by Jack Adams
Reaching for Redemption
Prologue – Fight/Flight
Never trust an AI, Jack Finder thought, ever since I bought the Ace of Spades, I told myself I wouldn't trust an AI.
“Jack, another pirate craft is in pursuit of us. You will have to improve your piloting in order to evade them,” a hollow synthetic, but whimsical, almost warm voice sounded.
“Thanks, Ephemris.” Finder sarcastically murmured. He sat in a violently vibrating pilot seat at the forefront of once sleek starliner, but now just a patched and jury-rigged shadow of its former glory. The rickety, twilight craft sped past an ancient, hulking scrap of warped metal three times the size of the Ace, which represented only the fragmentary remains of the larger spacecraft they were once apart of. All around Jack, in fact, were the floating remains of innumerable spacecraft remains, flammable molecular clouds, dense packs of micro debris, accompanied by occasional arcs of fierce plasma. The entire region ominously felt like a mist covered graveyard suspended in zero gravity.
Sepulcher Point was aptly named.
Finder flipped a series of switches and pulled on his crafts throttle as he brought the Ace about to engage his pursers. As the lead craft closed in on him it fell nicely into the twin reticules projected on his targeting screen. The twin icons honed in on the pirate vessel accompanied by a series of pleasant blops as the combat sensors locked in on aggressor. A loud beep sounded and Finder gleefully pulled his warhead trigger, only to find to reaction. No flash of light as his missile launched from the cone of his craft, no tracking tone to indicate the warheads progress before it annihilated its target, nothing. Finder scrambled to find the cause for the perplexing situation only to find none. With a roll of his eyes he started “Ephemris, what have you-”
“I've locked up the weapon systems.”
“Why?!” Finder roared.
“We're being pursued by three Soulreaver-type pirate vessels. There's a ninety-six percent chance we'll be destroyed, and that's something I'm not will subject us to that kind of risk.”
“You're concern is note worthy.” Finder grumbled as he returned the Ace to its flight path.
“You're welcome, but again I recommend you improve your flying to evade being-”
“Got it, Ephemris.” Finder interrupted as he maximized the crafts acceleration. Then with renewed irritation and focus he added, “And Ephemris this wouldn't have happened if you has scanned maintained a constant scan on the perimeter like I told you to, while I went for a salvage space walk. Increase forward longwave scanner range to detect debris.”
“It isn't my fault the sensors on this craft need to be upgraded,” the AI retorted, almost with a hint of sass. “Longwave scan augmentation complete.”
What kind of support AI, Finder mused as his eyes flitted from one screen to another, absorbing all of the various environmental data reports within moments, endeavors to take actions which threaten to kill its pilot?
“Even with out current rate of speed, the pirates will catches us in ninety seconds. What do you plan to do, Captain?” Finder's eyes swept back and forth across his instrument readouts. As his hands tightened even more over his controls he noticed his knuckles whiten and arms beginning to perspire. Somewhere there had to be a window to escape this ever tightening bind.
“Captain, if they have standard warheads, they will be able to target us in eighty- seconds. Forty-if they have far-klick ordinance. What are you going to do?” Ephemris asked with a tinge of human-like concern and anxiety. Finder looked again and again at the environmental analysis' before him, until...there.
“Got it,” Finder exclaimed with jubilation. “Get ready Ephemris, this will be close.”
“Captain, based on your adjusted trajectory we will enter a plasma storm in twenty-six seconds.”
“You go it.” Finder's eyes gleaned with an unusual flash of excitement, something which hearkened back to a time when he was respected among human space, when he was a Vigilant, when he was both chronologically and psychologically young. And young people loved to take substantive risks.
“Jack, if we enter the storm there is a sixty-two percent chance we will be severely damaged by the storm given your standard piloting performance. On top of that there's a nineteen percent chance we'll be destroyed.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ephemris,” Finder quipped as the main viewer displayed the roiling cloud of ionized gas in front of the Ace.
“I do not recommend you do this.” The emotional twinge of concern returned to Ephermis' synthetic vocalizations.
“You've locked me out of the weapon system, and we can't outrun them, this is the only we've got left. Or are you going to cut the engines too?”
“Jack, don't be absurd. That would almost certainly result in our destruction.”
“Then let me do this,” Finder grunted as he flipped the Ace into a dime-turn maneuver past two columns of crackling plasma. Within just a few meters the Ace of Spades narrowly missed being fried by arcs of electrical gas. Finder noted the aft visual sensor displayed the trio of pirate vessels closing closer and close, until a white flash engulfed the entire screen.
“Ephemris analyze.”
“The two plasma funnels seem to have erupted, and based on the wreckage the three pirate spacecraft are all destroyed.” Ephemris reported in her typical neutral tone. Finder smiled in satisfaction and wiped a few beads of perspiration from his forehead.
“Well, what do you think, Ephe? Regret your decision about keeping me from using weapons?” Finder asked as his face lit up in a glow. There were days he didn't always regret retaining Ephemris as the Ace's AI when he purchased the starcraft. In times like this, of narrowly escaping peril he typically held this sentiment. But today was not one of those days.
“No, I most certainly do not,” Ephemris began. “This was an expressly ill-advised...” Finder rubbed his temple as Ephemris droned on with a long list of only vaguely constructive criticisms and general complaints.
Never, ever trust an AI.
Chapter 1 – Analytical Exegesis
In less than a century Citadel Gaze had developed an unusual fascination.
To a machine ninety-four was not at all a considerable amount of time. In fact, in this particular region of space legions of machines had endured for a time longer than most alien civilizations had existed. In the time primitive races rose up out of the muck on their homeworlds, risen to magnanimous glory, and either died from self-inflicted corruption or spread out into the bright stars only to be hunted by ancient interstellar peril, the machines of Klubinidi maintained a constant vigil on their appointed stars.
At the systems center shown Klubin, an only slightly unique star which immigrant races would consider to be a bright beacon of hope in a bleak universe. Closest to it orbited Vincinal, a barren, but special, rocky world which, unbeknowst to almost all, held the key to salvation. After that was another planet, Outbound, a constantly shifting planet which seemed both inviting and threatening to all living beings who would see it. The world was surrounded by the greatest concentration of machines in the entire system, guarding the planet from any beings who would attempt to settle it, save only their long-absent creators. If machines were capable of grasping the concept of sanctity they would express it in a single word: Outbound.
Beyond this world, drifted Nestle, a massive ball of gas which cradled dozens of moons and moonlets, many of which seemed curiously capable of supporting a wide range of intelligent organisms. On these worlds lay dormant machines which, upon activation, could drastically alter the environment of the moon they rested on.
Within the last few centuries the machines had witnessed a number of races enter their space in desperate sear
ch of sanctuary. The Faux, the Ophidian, the Hyla, the Stanchion, all of them differing greatly in their biology, in their culture, in their technological prowess, but all of them fleeing the same threat: the dreaded Imperil. For eons the Imperil roamed the stars annihilating everything living they found, reducing once great species into nothing but dust to be scattered by stellar wind. From a distance the machines of Kludindi witnessed this, safe ultimately only because of the curious, faint radiation emitted by the Klubin suns.
Ninety-four years prior, a most recent and unusual species entered the Klubindi system. Unlike most of the systems inhabitants they walked on two legs: the Humans. Unlike the other races, they were not permitted to settle a moon around Nestle, instead they huddled in makeshift habitats, outcast even from a society of interstellar refugees. The other races consider humanity to be pariahs, a species ill-equipped to contribute to Klubindi society and too weak to fight the Imperil should they invade.
However, in the ninety-four years it had observed them, Citadel Gaze found the Humans to be the most intriguing. Despite being hounded by the Imperil, shunned by the other Klubindi, and bereft of an adopted homeworld they had remained surprisingly resilient. Using their own ships and scraps of minerals they constructed modest, but still admirable habitats in the same orbital plane as Nestle. If only at the fringes, the Humans still managed to trade with the other races, occasionally garner some influence in interplanetary affairs, even win permission in select cases to co-mingle with the other aliens. Despite their unusual appearance, it was their tenacity and ingenuity perhaps, that reminded Citadel Gaze of its creators, the great Apocryph. Perhaps also, it was that same quality which might make them worthy to rise from their status of mediocrity and rally the other races to the greatness once destined for the Apocryph.
Given the fact that one of the Humans had recently discovered the Echoshard, it was a very real, however remote, possibility. Perhaps know there may be a reason to hold out for hope after so many centuries of waiting.
Chapter 2 – Sojourner's Start
Twenty-one was a big number than most people think it is.
Far above the bright red hydro-helium gas clouds of Nestle's south pole, Terminus Station was positioned, in geosynchronous orbit. From the right angle the station seemed to be caught between a swirling vortex on the planet comprised of a massive tornado storm and the dark, bleakness of barren space in the opposite direction. Destruction or despair, and in the middle Terminus, the intersection between two abysmal outcomes.
Gazing listlessly out a window into the blue-black of interstellar space, Jack Finder sat at a bar table nursing a particularly stiff Elderfashioned. While not particularly shady the bar the man sat in had all of the hallmark appearances of a once proud establishment. The tables and chairs were made of sturdy materials but had fallen into despair after years of neglect. Many of the lights which illuminated the pub had been allowed to burn out without being replaced. Finder thought that this establishment was perhaps the best place for him to drink in. Something about the decaying atmosphere reminded him so much of himself.
Finder swirled the slowly melting ice in his glass as the gin mildly dulled his sharp mind. This was his fifth drink, and should be sufficient, he had thought, to bring his mind to in some way, any way palliate the immense sensation swirling through his mind. At the very least he was hoping to remove the wretched number which had made a haunt of his head: twenty-one.
Twenty-one, the atomic number of scandium. The primary metal which composes the alloy coating on the armor of his ship.
Twenty-one, the highest-winning value in blackjack. Formerly, Finder's favorite game to play with friends.
Twenty-one, the parts per hundred of alcohol molecules in his drink. Too much alcohol to enjoy, but not enough to forget.
Twenty-one, the age of maturity in modern human culture. The same age Finder was promoted to the coveted position of Vigilant.
Twenty-one, the percentage of human race he allowed to die.
“Vigilant Jack Finder?” a woman's voice asked from behind Finder. His ears pricked up and his stomach turned slightly at the sound of his name being associated with that particular title.
“Just Finder,” he responded in a slow drawl.
“Captain Finder then,” the voice followed as its owner approached him. Finder turned his head for a moment to observe the speaker, and much to his surprise it, rather she, was human. Specifically, a woman, and a fairly young one with a bounce in her step and a bright smile on her face, but a sharpness to her eyes that suggested she held a fierce determination which was motivated by something deep. It had been a long time since Finder had worked with another human before. In fact, it had been a long time since he had spoken to one. Even so, in the mood he was in he normally brush her off, even if she was a prospective client. However, her intriguing face, her curious disposition, and most enticing of all the fact that she apparently knew who he was and his shameful past and still wanted to associate with him anyway, made Finder change his mind.
“Just Finder,” he reiterated as he tossed the remains of his drink around in his glass, acting is if he were nearly unaware of the woman next to him. While his attitude was in part due to Finder already being in a contemplative mood, it was also born of uneasiness. It had been, after all, several years since he had talked to another human being.
“My name is Carlina Jubilant. I was the person who had messaged you about a particularly...perilous job.” She continued with a slight pause in her voice which suggested she intended to test Finder's resolve, courage, and general interest.
“Oh, you're her, huh,” Finder responded, still maintaining an air of indifference. “What am I carrying and where to?”
“Me,” she replied as she took a seat next to him. From the corner of his eye Finder noticed that the woman was clearly smiling, but her grin seemed to be a veil, a mask that seemed to project an emotional barrier that concealed enormous sorrow. In fact, Finder was certain that's what it was. He was so used to wearing the same social camouflage himself.
“You?” Finder replied, almost with a pique of interest. “And where are you going?”
“A series of places all over the Inner Worlds,” Jubilant answered. “The first is Nubilous, the others will be revealed to you when I deem it necessary.” Finder nearly choked on his drink as Jubilant finished speaking, recovered with a hard swallow and let out a soft chuckle.
“Ma'am, just so I understand correctly, you want me to take you to not only one of the Nestle Inner worlds, but one of the most guarded Inner World, forbidden to humans without telling me where else, I'm to take you?”
“I'm sure there are ways of convincing a man of your profession to take certain risks,” Jubilant said confidently as she produced a card and placed it face down on the table.
“This is not an issue of payment, lady. I need to know why I'm carrying you to Nubilous, and more importantly why I'm not privy to where else we are going.” Before she answered, Finder noticed a slight fade in Jubilant's confidence.
“I'm not entirely sure where we are going after that.”
“And why not?” Finder rhetorically asked as he pushed Jubilant's slip back at her.
“Because we'll get more instructions as to where else to go once we get to Nubilous.”
“Who from?”
“A marker...of sorts,” Jubilant answered. She noticed the faint pique of interest in his eye as she responded. Perhaps it really wasn't about the money or the nature of her journey, but instead the possibility of excitement and adventure that would motivate Finder's participation. Perhaps also, not all gray traders are motivated exclusively by money as she had once thought. Jubilant slowly pushed the note back towards him and continued, “we're going to Nubilous unscheduled and without clearance in order to locate an artifact, one which will put us on a trajectory to locate the Seven Scepters.”
“Scepters? What do you mean?”
“The Seven Scepter once wielded by the Seven Queens of K
lubindi, the former rulers of this star system. You know the Apocryph, the first founders, the original settlers of Refuge.” Jubilant answered in enthusiastically. Unperturbed Finder followed, “and how do you know it's on that world? How do you know exactly where on Nubilous it is located?”
“I have another Aporyph artifact,” Jubilant said as she discretely pulled an object from her coat. The item was small, crystal-like in its appearance, but seemed to faintly pulse with energy. Finder's stone-cold face relaxed a bit and his right eyebrow unconsciously cocked. “This is the Echoshard, an Apocryph fragment, that I've spent months studying. I believe this will allow us to recover the Scepter's, which will in turn, once they are gathered, will allow us to gain access to Outbound. Now I'm sure you're wondering where I got this-”
“No, I'm not,” Finder interjected as he leaned in towards Jubilant and studied the shard. His gaze was steady and focused while his mind swirled with speculation and excitement. Finally something, some objective worth living for.
“What's your end goal?” Finder asked, as his gaze remained unbroken, fast fixed on the Echoshard. Jubilant looked around the station to verify no one appeared to be observing them. In a faint whisper she answered, “with the Seven Scepters in our possession we'll have the capacity to do what no being has done in the Refuge, ever. We'll have the capacity to settle the one world no one has ever set foot on: Outbound.” Jubilant stuffed the shard back into her coat and met Finder's gaze, “think about, we'll have a new home for humanity.”
For a moment Jubilant thought she had evoked a second emotional response from Finder, as his eyes appeared to light up with a mix of relief, hope, joy, and melancholy. However, as soon as that flash of sensation registered it vanished. Finder's serene and dispassionate visage returned as he set back into his chair, swirling the liquid remnants of his drink. For a spell he sat there contemplating, waiting for Jubilant to capitulate and say something. She was a good salesman, she didn't break.