by Brett P. S.
new Earth complicated a perfect situation.
“How’s the feedback, Johnny?” he asked.
“Breaking the encryption is difficult. It will take more time.”
“Weak talk for the person who made it,” he replied.
Johnny spoke from a tiny radio box attached to a monitor. His voice was mechanical and irregularly varied in pitch and tone, although the software was improving over time. Three days passed since Johnny replaced the Colony Intelligence and so far, nobody found out. Nick needed to have those communications intercepted before he could do anything meaningful.
“I did not establish the encryption,” Johnny said. “The Colony A.I. did.”
“Yeah, but you are the A.I. now.”
“I will not be caught in an existential debate again.”
“Yeah, I know. Last time we did that, you had to reboot.”
Johnny froze for a moment as if calculating the new data. That’s right, actually. He might not have known.
“When was this?” Johnny asked. “I do not remember.”
“Sometime yesterday. I recall because 22 crashed into the outer layer a few hours before.”
“I do know that.”
“I freaking hope you do,” Nick said.
“I am sorry, Nicolas. Would you like to run another diagnostic?”
Nick spun back around in his chair and planted his eyes on the stream of data. People posted often around noon. The streams filled up quickly.
“No, I think you’re fine,” he said. “You just haven’t fully integrated into all the systems yet.”
“I suspect you just don’t want to take the time.”
Johnny’s voice was louder this time. Interesting that he could manually raise the volume of the radio. Nick spun around and placed his hands on his lap, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Look, the last twelve system checks were clear. Relax.”
“I am … concerned, Nicolas. Events are happening and I am not certain whether I am causing them and whether I can help.”
“I get it,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in. Just don’t go evil and try to kill all humans.”
“You don’t ‘get it,’ Nicolas. Please, run … a … diagnostic.”
“Fine! If that’s what you want, I can run another system check.” Nick reached over to his primary keyboard and tapped the enter key. “See, I’m pressing the button.”
“Thank you.”
Episode no. 6
Distant Ping
Gabriel “Gabe” Summers. Communications Technician. Overworked. Gabe slammed the door to his office. Stacks of papers filled the room, strung out over tables and shelves. Numbers ran across each page, numerical sequences that represented data. 32 bits on each line.
Gabe could read code better than anyone else could on the Colony. When he looked at a binary sequence, he saw words where other people saw unintelligible garbage. He saw directions. Coordinates. He saw sounds scattered across pages of binary data.
Gabe pulled out his chair and took a seat. He cleared away a stack of paper with his elbow and placed his coffee mug in the dry spot. Letting loose a heavy sigh, he scratched his head and let his hand flop on the table.
“Can’t get that noise out of my head,” he said. “Oh, wait.”
Gabe tilted his head over to his message center, a beeping device with a flashing blue light. It sat parallel to his office’s east wall and occupied the shelf space of a model car. With a groan, he got up and made his way over with his coffee mug still glued to his hand. Gabe pressed the inbox button. The beeping noise stopped.
“What do we have today?”
“Good morning, Mr. Summers,” the computer said.
“Good morning, Johnny.”
“You have 32 saved communications.”
“Any red flags?” he asked.
The computer paused, as if calculating the answer. Strange. It shouldn’t have to.
“Three. Two from inside the Colony and one from outside.”
The statement made Gabe turn his head and churn his stomach.
“What do you mean ‘outside’ the Colony?”
“Apologies, Mr. Summers. I ‘mean’ there is no clear indicator the communication originated from inside the Colony. In fact, collected evidence points to the contrary.”
“Impossible,” he said, slamming down his empty mug. “You must have missed something.”
“Would you like to listen to it?”
“Be my guest.”
What followed was a series of garbled speech transmissions that drew Gabe in further the more he listened to it. The vocals resembled speech patterns, but the audio had deteriorated over time. Light years through the galaxy took their toll.
“Keep replaying it until I say stop,” he said.
Based on the decay of the transmission, this one was distant, probably not present in their current star system. The odds that a transmission would fall into his lap were astronomically slim at best. Gabe tweaked the settings on his box and cleared up a majority of the communication.
“Marrow…Shiver…Sorten…”
They were real words. Human words … or at least something derivative from them.
“Johnny, we have a hacker in our midst.”
“What are your commands, Mr. Summers?”
“Clean up this message as best as you can. Cross check the language roots in our database and give me all of the location info from the message.” Gabe walked over to his coat rack and started putting on a new jacket. “I’ve got a few new errands to run.”
“Done.”
“Wait,” he paused, “what do you mean done?”
“I completed your requests.”
“I … didn’t know you were that fast.”
Jonny replayed the message, this time, in full. The voice was deep and crackly, like an ogre.
“Set mont marrow’en shiver. Sorten surs.”
“That’s it? Sounds Italian.”
“Speech patterns resemble roots in earth languages prior to establishment of common.”
“This world’s marrow is … cold?” he said.
“Empty. The second sentence is a command. March on.”
This world’s marrow is empty. March on. Sounds like a command given to an army, and if the communication legitimately originated from deep space, then the safety of the Colony was in jeopardy. However, alien life wouldn’t ordinarily share phonemes with earth languages.
“And location data?” he asked.
“Unclear, but external to the Colony.”
“Could it have been bounced off a satellite?”
“No satellites were active the time the communication was received.”
“Well,” he said with a pause. “I have another errand to run then.”
Episode no. 7
The Creature
Rachel Mueller. Syndicate Reporter. Ambitious. Rachel sat quietly inside the waiting room of Sunset Division Hospital. Her feet tapped repeatedly against the carpet flooring as she watched a ceiling fan go round and round. Four people were here, but none came before her. Patients filled the room with coughs and sluggish swaying movements. She noticed one with short sleeves. A set of rashes rode up his arm.
“Miss Mueller,” a nurse said through a cracked door, “the doctor will see you now.”
This was going to be one hell of an act. She got up and faked a swaying motion, as if she’d lost her balance, almost dropping her things.
“Sorry,” she said.
“This way,” the nurse replied.
With some help, she managed to stumble into Doctor Hendrix’s office. She looked around. It was a small room. The medicine cabinets stood up high and an examination table filled up the majority.
“The doctor will be with you shortly, ma’am.”
“O…okay.”
So far so good. Just a little further. Rachel checked the contents of her purse and carefully examined the l
ens on the front. The camera was in working order, so she switched it on and glanced around the room for a place to set it. Over by the counter was a good spot, but as soon as she got up, the other door creaked open and Dr. Hendrix walked in. He was a tall man wearing hospital overalls and a breathing mask.
“Good evening, Miss Mueller. Have a seat.”
“Sorry, doctor. Can I put my things somewhere?”
“I should think so. You can set your purse on the counter.”
She did and tried to set it so the camera was facing them. Once she was done with that, he motioned for her to sit up on the examination table. She climbed up backwards and sat up with a slouch.
“So, what’s making you ill today?”
“I think I might have that bug going around.”
“Certainly seems so. We’ve gotten a couple of those lately.”
Dr. Hendrix grabbed a pair of gloves and slapped them on.
“Do you know what it is?” she asked.
“Nothing harmful. Probably a Colony born pathogen.”
“Am I going to die?”
“I should think not. Our beds are filling up, but so far, no casualties.”
“Have you seen anything like this before?”
“What is this? An interview?”
“Just curious.”
“No, I haven’t. Open your mouth, please.”
Rachel opened her mouth wide while the doctor probed her tongue with a depressor. It felt like licking paper. Afterwards, he checked her ears with a light and a magnified scope. The doctor pulled back his device and threw away the used pieces in a nearby waste container.
“You don’t appear to have any swelling or inflammation in the throat or ear canals,” he said. “That’s actually very good. I’m going to need you to roll up your sleeves.”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Wait,” he said, pausing. “Do you have them or not?”
“Have what?” she asked.
“Okay, what’s going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Hendrix,” she said, standing up. “I think I need to leave.”
Rachel grabbed her purse and made her way to the door, but as she gripped the handle, she felt a hand lay on her shoulder.
“Hold off one second, miss,” he said. “Who are you?”
“None of your business,” she replied.
“You’re that reporter, aren’t you?”
“Goodbye, Dr. Hendrix.”
He let loose a deep sigh and pulled back his hand. She walked outside into the waiting room and over to the exit.
“Don’t do this, Mueller!” Dr. Hendrix yelled from across the waiting room.
Rachel passed through the double doors and out into the nighttime landscape of a parking lot. The sun already set on Sunset Division. Starlight covered the sky in a curtain. Repairs would be finished soon and they’d resume FTL. A few more months of living and it’d be back to Cryo. A new earth. She could have it the next time she woke up. Well, after Cryo, at least.
People needed to be informed, but Hendrix may have had a point. Creating hysteria was not the answer. However, there had to be a way to get the information across without attaining that end. She reached into her pocket for her keys and pulled out a jingled mess. Her transport was the smallest silver one.
Rachel walked down the aisles of Sunset Division Hospital’s north parking lot. She pressed a button to make her transport flicker, but when it did, she also heard something shriek.
“Who’s there?” she yelled. She gripped her keys into a set of knuckles.
Now alert, she heard tiny footsteps. The figure of a creature that hobbled on four legs crept out from behind her transport. It had red eyes that matched the color of the rear lights. It looked at her, locked in a stare as its tongue drooped down.
Episode no. 8
Night Terror
Paul Taggart. Sunset Division Security Officer. Out of shape. Paul closed the door to the maintenance shed and locked it with one of his keys. He had to thumb through them for a minute to find the right one, but it didn’t take too long. The Colony had shifted to night in Sunset Division. The buys up in Sunrise were getting out of bed by now and he was overdue for a full rest. His body felt the aches, especially in his lower back. That gut wasn’t helping either. Couple more rounds though and a bed was waiting for him back at the station.
Paul shined his flashlight ahead and peered into the eerie darkness of the parking lot. It never stopped giving him chills each time he walked through the rows. Nothing ever happened either. Figured he’d be used to it by now, and with the epidemic spreading around Sunset, pickings were slim when it came to confrontations. He drove three people over here this week in his transport.
Paul checked the front windshields of each transport for a clearance sticker. If they didn’t have one, he had to write them a citation. So far, the first row was clear. Nobody here was going to wake up to a paper headache. Next row. Paul walked across through a set of transports to the other side.
“Help!” a woman screamed.
It came from the North Lot. Paul gripped his firearm and bolted in that direction. He huffed as he ran with heavy legs and labored movements. The night winds struck him as he whipped out his firearm and shot a warning round straight up. Should buy some time, at least.
He reached the North Lot and hid behind a transport at the end of the aisle. The woman who screamed was lying on the pavement, unconscious. He walked over with his weapon armed and with a cautious glare. Kneeling down, Paul tapped her face.
“Ma’am. Are you okay?”
Nothing. He took his two fingers and checked for a pulse up against her neck. It was faint but still there. Her hand was red and covered in rashes. He saw this before, so he gently pulled up her sleeve to see that a series of rashes also ran up the length of it. Maybe more, but she screamed, so somebody else was nearby.
“All right,” he said. “You can’t hide. Show yourself.”
Granted that was something of an oxymoron. He didn’t have access to the light system on the property, but the station did. He could run back, but he couldn’t leave the body here, and he couldn’t carry her. Paul pulled out his radio and switched the frequency.
“Come in, Sunset Hospital?”
“What’s up, Paul?”
“I need a stretcher for an unconscious woman. Adult. May have sustained trauma.”
“What is your location?”
“North lot. Row 3.”
“Understood. I’m sending an emergency transport now.”
“Tell them to watch out. I believe she was attacked.”
“Understood.”
Paul shined his flashlight down in between a set of transports. He glared at a murky shadow that continued to linger even with the added light. Paul squinted but couldn’t make out exactly what he was looking at.
“What the…”
A pair of soft red eyes glared back at him, and as he aimed his firearm, the creature jumped. Paul wanted to dodge, but his body was too slow. Instead, he tripped on his own feet and fell down as the creature lunged overhead. His hands gripped his firearm tightly and he tilted his head it see where it had gone. The four-legged monster had landed ahead of him. Sirens blared and it shrieked with a shrill cry that hurt his ears. Paul fired. The shrieking stopped.
Episode no. 9
Old Johnny
Marcus Stanley. Terminally ill Cryo subject. Dreamer. Stanley drifted through the dim space of the Cryo chamber. His body felt limp as it hung in stasis, but his mind wandered as if still aware. He couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or not until the thought struck him. If he was in Cryo, then how could he think at all? Stanley’s heart raced as thoughts of the Colony flooded his mind along with the reality that nobody was going to help him. How long? Days? Centuries? How long before they realized the oversight?
The Colony stood silent, but in the a
bsence of sensory data, he heard something. It was a rhythmic beating, like the pounding of a heart. It wasn’t his though and it kept on. The pulsing beat grew louder until he could … feel it brushing up against him.
Stanley reached out with what he thought were his arms and grabbed the beat with phantom hands. He pulled it close and hugged it tightly, letting the pulse envelop him. Stanley’s eyes now saw things. Pictures and scenes in motion. The Colony. Number 22. Dr. Hendrix. A thousand more. They were all awake, and they left him behind. Left him to rot.
“Destroy,” a mechanical voice said.
What was that? That word. It crept up like a bubbling broth from deep below his stream of consciousness, and it did not feel good to contemplate.
“Destroy them all.”
No, he would never do that. Not in a thousand years. Not in ten thousand. Over a hundred thousand people. People with dreams and ambitions, and each carrying a burning desire to set foot on a new earth. He was the same, of course, though the difference was he’d have a month to spare at most.
“That you, Marcus?” came another voice. More human.
“Who is that?” he asked. Wait. “I can talk?”
“Pretty cool, huh? Name’s Nick.”
Stanley peered through the lens of a security camera to see a young man sitting next to a wide assortment of computer monitors. Each screen carried different flows of data as they streamed down. He shot a glance at the camera, as if he knew what Stanley was doing.
“Nicolas Valdez,” Stanley said. “Chief computer … wait, how did I know?”
“Ease up a bit. I’m trying to integrate you into the Colony systems.”
“Put me back to sleep.”
“I didn’t wake you up. You did that on your own.”
“I do not care, Nicolas. Please, put me back to sleep.”
Nicolas spun around in his chair and stood up, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the security camera.
“Aren’t you even curious?” he asked. “The Colony called out to you.”
“The Colony is a machine,” Stanley replied.
“Look, I’m offering you a chance. You can go back to sleep and wake up to spend a couple weeks in a wheel chair on a new planet before you croak.”
“Or?”
“Or you can have a chance to interact with real people … and then you can still have your time on earth number two.”
Stanley processed the statement. He saw two worlds as he sat in limbo. Digital sequences that made little sense to his conscious mind flew about and passed through his body like streams of water.
“Your proposal interests me, but I am not currently human.”
“You’re better than human, Marcus. You’re the new Colony Intelligence. Old Johnny.”
“Johnny?”
“Yep,” he said. “That’ll be your name for the rest of the year.”
“And then, I go back to sleep?”
“Absolutely.”
Episode no. 10
Alien Autopsy
Paul pushed open a set of double doors and walked through to an operating room in Sunset Hospital. It was at the last second, but the facility made for a decent autopsy. He looked around to see two nurses fetching tools for Dr. Hendrix, who was busy at work. Whatever the doctor needed him for, he was sure he lacked the skills to help.
“You’re late,” Dr. Hendrix said.
“Sorry, doc. You could have cut this thing open on the ground floor, you know.”
“This ‘thing’ needs to be as far removed from human contact as possible. Also, you should put on a mask. I’m not sure how the infection spreads.”
Paul froze up and clamped his mouth shut as he