“The manufacturing base of the people on Krungthep was destroyed over three hundred thousand years ago.”
“Krungthep... Is that a planet?” asked Kimi. “Can we reach it?”
“Krungthep was—”
“What do you want there?” Norok asked Kimi.
“Alexa, please answer my question.”
“Krungthep was humanity’s shipyard planet for a long time. All their warships came from there. And they also enriched exotic matter there.”
“Good, then we’ll fly to Krungthep.”
“But Kimi, what are you thinking?” Norok fanned his tail feathers. “Three hundred thousand years after the destruction, I’m sure we won’t find any exotic matter there. Instead, we may encounter the Artificials!”
“I hope so, Norok, I hope so very much indeed. Or do you have a better suggestion?”
“Alexa, where is the Artificials’ home planet?” asked Norok.
“That is unknown.”
“See? The best thing would be if we could dissuade them from their plans. We don’t know where they are, but Krungthep is at least a lead. They must have been there once, after all, if they destroyed the planet. Maybe we can still find them there.”
“Let’s think over the decision thoroughly. We only have one shot at this, after all. What if we don’t find the Artificials on Krungthep, but we do find clues to their home?”
“Then we follow those leads. That’s obvious.”
“But we can only tunnel twice more. Then we’re stuck.”
“If we can get the Artificials to spare both our peoples, it’s definitely worth that sacrifice.”
“Kimi, you’re stubborn, but you can’t always get your way. Alexa, I demand that you don’t release the ship until after a vote.”
Kimi had to swallow. Her partner openly opposed her! And he didn’t even have a reasonable counter-proposal! Well, wait, Norok, wait until we are alone together!
“I can’t do that, Norok. Kimikizu was the first to register with me. That automatically gave her administrator status.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means, I only take orders from her.”
“Now, this one is bearable,” Tolkut’s voice sounded from the translator. “What is it?”
The Mendrak crushed something that looked like a thick, bloody sponge between its powerful mandibles.
“I have no idea,” Kasfok said. “I was looking on the screen for something that looked like anything I knew. This one made me think of horned-wing liver.”
“It tastes more like a somewhat chewy flatfish ham.”
“I like flatfish.”
“That wasn’t a criticism—it’s ten times better than anything we’ve tried before.”
Alexa had warned them that entering a hyperspace tunnel would be strenuous for the untrained. So, they were fortifying themselves as best they could. Kasfok had found a machine in one of the rooms near the control center, and discovered that it produced food. However, it was set up for humans. At least Kimi had found a mixture of seeds and nuts that turned out to be edible. The stuff was a little too salty, but it filled you up. She had told Norok about it, but he had hardly paid attention to her. Was his self-esteem that bad? After all, he had once been captain of his ship, while she had been assigned to him as a promising trainee. Times had changed.
Kimi closed her eyes and listened. Nearby, the mandibles of the Mendrak crackled and crunched. Somewhere to the left, water rushed. That had to be Norok, who had locked himself in a human hygiene room. There was no sand shower here. The people had probably never discovered the significant benefit of fine grains of sand pattering on the skin. Instead, they made do with water, which was challenging to get out of the feathers, and where it attacked the protective layer of oil. She could not understand at all why Norok would spend so much time under a jet of water. But perhaps he was just sitting there wailing his woes on the tub-shaped construction, which seemed so well suited for a dust bath, and had only turned on the water as noise camouflage.
She should not care. He would eventually get used to the fact that she could steer the ship on her own. But that was probably also a misconception, because Alexa seemed to have everything under control here. How advanced might she actually be? It was clearly an artificial intelligence, but what kind of freedom did it have? She would ask her later, when there was still extra time before departure.
But no. She did care. Norok was the father of her children... who would be hatched by someone else in the coming days. Kimi took a deep breath. They had to manage to avert the destruction of their new home.
Kimi, drummed Tolkut.
She felt it in her bare soles. She recognized the rhythm of her name instinctively by now. What had happened?
“Kimi,” also came from the translator’s speaker. “Come here a minute, please. This should interest you.”
She found Tolkut and Kasfok at the food preparer. The machine was recessed into the wall and consisted of a large screen and a deep compartment, the cover of which lifted when the selected food was ready. On the screen, one had to choose the desired product. There were hundreds of different dishes. The two Mendraki had been busy for hours trying out an assortment of options. Dishes with the strangest-looking foods covered the floor.
Tolkut pulled himself up by a thread on the wall so that he was hovering to the right of the screen. Then he pointed to a symbol with his left front leg.
Kimi jumped backward in fright. She couldn’t find a foothold in the weightlessness, but she was able to brake with her wings. On the screen was an Iks. It was a reasonably well-fed specimen, but it was an Iks, and a male one at that. Were humans eating members of her species? The Iks had never consciously had contact with humans before traveling to this system. No, that was impossible. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. She flew back to the machine.
“Did you also find Mendraki on the list?” she asked.
“No,” Kasfok replied. “Mendraki are not eaten. They eat themselves. The Mendraki are the pinnacle of evolution.”
“I apologize for my friend,” Tolkut said. “Every now and then he still falls back into old patterns.”
Before the Battle
“You know where we stand, and thus I’ll keep this short.” Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan paused and looked at the six lifelike holograms in turn.
On the far left stood General Lorina Fallok. She was already in her 28th material incarnation, and she’d held a high military rank in the last five. Joorthan did not know exactly how many virtual incarnations the general had in her biography, but it was certain that she was one of the few people still alive who had experienced the war from the beginning.
He would be able to rely on Lorina Fallok and her squadron in the space battle that was inevitably coming.
Next to her stood General Hooloor. The bipedal, lizard-like, sexless being from the Toolkur people was in his original physical incarnation. The Toolkur—the only non-human spacefaring species ever encountered in the many decades of human expansion—had never developed the concept of ego-transmission, nor had they been provided with the underlying theory and technology. Only a few selected representatives of the allied people had so far been offered the possibility to have their egomatrix read out in a transfer institute controlled by humans, to transfer it into a quantum computer specially designed for this purpose, and to retransfer it into a cultivated clone body if necessary.
General Hooloor was not among the handful of Toolkur who had been offered this opportunity so far.
The unisexual reptiloids had not been faithful allies of humanity from the beginning. At first, they had even stood in the way of human expansion, but they had quickly come to realize their technological inferiority. One or two skirmishes had been enough to nip any further opposition in the bud. This was many millennia in the past, and the Toolkur had long since realized—been forced to realize—that they could only profit from humanity’s superiority. At the latest, however, since the enemy n
o longer made any distinction between systems populated by humans and Toolkur, the lizards had become aware that they would either win at the side of the humans or perish together with them.
Next in line, General Chen Hong stood in front of Joorthan and looked at the fleet admiral eagerly. Chen was the youngest and least experienced of the six generals. Although he was already in his twelfth physical incarnation, he had always lived out his material manifestations as an industrialist or, sometimes, an artist. Only the fact that physical incarnations became rarer and rarer—and in the meantime, there had become an acute shortage of them—had led to Chen reaching the rank of general.
The man, who was utterly incompetent in the eyes of the fleet admiral, looked expectantly at his superior. He may have been incompetent tactically and strategically, but Joorthan knew that Chen would implement every order almost slavishly. He simply did not possess enough imagination or fantasy to develop anything like initiative. Moreover, he was exceedingly fearful. In fact, just before this meeting, he had probably had his current egomatrix uploaded from the transfer station on his ship directly into the giant quantum computer that he had to defend in this system.
Of course, this was a completely idiotic measure, as Marty Joorthan knew only too well. If they lost the upcoming battle, it had to be assumed that the last still-existing quantum computer would also be destroyed, along with the stored consciousness contents of many billions of people.
They were fighting today not only for their own lives—meaning those of the several million crew members of the defense fleet and the billions of inhabitants of this system who were currently manifesting in physical incarnation—but also for the existence of the virtual incarnations of countless people who had to be defended at all costs. Deep beneath the surface of the planet below them, their egomatrices were stored in the largest quantum computer system humankind had ever created. This supercomputer, where billions and billions of virtual incarnations lived in simulated worlds, was humanity’s last refuge. If it fell, it meant the end of human existence in the universe.
The fleet admiral’s gaze fell on the fourth person in line, and he could not hide a slight smile. His smile was almost imperceptibly returned. He could read it mainly in the eyes of the woman facing him.
General Alexya Koppa probably could not quantify the number of her physical or virtual incarnations any more than Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan could his own. They had to number in the hundreds! Maybe they both were even the oldest still living people—as far as significant periods of their existence could be called ‘life.’
In many of these incarnations, they had been closely connected not only professionally but also personally. Although there had been hundreds, if not thousands, of years between their intimate relationships, they had always found each other anew.
He would not have to worry about Alexya’s squadron. Whatever she had to do to protect this system and the planet with the last irreplaceable quantum computer deep beneath its surface, she would do, even if it would ultimately be in vain.
His gaze next fell on the two generals Haino Klauter and Garo Roschi, the ‘Siamese twins,’ as Alexya had once dubbed them. Joorthan had first needed to inquire about the term in a database. Perhaps he had once known it, but one of the drawbacks of his many incarnations was that small fragments of memory were lost with each copy. Over hundreds of manifestations, this loss multiplied and could become a problem at some point. Even Alexya could not reliably remember all the details of their long acquaintance. But as long as he could fill in her gaps and she could fill in his, nothing was really lost.
The fleet admiral pulled himself together. Now was not the time to philosophize about the side effects of a consciousness transfer and the effects of multiple incarnations. The next hours and days would decide whether there was anything left to worry about.
The Siamese twins, in any case, would not cause him any anxieties. Just as he and Alexya had a long history together, Klauter and Roschi had been connected for many incarnations as far as Joorthan knew, not as a couple or on a sexual level, but only as close friends who shared almost all interests. So, too, they shared their interest in the military.
Aware of their potential immortality, they had joined the Space Fleet in each incarnation and had quickly made careers there after several daring—some would say insane—missions. As the need for experienced soldiers grew with each fallen system, each destroyed quantum computer, and each destroyed fleet, their careers had taken them higher and higher with each incarnation. Now they belonged to the last generals of humanity—the last posse!
They would bring all their experience to the battle. And all their daring, up to the willingness to sacrifice themselves if necessary.
All these thoughts and memories had flashed through Joorthan’s mind. The assessing look with which he had examined the six generals standing in front of him had taken less than three seconds.
“We are facing the most important battle ever fought in the history of humankind,” he said. “I don’t need to tell you that it’s no longer about victory. It’s about ensuring that humanity doesn’t disappear from the universe as if it never existed. We will shortly be fighting for nothing less than not to be forgotten.”
Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan paused and looked deeply into everyone’s eyes once more. “It makes no difference what happens to us, our ships and crews. It pains me to have to say this so clearly. It does not even matter whether we succeed in preventing the enemy from destroying the colonized moons or the habitats with all their inhabitants. And though it is difficult for me to say, I will say it: it likewise does not matter whether we succeed in saving the billions of people who inhabit the surface of the planet in physical incarnation.”
The candor of his words would hopefully have the intended effect on the generals standing before him. “The only thing that matters is protecting the last supercomputer hidden deep beneath the surface. But in all this, the enemy must not realize that this is our main goal. He must not even suspect that there is a last supercomputer deep underground. He must not, under any circumstances, find out that the defense of the moons and habitats and the planet surface, all defensive measures with all their resulting losses, are only shadow fencing—diversionary maneuvers, a deadly theater to protect the real object of all our efforts. I expect each of you to direct your tactical and strategic actions toward this goal. All that matters is to allow the virtual incarnations in the supercomputer to come out of hiding in the distant future and launch a new offensive that will restore humanity to its rightful place in this universe. A future that our own creatures are trying to dispute with us!”
Once again, he paused. “I wish you all good hunting and an honorable death!”
Fleet Admiral Joorthan knew that if they failed today, it meant final death for him as well as for each of the six generals. If the enemy discovered the quantum computer, or even accidentally destroyed it during the bombardment of the surface, then there was no hope for any of them to incarnate again, either. All of them who were standing here in front of him knew that.
However, what none of them except Alexya knew was how he himself was involved in the events. Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan was the real culprit in this war and the eventual extinction of all humanity. The attackers, only minutes away, were his children. He had created the enemy a very long time ago. Not him personally, not Marty Joorthan in his current physical incarnation, but one of his early manifestations. His very first physical incarnation, the original, the original Marty Joorthan, the forefather of all later incarnations, had laid the foundation for all that had ultimately led them here.
Marty Joorthan could not remember all that much from his very first life. It was so long ago that almost no memories of that time existed in him anymore. He didn’t even know what exact name the original had borne. Only two things he was still aware of with frightening clarity: Alexya had been by his side even then, and together they had created the implacable enemy they now faced.
Alexya could no longer remember that time either, but she too was painfully aware that they had both been the creators of the Artificials!
56th of Nahn, 299
Kimi stretched. It had been a short night, and she had slept poorly. A sleeping pole, or something close to one, could not be found. Instead of resting comfortably on a perch, she had tried to sleep on her knees. But she had not found a good place for her beak and had to change positions constantly. So she had been delighted when Alexa had finally awakened her.
Now, a sand shower would be perfect to drive the tiredness from her feathers... But she would probably have to do without that forever—especially if Norok was right, and they wasted all their hyperspace fuel in the search for the Artificials.
“Good morning, Dearest!” Norok, who was just floating past her door, beak first, called to her.
Oh, he must have calmed down. One less worry. She couldn’t think about the other concern that was plaguing her.
“Departure in thirty minutes,” sounded from the loudspeaker.
A shiver ran down her spine. A thousand small vibrations traveled invisibly through the room. Only after a few moments did she understand the reason—Alexa was communicating with the Mendraki in their language.
... gather in headquarters..., she understood.
Kimi stood up and shook herself as if she had just taken a dust bath. Maybe her body would fall for this trick. She remembered the first sand bath Norok had invited her to before they had become a couple. It had been nice to be courted like that. She shook her feathers. For a moment it seemed to her that sand was trickling out, but it could only be skin flakes.
“Alexa, is there sand on Krungthep? Warm sand?” she asked.
The virtual figure in the column had been sitting cross-legged. Now it straightened up.
“I can confirm that,” Alexa replied. “The sand in the Solara Desert heats up to twelve hundred standard degrees.”
Helium 3: Death from the Past (Helium-3 Book 2) Page 6