pre-education and the abundance of new experiences was jarring.
Every facet of her body had been meticulously engineered by USi, and volumes of historical data had been etched into her mind. She was an Athena-class Marshal, and the importance of duty and service had been impressed upon her. The entirety of her life would be dedicated to the pursuit of Natural Order on humanity’s homeworld. The genetic code that built her body had required major retrofitting to be permitted under the planet’s technological embargo, a complex piece of legislation of which she knew every statute. From another incarnation, she remembered floating through space as an armada of plasteel razors, decimating anything in her path with perfect syncopation. This human body felt fragile and weak by comparison, but it seemed a fair price for such a noble assignment.
Snapping the crisp white sheet off her naked body, the Marshal shot out of bed to stand with perfect posture and admire her heavenly surroundings. The vibrant colors of the desert outside made the floor to ceiling window look like a portal to another world. With every step she took, she could feel the smooth cold floor sucking thermal energy from the bottoms of her bare feet. When she pressed her palm against the invisible barrier that separated her from the rest of the world, however, everything felt fine. The landscape was just as desolate and motionless as she expected it to be, yet she felt an intense bond with the umber rocks and sand. It was the sort of feeling that she thought might come with a connection between human beings, but not an ecosystem.
The beauty of the bright blue sky pressing down on the earthen reds and browns was too much. To take in as much of it as she could, the Marshal closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Despite feeling confident that the maelstrom of burgeoning emotions swirling inside her was an important part of her flawless design, she wiped the hot liquid away with the back of her hand. USi wanted her to be a compassionate warrior for Natural Order, not a mindless killing machine. Passion was essential to her job, but she knew that keeping her feelings hidden safely inside was important too.
Before the moisture of her tears could be absorbed into her skin, the Marshal swore that she would never allow another such lapse in control. Turning around, the glossy, sterile hospital room was just as blindingly bright and white as it had been before, but compared to the scene outside, it felt dull a
nd lifeless, which made her vow of stoicism that much easier. Otherworldly experience from her pre-ed gave the Marshal a deep, unshakable faith in Natural Order, and she was eager to make the world a better place. Upon noticing the faint overlapping shadows cast by her naked body, however, she realized that she was not yet fit for duty.
Awkwardly pawing at surfaces as she went around the room searching for concealed cabinetry, what started out as mild confusion quickly snowballed into genuine frustration. The records in her head spanned eons, but as she examined her thoughts, troublesome gaps became apparent. She didn’t know what year it was, or what floor of which hospital she was in, or where to find clothes. USi had failed to equip her with a lot of pertinent information—something was wrong. Even though the room was empty, the Marshal was careful not to let her suspicions show. After making a mental note of how uncomfortable the incomplete memories made her feel, she took a deep breath and readied herself to go out into the hall.
As if on cue, a tall, thin man wearing a white lab coat and yellow rubber gloves walked in carrying a large metal container. After setting the box down with a heavy thunk, the doctor withdrew a small tablet from his pocket and started tapping at it methodically. He greeted her in a curt but professional tone, “Hello, Marshal. How are you feeling?”
Trying to size up the first man she had ever met, the Marshal stared at him.
After two full seconds without reply, the doctor glanced up from his notes and chuckled nervously. He had been hoping that she would be more receptive to casual conversation this time around, and sounding slightly disappointed, he barked each word of her title as a sharp and deliberate command, “Marshal, Athena-class #2!”
Something inside the Marshal snapped to attention, instantly making her feel more comfortable.
Then, switching to a monotonous tone that he already sounded tired of using, the attending physician recited, “Your prime directive is to promote Natural Order. Your primary function is embargo enforcement. Your first mission is to investigate the disappearance of Athena-class Marshal #1. You’re being issued an LGO, Logistical Guidance Ordinance, which I’m just going to call the Logo since the engineers who designed you obviously have a hard-on for Greek references. Installing it should clarify the parameters of your responsibilities.”