Remember the Starfighter (46 page)

The ready room was not far from the mainframe, the confines smaller, but still preserved. Unlike some of the other spaces throughout the ship, this one had come away largely unscathed from the Elion’s transit into the gateway, the circular desk and chair undisturbed, but out of use.

It was also the only room that hadn’t had much of its inner equipment cannibalized. Julian could see that some of the wiring had been uprooted from the floor and ceilings. The lights above, however, were still functional, flickering on the moment he stepped in. Also powering up was the personal computer at the desk, the glass display still in pristine condition, and bolted down to the table.

He had been seated inside the ready room for over an hour now, looking through the computer’s files. It had a direct link to Servetus, and all the data the ancient machine possessed. Julian had come hoping to view it, wanting to understand what might be happening to Alysdeon.

The files, collated from the salvaged bits and pieces of transmissions detected from the surface of Earth, only added to the evidence. It was barely intelligible, the surrounding interference nearly silencing all communication. But it was enough to cobble together something. As Servetus had said, the Endervar shield was having an effect on the human anatomy, although why and through what means, was still a mystery.

The data came in the form of tiny scraps of public dispatches, and government announcements. The Endervars had apparently left the surface virtually untouched. But increasingly, more common citizens were reporting strange neurological symptoms. All of it was relatively mild, and yet still disconcerting. Talk of headaches, hallucinations, and people falling into comas; in a few cases, the condition had even led to brain damage or death.

Whether deliberate or not, the enemy’s technology was invoking something within the human mind. In Julian’s case, he had noticed no change. Not yet anyways, only the fatigue brought on from a lack of sleep.

He leaned back in the seat, wiping his eyes. Next to his side was a shelf that Julian had noticed the moment he had sat down. On top of it, were the personal objects arrayed like decoration. He leaned across and picked up the one nearest to him. Propped up by a stand, the replica was a model of the S.S.F. Elion, before it had entered the anomaly and been deformed. The miniature hull was a cool gray, with stripes of red painted on the barrels of its dumbbelled exterior. “Launched in 2771,” Julian said, reading the label on its base.

The other items were awards, the plaques of gold inscribed with the names of different Earth organizations. They had been given to honor the ship’s captain. Looking at them, he found the only remaining object to be a holo-photo, the frame long ago broken down, the picture it once held forgotten.

Curious, Julian returned to the computer.

“Search: Captain Arendi Soldanas,” he said, watching as the results appeared. “Images,” he added, refining his query.

He accessed them, and found her, the first picture a simple head shot. It showed a woman who at the time was 112 years old. Her appearance reflected the age; her hair was completely white, the wrinkles collecting around the eyes, forehead and neck.

Longevity treatments had extended her life, as was common during that era. So Julian could see some of the resemblance. She was the human scientist whom the android Arendi had been based on. 

According to her bio, the captain had been a university professor, with honors in quantum physics, cosmology and even machine intelligence, before she had taken a commission with the science foundation. She had served on board for close to a decade, when the Endervars had finally invaded Earth.

He already knew the fate of the captain. But still, he touched the display and accessed the file. It was a log, in video form, the woman’s face reddened with blisters and burns.

Date: Dec. 1 2799

I tried to save the rest of the remaining crew... [cough] I placed them in cryo-stasis pods. Hopefully the radiation shielding we developed will hold. There’s little food left, so it’ll have to do.

Seems so pointless. Even with the radiation shielding, I don’t know if we can ever escape, or reach anyone. The communication interference hasn’t stopped at all, and the cryo pods will only last for so long, maybe a few centuries, before it’ll be too late.

But maybe all of this was meant to be. We’re inside the lion’s den. It’s been weeks now, and we’re still here. Maybe the invaders don’t know. Or don’t care. Where is the lion... 

As you can see, I’m dying. Heh...[cough] We’ve done almost all we can. No cryo pod for me. I need to make sure that Servetus will know what to do. The heartless A.I.... I don’t know if he’s capable. We can’t connect to the global network, and so I’m trying to re-distribute the computing systems. He might be our only hope left.

[cough] ...But I won’t die. Maybe I’ll live on. The scans are done and uploaded. If my programs are as smart as I think they are, then I’ll be back. Although it’s doubtful it will get far. It’s maybe just a silly dream... My twin little service bots. Maybe there’s hope with them.  

[cough] ...We have to beat them some how. The invaders can’t win.

[cough] ...I don’t know what else to say...hopefully, this isn’t the end.  

She gave one final cough into her hand, before completing the log, sealing away the record into the ship’s databanks. It had been the first time anyone had accessed the file since. Julian felt sick, knowing that it had been the last log of the captain, although it hadn’t been the end. He searched some more, and found the other files, dated not just years after, but in millennia.

It was a log of a different kind, separated into “version numbers” and documenting the progress made. Flipping through it, Julian found hundreds, maybe thousands of various versions, some spanning for what were days, to others extending on for centuries.

The subject was the same in all of them, the videos taken from cameras installed on board the Elion. It showed a girl with black hair, her face young, but similar to the deceased captain. “ARENDI SOLDANAS” the file’s parent name read. “PROJECT REVIVAL.”

He randomly skimmed through the records. At first, it seemed mundane and repetitive, the logs just showing the subject performing what were random everyday tasks. To Julian, it was like viewing partial surveillance footage, the attached data files to each version indiscernible and replete with computer code.

File after file he accessed, the pictures with little variation between. In most, the subject did nothing but stand at attention. Julian was about to move on and close out the files, when he finally noticed the problem. Near the end of every version, the subject would begin to break. She was no longer passive and muted. Instead, she had become filled with emotion.

She was running and shouting, fidgeting with her hands, shivering, scratching her face, pounding against the wall. Julian could even see her clutching her hair, trying to pull it, the clumps coming out.

Ultimately, many of the videos seemed to end in the same way — that of a girl curled up on the floor, or in the corner, shaking and crying. Julian could even hear the sobs through the logs, the words muffled, but mostly clear. “I don’t want this,” she said. “Please stop it!”

But then there was the handful of other videos, these even more alarming. Julian accessed one in particular, and came away shocked. It showed the subject smashing her head against the bulkhead wall, screaming. Julian cringed at each of the impacts, the crack louder each time.

“I can’t!” she shrieked. “Please, end this! End it!”

He paused the video, and walked away from the computer, horrified and out of breath.

After a moment, Julian looked back at the computer, feeling as if the console were haunted.

“Miya,” he said, returning to the image. The face was the same — the hair ripped out, the face smashed.

But the Miya Julian had been introduced to had shown none of the emotions present in the videos. The fear, panic, and desperation crying out.

He then realized what he had seen, Arendi’s past on full display.

The versions continued, the physical body of the android breaking down, before finally it could take more.

And yet, the experiments went on. Only this time, with a fresh new body, the artificial mind transferred over to the next remaining carbon copy. 

Julian accessed the final video, before he could no longer watch.

“I can’t!” the android said, holding herself in near tears. “I don’t want to be human.”

He found her on the landing bridge. She had just exited the Au-O’sanah, and the construction bot known as “Control” was next to her.

The drone carried along the vat of liquid as the nano-machines of what had been Arendi’s metallic suit floated inside.

In her own hands, she pushed along the hover platform, the cart carrying the lab equipment brought over from Carigon. The boxes of cargo jetted forth, as Arendi passed by, not even giving Julian the courtesy of a glance, or a hello.

He knew that she was shy. But this was different. She had ignored him completely.

Julian caught up to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Arendi,” he said. “Can we talk for a moment?”

She stopped, and turned her head stiffly.

“Yes captain,” she said. “How may I serve you?”

She had never used that word before. Or even that term.
How may I serve you.
Something was wrong.

Julian collected himself, not sure how to start.

“I saw the videos. The logs,” he said. “I think I saw how you were created.”

“Yes, I know captain,” she said. “You accessed the logs minutes ago.”

Julian was surprised at how calm she was. Her stare didn’t waver at all, the bangs to her hair brushing near her eyes.

“The logs document the development of Arendi’s artificial intelligence,” she explained methodically. “The first version was based on personality and will programs initially developed by Captain Soldanas. Subsequent versions were then improved upon, in an effort to develop a sentient consciousness.”

“I understand, but—”

“The initial focus was on simulating emotions, and then later developing emotional control and psychological stability. Each version of Arendi was essentially a test, and modifications were made. In total, over 1655 versions were developed, and—”

“Arendi, can you—”

“Yes captain?”

“Can you just stop?”

Julian paused, alarmed at what he was seeing. The behavior was different, Arendi simply lecturing him. Julian felt almost patronized. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she replied, calmly.

“Why are you talking in the third person?”

The android paused, twitching its head, and making an awkward smile.

“My apologies. You are speaking not to Arendi, but to I, Servetus.”

“What?”

“Yes, this is Servetus speaking to you captain. I apologize for the confusion.”

“Why am I speaking to you? What happened?”

Although the android continued to smile, Julian grew only more concerned.

“I assumed control of her when she returned. Her mission is complete.”

“But what happened to Arendi? Where is she?”

“She is within the databanks. However, as I stated before, her mission is complete. Her existence was only prolonged in the remote possibility that humanity had not escaped the Endervars or faced immediate extinction. But as that is currently not the case, there is no need to deploy her.”

“So she’s gone?”

Julian was agitated, annoyed at the long-winded explanations. The android, however, remained detached, completely unaware.

“Arendi is an experiment. Unfortunately, a failed experiment. I have concluded that there is no need for further development at this time.”

“A failed experiment?”

“I have struggled in this regard. My experiments could never fully replicate the personality, emotions, and psychological profile of Captain Soldanas. As you saw in the logs, Arendi’s A.I. showed signs of emotional instability. Far too unreliable for the courses of action I wish to undertake.”

Julian was nearly speechless.

“So... wait. I still don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.

“The artificial intelligence known as Arendi Soldanas will be no longer inhabiting this body. Her purpose is no longer needed—”

“I get it!”

The android nodded politely, as the other drones marched back and forth from the Au-O’sanah.

“The technology you have requested will be completed soon,” the A.I. said. “I suggest that you wait patiently aboard your ship. You will be notified when it is ready.”

He looked at the imposter before him, and wanted to throttle it.

“I detect your anger captain. Is something wrong?” Servetus asked through the android.

He bit his lip, feeling the stress. Then the old wound came to. He sniffed, the rush of blood starting to fall through his nostrils.

“Are you injured?” Servetus asked.

Julian ignored the A.I., too outraged to speak. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he walked away and into the Au-O’sanah, ready to curse.