by Ian Rodgers
“Very good. I have finished downloading the latest copy of the Intergalactic Shopper’s Guide provided by Crown Corp. for the beta-test. Please take a look.” Rob proceeded to emit a bright light from its ‘eye’ which coalesced into a flat, rectangular shape not unlike a large sheet of paper.
“So, this is the shopping catalog?” Zane inquired. In front of him was a large, holographic display being projected from Rob’s screen. Aside from the ethereal glow and the hovering nature, it looked like an ordinary webpage from the internet.
He ran a finger along the edge and watched as the image scrolled down, revealing more of the products being advertised.
“Indeed. As for interacting with it, the projector utilizes hard-light technology to create an interactive hologram. Treat it just like a touchscreen,” Rob explained.
“Neat. So, when I buy something, how long would it take for me to get it delivered?”
“For digital products like videos and music: Nine to eleven hours, local time. For physical materials: Depends.”
Zane nodded in understanding before he looked directly Rob. “By the way, I was curious as to how you’re able to receive any kind of information out here without a receiver. How strong a signal would you need to even broadcast so much information this far?”
“One of exceptional strength. Due to the immense distances involved in space the exo-net was designed to be beamed through several massive relays. Some solar systems have more than one if they have multiple inhabited worlds or a massive population.”
“Large? Like, Eiffel Tower large, or…” Zane asked as he looked through the holographic catalog.
“Entire moons have been converted into gargantuan, specialized broadcast systems that allow for immense amounts of data to be transmitted in mere minutes even across light years,” Rob revealed.
Zane choked on his surprised. “How?! What?!”
“With extreme care and expense. Many moons and lesser planetoids are impossible to inhabit and have fairly limited resource value. In that case, they serve as massive server banks and antenna for the processing and transmitting of various kinds of data. These signals can also only be detected by FTL-related technology, so even Class B civilizations will be unable to detect them. Additionally, many of them act as transit hubs for the Alliance’s more common methods of FTL travel, akin to stopping stations or linking ports.”
“That’s… insane,” Zane whispered. “How does it work?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Rob said with only a hint of apology in his voice. “Partly due to the fact that most FTL technology and science is classified knowledge, and mostly because you are a Class C or B civilized planet.”
“Fair enough,” Zane said. “Now, I have two other questions. First off, why can I read everything and understand you? Second, Class C and B?”
“To answer the last question first, a civilization is rated on a variety of factors. A Class C species is one that has reached the minimum requirement to be considered civilized. That is, they have invented enough technology to have developed the concept of ‘leisure.’ Class B civilizations are those who have begun to develop their own extra planetary exploration and travel methods. Class A are planets recognized as being eligible for entry into the wider galactic community due to developing primitive FLT methods and the ability to travel and colonize other worlds.”
“And the language issue?”
“Crown Corp. spared no expense designing us Personal Droids,” Rob said with pride. “I am installed with a top of the line Psychic Impression Translator, which translates languages with 92% accuracy! It uses digitized psychic processes to implant the meaning of the words, both vocal and written, into the subject’s mind. It even manages to negate issues of miscommunication by carefully sifting through the memories of the subjects to prevent unintentional insults from occurring.”
‘Amazing!” Zane gasped, looking up at the hovering eyeball shaped drone. “Such a thing… but wait, ‘psychic?’”
“Some species, when exposed to prolonged use of certain FTL methods, will develop superior brains which allow them to utilize what one would consider ‘psychic’ abilities. Telepathy, telekinesis, and the like are the most common, and in the past few years the Myun invented a way to replicate psychic phenomenon via technology,” Rob explained.
“Ok, I apologize for the constant questions and detractions, but who are the ‘Myun?’”
“An alien race widely regarded as one of the best in regards to theoretical science and part of the core membership of the Planetary Alliance.”
“Neat,” Zane said with a roll of his eyes. “No images or anything?”
“Apologies, I have not finished downloading the Intergalactic Encyclopedia. Originally, the version I possessed was for those who were part of or aware of the Planetary Alliance. Therefore I must obtain an edited version to avoid breaking any more laws than we already have,” Rob stated calmly. Zane went pale and coughed into his fist before looking over the catalog.
“Let’s see what this one is…” Zane reached out and tapped an ad that had a cartoonish puffball atop what he assumed was a platter. As he did, the screen shifted and a video popped up, showing the puffball from before, only much bigger and wearing what appeared to be a combination bowler and chef hat.
“Hello, hello, dear gourmand!” Zane blinked slowly as the fluffy alien began speaking in an obnoxious French accent. “It’s me, Monsieur Yum-Yum here with a wonderful product to aid you in your quest for sustenance!”
The video zoomed out showing two aliens sitting at a table at what was clearly a restaurant. One of the extraterrestrials was avian in appearance while the other looked more like a frog.
“So your special something invites you out for dinner, but your biology cannot handle their favorite foods and drinks. No worries! Monsieur Yum-Yum’s Iron Stomach Pills can help! These special chemical supplements help break down toxic and foreign materials with mono-, duo-, and tri- nucleic acids. For Five Galactic Standard Hours, a single pill prevents cramps, nausea, bloating, and death caused by food and drink! 1 bottle of 30 pills for only 30 credits!”
Some disclaimers scrolled beneath as the credits rolled, before it ended and the video-ad returned to its previous spot on the page.
“…Why did the tiny chef sound French?”
“The Psychic Impression Translator converts what you hear into the closest approximation based on your own brain. If it sounded like a different culture then it means that you associate Monsieur Yum-Yum with that particular group.”
“Does that make me racist, speciesist, or both?” Zane mumbled to himself as he scrolled through other products.
“I can neither confirm nor deny this,” Rob stated oh so helpfully.
Several hours passed by as Zane examined the various products on offer. He only realized any time had passed when his stomach let out a rubble.
“Huh, time flies when you’re having fun,” Zane chuckled. “One more ad and then I’ll grab some food. What do you suggest, Rob?”
A pause, followed by a beep. “Perhaps an edible product?”
“Fire it up!” Zane said, leaning back into the couch as Rob selected an item from the catalog.
“Hey, hey, hey! How ya doing out there, Space Travelers?” A loud and bouncy alien in an all-enclosing space-suit popped up on the screen as the commercial began to play. “You’re pal Astronauty has missed you all! You should come on by Spacer’s and grab a bite! As you know, our tentacle burgers are made from fresh, 100% rondol, so why not buy one or three? But why stop there, our menu now includes jiggleberry juice shakes for a limited time offer!”
“You know it’s good because it comes from space, so why not come on over and stuff your face?” A merry jingle declared before the credits rolled.
“That was fun,” Zane said with a smile, humming the catchy tune as he stood up and headed into his own kitchen. “Not sure I’ll be eating any calamari for a while though.”
“Rondol are fairly h
armless and completely edible, my owner. They are one of the few creatures that can be consumed by almost every organic race in the known Galaxy,” Rob assured.
“That’s pretty neat. And I assume Spacer’s is some kind of fast food restaurant?” Zane inquired, to which his personal ‘bot bobbed in agreement.
“They are the most wide-spread server of quickly prepared edibles in the Planetary Alliance. At last count there are one hundred-and ninety-six billion restaurants across the entirety of Alliance controlled territory.”
Zane let out a whistle before tearing a bite out of a simple sandwich. “As fascinating as this has been, I need to do some work of my own. I don’t have any internet connection but I can still start a working draft.”
The human walked over to the bedroom, food in hand, before giving Rob a look.
“Also, don’t forget to hide when the guy for the Wi-Fi comes tomorrow. He’ll be here around 10 am.”
“Affirmative. I will make sure I and the transport container are hidden from sight. Please do not worry.”
Zane gave a thankful nod before entering his room. Soon, the drone was left to its own devices. It chose to examine and scan various items in the house, starting with a large cardboard box labeled ‘Grandpa’s Collection.’
“Hey, looks like number 77 finally registered an owner.”
Far beyond the sight of humanity or its tools, on a world draped in faint wisps of industrial smog and covered almost completely in towering structures, there was a particular building.
Even among the millions of skyscrapers this one reigned supreme over the skyline. A holographic crown floated above it, marking the building’s owner with ease. Crown Corporation Integrated Technology and Services was a juggernaut of business, and it showed in the sheer size and appearance of their headquarters.
Within one of the countless offices and rooms that dwelt within, a screen was listing the status of Crown Corps.’ latest business promotion. A creature covered in green feathers peered at the data being presented as it sipped from a mug of frothy liquid.
“Really? Been what, four GS months since it went offline? Where is it?” A second being working in the office inquired, this one frog-like in looks.
“Um… huh, that’s weird, the signal is coming from near the Kalam Relay.”
“That’s near the Frontier, isn’t it? I thought we had it going towards Regon in the opposite direction. Not a lot of things are allowed that far out,” the frog-man stated.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but Drone 77 just sent a crash report… it’s on a non-registered planet?” the feathered creature said. Confusion slowly morphed into horror.
‘Gleeping egg-bait!” the avian screeched. “It’s made contact with a non-Alliance species! Class B as well!”
“…Should we be panicking?”
“We can do that after we file the error report.”
With heads full of worry, the two blue collar office drones quickly began to make an offering to the dread beast of bureaucracy in the hopes of this mistake not reflecting poorly on their own performances.
After all, no matter how advanced a civilization becomes, paperwork is ever present, even if it involves a breach of galactic security.
Chapter 4
“Alright, that should do it,” an older man with a tool belt and backwards baseball cap declared. He stood up backed away from a smallish blinking tower that lay on a desk next to a printer.
“The router is now all set-up and your password for the Wi-Fi is on that slip of paper,” the repairman said, pointing at a scrap of paper that had ink scribbled upon it. “If you have any trouble with, be sure to call.”
“Thank you! You never realize how much you need the internet until you don’t have it for a few days,” Zane said with a chuckle as he shook the man’s hand.
“Isn’t that the truth! Some people go crazy without their entertainment, you know,” the repairman agreed with a chuckle of his own.
“Here you go,” Zane said, removing a checkbook and writing out the payment.
“Pleasure doing business with you, and welcome to the neighborhood,” the man replied, taking the check with a nod of his head.
As the pair went back to the ground floor a thought struck the older of the two. “By the way, did you see the meteorite that hit the other night?”
“I did in fact see it,” Zane admitted a tad nervously.
“Some folks said they heard it screaming all the way out from Denver.”
“Did they?”
“Yup. No one’s found the crater yet. Wouldn’t that be something to show off? Real space rock! Might even be worth something.”
“Yeah, something,” Zane said with an awkward chuckle. His gaze couldn’t help but shift over to the garage door, which was thankfully closed.
“Well, I’ve got to go. Nice to meet you, and condolences for your grandfather. Mr. Pendon was a good man, if a bit of a hoarder,” the repairman said at the front door.
“You’re not the first person to mention that. Thank you, that means a lot,” Zane said with a melancholic smile. He shook hands with the repairman one last time before the two parted ways.
“Argh, that was so nerve wracking!” Zane gasped as he closed the door. He staggered over to the garage and opened it, peering inside to look for Rob. He found the droid lying in its container, though more of the silvery metal was gone.
“You awake?” A beep was his answer and lights quickly flickered on.
“I chose to engage in Sleep Mode so none of my functions would alert the guest,” Rob stated. “As silent as my grav-unit is, it still produces noise that would be conspicuous.”
With a familiar whine Rob rose back into the air, hovering at chest height as usual.
“Shall we do some shopping?”
“Before that, I realized we might have a problem,” Zane admitted, giving Rob a worried look. “People are already investigating your crash. We need to find a way to make it look like there was something other than you in the crater.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Most meteorites leave debris. I did not. I shall investigate potential methods to cover up my existence.”
“If you need any help with that let me know,” Zane said. “I don’t want you to get confiscated.”
“Are you worried about me?” Rob tilted slightly as it examined its owner.
“Of course! You might be a machine, but it’s clear you have something more than just preprogrammed responses,” Zane said with a smile. No reply came from Rob.
“I see.” The tone was neutral, and Zane quickly moved into the living room to do something. But Rob remained where it was, thinking.
In the end it canceled that particular thought-pattern and moved to join its owner. As it entered the wide, comfy space, the Personal Mobile Network Droid froze.
“What is that?”
Zane looked up at the accusatory tone from his machine companion and frowned in confusion.
“This? It’s my laptop. I use it for work and stuff.” He held it up to the droid and showed off the keyboard, screen, and mousepad before putting it down. Zane began to type away, finally doing the job he had promised his boss.
“Do you need any assistance?” Rob inquired, looking over Zane’s shoulder. The human shook his head.
“No, I’ve got this. I can finish this part of the project in about an hour or so. Plus, I’d feel weird having a hyper-fast computer like yourself doing my job for me.” He looked at Rob gave thin smile. “It’s boring, but it pays. Don’t worry, we can check out the shopping guide during lunch.”
“Understood. I shall continue observing my surroundings then,” Rob said slowly. It then floated over to the bookshelf and unfurled a number of manipulator tendrils to examine the flimsy paper books.
The time passed by in pleasant silence for a while, only the clicking of the keys and the rustle of paper filling the room. But eventually nature asserted itself and Zane’s stomach let out a whimper of hunger and he rose from where he
sat.
“Well, the belly has spoken,” Zane with a fond smile on his face.
“Technically it emitted a noise to signify that you were starting to digest yourself, and that it would prudent to partake of sustenance to offset that,” Rob chimed in. Zane laughed at the phrasing.
“Yes, but grandpa would always declare that his ‘belly had spoken’ whenever it rumbled and he got hungry,” Zane said. “My sister and I tend to use his silly phrases like that from time to time.”
“I see.” Nothing else needed to be said, and the human wandered into the kitchen to prepare his lunch.
Unnoticed by him, Rob floated over to where the laptop rested and stared down at it. As a droid, it had no face with which to glare, but somehow it transmitted its animosity towards the primitive device.
~I’m watching you,~ Rob uttered in binary. The laptop said nothing in response and the droid huffed, content that it had shown its superiority over its rival piece of technology.
“What’s in the catalog today?” Zane asked as Rob entered the kitchen area.
“Same as yesterday. I have not updated it. There was still a lot you had not looked at yet,” Rob pointed out.
“Alright then. Let me take a look.” He scrolled through the offered selection before seeing one that caught his attention. Another spacesuit-wearing being appeared in the vid as it began to play.
“Oxygen-suckers, am I right? Sure, they’re a hoot and a half, and they can taste awesome, but at the end of the day, us beings that don’t breathe oxygen are left out, or more accurately left in our enviro-suits.” A bipedal creature wearing a bulky outfit had fallen down and was wailing in exaggerated sorrow in the commercial.
“But don’t worry! Mng’Blorbl has you covered with the Gas Flusher and Sealant! Its decompression cylinders remove external and internal traces of oxygen while filling your own lungs with a special chemical film that traps and recycles your specific gases in an osmosis loop. For up to 10 Galactic Standard Hours breathe the same air your friends do without the danger of dying in horrible agony! Warning: the Gas Flusher does not prevent harm to organisms that react adversely (ie. Explosively) to oxygen. 1 Gas Flusher and 2 Sealant Solution Bottles for 160 credits.” The despondent alien jumped up in joy and stripped out of its environment protection suit, revealing mottled blue and yellow flesh as it pranced about in what Zane could only described as sci-fi diapers.