Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 21
A shower of sparks erupted out of its belly. Its cannon fire flew harmlessly into the sky. More sparks and smoke burst from the battlesuit. It stood there as if it couldn’t understand what was happening. It looked down at the long metal bar sticking out of its body. It tried moving its claw to the bar as if to try to rip it out, but the bar was twisted from behind, once, twice, until the wound gave out a final belch of fire, and then the battlesuit fell forward into the soft dirt.
Plaxyn Mosh stepped up onto the back of the fallen, his hand on the metal bar as if he were planting a flag. Ryza lowered his gun and breathed deeply. “That was close!”
Plaxyn nodded. “I told you I was right behind you.”
“What’s our situation?” Ryza asked.
“Grim,” Plaxyn said. “We need to get out of here, now. More Ghar are coming.”
Another eight Boromite brothers emerged from the grass. Ryza was thankful that some of his men had survived, but it had been a costly fight.
“Admiral Bukara is dead,” Ryza said, as he felt no pulse on the man’s neck. “Damn! All that running for nothing.”
“But we have his body,” Plaxyn said, “and that’s what matters.”
Ryza nodded. “Let’s get him on the shuttle,” he ordered, “and let’s go home.”
“What home would that be, Captain?”
Which one indeed. Ryza considered. They had done all this to be allowed back into their clan, and was it a trap like Barome Ashute had warned? No. The events that had transpired had convinced him that it wasn’t a trap. The Clan Mother had been sincere in her offer. But would he accept? At the end of the day, he could still refuse, and his brothers – those still alive – would respect his decision, and they could go on and on as they were. The benefit of their exile had been autonomy. In their current situation, they could do what they wanted, serve whomever they wished, accept and decline any and all missions. If they returned to the clan, that freedom would be gone. He remembered asking Barome to take a leap of faith. As Ryza stood there, looking into Plaxyn’s battered face, a dead Algoryn admiral at his side, he knew the answer immediately.
They all needed to take that leap, and take it now.
“Lift off,” Ryza said, as the shuttle doors were being shut. “Lift off, and let’s go home. The clan, and our mother, await.”
Subversion
By Dave Horobin
Concord Integrated Machine Intelligence provided stewardship for all of the history of the planet Votune, affording it with peaceful protection and guardianship for each and every citizen. Comforted by this safety, one inhabitant, Ryson, slept comfortably in one of the hundreds of thousands of apartments, blissfully unaware that his home was housed in one of many giant habitation towers scattered across the planet’s surface. During the course of his slumber, the microscopic nanodrones set to work, repairing biological cells and stimulating relaxing hormone production. Ryson was not unique in this, as this was standard for all societies that had been bound to the IMTel, an intellect shared between man and machine, interfacing through the medium of nanospore. It also served as a power source and a communication tool merging the thoughts of civilized societies together on their respective planets within the PanHuman Concord, each forming its own unique shard. The planet of Ryson’s abode was not remarkable when compared to many other planets belonging to system gates in this part of the Western Interface around the surface of the great Star-Gateway of Antares. There had been no wars, no invasions, and no disasters. This sustained the serene nature of the populace.
Ryson was content. Ryson was satisfied with every aspect of his life. There was nothing that Ryson desired. The thoughts flowed through his mind as he lay on the sleep-bunk, wearily blinking his eyes after another restful night’s sleep, thoughts easily mistaken for his own. As he flickered his eyes open to adjust to the increasing light, he glanced around the room; his hab-apartment was plain and not very big, the gentle off-white of the walls making the small box style apartment appear larger than it really was. Everything Ryson required was accessible on demand within the hab, although the emptiness of the room hid this reality.
Today was much like any other day. Ryson rarely left the luxury of his sleep-bunk immediately upon waking, the comfort provided by the suspensored bedding unit matching exactly the level of support required, tailored specifically to himself. Ryson did as he normally did and lay gazing at the ceiling, allowing the shard’s Integrated Machine Intelligence permission to flood his mind with wondrous and pleasing swirls of color to appear before his eyes. Gentle pastel shades danced around his vision during these intentional daydreams that he found both soothing and calming. Not that there was much need to be reassured, but nonetheless it was a pleasing experience. Besides, he did not need to visit his brother until later.
Time progressed, much to the ignorance of Ryson who, after his regular daily activity of semi-consciousness, slowly regained focus and awareness of his surroundings. He noticed that a table and seat had appeared on the opposite wall to his sleep-bunk and the sensation of hunger rippled through his mind. Yes, he thought to himself, definitely time to eat. As he stood up from his resting place and walked the few paces to the chair, the bunk sunk to the floor and into the inter-wall space, an area controlled by self-aware suspensored drones and the hyper-fluidic nature of the boundaries of the rooms. It was here where all belongings were stored in hyper compression while not in direct use, following the owner around unseen, ensuring that whatever object or item was required, the IMTel would provide immediately.
Ryson sat at the table and a bowl and spoon were delivered through the surface. The bowl contained a nutritious meal, personalized for Ryson to ensure that the correct nourishment and quantity would be consumed. He spooned the first mouthful of the grey nutri-paste into his mouth and the sensation of flavors and textures in his mind replaced that of the tasteless, viscous fare. Further spoonfuls would vary the flavor, but never once did Ryson question how the taste changed from the same bowl; he never had: the thought had never occurred to him.
With the meal completed, Ryson stood up away from the table and it rippled through the hyper-fluidic wall, the suspensor fields closing behind it to give the appearance of a smooth solid wall where nothing had ever passed through. It’s time to leave, he thought to himself. Each day after taking his meal he would go into The Garden and meet his brother; today would be no exception. Two ripples emanated around the room as a transmat pad moved up from the floor and a collection of garments on a rail appeared through a wall. Warm and sunny with a slight breeze, the IMTel projected the external weather into his mind. He changed into his functional outerwear, hesitated about taking the coat, and ultimately left it on the rail. It withdrew back into the wall as he stepped onto the transmat.
***
The destination pad was in what everyone referred to as The Garden. The gentle afternoon sunlight broke through a row of trees and caressed Ryson’s cheeks as he appeared on the transmat. The localized climate for this shard had been set to mild-temperature and had been for quite a while. A thought about the weather changing almost coalesced in his mind but never quite came to pass as the desire to get to The Café, the usual rendezvous, grew stronger. He began his journey through The Garden along a tree lined pathway running from the local shared transmat pad through a peaceful parkland that ended in grassy embankments, just too high to see over. I wonder..? Ryson began thinking to himself, but he lost his train of thought as he carried on his way. There were many other people bustling their way through The Garden, all some type of PanHuman. We are all so different, yet all so the same, protected by the IMTel. After a short time weaving between the crowds, he reached the end of the tree-lined pathway, which gave way to a built up area with a collection of regular style perma-structures, buildings that had fixed walls and permanent furniture; a quaint throwback to a simpler era.
Inside The Café, Ryson saw his brother sitting at the same table, in the same chair, as they always sat. On the table were two cups, with the same steaming beverage they had taken each time they met.
“Long time no see.” Ryson smirked as he sat into the chair. His brother’s fist playfully impacted onto his shoulder.
“You say that every day.” Dorath rolled his eyes and made a face that only a big brother could make to a younger sibling. “How are things?”
“Since yesterday? All okay, I suppose.” Ryson grinned, he took a sip of his drink and an interesting flavor of mint Neotea stimulated his senses. “But you know, take each day as it comes.”
Dorath’s facial expression took on a more concerned demeanor, one he tried to hide each time he brought up the subject. “We’re still worried about you.”
Ryson’s shoulders sank, he had heard this conversation so many times before…
“You have continued to spend so much of your time Stimming, have you found no long-term role yet?” Dorath continued, carefully watching his younger brother’s reaction. Ryson never liked discussing this specific subject. A heavy and uncomfortable silence fell around their small two-seater table. The noise of other patrons washed over them, idle chatter, crockery, cutlery, and music putting a distance between the stares of the two brothers.
“It’s just harmless daydreaming, no one has ever been proven to have been harmed by it,” Ryson eventually protested, his brow furrowing in disagreement. He caught the eye of his brother. Dorath raised an eyebrow and the tip of his mouth curled gently upward. Ryson continued to object, “I, I need to do this. It’s my way of helping and feeling useful. I know it is not much, but at least I feel that I’m helping the shard maintain our society.” The elder brother lay a heavy hand on the younger’s shoulder, a heavy silence settled between them again.
“Yeah, I know.” Dorath’s voice cracked quietly. Silence once again crept around the table. Stony glances darted between the two. Eventually Dorath stood, “It’s been good to see you.” A smile crept across Dorath’s face as he emptied the last of his Neotea from his cup and placed it back on the table. “I’ll be seeing you again tomorrow, don’t over-do it.” He winked at his younger sibling and took his leave.
Ryson remained seated for a while. All the civility of meeting his brother in such a bustling area always left him feeling fatigued. He drained the remnants of the Neotea and wistfully sighed to himself. He loved his family and wanted to protect them. He looked around The Café, noting all the other people that he knew indirectly through the IMTel. He wanted to protect them all.
His walk back through The Garden was dimly lit by the setting sun. The hum of a lumiglobe’s suspensor caught his ear, which cast its light around him. The only reason for this drone’s existence was to provide light to members of the shard while out after dusk, to protect them from the unknown lurking dangers in the dark. Not that there were any dangers here, Ryson thought to himself, but he could completely empathize with the lumiglobe’s plight. The tramsmat took him back inside his hab. Perhaps not the same one he had left a few hours earlier, but that did not matter. All of the rooms were identical in the tall building, with personal possessions being moved around by the intelligent suspensor-borne compressor drones within the wall space, so no matter which hab was assigned upon returning, belongings were always there available. A table and bench protruded from a wall as the transmat shimmered back through the hyper-fluidic floor. A bowl sat upon the table, filled with the same grey nutri-paste as before. Ryson sat and ate, found the alternate flavor of his evening meal to his liking, the tiny nanospores pervading his mind stimulating different parts of his senses, generating an alternate taste. The table and bench extracted themselves from the room and a cleanse-booth appeared, ready for Ryson’s evening preparations before the next sleep cycle. He thought about what his brother had said; it always bothered him each time Stimming was mentioned. With the cleansing process completed, the sleep-bunk’s gentle suspensor hum announced its arrival through the floor. Ryson lay down and closed his eyes. The faint white noise of the suspensors helped him clear his mind and he felt at peace again. He felt relaxed. Most of all, he felt content.
***
Ryson was content. Ryson was satisfied with every aspect of his life. There was nothing that Ryson desired. The thoughts flowed through his mind as he lay on the sleep-bunk, wearily blinking his eyes after another restful night’s sleep. Today was much like any other day. Ryson rarely left the luxury of his sleep-bunk immediately upon waking. Ryson did as he normally did and lay gazing at the ceiling, allowing the shard’s IMTel permission to flood his mind with wondrous and pleasing swirls of color to appear before his eyes. Gentle pastel shades danced around his vision during these intentional daydreams, soothing and calming shapes and swirls, reassuring. The shard would reward Stimming with these sensations to compensate for using the brain’s biological processing capacity, and to offset the discomfort it caused. All members of the shard would be affected in this way, but usually while sleeping. Few actively opened their minds while awake and invited the IMTel to utilize their capacity. Ryson enjoyed the sensation delivered directly into his mind. There was much to be reassured about during Stimming, it was a pleasing experience which took up his spare time. Spare time being something he had in abundance.
Time progressed, much to the ignorance of Ryson who, after a while of his regular daily activity of semi-consciousness, slowly regained focus and awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts turned to what his brother had said the day before. Ryson had always felt that Stimming was his way of adding something to society. He would willingly offer the nanosphere the extra capacity of his mind, if it meant that he could help it to maintain order. This planet felt so important to him and he would do whatever he could to maintain the peacefulness that a well ordered society could offer. Many a time he had spent trying to think of what else he could do, but no thoughts had ever come to him about a long-term role in the shard.
The bowl of grey nutri-paste tasted as good as ever and the empty bowl slid with the table and chair back into the wall. It was time to visit his brother. The weather appeared in his mind: sunny again. He fought the urge to retrieve a coat from the outerwear rail and passed through the transmat.
***
A thin cloud overhead obscured the destination pad from being bathed in direct sunlight. He made his way through The Garden, the trees gently swaying in the warming breeze. A memory of running up the grassy hills behind them popped into his mind before vanishing away and pushing him onto his destination quicker. The pathway took Ryson directly into the perma-structure area and he turned to enter The Café.
Inside, Ryson saw his brother sitting at the same table, in the same chair, as they always sat. On the table were two cups, with the same steaming beverage as they had taken each time they met.
“Long time no see.” Ryson ironically smirked as he sat into the chair. His brother’s fist playfully impacted onto his shoulder.
“You say that every day.” Dorath rolled his eyes and made a face that only a big brother could make to a younger sibling. “How are things?”
“Since yesterday? All okay, I suppose.” Ryson grinned as he took a sip of his drink, an interesting flavor of mint Neotea stimulated his senses. “But you know, take each day as it comes.”
Ryson and Dorath sat chatting, as they did each day with the brotherly affection and warmth they were akin to sharing, which usually consisted of them taking turns, back and forth, teasing one another.
“It’s been good seeing you again,” Dorath said, finishing his drink and placing the cup back on the table. “I’ll be seeing you again tomorrow, don’t over-do it.” He winked at his younger sibling and took his leave.
Ryson remained seated for a while. All the civility of meeting his brother in such a bustling area always left him feeling fatigued. He eventually drained the remnants of his Neotea and sat quietly. He was alone, but not, as he closed his eyes and felt the flow of the thoughts of others residing in the hyper-fluidic building beneath wash through his consciousness. Every one of them protected, all of them safe. There had been no wars, no invasions, and no disasters.
Ryson jolted out of his musings and quickly came to his senses as he realized he had been in The Café much longer than usual. The place was deserted. He eyes darted toward the doorway and was confused to see that it had gotten dark outside, much darker than when he usually headed home. He left and once more heard the familiar sound of a lumiglobe behind him as he made his way through The Garden. As he walked, he picked out the pinpoints of starlight against the backdrop of space. No, not starlight, he thought to himself, not all of them, some of them are moving, are they ships? He remained stationary for a moment, excitedly transfixed on the tiny points of light hanging in the sky. He watched them silently dance around each other, swirling trials luminescing as they mingled and intertwined. A flutter of apprehension ran through him turning his stomach. It was a reflexive feeling he was unfamiliar with. Was it a battle? Are those ships fighting? The feeling faded and stable rationality replaced his natural impulses. Perhaps it is a display for a dignitary. He squinted his eyes as if to provide additional length to his vision in the dusk and continued to watch the points of light. There appeared to be a single larger ship, but it was difficult to tell from this distance. This must be the important ship as a multitude of smaller ships sped around it. Some would twinkle brightly and fade, others would launch a dazzling array of eerily mute pyrotechnics into the path of the largest ship, which would glow brightly for several moments as its shielding reflected the impact energies. Yes, must be an important dignitary for all of that ceremony. As the number of smaller lights dwindled, the performance slowly weaned. He could see the dignitaries’ ship approaching the planet closer now, making a path to what was considered the administration center. He watched as light from the ship’s engines vanished below the horizon, then Ryson completed his journey through The Garden and onto the transmat.
