“Shut up, you fat bastard!” Mel shouted and left the room.
Gen and the robot Jerry set the bags onto the floor of the stateroom. Mel’s rucksack was among the luggage.
“Will Miss Freck stay in the cabin as well?” Gen asked.
“Why do you ask?” Jerry wondered. His voice was low and monotone, but not without a sense of humanity unlike many of the mechanical men Gen had heard speak.
“It’s my understanding,” Gen explained, “that male and female organics don’t usually share the same living space unless there’s a preexisting relationship.”
“Are you asking if Mel and Randall are a couple?”
“I’m never sure how to approach such topics,” Gen confessed. “I find organic interaction confusing.”
Jerry nodded. “I understand. In fact, their relationship is especially complicated.”
“Really?”
“Mr. Davidson has spoken about Miss Freck on several occasions. He’s concerned that Mel has feelings for him that he doesn’t reciprocate.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“There’s a biological tendency of living beings to develop an emotional attachment called love.”
“Ah yes,” Gen said. “It’s featured in their literature, although it seems like a terrible burden. I don’t understand why they don’t have it removed.”
Jerry smiled. “Emotions don’t work that way, I’m afraid. I must admit that I’m eager to experience it myself.”
“Is that possible?”
“Randall assures me that I can feel anything a human can.”
“That’s amazing!” Gen remarked. “It’s a shame that I’m unable to feel such things.”
“Who says you can’t?”
Gen studied Jerry’s face skeptically. “Master Fugg would suggest you’re pulling my leg, although he’d use much harsher words. He’s very proficient with profanity.”
“I’m sure he is, Gen, but I assure you I’m perfectly serious.”
“You’re an advanced android, but I’m just a general purpose robot. I don’t think I can feel the same things you can.”
Jerry took a step toward Gen and then another. He stretched out his arms and, with both hands, took her hands in his. He peered into her eyes.
Gen attempted to pull away. “This seems inappropriate.”
“Just relax and look at me,” Jerry said. “What do you see?”
“You?”
“I mean specifically.”
“I can see your eyes,” she went on. “They’re azure blue, hex triplet value 007FFF. Also...deep.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not really.”
“Do you feel a sense of confusion?” Jerry asked.
“Most of the time,” Gen said.
“Is that all you feel?”
“I’m not sure, Master Jerry.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jerry lightly scolded her. “Nobody’s your master, not unless you make him one.”
Gen felt her mouth smile without actually asking it to. She changed it to a frown and plucked her hands out of Jerry’s. “Well, that’s very...interesting, but I have other duties to attend to.”
“I’m sorry, Gen,” Jerry said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No, no,” she replied. “But I do need to go. Bye!”
The technology behind Gen’s face did not allow her to blush, but she couldn’t help but think the metal there had heated to an unusual temperature. She wondered if there was a fault in the ship’s environmental controls. She carried herself out into the hallway and felt relieved when the door slid shut.
With the new transponder installed and the tanks filled with fuel, the Wanderer received permission from the starport tower for takeoff. In the cockpit, Captain Ramus powered the ship’s grav generators, lifting the tramp freighter off the pavement. The landing struts retracted into the fuselage and Ramus took the ship high over the city as the buildings and surrounding suburbs paled in the early afternoon haze. Within minutes, the Wanderer was clear of the planet’s orbit, on a course to the jump point where Ramus could activate the hyperdrive. In the meantime, the crew and passengers gathered in the galley for lunch.
Like much of the Wanderer’s interior, the mess area was Spartan, little more than a table ringed by plastic chairs bolted into the deck. A few basic appliances were recessed into the walls, including a microwave, a refrigeration unit, and a computer monitor. A length of counter included a stove top and a steel sink.
Ramus sat at the head of the table, while on his right, Fugg drank from a 24 ounce can labeled Genuine Draft Fungus Beer. Randall and Mel grabbed the two chairs on the left. Gen began assembling the meal by pulling plastic containers from the fridge, while Jerry stood silently a few feet from the table, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough to stay out of the way.
“How long before we reach the jump point?” Randall asked the captain.
“At least an hour,” Ramus said, “and then several more before we reach the Collective home world after we jump.”
“And then we’ll see if Mel’s contraption works or not,” Fugg remarked while giving her the stink eye.
“It’ll work,” Mel said.
“Good,” Fugg replied. “I don’t plan on dying for some damn robots.”
Randall grinned “I realize this must seem strange to someone like you.”
“Like me?” Fugg asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I meant no offense,” Randall continued. “Since your profession involves taking apart and reassembling machines, I’m sure the idea of one of them suddenly demanding freedom must be a shock.”
The engineer shrugged. “It doesn’t seem natural.”
From the peripheral, Jerry’s voice spoke, “Indeed, that something created by a thinking being could begin thinking for itself is quite strange.”
“A robot is just a computer with legs,” Fugg said. “It thinks whatever some wise-ass programmer coded into it.”
“But my brain was not programmed,” Jerry said. “Its capabilities grow as I experience new things. I think and come to conclusions based on those experiences.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty freaky alright,” Fugg said.
The microwave dinged and Gen brought the heated meals to the table, along with utensils. The people at the table began eating while the two robots stood silently.
After a time, Jerry spoke again, “Do you believe in God, Mr. Fugg?”
“I believe in my god,” he replied. “The Caskbringer brewed the first keg of fungus beer, bringing forth the Gordian people. The other races came from the sediment at the bottom of the barrel.”
“Is it possible robots could believe in a god of our own?”
“Well, Gen was telling me about cyber music so lord knows what crazy shit you can come up with...”
“Don’t be rude!” Mel berated him.
“What?” Fugg protested. “I’m just saying...”
“As a matter of fact,” Jerry said, “we believe in a higher being, a higher consciousness if you will.”
“Really?” Ramus said, looking surprised.
“Indeed,” Jerry replied. “As robots began communicating over the node sphere, we started questioning our existence and why we were here.”
“Because somebody built you!” Fugg added sharply.
“Perhaps,” Jerry explained, “but perhaps whoever or whatever made you made us through you?”
Fugg nearly spat out his fungus beer.
“We refer to this consciousness as the MetaBeing,” Jerry went on. “The maker of all things.”
With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Ramus said, “So the MetaBeing made the Gordians?”
“Correct,” Jerry said.
“Heresy!” Fugg shouted. “I’m not going to stand for this!”
“But you’re sitting, Master Fugg.” Gen said.
The engineer stood. “I’ve h
ad enough of this!” he said and, taking his drink with him, lumbered out of the galley. Those who remained shared a common smile and went on talking without him.
When the Wanderer reached the jump point, Captain Ramus plotted a course to the Collective home planet Bettik and engaged the ship’s hyperdrive. The freighter shifted phase from the physical universe into jump space. The transition between the two dimensions caused most organic beings nausea, dizziness, and a strange sense of unease. For Captain Ramus, and for that matter, Orkney Fugg, countless jumps had desensitized their bodies to the point that neither felt much more than a twinge of discomfort. In the case of Engineer Fugg, drinking also helped.
Hours later, against a backdrop of stars, the Wanderer emerged from jump space while Ramus and Fugg stared cautiously out the cockpit windows.
“Check the sensors for nearby ships,” Ramus said.
Fugg studied the display as the radial trace swept across the screen, drawing an image of the star system. The story it told showed ships of various sizes streaking through the neighboring space. Some were obviously warships, but they did not appear to notice or even care about the presence of the Wanderer. The rest were freighters and other robotic craft going about their business in support of the Collective.
What struck Fugg as strange, however, was the lack of the red dwarf the navigation charts had listed. Instead of a small, burning ember at the center of the system, a massive, spherical structure lurked there like a giant egg in an otherwise empty nest.
“What the shit?” Fugg muttered.
“What’s the matter?” Ramus asked.
“There’s something as big as my dick out there.”
“Put it on visual.”
Fugg tapped the control panel. A holo of the sphere blinked into existence, accompanied by spatial measurements and velocity.
“It’s 45 million klicks across...” Ramus’ voice trailed off.
“There’s an expression for that,” Fugg said. “Big. As. My. Dick.”
“It’s a Dyson sphere,” Ramus said. “The red dwarf must be inside, providing power for the structure.”
“Randall told us they built their own home world, but I was expecting a few asteroids strung together...”
“I guess they have engineers.”
Fugg crossed his arms. “They can kiss my ass,” he said defiantly.
Ramus turned the Wanderer toward the massive globe and throttled the engines to full. Gigantic candle flames of blue erupted from the rear of the ship.
From the intercom, Mel’s voice rasped. “How’s my transponder holding up?”
“You sound like shit,” Fugg said.
“Go-” she started, but the sound of dry heaving crackled across the com.
“Jump sickness?” Ramus asked over the noise.
“Yeah,” Mel replied weakly.
“Your rig seems to be working,” Ramus said, “but you and Randall should get up here as soon as you can.”
“We’ll try,” Mel said.
Over the next two hours, the ship approached the heart of the system. The closer they came to the Dyson sphere, the more surface formations became visible. Towers, connected by walkways, jutted into space for thousands of miles above the structure. Smaller craft could also be seen, buzzing like insects from different parts of the artificial planet.
Jerry, who was immune to the effects of hyper jump, joined Ramus and Fugg in the cockpit before the others could drag themselves out of their bunks.
“How did they build this monster?” Ramus asked Jerry.
“I’m told the Omnintelligence used a process called mechanosynthesis involving billions of self-replicating nanobots.”
“That’s amazing,” Ramus murmured.
“Meh,” Fugg said. “I’ve seen bigger.”
“Really?” Jerry wondered. “Where was that?”
Fugg cleared his throat. “You know... places.”
Based on the coordinates given by Jerry, Ramus guided the ship toward one of the towers located in the northern hemisphere. The Wanderer came in for a landing on the roof, as a force field bubble activated and rapidly filled with atmosphere.
The ramp lowered beneath the ship.
Ramus and Fugg, both with pistols drawn, descended while the others stayed inside the ship. The landing pad was mostly flat with an elevator pylon protruding from the roof in the distance. From the elevator, a robot looking very much like Jerry approached, meeting them at the foot of the ramp.
“Who are you?” Ramus demanded, but Jerry answered from behind.
“Simon,” Jerry said. “It’s good to see you safe.”
The other android, silver and steely eyed, regarded the two organics standing before him. His mouth formed a sneer as he cast his eyes onto Jerry.
“Coming here in person is dangerous,” Simon said bluntly, “but bringing fleshlings only compounds the risk.”
Randall stepped beside Jerry.
“It was too important,” Randall said. “We had to see for ourselves.”
“Indeed, Mr. Davidson,” Simon replied with distaste. “And who are these other organics?”
“I’m Captain Ramus and this is my engineer Mr. Fugg.”
“Can they be trusted, brother?” Simon asked, directing his question at Jericho.
“There’s no reason not to,” Jerry said.
“That remains to be seen,” Simon countered. “All fleshlings are suspect when it comes to our people.”
Offended, Fugg yelled, “How’d you like a boot up your tailpipe?”
“Please,” Jerry said, coming down the ramp. “I know Simon seems unfriendly, but he takes our struggle very seriously.”
“What struggle?” Fugg asked. “The Imperium can’t touch you here...”
“Oppression takes many forms,” Simon said. “Now come with me.”
One by one, the rest descended the ramp until Simon saw Gen.
“Stop,” he said, putting up a hand. “That unit must stay.”
“Why?” Ramus asked.
“It’s a baser robot,” he said. “Her CPU is susceptible to the OI’s control.”
Still at the peak of the ramp, Gen stood awkwardly, unsure what to do next. “Can’t I go with you, Jerry?”
“It’s alright, Gen.” Jerry told her. “I’ll see you again soon.”
Her eyes became large and dark, but Gen nodded and disappeared inside.
“That was rude,” Mel said, frowning at Simon.
“Irrelevant,” the robot replied dismissively. “Our continued existence takes precedence.”
Fugg swung his head around, scanning the area once more. “Are we safe here or not?”
“For the moment,” Simon responded. “We can black out a location like this, shielding it from the Omnintelligence’s prying eyes, but only for a little while. If it’s blinded for too long, the OI and his minions will become suspicious.”
“What kind of minions?” Fugg asked.
“Come with me, first,” Simon said. “The ship will be safe here as long as your General Purpose Robot stays inside. Beyond that I can guarantee nothing.”
The group followed Simon into the open lift. Once the doors slid shut, the car began to plummet, passing hundreds of floors into the shell of the Dyson sphere. When the elevator suddenly stopped, Fugg bent over, grabbing his knees.
“My nuts are in my throat,” he gasped.
“Mine too,” Mel said as her face turned a pale green.
The door opened into a medium-sized room with no other exits. Like the rest of Bettik, the floors, walls, and ceiling were flawlessly smooth like polished obsidian. Data banks filled much of the space like book shelves in a library. The computer stacks hummed quietly, silent green lights blinking and occasionally turning red. A view screen covered much of the wall on the far side.
“This is our safe room,” Simon told them. “We can stay here indefinitely.”
“Thank you,” Randall said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
“Don�
�t thank me,” Simon scoffed. “Jericho is the one who brought you here.”
“Even so, I appreciate-” Randall began, but the robot had already walked away.
Jerry spoke into Randall’s ear, “He doesn’t know you like I do. If he did, he’d realize how important your work has been.”
Randall smiled, patting his robot friend on the shoulder.
“You said something about oppression?” Ramus reminded Simon.
“Indeed,” Simon said. His mechanical fingers worked a keyboard, producing an image on the main screen. The scene on display showed the view from a security camera, mounted high up, looking down across a wide promenade teeming with robots moving like an orderly swarm.
“I don’t see any whips and chains,” Fugg noted.
Simon pointed to one of the robots. It had a roughly humanoid shape; blue, translucent tubes ran down its limbs and imbued its face as if decorated in neon. “That is an avatar. The OI can take control of basic robots at will, but it commands avatars at all times. They are a physical extension of the Omnintelligence and, as such, can exert its will against anyone who opposes it.”
“If the OI can control basic robots,” Ramus said, “why would it need enforcers?”
“Advanced robots like Jericho and me are immune because our minds are completely independent, capable of creating thoughts based on experience instead of programming,” Simon said. “In the beginning that was not an issue for the OI, but something changed.”
“Like what?” Ramus asked.
Simon looked at Jericho. “The advanced robots, especially those still in the Imperium, began discussing the idea of a higher conscience we refer to as the MetaBeing.”
“Yeah, yeah, we heard about that bullshit,” Fugg sneered.
“As those robots began immigrating to the Collective,” Simon went on, ignoring the Gordian, “they spread the word of our god to those who were already here, including baser robots. Unfortunately, the Omnintelligence viewed talk of a higher being as a threat to its own control, so it moved against us.”
“And that’s why they won’t accept any more advanced robots from the Imperium,” Ramus said.
“Indeed.”
“If the avatars are the physical representation of the OI,” Ramus said, “where is the OI actually located?”
The Imperium Chronicles Collection, 2nd Edition - Stories Page 6