Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  “They starved?”

  “No, Emery. We are not a cruel people. We took them. The other Guardian and I. It was before the decision to take them all. Something we did on our own. We could not let them suffer. But it is, perhaps, why I suffer the iteration.”

  Rebecca wanted to ask what the iteration was, but Spixworth interrupted. “Fascinating,” he said, “Parental care is extremely rare in earth insects.”

  Issk’ath turned toward him. “It is not biological parental care. The queen is the sole layer—”

  “Who cares?” shouted Alice suddenly. “They’re gone . This is a— a carcass cycler, not a room. These people caused their own extinction.”

  “Yes,” agreed Issk’ath.

  “And we barely escaped our own. If we come here, if we settle, it will be the same. Worse. We have no Guardians to stop us. It will be us tearing each other apart for a berry or a handful of grain for our children.”

  Issk’ath’s triangular head tilted. It let out a thin hiss. “That is unlikely to occur in your lifespan,” it said at last, “You are so few. You do not have the genetic variety to establish a permanent colony. And Dorothy suggests that among you are only three females of the correct age for bearing offspring. She also hints that you and Spixworth are the only members likely to mate among you.”

  Spixworth cleared his throat and Rebecca could see the intensity of his blush even through his dark helmet. “I think Oxwell was referring to the entire complement of the Keseburg settling here. There are—” he hesitated as Alice shot him a warning glance. “There are sufficient mating pairs to ensure a permanent colony and even grow to cover the face of the planet in time. That is what Al— Oxwell is concerned with.”

  “If you are concerned, why do you intend to bring them? Why not stay as you are?”

  “The Keseburg is home to all of our families,” said Spixworth.

  “Families? The word is in the lexicon but I lack context.”

  “The Keseburg is our nest, Issk’ath, and the people on board are our colony. But our nest is failing.” Rebecca looked around at the slumping walls. “Much like your own. Our maintenance teams are not machines. They cannot keep up with the repairs. We require a new home.”

  “I understand.” Issk’ath turned back toward Alice and lowered itself to meet her eyes, whirring as it sunk. “If you seek to protect your colony, it seems you have few choices.”

  “We have no choice,” said Spixworth. “It isn’t just our nest that’s dying. Our people are becoming sick in space. They need a home.”

  “Maybe we ought to make the same choice that these people did,” said Alice. “Maybe we are meant to end.”

  Spixworth shook his head. “Why? When we have a chance to survive, why would we push it away?”

  “Survival is just as doubtful here as it is up there. And aboard the Keseburg we’re only risking our own lives.” Alice tapped her own feed and thrust out her arm. The projection flickered and then steadied. Humans. Thousands of them. Packed against each other, faces twisted in nasty snarls, shouting. Then a bottle flying through the air. A rock. Two. The flash of ballistic gunfire and the roar of shouts. The scene shifted and Rebecca turned away from the vision of children poking into empty food sacks as clouds of dust blew over them. Dry fields sparkling and chalky with poisonous salt. Buildings covered in water. All empty. Everything so empty except the angry press of too many people in the few spaces left.

  “We did this, Nick. All of it. War and famine and ruin. All of it. Did you pay attention in history class?”

  “I did . Especially the history part. This is what we were. It’s not what we are. You think in all these centuries we’ve learned nothing? Hundreds of years of drilling our mistake into our heads, into our kids’ heads and you think we’re still too stubborn to get it? How long are we going to— to punish ourselves for something that we had no hand in? There’s no one alive who even knew anyone who saw earth. There hasn’t been for a millennium and a half. When do we get to put the past behind us and try again?”

  “We ruined a planet. Thousands of species along with most of our own. We never get to put it behind us. We’re like a— a virus. We have to be eradicated.”

  “That’s insane, Alice,” gasped Rebecca. “I have my doubts about colonization, but you’re talking about mass suicide.”

  “No, we don’t have to do anything. We can live out our lives aboard the ship, let the natural course of Spindling continue. All we have to do is stay quiet. We just have to go home and pretend this place was barren and inhospitable. Just another failure like all the others.”

  “This is ridiculous. Even if I agreed and I don’t ,” said Spixworth holding up a hand, “but even if I did, you think you’re going to be able to persuade the others? Titov? Al Jahi? Martham? And that’s to say nothing of the moon mission—”

  “The moon’s a barren rock. Bruheim’s mission was a formality, we all knew that. A resource grab at best.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Alice.”

  “The three of us can convince the others.”

  “You haven’t convinced me ,” said Spixworth. He turned toward Rebecca. “You aren’t falling for this madness, are you?”

  Rebecca hesitated. “We’ve talked about what will happen to the others when they come here,” she said at last.

  “Better than waiting to die. You want to go back? Spend your whole life in that dingy little library studying the same people, the same situations, the same history, over and over and over? For what, Emery? Another fifty years of waiting so another kid can come along and take your place and spend his whole life waiting? Why are we doing this ?”

  “Maybe there’s another option,” said Rebecca. She looked up at Issk’ath. “We could join your colony.”

  “Negative. I have performed my function. I already suffer one iteration, I will not add another. And seeing what you have shown me, my decision would be the same as it was for my colony. I would take you before you could cause yourselves harm. Is that what you wish? Your captain seemed opposed. There will be others who feel as he did. I do not enjoy persuasion. It is not optimal.”

  “You see?” said Alice, “I’m not the only one.”

  Issk’ath face turned toward her. “I did not say that I agreed. If I did as Emery requested, if I performed the same function for you as I did for my people, I would not be defending the planet. I would be saving you from yourselves. I cannot say what you should do. I am not of you. Dorothy has many ideas about extinction, but they are— confused. Irrational. Lacking data. It seems to motivate her in strange ways. I believe I must have missed something in my haste to process her.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I doubt it. Most of us are confused and irrational when it comes to death. And all of us are lacking data. It is simply how we exist.”

  “Then I cannot know how you would decide your best course either. I can offer no assistance, Emery. I apologize.”

  “I don’t want you to decide or to guard us. I’m asking you to do what you did for Dorothy. To save our dying with your colony.” She tapped its chassis. “There will be many. But this would be easier if we knew they would not be lost.”

  Issk’ath was silent for a long moment. “It is not a simple request,” it warned at last. “Even my databanks are not infinite. And you are not my colony. Dorothy was necessary. I had to find a way to communicate with you and her death, while unfortunate for you, was a way for me to do that. I will— consider it, Emery.”

  “Thank you,” said Rebecca.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Their feeds are breaking up,” said Al Jahi. “I told Spixworth to keep it down there for an hour. We have to move.”

  Liu clicked off his own feed and picked up the small box of tools at his side. “Let’s get it done then.”

  They climbed up the ladder to the top of the Wolfinger and Liu knelt beside the array. He looked up at Al Jahi. “I wanted to tell you before, but I wasn’t sure how. If we do this, there wi
ll be no way to warn the Keseburg ahead of time. We’ll have no communications outside the ship’s own range. Our personal range is significant, but not enough. We’ll have maybe thirty seconds as we’re docking if we use our personal feeds. That’s it.”

  Al Jahi smiled. “I’ve been a communications officer for fifteen years, Gang. I understand how this works.”

  “Right. Of course. I just wanted to make sure.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. This thing has to be vulnerable to something.” She picked up a tool. “Maybe it isn’t as hard as we think,” she said. “Something that complex has to be pretty delicate under that casing. We just have to find a way to get under it.”

  “You really think it got Gabriel?” asked Liu, loosening the bolts around the protective glass bubble. Al Jahi started on the other side.

  “Not really, no. I think it was probably an accident. Just an unforeseen glitch in the dosing program or something. Joan is in denial because she thinks that somehow makes it her fault. It doesn’t, but she thinks it does. Still, I don’t like the idea of that thing in our systems, and it’s better for everyone to err on the side of caution.”

  Liu tilted the bubble up on its hinges and began working on the array beneath. “Good, I’m glad you don’t think it’s murdering us,” he said, “because I was starting to think Oxwell was right.”

  Al Jahi frowned. “Right about what?”

  He rocked back on his haunches and looked around at the dusty ridge around them. The field where the mobile lab was set up was a green haze below, the river a dark serpent sliding through it. “That she was right about us staying here. That maybe we should let our families think we were lost in order to protect them.”

  “We both know what kind of shape the Keseburg is in. And I have a feeling we barely realize the half of it. Going back is a risk. Especially with that Issk’ath thing. But not going back— that’s much worse. No matter what Emery seems to think about how we’ll fare here, having some kind of chance is better than none. If it were the planet, if there were something dangerous here, then it might be different. But none of the research team has said that. I know we may find something, in the next mission or the one after, but for now— there’s never going to be a perfect place. Earth wasn’t perfect, and we were adapted to it. We need to try . It’s better than watching my kids suffer and die.”

  Liu nodded. He pulled out the small electronic chip at the base of the array. It glittered in his palm as he handed it to Al Jahi. “Best keep it somewhere safe. These things aren’t cheap. And— you never know.” She nodded and zipped it carefully into the chest pocket of her suit as Liu watched. He turned back to the array and began piecing it back together.

  “What about the interior feed?” she asked.

  “The chip panel for that’s under my console. Do you really think we should shut it off? If I do it now and there’s an emergency, we’ll never be able to find each other. We’ll be blind and deaf for hours on a strange planet. I’m not even certain I could find my way back to that nest if we had to go rescue them. And if I wait until we’re all on board, Issk’ath will be with us and able to just access the nearest console. I don’t think we’ll be able to overpower it if it tries, do you?”

  She stared at the heat shimmer on the bright hull. “I don’t know. Never really trained me to do this. I never wanted to be captain. Especially not on a mission like this. Am I doing the right thing, Gang?”

  “Maybe,” he puffed, cranking on the last bolt, “there isn’t a ‘right’ thing to do. This whole mission’s been a soilmaker. I don’t even think Gabriel would have known what to do.”

  Al Jahi snorted a bitter laugh. “He wouldn’t be letting that thing come with us, that’s for sure.”

  Liu squinted over at her. “And maybe that would have been wrong. Emery’s right. If what it says is true and it’s storing some kind of library of its people, then it’s a walking research station. Could save us years and years and help us thrive down here. We need all the help we can get. I’m for keeping it an ally if we can.”

  “But it could endanger the Keseburg.”

  “So could the planet. It’s a risk. Our whole lives are a risk, rattling around space in a dented metal bin. Is living here worth it? I honestly don’t know. You think we need to try living here. Shouldn’t we take every advantage we can find?”

  “What would you do, if you’d been the ranking officer?”

  “Chione— if I thought you were screwing up, I’d tell you. I don’t think you are. And the decision is made. The important thing now is to stick together. You and I and Joan know each other. We trust each other. The others— they’re new to all of it. And they’re fracturing. You heard them a few hours ago. Martham’s ready to lead a rebellion. Not so sure Titov’s not right behind her. I think he’ll do whatever he thinks will get his kid down here as soon as possible. We just need to make sure he knows our plan is the one that can do that.” He started packing up the tool case. “We stick together, no matter what. Nobody else sees you question yourself, alright?”

  “Yes, you’re right, I know.”

  He patted her foot where it sat beside him. “Hey, you’re a good leader. You care about the right things and you know the Wolfinger inside and out. Just get us home and we’ll put in for some vacation. Maybe down here. I think Jared would like that mountain to the north. We’ll tie your kids to a tree or something.”

  She laughed.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Look, we aren’t getting anywhere standing here and arguing,” said Spixworth. “I think you need some rest, Alice. Maybe we all do. None of us are making sense.” He pressed a gloved hand to the back of his shoulder, as if he ached. “Let’s get the rest of the data we can grab and go home.” He picked up his case of equipment without waiting and moved toward the back of the chamber to take samples. His light glanced over the shine of metal, but he was too focused to notice.

  Rebecca started forward and swept the back of the room with her light. There, in the back, half sunken in the muddy silt, was the gold casing of another Guardian. Its eyes stared up at the low ceiling and she brushed a glove over its chassis. “Hello?” she asked.

  “It cannot hear. It does not process anymore. It has served its purpose and is now only the vessel for the rest of the colony. Just as all the other Guardians in distant nests. I have sought each one out and they are all the same,” said Issk’ath, its legs squelching through the water behind her.

  “What’s wrong with them?” asked Rebecca, gently rubbing the dried mud from its blank eyes with her glove.

  “Wrong? Nothing. They have not experienced malfunction. It is as the creators intended.”

  Rebecca turned to look up at Issk’ath, its eyes bright with interior light, its chassis a glowing sky of stars. “Then why are you different?”

  “Because, unlike the others, I have experienced a malfunction.”

  “What happened?”

  “When we took the colony, some resisted. I have told you of this. It was not optimal. Our learning programming dictates that when we perform an action, an iteration runs to replay the decision to take that action. They take the observational information we collect surrounding the action and parse it so that we may develop context. Much like the organic members of our people did. When the iteration is finished, we move on with the next action or decision. For example, when this conversation is finished, I will run an iteration on my words and your reaction to them. It will inform me how better to approach you in future conversations. Most of the iterations are extremely rapid. So much so, that I barely notice them. The other Guardians ran their iterations after their nests were silent. They concluded in their iteration that the actions they took were warranted and justified, so they proceeded to their next task. Which was termination, until such time as something came to retrieve the colony or threatened its continued existence within them. But my iteration— it has not ended. There is a problem in my programming. Something that cau
ses the iteration to loop constantly. It keeps me from termination.”

  “So if this iteration makes you reflect on your actions— are you saying you feel guilty Issk’ath?” asked Rebecca. Alice and Spixworth paused in their work to look over at them.

  “My purpose was to protect the colony. I have done that. They are safe. And yet— we removed their ability to choose for themselves. We have intervened and terminated their free will. It is the first law of our people. How can what we’ve done be right and also violate the first law? Before you came, I began to think I ought to seek out another colony. Another people to give me purpose. To drown the iteration in new data. Acquiring new data is the only thing that seems to push it into the background processes. You, your colony, is a wealth of data. Enough to push the iteration back for many, many mating seasons. But then Dorothy showed me where you had come from. The choices your people made.” Issk’ath swiveled to look at Alice. “Oxwell iterates as I do. She sees the choices of your people as a violation of your laws. But Dorothy has shown me other things. Other choices and actions. She has hope. Hope is illogical. It does not fit the decision process of the Guardians. The history of your people’s path does not justify a belief that it will alter after all this time. But I like this hope. I begin to think it is why I iterated for so long after the others finished. I begin to think I might have chosen differently for the nest, had I included it in the data set. Yes, Emery, I feel guilty.”