It took Valencia, and the other smart people on this ship, nearly five
months to double check the math, and draw up a flawless plan. While the
micrometeoroid threat was indeed growing larger by the second, they couldn’t
screw up the solution, and good solutions require time. The robots
constructed extra physical shields to the front of Extremus to better
deflect oncoming objects, and this proved to be effective for now. At the
moment, they’re only about 18% of the way to the galactic core, where it’s
most dense. They still don’t really know if it’s going to get worse than it
already is, even worse than they ever imagined possible, or be all fine and
dandy. Today is a new launch day. Under Valencia’s supervision, the
engineering committee is going to be dispatching a series of mining
automators to the nearest celestial bodies. The problem is a lack of data.
They are literally in uncharted territory, which means they don’t know what
kind of planets and asteroids are floating around out here, or what
treasures they bear. So multiple automators have been built, hoping that at
least one of them doesn’t fail, and encounters something good.
On a personal note, Omega has been doing all right. Medical tests turned up
nothing unusual about his physiology, or neurology. He occasionally catches
glimpses of the man who isn’t there, smiling down on him, but he no longer
speaks. There is no apparent reason for Omega to be having these
hallucinations, but as of yet, they have seen no evidence that they’re doing
him any harm, besides causing him to doubt himself. He wants to be there for
the launches, so while he isn’t in charge of the special project anymore,
he’s being released for the day to witness. The nurse insists they keep him
in the hoverchair so he doesn’t overexert himself, but it’s completely
unnecessary. She doesn’t know what this project is, though, so she can’t
stick around. Halan agrees to assume responsibility for his health while
they watch the show.
The rest of the committee is already in the observation room that is
overlooking the drones in the cargo bay. Omega regards with wonder, glad
that they have been able to pull this off so far, and saddened that he
wasn’t a part of it. Halan gets him some cheese and bread bites from the
refreshments table while they wait to begin. When it’s time, Valencia moves
to stand between the crowd and the windows. She has to gesture for August Voll to follow her. “Well, it’s finally ready. The project is about to
begin. For those of you without the requisite education, I’ve asked my First
Apprentice to explain to you what’s happening today, and why it’s
necessary.”
August clears her throat. “When we first launched, we did so with finite
resources, as I’m sure you know. Only so much mass can fit on this vessel.
We had more than enough to make it through the entire 216-year journey
without ever having to stop. We grow our own food, we make our repairs en
route. Sadly, as it turns out, the repairs we had to make a few years ago
have proven to be far more involved than we thought we would need. Had this
happened near the end of the trip, we probably would have been fine, but now
our reserves are too low, and it’s too risky. We need more materials, and
for that, we need more time. In order to keep our dream of constant motion
alive, we’re going to have to get creative. That means getting resources not
just from nearby worlds, but from the past.
“What you see in each of the five designated sections of the cargo bay are
five space-capable drones. They’re small, I know, but they’re each fitted
with a mini-fusion reactor, and an AI program capable of finding a suitable
celestial body, landing, and extracting resources. We have enough power to
safely send the drones about thirty years into the past. This should be
enough time for them to travel to their star system, mine the resources, and
return to the rendezvous position. We could send them back further, but it
would cost more. We don’t presently have the materials we would need to fit
them with reframe engines either, so relativistic speeds are going to have
to do. Slow relativistic speeds, in fact. They max out at point-six-c. If
they have to travel five light years away, and five back, that leaves them
around thirteen years to mine. They should be able to handle that, but it
could be tight, which is why we’ve programmed them to extract the materials,
but not build the Frontrunners themselves. We don’t really know how far
they’ll have to travel in their search.”
While Valencia is talking, Omega notices a figure in the corner of his eye.
Other people are standing there, but this person stands out. He’s afraid to
look, because he knows who it is. It’s that hallucination again. He appears
to just be enjoying the presentation with everyone else. Omega leans over to
Captain Yenant, and whispers, “I’m going to get some water.”
“I’ll get it,” Halan says.
“No, I know all this. You should stay with your people.” Omega flies the
chair to the back, and heads for the water. The hallucination man follows
him. Omega waits behind the table, ready to start actually getting the water
if someone were to look back curiously.
“Are you feeling okay?” the hallucination has the audacity to ask.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Omega demands to know.
“I’m a program, and I’m here to make sure the ship runs smoothly.”
“If you were a hologram, other people would be able to see you, and I don’t
have any neuro-tech enhancements. I receive life extension treatments, and I
have some musculo-skeletal implants. How are we communicating?”
“As a clone, you have advanced neurological capabilities, including
techno-psychic communication. You can’t interface with any bit of technology
you want, but you’re connected to me, because...”
“Because what? Why are you hesitating?” Omega asks that a little too loud,
prompting Head of Security Gideon to look back. Now he reaches for the
water.
“Because you are, in terms of security protocols, Elder Caverness.”
“What are you going on about?”
“You altered your DNA to make Old Man’s safe think that you were him, so you
could open it.”
“That was temporary.”
The hallucination shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”
Omega has some control over his own physiology, and even his genetic code,
which is what allowed him to break into the DNA safe in the first place.
Still, there is only so much he can do, and only so much information about
his health status that he can gather in realtime. He looks down at himself
like that alone could confirm or refute what the hallucination is claiming.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s a good thing. Now you have me, and I can help with
things, like showing you the solution to the micrometeoroid problem, and
telling you that one of these drones is about to land on an inhabited
planet.”
“So your creator, he knows the future. There is no other way you could
possibly know that. Or you’re just lying.”
“My creator, me...what exactly is the difference?”
“Stop speaking in half-explanations, forcing me to ask more questions. Just
give me all the answers.” Gideon looks back again, so Omega has to reach
over and sample one of the deserts, even though it’s not time for that yet.
“I wasn’t created by Elder Caverness. I am Elder Caverness. I designed a
perimortem consciousness transference device.”
“Those are illegal on this ship,” Omega protests.
Up until this point, since no one else can see or hear him, the
hallucination has been speaking in an inside voice. He drops to a whisper to
mock him. “Then I suppose we won’t want to tell anyone about it, will we?
Shh. Hush-hush.”
“What is your purpose?”
“I designed it primarily for the Captain, so this boat can enjoy a little
bit of damn continuity. Why hand over power when you can just stay alive
throughout the whole journey?”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You were the one who tried to give the Captain
the device that would have sent him off to a death in the void.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” the program says. “Obviously I had to
test the technology first. The last version of me was uploaded into the
computer a few months before the incident. I couldn’t tell you why
Corporeal!Me tried to kill Captain Yenant, but I had nothing to do with it.
We were two separate people by then.”
The conversation has to end as the speech before them does. The people begin
to crowd around the windows. The part that Omega missed was about how the
successful missions will appear pretty much instantaneously. Years will have
passed for them—though it’s impossible to know how many without first
knowing how far they’ll have to travel at relativistic speeds. But they
won’t even be the same drones anyway. In order to transport the materials
they mine, they’ll also use part of the material to build their own
replacements. Those will be the ships that will appear in the cargo bay with
the payloads. They’ll be extremely bare, and not even vacuum sealed. They’ll
be more like only the framing, with enough space to hold what they need,
along with the engines. They call it a gridship.
Omega flies over towards the window, and the crowd separates so he can see
better. As August is counting down to the first launch, Omega notices
AI!Elder, or whatever it is they should call him, standing in the fourth
section. He’s wearing an old timey airport marshaller’s uniform, and making
random arm movements, demonstrating the importance of this particular
section. He opens his mouth, and rolls his eyes to the back of his head as
he pulls at his shirt collar. He’s pantomiming dying. He’s pantomiming dying
in section four. For whatever reason, when the gridship rendezvouses with
Extremus, people are going to die. And apparently, Omega is the only one who
can stop it.
“Go for One!” August declares. The drone disappears. A minute passes, but
nothing returns.
“Aww,” the crowd groans, displeased and disappointed.
“Go for Two!” It’s only eight billion miles away from the first one, but
it’s heading on a completely different vector, so it should have different
candidate objects. It returns with a nice payload of various building
materials, which will help them complete their project. The crowd cheers.
It’s only about half of what they need to dispatch the Frontrunners, so
hopefully one of the others also succeeds.
August waits another five minutes, which gives the third drone about
forty billion miles to find something else. “Go for Three!” It comes back
with more than enough of what they will need. The crowd cheers again, this
time much louder.
The Elder program is still in section four of the main cargo bay. He’s
shaking his head. Nothing has changed. This will still end badly. Omega
doesn’t know how he knows this, especially with so many variables, but he
can’t take the chance. They have the raw materials they need right now.
There is no reason to continue. They could always send more missions later
on, now that they know it’s possible.
Now the Elder program is pointing at the scorch station. Should a
contaminate be loaded into the cargo bay—which is what this program appears
to be suggesting will happen—the scorch station is capable of destroying any
organic substance in the entire cargo bay. Since this is obviously so
dangerous, it’s not like anyone is allowed to just walk up to it, and turn
it on. They need authorization. Fortunately for Omega, he is more than
qualified to break into it, especially if the Elder program is there to help
him out. First, he hacks his chair, and teleports into what’s generally a
time power-free zone. He won’t be able to trick the system into believing
he’s a senior officer, but he can make it think he’s the cargomaster, who is
also authorized to perform this action.
He checks his watch as he’s working, acutely aware that the next scheduled
launch is in less than two minutes. He doesn’t absolutely have to get this
done before the contaminant shows up. Either the fire prevents the launch
from taking place, or it kills what’s already come through. Either way,
everyone remains safe. It looks like it’s going to be the second
possibility. Just when he’s cracked it, Omega sees the drone disappear, only
to be immediately replaced by another vessel, but it’s not a gridship. It’s
sealed up with a hull, and the hatchway is opening, which suggests that
someone alive is inside. It’s too late. Scorch protocol engages, and
overwhelms the cargo bay.
