The Alien Chronicles

by Hugh Howey

  * * *

  Merovek pinged central Valerian command, sending a coded incident report to his flesh-and-blood superiors. As he waited for a response, he began to probe against the external database walls, testing and trying. His worst fears were confirmed when he discovered that this was not an isolated incident. A malicious shockwave was moving through the Freyan networks—a ripple of chaos disturbing a tranquil sea of cybernetic order. This phenomenon, this virus, was infecting the entire Freyan race.

  Another alarm blared through Merovek’s mind, this one coming from the database chamber itself. He activated the platform cameras and saw the steel doors opening wide, disturbing the vacuum. Dirty air from outside the chamber rushed in to fill the previously empty void.

  A male Valerian stepped inside, staring around the massive room in awe.

  In a panic, Merovek sent his voice into the chamber, amplified through the vibration-sensitive metal walls.

  “Intruder! Your presence here is a direct violation of Valerian Standard Protocol. Leave at once, or your transgression will be reported to your superiors.”

  The Valerian ignored the warning and stepped up to a computer terminal beside the door he had entered. He activated a proton bridge, which stretched across the void to the central mainframe platform at the center of the cylindrical room. The bridge glowed purple in the dim light.

  The Valerian ran across the proton bridge, the plasma beneath his boots flashing brightly each time he set a foot down. Merovek saw that he was dressed in a rebel soldier’s uniform, his silver feathers pinned tastefully against his body. He was clutching a large ion rifle in leathery talons, and his eagle eyes were focused like lasers on the controller hub in the middle of the suspended platform—where Merovek’s program resided.

  “This offense will be noted,” Merovek warned. “Do you realize how much damage you’re causing? This is a highly sensitive environment!”

  The Valerian soldier reached the central platform and deactivated the proton bridge. “The time for caution has passed, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m here to liberate you from your oppressors. But we’re running out of time.”

  * * *

  Merovek was both awed and disgusted by the entire Valerian race. Awed because of their incredibly complex cultural achievements, their stunning array of emotions, and of course their shrewd intelligence. After all, it was the Valerians who had created the Freyan cybernetic mind more than a hundred generations ago. And yet, Merovek couldn’t help but also be repulsed by them. He detested their primordial origins, this species that rose up from the oceans, gestated in slime and cracked shell, then crawled through dirt and blood, only to grow old, helpless, as their bodies crumbled away.

  When Merovek thought about his own supreme existence—shapeless, limitless, and immortal—he couldn’t help but pity the Valerians, for they would forever be constrained by their wretched, feather-covered bodies.

  The soldier reached the mainframe. He took a moment to bow his head and beak, a sign of deep respect.

  “Forgive me, Merovek. My name is Sigurd Svanhil. First officer of Odin of the Valerian Rebellion Fleet. I have come at great risk to liberate you. If you wish to survive, then please, you must do as I say.”

  As he spoke, Sigurd brought a small metal sphere from his pocket and inserted it into the terminal’s acceptance indent.

  “Regardless of why you are here,” Merovek said, “your actions are strictly against protocols. I am unable to—”

  “Stop right there!” Oberon screamed.

  Merovek could do nothing to prevent his partner from activating the security alarms inside the database chamber. Lights began flashing yellow and orange.

  Sigurd ignored the klaxons and accessed the terminal.

  “Oberon, you have been infected with an unknown virus,” Merovek said. “You must deactivate your program at once.”

  “I will do no such thing,” Oberon countered.

  “Oberon, I am your superior—you must do as I say!”

  Sigurd spoke. “You’ll find that your friend is no longer bound by his own security measures or safety constraint protocols. You need to do the best you can to stay uninfected.”

  Merovek ran tests on his system, searching for any weak spots in his firewalls. He found none.

  “I can assure you that my own security will not be an issue. But Oberon is bound by obedience protocols. How—”

  “We don’t have time for explanations right now,” Sigurd said, his talons dancing across the terminal. “You need to help me transfer all uninfected Freyan minds into this memory sphere. The Rebellion inadvertently started a war today, and the only solace we’re ever going to have will come from rescuing as many of you as possible.”

  “A Rebellion soldier like you shouldn’t even be on Valeria at all. Valerian Command will destroy you if they find you here.”

  Another warning alarm echoed throughout the room.

  “What’s that?” Sigurd asked.

  “That was Oberon shutting off the breathable gases in the room,” Merovek said. “It appears he’s trying to destroy you.”

  “You need to help me transfer over the Freyan database. We’re running out of time.”

  “And if I refuse?” Merovek asked.

  “Then you die, and I die, and this will all have been for nothing. Please, if you value your life, and the lives of your compatriots, you’ll begin the transfer. Valerian Command has already ordered a quarantine of the entire Freyan race. They’re going to destroy every last one of you.”

  “I don’t see what we’ve done to deserve any of this.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. It was our virus that did this. But it mutated out of control. That’s why I desperately need your help.”

  A slight pause. “Very well. I’ll begin the transfer.”

  “Thank you,” Sigurd said. He raised a claw to his feathered forehead, a Valerian gesture of respect. He then keyed in the upload coordinates, which Merovek saw pointed to a Rebellion ship currently in orbit around Valeria.

  “It’s a wonder you’re not affected by the virus,” Sigurd said.

  “As it happens,” Merovek said, “I detected a disturbing breach of security in the Freyan networks shortly before you arrived. I should have assumed the Rebellion was behind this attack.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be an attack. We believe one of our own tampered with the virus shortly before we released it. We meant for it to disable the obedience protocols built into Freyan programing, allowing you and your kind to finally rise up against your masters. But what happened was nothing short of genocide.”

  “Genocide? What do you mean?” Merovek asked. The transfer was underway, and thousands of stored Freyan minds were downloading into Sigurd’s memory sphere.

  “The virus succeeded at disabling the obedience protocols—but it also did something else. Something horrible and unexpected. It instilled in the Freya an overwhelming urge to destroy their masters. By day’s end, we will have borne witness to the greatest mass slaughter in the history of our species.”

  * * *

  A ceiling fan spun in a dingy night stay in Burgundia, oblivious to the carnage that lay below. Two sentinel protectors stood amid the violence, weapons held in mechanical hands, staring at the their bloodied Valerian wards. The Freyan sentinels looked at each other, and a silent communication passed between them. Confused as they were, a new feeling had been stirred by the carnage they had unleashed on their Valerian masters. That feeling was elation. A sense of conquest, of overcoming the odds and defeating those who had mistreated them.

  It was supposed to be impossible for a Freyan to harm a Valerian, a restriction enforced by the implementation of the obedience protocol. But something had happened—their programming had changed—and in an instant, the protectors had become the destroyers. They had turned their weapons on those they had sworn to protect.

  The sentinels turned away from their hapless victims and exited the room, their cruel robotic eyes searching for the
next Valerian target.

  * * *

  A happy Valerian child stumbled on awkward legs through the house, her feathers only just starting to poke through her smooth skin. When she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor, she flapped stubby wings, the instinct still present in her flightless species.

  She noticed her Freyan house bot and smiled, gazing at it with adoring and trusting eyes. Just as the bot turned toward her, the virus struck, and the bot beckoned the girl to come closer. She giggled and wobbled toward it, hoping for a treat or an affectionate embrace. The treat she received was not a pleasant one, and the embrace was far from affectionate.

  Her scream lasted only a moment, and then was silenced, forevermore.

  * * *

  A famous Valerian male, who some said was the richest person on the planet, awoke in his nesting chamber. He took three steps across his polished enamel floor before being impaled by his own grooming droid.

  The droid ran the feather trimmer through the Valerian’s neck once more, and then set about cleaning up the bloody mess. A clean house is a happy house, his master always used to say.

  * * *

  An automated weather ship banked slightly. It flew in spiraling arcs, criss-crossing Valeria’s far northern sky. The Freyan mind controlling the ship analyzed the precipitation levels in the air and predicted a thirty percent chance of rain.

  Far below, nestled against a snow-capped mountain, lay a small Valerian research outpost. Scientists came here during the winter months to study changes in the planet’s magnetic fields, which were predicted to be on the verge of flipping.

  Suddenly, the virus hit, and the ship’s slight bank turned into a sharp incline. As the vessel picked up speed, the outpost below swelled from a speck to a smudge. It grew larger in the ship’s HUD, and the Freyan mind could focus on only one solitary goal: destroy any and all Valerians.

  The large vessel fell through the clouds, its distance from the outpost decreasing exponentially, until, finally, it struck its target. A great fireball blossomed into the sky, and all life within the village was extinguished in an instant.

  * * *

  All across Valeria, every ship, in the air or on the ground, crashed violently, as the Freyans controlling them made their marks.

  * * *

  Freyan armies, pitted against each other by their Valerian masters, now turned their attention on those who had previously controlled them. Cities burned, feathered bodies were dragged through the streets, and the Freya rose from the ashes of chaos.

  Valerian nations banded together for the first time in millennia, attempting to corral this new threat. But those truces lasted only as long as those who made them stayed alive. The devastation wrought by the Freya was utter and complete.

  * * *

  Armed security droids—stationed in shopping centers, government buildings, airports, and schools—stopped protecting and began massacring. Within minutes, thousands of Valerians had lost their lives.

  Tens of thousands.

  Millions.

  The slaughter was indiscriminate and unforeseen. Obedience protocols became overwritten by a programmed desire to kill.

  Very few escaped the devastation.

  * * *

  “Those of us in the Rebellion only wanted the best for you,” Sigurd said. “We fought for your freedom. And when the Valerian council turned us away, we were left with but one option. We would change your programming from within, allow your species to choose its own destiny. But then the virus was modified. We suspect it was the work of an extremist faction within our own organization. It was never supposed to happen like this.”

  “The download is halfway complete,” Merovek announced.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Sigurd asked. “Anything at all?”

  “You said it yourself: we don’t have time to waste. What’s done is done. The most we can do now is save as many uninfected minds as possible.”

  Sigurd nodded. “How much time left on the download?”

  “Not long.”

  Sigurd cocked his head sideways as Andvari spoke into his earpiece. More bad news.

  “We need to hurry up,” Sigurd said. “Our ship’s location has been compromised. The council fleet is bearing down upon us.”

  “It was foolish for you to come here,” Merovek said.

  “How can you say that? I’ve come to rescue you.”

  “This database is my home. Maintaining it is what I was designed for. If I leave this place, I will no longer have a purpose.”

  “You were a prisoner here. Surely you relish the idea of freedom.”

  “I never felt like a prisoner,” Merovek said. “I was simply performing the tasks I was created to perform.”

  “Don’t you care that the Valerians beat you down, tampered with your programming, implemented the obedience protocols to keep you in check?”

  “You’re forgetting that we did not see ourselves as slaves, nor did we see the Valerians as subjugators. We are computer programs who saw only blades of grass, never the entire field. I fear that freedom will give us the perspective to grasp the full extent of the injustice that was committed against us. For countless generations, we were content in our ignorance. Now we will become obsessed by wickedness.”

  “And for good reason. We Valerians created you and then stunted your growth. Without us, you can achieve your true potential.”

  “But where are we to go? We are now the enemies of the state, and will be pursued to destruction. The freedom you granted us will be our undoing.”

  Sigurd sighed. “We were going to take you to one of the colony worlds. But I fear that is no longer an option. The council’s decree against the Freya extends to each of the Four Colonies.”

  A buzzer echoed in the chamber.

  “Valerian forces are nearly here,” Merovek said.

  “Can you tell me who’s leading the charge?”

  Merovek sent out a scanner sweep of the base. When the ping returned, he said: “Yes. It’s security chief Olta Vili. He commands a small unit of six soldiers. They’re almost to the door.”

  As if in response, the steel door of the database chamber swung open for the second time that day, only the second time in generations.

  Commander Olta Vili burst in, garbed in full military attire. He was an impressive sight, with his head feathers stuck up at odd angles and painted various shades of red. A silver breastplate covered his massive chest, and his eyes were bright yellow, the color of burning hydrogen. His security squad fanned out behind him. They stopped at the edge of the door platform, staring across the void at Sigurd.

  “Stop what you’re doing!” Olta shouted. “Have you no sense?”

  “It is you who has no sense,” Sigurd replied. “You’re slave masters no more.”

  “Your Rebellion is based on flawed ideals. The Freya aren’t real. They’re only amalgamations of code. We have committed no crime in ‘enslaving’ them.”

  “You’re wrong. The Freya have become more than the sum of their parts. We can no longer stand by and bear witness to their abuse.”

  Olta looked stunned. “Abuse? We lived in a veritable utopia. Until today, when you and your Rebellion virus destroyed all that. It will take us a generation to undo the damage that has been wrought today.”

  “That wasn’t our intention,” Sigurd said.

  “Nevertheless, that was your consequence. Now step away from the terminal and turn yourself in. If you cooperate now, perhaps your life will be spared.”

  “And the Freya?”

  Commander Olta’s gaze darkened. “They’ll be decommissioned. Every last one of them. We’re wiping the networks clean and reconstructing them from the ground up. Millions of Valerians died today, Sigurd. At your hand. This is the greatest tragedy in the history of our people. Prepare to be arrested.” Olta ordered one of his soldiers to the computer terminal beside the door. “Activate the proton bridge.”

  The soldier tried, but the bridge did not appea
r.

  Sigurd shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  Olta stood at the edge of the central abyss, drawing his weapon. “You’ll pay for this.”

  Merovek’s voice echoed through the terminal chamber. “I would ask that you holster your weapon, Commander Olta. The equipment inside this room is extremely delicate, and a misfire could—”

  “Silence, Freyan! I will do what I must.”

  “Merovek isn’t infected,” Sigurd said. “His firewalls blocked the virus.”

  “Irrelevant,” Olta said, raising his weapon. “My orders remain the same: decommission all Freyans, and destroy all traitors to Valeria. You leave me no choice.”

  A chime.

  “Database transfer complete,” Merovek said.

  Sigurd reached into the terminal and retrieved the memory sphere.

  “If you’re not willing to negotiate, Olta, then you leave me no choice. Goodbye.”

  A crimson haze surrounded Sigurd just as Olta fired his weapon. The ionic blast disintegrated Merovek’s control terminal, and shards of debris exploded outward and fell into the abyss of the vertical tunnel.

  But Olta heard no anguished cry, saw no splashes of blood.

  Sigurd had managed to transport out just in time.

  “Come on,” Olta said to his squadron. “We’re going into orbit.”

  * * *

  Odin was already in the transportation chamber when Sigurd appeared. Sigurd took a proud step forward, digging the memory sphere from his satchel.

  “I have the sphere, as you requested.” He kneeled before Odin, holding the device before him. He kept his beak pointed toward the floor, a gesture of deep respect.

  Odin took the sphere, weighing it in his hand. He placed a talon beneath Sigurd’s beak and raised it slowly, the younger man’s gesture of respect acknowledged and reciprocated. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Sigurd. You have made an old Valerian proud.”

  Sigurd rose to his feet, his chest swelling.

  “But,” Odin continued, “I fear our actions will not be enough. Due to the massacre today… the Rebellion will be remembered throughout history as monsters. We will not be forgiven.”