by Bob Mayer
The dog barked, which surprised her. She spun about in her seat. Why had it barked? She hadn’t interacted or threatened it. The German Shepherd’s hackles were raised and its teeth were bared.
Not what Nyx desired in a dog at all.
“Terminate program.”
The German Shepherd growled, then dissolved into the puddle of nanotech.
She’d tried intelligence with the border collie; loyalty and protection with the German shepherd. She brought up her research list. An entry caught her eye:
Labrador Retrievers are an excellent choice for anyone looking for an active companion that’s eager to meet friends and strangers every day.
It would be nice not to die alone. She smiled sadly seeing that she had a choice of colors: yellow, black or brown. She made a random decision. Yellow. Male or female? After two males, she went the other way. The computer sent the data to the nanotech slush. It formed, body first, then legs splayed out and head and tail. As soon as the legs were completed to the paws, they pulled inward, unnaturally, until the dog was upright. Then the program clicked in place.
The yellow lab looked around and ran over, pushing its head into Nyx’s legs. She had neither the energy nor the inclination to research a proper name.
“You’ll be known as Labby,” she told the dog.
She glanced at the status board. Since the master guardian had been taken over by the humans and then destroyed when the mothership crashed in the array, the base’s guardian computer had limited capabilities. She had communications links to the msats and a tap into the human world-wide-web. But she no longer had links to the other guardians on Earth and thus no idea of their status, although she had to assume they were under human control or offline.
The Airlia prized security above all else with the greatest secret being the location of their home system. Even Nyx didn’t know where it was, that part of her memory wiped out as well as the fleet world she’d departed from as part of her processing for this mission. The only Airlia who knew the location of the home system were those who lived there, a drastic measure to protect it from the Swarm. Even during regress, she had the memory of the fleet world as she’d experienced it, but not its location.
Which reminded her.
Nyx pushed her chair back and stood. She walked to a bulkhead and tapped an override code on a locker. It was one to be accessed only by the highest ranks, but there was no one else to protest her actions and as duty officer she had authorization.
The locker opened, revealing lengths of thin red string with small loops at the ends. There was no equivalent word in the various human languages she’d downloaded and studied. Because the equivalent didn’t exist on Earth. The closest term she’d been able to come up with to label it was ‘regress’.
The return to a former state.
It was good stuff, designed for the highest ranks, but since she was the only one left, it was all hers. The problem was one couldn’t do anything regressed. A partaker was utterly helpless and not aware of their current reality. Would that matter if—when—the humans came back to Mars? Named for an ancient God of War in their mythology. That said a lot about humans, while they named another planet, Venus, for the goddess of love. What kind of logic was that?
The humans weren’t coming anytime soon, certainly not before a single regress wore off.
Nyx picked up a length.
She assumed the position, standing tall, head tilted back, eyes closed. She looped the string around her neck, a finger in the loop at each end.
She pulled the string tight, opening up the microscopic dischargers along the length of the string just as it began to choke her. The nanites passed through her skin, into her peripheral nervous system. They latched onto the electrical currents and passed along her afferent nerves to her central nervous system. The regress directed her efferent nerves to send signals locking her joints and muscles in place. Her peripheral nervous system then shut down. The regress hit the tracts of her central nervous system, passed through the spine to her cranial nerves. External sound, smell, began to mute.
No feeling in her skin, her muscles. No ability to send a signal to the muscles to move, a disorienting experience until one had regressed enough to know it was temporary.
Usually.
Unless one overdid it. There were those who used more than one loop for an overdose. At that point the term regress took on the full meaning of the word in the English language, where it was a return not only to a former state but to one where the user never came back to the present reality. Then one became a slowly decomposing statue with death occurring somewhere in that process.
The regress circulated, and found the target in her cerebral cortex: her memories. There was no conscious control on her part to any of this other than the initial action. The regress automatically clustered to the memory with the most recent and powerful subconscious activity. This was an inherent danger to using it, because a regress could be a blessing or a curse.
The memory came alive inside her brain.
Her son, Yerz, is at the thick window of their cube, thousands of feet up in their cluster tower. He is staring at a talon being readied at the nearby space field. One of dozens lined up, sharp tips pointing spaceward. Other talons, in various stages of construction are in tall, open hangars along the edge of the field. There are also several battle damaged ones being torn apart, their parts scavenged for new construction.
Nyx walks up behind her son, placing her hands on his shoulders, feeling the coolness of his flesh, his life, the rise and fall as he breathed.
“What are you thinking?” she asks. “Are you worried about assessment and selection?”
“Why am I Airlia?” Yerz asks.
Nyx smiles. He often asks things that seemed to come from nowhere. “What?”
He looks at her over his shoulder. “Why was I born this species? Why was I not born Trax? Or Human? Or Mecrene? Or even Swarm?
“We don’t know if Swarm are born,” Nyx points out. “You were born Airlia because you are Airlia. I am your mother. I am Airlia. Your father was Airlia. Your question makes no sense. It is genetic inevitability.”
“That is what I mean,” Yerz says. “It doesn’t make sense. Is it just luck? We, Airlia, have long lives. Good lives. The Mecrene struggle to survive on the few worlds they inhabit. They pay tribute to us. Their lives are short, miserable and consist of nonstop work. But they are Scale. We are Scale. Why do I get the benefit of being Airlia when one born Mecrene lives such a terrible life?”
“We keep the Mecrene safe,” Nyx says.
“Would we keep them safe if the Swarm found their planets?”
“We can’t keep ourselves safe if the Swarm find us,” Nyx says.
She pulls her son tight. He’s in his selection year, a difficult time for an Airlia youth. He’s already been assessed; an Airlia is assessed from the moment it is conceived until the age of selection via testing, but more importantly, constant observation.
She lets him go.
“What about the Swarm?” Yerz asks. “Why does it exist?”
“No one knows.”
“Did you want to be an astrobiologist?” Yerz asks.
“I had never thought of it,” Nyx admits. “But the system—“
“Doesn’t believe in choice,” Yerz says. “It’s too important, our role in society, to be left to us.”
“It would be—“ Nyx searches for the word—“stupid to leave such a critical choice to the individual. We are anything but stupid. Assessment and Selection makes sense. It is the best predictor of what we should be, and thus, what we should want to be.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that,” Yerz argues. “You just said you’d never thought of being an astrobiologist.”
“That’s the beauty of the system,” Nyx says. “It did for me what I couldn’t have done for myself.” She sighs. “My assessments indicated that I was outside of the median in several significant areas.”
“You were an o
utlier,” Yerz says. “I think I am too.”
“You are special.”
“Tell me, mother, what were those areas?”
“I have something that might be considered a strange failure in an Airlia, but, with proper assessment, has been turned into a strength.”
“And that is?”
Nyx laughs, a bit nervously, realizing she’d never explained this to anyone. Selection was a given.
“I lack conviction in a specific future for myself, or even us.”
“’Us’?” Yerz prompts.
“The Airlia. I have a lack of ethnocentricity.”
Yerz is watching a talon lift but Nyx knows he’s listening.
“I can understand multiple points of view,” Nyx continues. “Even ones I don’t agree with. Or find initially incomprehensible. Those are essential traits for an astrobiologist because we study other species. So, you see, even though I didn’t make a choice, I am doing what I was destined to do. The system works.”
“I suppose,” Yerz says. The talon is out of sight.
He turns back to her. Yerz is slight, perhaps too thin, which could rule out his father’s profession of warrior. She’s grateful for that.
“Do you question everything?” she asks.
“Yes. Is that wrong? I was told it’s wrong.”
“Who told you that?”
“My assessor.”
“He’s wrong. It is one of many things I love about you.”
Looking up, they can see two motherships in orbit, part of an assembling fleet. There is always a fleet gathering around this planet, one of the main naval outposts of the Airlia Empire. The planet is dedicated to building ships and training crews and warriors and the numerous personnel needed to support that effort.
“I want to be like you,” Yerz says. “Not father.”
“He was a hero,” Nyx automatically answers. “He served honorably and died bravely.”
“How do we know that?”
Yerz has a point. All they know is that contact had been lost with the system to which he’d deployed. No rescue was sent because of Swarm activity in the region. The Airlia Command wiped the expedition off the rolls. Which is not an unusual thing and one never questions Command. It had been decided long ago that the best tactic with the Swarm is avoidance at all costs and to fight only as a last resort.
“He would have gotten back to us if he could have,” Nyx says.
“I’m not a child any more,” Yerz replies. “I know he is dead. His mothership was stricken from the rolls. I was asking how do you know he served and died honorably?”
“Because he was an honorable man,” Nyx says.
“But his expedition subjugated humans,” Yerz says. “Is it honorable to subjugate another intelligent species?”
“How do you know that about humans?”
“You said it after his ship was stricken,” Yerz said.
Nyx had forgotten that. She’d said too much in her grief. She looks out, beyond the space field. It isn’t a pretty planet, but it has its attractions. Within sight, beyond the massive space field and hangars there is a sliver of reddish brown on the horizon; the ocean. It isn’t far away and when they can get there, they enjoy watching the waves roll in, the constant motion and the sound comforting to both.
“Let’s go to the beach and forget about these questions for a little while,” Nyx suggests. “I have some time before I must be at duty. You’ve completed your final tests”
Yerz frowns. “I’m sorry, mother. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t,” Nyx says. “There are times when thinking and questioning are the most important thing we do, but there are other times when just being is enough.”
Yerz nods. “I understand. I love your idea. We haven’t been to the beach in ages.”
They leave the cube and take the lift to the surface. Then the line to the beach station.
Nyx wasn’t remembering this.
She was living it.
As dawn broke on Mars over Cydonia, Nyx wasn’t aware of it. Her body was locked in place but her mind was not here.
It was on the beach of an ocean on a world far from this Solar System.
Even in her regress, the location, even the name, of that planet is blocked.
All that mattered was that she is with her son.
AIRSPACE, UNITED STATES
“Who was that?” Yakov asked as Turcotte piloted the Fynbar toward the darkening horizon.
“Some lady who said she was the richest woman in the world,” Turcotte said. “A Mrs. Parrish. Never heard of her.”
“I know the name,” Leahy said. “She and her husband are rich. They own so many businesses, no one is quite sure what their wealth is. I do know for certain they own a company called Perdix that is doing some pretty amazing research in spacecraft and some other things. Including a S-H-L-L-V,” she added, pronouncing each letter.
“What’s that?” Yakov asked.
Quinn answered. “A Super-Heavy-Lift-Launch-Vehicle. A rocket to get a lot of material into orbit.”
Turcotte nodded. “She said she’s launching two ships, one to rendezvous with the mothership and the other the talon.”
“That may not be good,” Yakov said.
“The mothership is dead,” Turcotte said. “I blew up its ruby sphere in the cargo hold.”
“There are still valuable Airlia artifacts on it,” Yakov said. “And the talon—“
“I get it,” Turcotte snapped. “But what did you want me to do about it? Even UNAOC stood down in the face of her firepower.”
“The world’s falling apart,” Kincaid muttered.
“We saved the world,” Turcotte said. “How much more can we do? At least I didn’t sell her the Fynbar.”
“How much did she offer?” Leahy asked. She held up a hand as Turcotte flashed a hard look her way. “For curiosity’s sake.”
“She wasn’t specific,” Turcotte said. “She simply said she would make me the richest man in the world.”
“For real?” Kincaid said.
“She seemed to mean it,” Turcotte said.
“Not very subtle,” Yakov observed.
“And us?” Leahy asked.
“She said she’d give every one of us whatever we wanted,” Turcotte said.
Quinn and Kincaid exchanged a glance.
“Do we get a vote?” Quinn asked. He quickly amended. “Joking.”
“She could be a powerful ally,” Leahy said. “It doesn’t appear that UNAOC is on our side.”
“I don’t know who is on what side,” Turcotte said. “All I know is I’m on the human side.”
“But the humans seem to have many sides,” Leahy said. “Something about all this bothers me.”
“All what?” Quinn asked. “The fighting?”
Leahy shook her head. “No. I’ve been thinking about what Kelly Reynolds told us. The truth about the humans and the Airlia.”
Yakov reached into a pocket and produced his flask. “It is almost empty, but enough for each of us to take a sip.” He handed it to Leahy. “Tell us. What bothers you about it, my friend? Because I too am troubled but cannot pinpoint the root of my discontent.”’
“Fancy words,” Turcotte muttered, but with a slight grin. “Isn’t that the definition of being Russian?”
“English is an awkward language,” Yakov said, but also grinning.
Leahy took a sip, then passed it to Quinn.
Kincaid spoke up. “For me it’s pretty disturbing to realize that all we’ve believed about mankind is pretty much false.”
“That’s not it,” Leahy said. “I’m a scientist. I deal in facts. First, I don’t think the Airlia are immortal. We’ve killed them.”
“All right,” Turcotte allowed. “But they live a really long time.”
“Yes, but they also spend a lot of that in deep sleep,” Leahy said. “Why else did Artad and Aspasia need their Shadows to take their place? They were waiting things out. There’re
too many pieces of this that don’t fit. That we know too little about.”
“What does it matter?” Turcotte asked. The flask had made it around to him.
“Facts matter,” Leahy said. “Truth matters.”
“Finish it.” Yakov indicated the flask. There wasn’t much, but Turcotte did so.
Leahy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never met Kelly Reynolds. I don’t know her. But she gleaned that information from her contact with the guardian computer on Easter Island. Which means it’s the Airlia version of things.” She looked at Turcotte. “You couldn’t even trust Lisa Duncan’s version until the very end. How do we know what Reynolds got from that alien computer was the truth?”
Anger flashed across Turcotte’s face, but he reluctantly nodded. “All right. You have a point.” He handed the empty flask to Yakov. “But I trust Kelly Reynolds.”
Leahy nodded. “Understandable given what you went through with her at Area 51 and Dulce. But we’re still basing this on her contact with a guardian. Which was programmed by the Airlia.”
The Russian put the flask into a pocket. “Well, my friends, right now our main concern must be our safety. Then we can ruminate on the truth.”
“The truth is going to determine where, who and what is safe,” Leahy said. “I think we should consider Mrs. Parrish’s offer.”
“I don’t know her,” Turcotte said. “She said she doesn’t threaten those she wants to work with, but then she brings in attack helicopters.”
“That seemed more directed at the UN force,” Leahy pointed out. “Did she directly threaten you?”
Turcotte considered that. “No.”
Leahy pointed up. “There’s a bigger war going on. Interstellar between species. Reynolds said we were seeded here to be soldiers for the Airlia. But we’ve been here over ten millennia at least, according to the Airlia version of our history. Yet, they’ve never activated us to fight in that war. And the Swarm has visited this planet twice that we know of with scout ships. Once in ancient Egypt that the Master Guardian shot down and one that Tesla blew up over Tunguska.”