Remember the Starfighter

by Michael Kan

  Date: Dec. 1 2799

  I tried to save the rest of the remaining crew... [cough] I placed them in cryo-stasis pods. Hopefully the radiation shielding we developed will hold. There’s little food left, so it’ll have to do.

  Seems so pointless. Even with the radiation shielding, I don’t know if we can ever escape, or reach anyone. The communication interference hasn’t stopped at all, and the cryo pods will only last for so long, maybe a few centuries, before it’ll be too late.

  But maybe all of this was meant to be. We’re inside the lion’s den. It’s been weeks now, and we’re still here. Maybe the invaders don’t know. Or don’t care. Where is the lion...

  As you can see, I’m dying. Heh...[cough] We’ve done almost all we can. No cryo pod for me. I need to make sure that Servetus will know what to do. The heartless A.I.... I don’t know if he’s capable. We can’t connect to the global network, and so I’m trying to re-distribute the computing systems. He might be our only hope left.

  [cough] ...But I won’t die. Maybe I’ll live on. The scans are done and uploaded. If my programs are as smart as I think they are, then I’ll be back. Although it’s doubtful it will get far. It’s maybe just a silly dream... My twin little service bots. Maybe there’s hope with them.

  [cough] ...We have to beat them some how. The invaders can’t win.

  [cough] ...I don’t know what else to say...hopefully, this isn’t the end.

  She gave one final cough into her hand, before completing the log, sealing away the record into the ship’s databanks. It had been the first time anyone had accessed the file since. Julian felt sick, knowing that it had been the last log of the captain, although it hadn’t been the end. He searched some more, and found the other files, dated not just years after, but in millennia.

  It was a log of a different kind, separated into “version numbers” and documenting the progress made. Flipping through it, Julian found hundreds, maybe thousands of various versions, some spanning for what were days, to others extending on for centuries.

  The subject was the same in all of them, the videos taken from cameras installed on board the Elion. It showed a girl with black hair, her face young, but similar to the deceased captain. “ARENDI SOLDANAS” the file’s parent name read. “PROJECT REVIVAL.”

  He randomly skimmed through the records. At first, it seemed mundane and repetitive, the logs just showing the subject performing what were random everyday tasks. To Julian, it was like viewing partial surveillance footage, the attached data files to each version indiscernible and replete with computer code.

  File after file he accessed, the pictures with little variation between. In most, the subject did nothing but stand at attention. Julian was about to move on and close out the files, when he finally noticed the problem. Near the end of every version, the subject would begin to break. She was no longer passive and muted. Instead, she had become filled with emotion.

  She was running and shouting, fidgeting with her hands, shivering, scratching her face, pounding against the wall. Julian could even see her clutching her hair, trying to pull it, the clumps coming out.

  Ultimately, many of the videos seemed to end in the same way — that of a girl curled up on the floor, or in the corner, shaking and crying. Julian could even hear the sobs through the logs, the words muffled, but mostly clear. “I don’t want this,” she said. “Please stop it!”

  But then there was the handful of other videos, these even more alarming. Julian accessed one in particular, and came away shocked. It showed the subject smashing her head against the bulkhead wall, screaming. Julian cringed at each of the impacts, the crack louder each time.

  “I can’t!” she shrieked. “Please, end this! End it!”

  He paused the video, and walked away from the computer, horrified and out of breath.

  After a moment, Julian looked back at the computer, feeling as if the console were haunted.

  “Miya,” he said, returning to the image. The face was the same — the hair ripped out, the face smashed.

  But the Miya Julian had been introduced to had shown none of the emotions present in the videos. The fear, panic, and desperation crying out.

  He then realized what he had seen, Arendi’s past on full display.

  The versions continued, the physical body of the android breaking down, before finally it could take more.

  And yet, the experiments went on. Only this time, with a fresh new body, the artificial mind transferred over to the next remaining carbon copy.

  Julian accessed the final video, before he could no longer watch.

  “I can’t!” the android said, holding herself in near tears. “I don’t want to be human.”

  ***

  He found her on the landing bridge. She had just exited the Au-O’sanah, and the construction bot known as “Control” was next to her.

  The drone carried along the vat of liquid as the nano-machines of what had been Arendi’s metallic suit floated inside.

  In her own hands, she pushed along the hover platform, the cart carrying the lab equipment brought over from Carigon. The boxes of cargo jetted forth, as Arendi passed by, not even giving Julian the courtesy of a glance, or a hello.

  He knew that she was shy. But this was different. She had ignored him completely.

  Julian caught up to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Arendi,” he said. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  She stopped, and turned her head stiffly.

  “Yes captain,” she said. “How may I serve you?”

  She had never used that word before. Or even that term. How may I serve you. Something was wrong.

  Julian collected himself, not sure how to start.

  “I saw the videos. The logs,” he said. “I think I saw how you were created.”

  “Yes, I know captain,” she said. “You accessed the logs minutes ago.”

  Julian was surprised at how calm she was. Her stare didn’t waver at all, the bangs to her hair brushing near her eyes.

  “The logs document the development of Arendi’s artificial intelligence,” she explained methodically. “The first version was based on personality and will programs initially developed by Captain Soldanas. Subsequent versions were then improved upon, in an effort to develop a sentient consciousness.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “The initial focus was on simulating emotions, and then later developing emotional control and psychological stability. Each version of Arendi was essentially a test, and modifications were made. In total, over 1655 versions were developed, and—”

  “Arendi, can you—”

  “Yes captain?”

  “Can you just stop?”

  Julian paused, alarmed at what he was seeing. The behavior was different, Arendi simply lecturing him. Julian felt almost patronized.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” she replied, calmly.

  “Why are you talking in the third person?”

  The android paused, twitching its head, and making an awkward smile.

  “My apologies. You are speaking not to Arendi, but to I, Servetus.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, this is Servetus speaking to you captain. I apologize for the confusion.”

  “Why am I speaking to you? What happened?”

  Although the android continued to smile, Julian grew only more concerned.

  “I assumed control of her when she returned. Her mission is complete.”

  “But what happened to Arendi? Where is she?”

  “She is within the databanks. However, as I stated before, her mission is complete. Her existence was only prolonged in the remote possibility that humanity had not escaped the Endervars or faced immediate extinction. But as that is currently not the case, there is no need to deploy her.”

  “So she’s gone?”

  Julian was agitated, annoyed at the long-winded explanations. The android, however, remained detached, completely unaw
are.

  “Arendi is an experiment. Unfortunately, a failed experiment. I have concluded that there is no need for further development at this time.”

  “A failed experiment?”

  “I have struggled in this regard. My experiments could never fully replicate the personality, emotions, and psychological profile of Captain Soldanas. As you saw in the logs, Arendi’s A.I. showed signs of emotional instability. Far too unreliable for the courses of action I wish to undertake.”

  Julian was nearly speechless.

  “So... wait. I still don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.

  “The artificial intelligence known as Arendi Soldanas will be no longer inhabiting this body. Her purpose is no longer needed—”

  “I get it!”

  The android nodded politely, as the other drones marched back and forth from the Au-O’sanah.

  “The technology you have requested will be completed soon,” the A.I. said. “I suggest that you wait patiently aboard your ship. You will be notified when it is ready.”

  He looked at the imposter before him, and wanted to throttle it.

  “I detect your anger captain. Is something wrong?” Servetus asked through the android.

  He bit his lip, feeling the stress. Then the old wound came to. He sniffed, the rush of blood starting to fall through his nostrils.

  “Are you injured?” Servetus asked.

  Julian ignored the A.I., too outraged to speak. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he walked away and into the Au-O’sanah, ready to curse.

  Chapter 54

  Although she was no longer in control, Arendi had been there secretly watching.

  Her consciousness, while not fully active, was still linked to her former body’s sensory inputs. It was an aberration, a side effect to her existence that perhaps not even Servetus had become aware of. Arendi was surprised, assuming that she had been relegated to storage, only to find a part of herself still wanted to exist.

  From what she saw, things were moving ahead accordingly, the equipment from the Au-O’sanah steadily transferring over to the Elion. Everything would be taken care of, Servetus always so efficient and careful to plan for any and all contingencies. As her creator had already declared, Arendi’s mission had been accomplished. There was simply no need for her anymore.

  Logically, it made sense. She was expendable. An experiment that had never achieved its delineated goals. Arendi knew this. For a time, she even believed it to be fact. She was just a machine. Nothing more.

  That conviction, however, now seemed in doubt.

  Julian, she thought. I’m sorry.

  When she had set foot on the Elion, she could feel the creator taking over. The master protocols had entered into her communication stream, her own consciousness receding into the background. The final moment came when she arrived at her creator’s door, the control bot standing outside.

  There had been another droid just like it, her sole companion on the day years ago when she had been forced to leave the Elion, and escape the shield. It was a mute robot, a reflection of Servetus condensed into the construction droid’s systems. She needed to only watch, as “Control” could take over, and manipulate her remotely. It had been that way for so long: to be merely a witness, when her own emotions had made her a liability.

  All that had changed though, the moment Control had been lost. Her consciousness had come to the forefront, brought to face a war that threatened to destroy the galaxy itself.

  Arendi had devoted herself to the mission. Just as what Servetus would have wanted.

  So why did she feel it? The sense that things still remained unsettled.

  It gnawed at her. Especially when she remembered it. The last time she had seen Julian. He had rushed over to her and then realized the change. It pained her to see his reaction, the horrid surprise turning into anger.

  A failed experiment?

  She could tell that Julian was disappointed. Perhaps she had even hurt his feelings. But he wouldn’t understand. Even if he had seen logs, what did it matter? She had played her role, and completed her duties. All that was left was for Servetus to take back control.

  It was almost a day later, and Arendi was inside the mainframe room. Servetus had taken her there, to begin the modifications. Her body stood still, as the operation was about to proceed. The control bot was nearby, equipped with the necessary tools. It appeared as a long needle, ready to insert itself and re-program her artificial brain.

  This is what you wanted.

  It was what she told herself over and over again, as the needle came closer, now only inches away. Once the procedure was done, her artificial mind would be fully extracted, and stored in the Elion, perhaps becoming fodder for more experiments.

  No more pain. No more humiliation. No more sadness. Only logic, and the defined devotion to the mission.

  It’s what I want.

  But the words were not spoken with any kind of anticipation. No, Arendi did not want this. She just couldn’t admit it.

  Help—

  It was not a thought of her own, but instead a single message from outside, the word beamed through her communication signal. It was not from Servetus or any other drone on board the vessel. The signal had come from an Alliance frequency, the one Julian had used to link to her system.

  Help—

  There it was again. A voice in need.

  It must be Julian. Only he would use the code. For some reason, he was in trouble.

  Then Arendi knew. The danger all around them. It must be the Endervar shield.

  She didn’t know how. But it came like instinct, her consciousness regaining control. Arendi sprang forth, the connection severed to her creator. Walking past the poised construction drone, she could feel Servetus transmitting the protocols to find only error. Running, Arendi then left the mainframe room, and headed back to the Au-O’sanah, crossing the landing bridge.

  The message came again. The single word the same. Help—

  Where was he? Arendi was standing in the hallway of the bio-ship, when she began to hear the clap of the dull thuds. She walked to the sound, and eventually found him, struggling to breathe.

  Julian was on his side, kneeling down and clutching the wall. His face was red, the eyes filled with fluid. Trying to walk, but falling, he keeled over, spitting out the saliva.

  “I’m here!” she said, running toward him, and putting her hand over his face. Julian’s heart was pounding. He cringed in pain.

  “I saw them,” he said, shaking. “I think I saw the Endervars.”

  ***

  Julian lay across the operating table in the medical bay, conscious, but still dazed.

  His breathing and heart rate had returned to normal, the nano-serum entering through the blood stream, and working to regulate his body.

  He looked off to his side, and saw the specialist still comatose on the other bed, her eyes shut. Behind her was Arendi looking at the tablet in her hand, and monitoring his vitals.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  Julian was still gasping for air. He pushed himself off from the table, and sat on its side, hunched over.

  “It was like I was drowning,” he said. “Just overwhelmed. I couldn’t breathe.”

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and grabbed his hair, clutching it in his fingers. It reminded him of the second time he had died, left on board the Lightning, with life-support down, and his air supply rapidly dwindling. Julian closed his eyes, shivering.

  Arendi walked over, concerned.

  “When did this happen?” she asked.

  “When I fell asleep,” he replied. “...Then I started to see it. The images.”

  He paused, and looked at his right hand, watching as his fingers folded, and collapsed inside his palm. He did it again, not quite knowing why, the fingers shrinking into a near fist.

  “It was a dream?”

  Julian was still quiet, but gradually began to shake his head. He swallowed, and
tried to see it.

  “No, a dream is like... something randomly popping into your head. But this was me. It was different. Like I wanted to see these things. It was like I chose to imagine them.”

  “So you were conscious in this state?”

  “Maybe. But actually, I don’t think I was really in control. The Endervars. The shield. It was telling me to do this. To see these things.”

  None of it made any sense. But this wasn’t just a dream to be forgotten. If anything, it was a vision. Julian looked back at his hand, and made the motion again, the fingers crumpling to his will.

  “That’s what I first imagined. My hand. Closing, yet never opening. It repeated again, and again. My hand, closing.”

  “Then it was a flower. An orange flower in the grass. But not blooming. The petals were closing together, yet not withering.”

  The objects changed from the shrinking electric charge of a fusion generator, to a flourishing factory town, condensing, perhaps even compressing.

  “At the end, I imagined the stars, doing the same. All pulling back, and gathering. Then it went beyond. To entire galaxies. Thousands of them. Maybe more. All retreating, all coming back. Swirling together. Merging at the center.”

  Julian clasped his hands together, and pressed them against his mouth. In spite of the different images, the common thread between them was obvious.

  “A collapse...” Arendi said. “The collapse of the universe.”

  Julian sat there silent, not sure whether to agree. A collapse maybe. But not in the negative sense. He had imagined it, wanting it to happen.

  “Then I woke up,” he said. “I could barely walk. I think I was in shock.”

  “Yes. You were.”

  Julian shut his eyes, cold. He covered one hand, with another, and rubbed the skin. Inevitably, he tried to recall the images again, conjuring the final sight.

  It was a light in the distance, watching him, but coming closer. Although he had not noticed it before, it had been present there in every one of the images, luring him in, enticing him to continue on. Only in the final image was it close. Close enough that he could see it was rife with energies and trying to touch him.