39-NK-17's search + 38-RL-06's execution

Eyelids fluttering under a cognition hood 39-NK-17 was outside itself. Through its neurological link to the ship it searched the vastness beyond for the smallest glimpse of which it searched. Background radiation from distant stars stroked by as the vessel slowly rotated about its axis. A day prior it had been part of an armada sent to destroy a Concordate fleet. Whereas the operation had succeeded it had also failed. The mission had called for the utter decimation of the fleet, yet after an appropriate display of force three vessels had escaped their comrades’ fate. This could not be permitted, the stratagem, as it was, relied initially on complete surprise and should but one of the escapees be allowed to contact their precious Concordate the pacification process may fail altogether. So it was that 39-NK-17 had been dispatched with close to a-hundred other vessels to seek out and destroy the remnants of the fleet. It pushed their sensors to their maximum range but still, nothing.

39-NK-17 was not surprised by this however. One of the ships to have fled had been identified as KL-2311 – otherwise known as Gayatri. It had proceeded to go through the files belonging to its commander, the possession of which was the result of its efforts years earlier. It had discovered the current commander was one Avhakla. The man’s disciplinary record had leapt out at it at first. “Conviction,” it had read “for wanton disobedience, mutiny, degradation of duty, and leading of those under his command into an aggressive campaign which, had it not been subdued, would have led to open war.” It then went on to mention, “Re-instated: to the rank of Captain; for services rendered both to the Consortium and Concardate and other meritorious behaviour.” It also read that he was more than competent, in fact revelled, in guerrilla tactics. This was why 39-NK-17 was not surprised now that, despite its best efforts, it was not able to locate the remaining ships. Reading on it found that Avhakla was “motivated by an unwavering sense of duty, towards the Consortium as well as those serving underneath him.” In this 39-NK-17 had formulated a new course of action. It would wait. Wait for this Avhakla to make a move for the Consortium, for surely a man reportedly as devout as he would sooner or later have to fulfil what he saw as his duty and head toward Consortium space. Then it would execute its mandate and eliminate the escapees, for that was its “duty”. 39-NK-17 then severed the neurological link. Despite the ever pressing need to search for the escapees it had to accept the limitations of its human body, it had to sleep, something it had not done in the days running up to the attack. A chill ran through its body as it disconnected from the cognition hood. Wiry tendrils let go of its bio-engineered brain and slid unpleasantly from out its ears and nostrils.

39-NK-17 also found sleep an unpleasant experience. Unexplained visions, strange phantasms awaited it there. “Dreams” the humans called them. This was a cause for concern to it. Many of its counterparts, the same make and model as it, had reported experiencing “dreams” shortly before malfunctioning. Many of its type to be recalled, including itself, but there had been no fault found with 39-NK-17. Indeed it had surpassed itself in gathering information in the Consortium, information that had proved invaluable, pass codes, secret locations, strategic strengths and weaknesses. It had been this information which the pacification had been partly planned around. For the best part of a century agents had been sent to the Concordate in order to infiltrate, observe and gather information. This had necessitated the creation of agents that were actually capable of blending in with the different societies and cultures that made up the Concordate. Humans, Baoloceans, Shimivans, Hu’mae’qi, Krrick among others had had their DNA synthesised. Synthetics were developed, identical in almost every form, even down to their neurological make up. Changes had been made where they would best benefit these agents. They had been overhauled, made with superior computation abilities, advanced strength, endurance and the ability to interact directly with software. Thus 39-NK-17 had been assigned to Arya’Shakta, a true test of an infiltrator’s programming, and had been one of the main coordinators in the network there. That was until the outbreak of malfunctions had compromised the operation and revealed the network, along with the various others that had been established throughout the Concordate. This in effect had led to war, but 39-NK-17’s creator’s whereabouts where not known to the Concordate. So they had set up a bastion of defence in the expanse beyond their boarders, the same defence which had just been all but annihilated.

Walking over to the display tablet mounted on the opposing wall it went through various read outs and check list that would have taken an actual human days to complete within a couple of minutes. Calculations, course adjustments were fed through to the ships supercomputer and relayed to the others. Within the blink of its eyelids eighty-eight affirmed their new commands. One ship however, did not respond. It saw that the ship that hadn’t responded was controlled personally by another synthetic, 38-RL-06. 39-NK-17 proceeded to put through a communiqué, it had to wait forty-nine seconds before it got a response.

A voice came over the intercom. “Yes?”

“38-RL-06 why have you not responded to your orders?”

There was a brief pause. “My apologies, commander. Some of my vessel’s equipment seems to have malfunctioned. I shall rectify this matter immediately.”

“Very well, may I suggest, however, that in future you do not allow your equipment to ‘malfunction’”.

Another pause. “Yes 39-NK-17, you are correct. I shall not allow this to occur in future.”

“Good,” it said. “Then I shall leave you to your duties” and with that it ended the communiqué.

38-RL-06’s behaviour was strange. Of the eight synthetics assigned to its command 38-RL-06 stood out. The tone of its voice, the fact that it even had a tone of voice, was peculiar, its behaviour was reminiscent of a personality. Perhaps its inhibitor programming was malfunctioning, for what was certain to it now was that the communication equipment on 38-RL-06’s ship was not.

This could be further examined later, 39-NK-17 concluded, placing the vessel on auto-pilot and walking over to its bed which lay in the centre of the room, just a few yards from the cognition hood. The mattress was firm, the sheet thin, barely enough to disguise the cold of the room. “Lights off” it said in a monotone and was bathed in darkness. Almost immediately it found its body and mind gladly surrendering to slumber. 39-NK-17’s last calculation was to ascertain whether or not dreams awaited it there. But there was no calculation, it had found, that could account for dreams.

Angry voices pursued him down a dark, narrow corridor. They bayed for the blood which coursed through his now thrusting heart. Lungs burning, sweat pouring, stomach lurching. Suddenly something caught his feet and sent him tumbling. Quickly picking himself up and looking back to see what it was he saw a body laying there. It was stiff, its mouth open, eyes empty. It was then he realised it was a child. Looking into her blue eyes he saw there was nothing left of her. He was no longer moved by the sense to flee, but by a curious desire to stay. Her lips were already growing blue. He felt his stomach contort and wither. Surely, he thought to himself, she should be playing. It felt then that something took hold of his chest and dragged him backward with such force it left him breathless. Coughing and spluttering he found himself on all fours alone in an empty room. Yet he was not alone, cloaked figures stepped out from the shadow that masked the corners of the room. Their faces were drawn and pale poking out from the hoods that almost swallowed them. As one they tilted back their heads, opened their mouths from which they began to utter a high pitched wail. It was agony; he tore at his ears wishing to make it stop. Above this wretched noise came one more terrible, that of a woman screaming; begging for help, to be saved, only to be answered by a more deafening silence. He felt himself falling again. This time he was confronted by a sphere of pure white light. It burned his flesh, the smell filled his nostrils. He knew it, somehow, to be monstrous and yet that it had to be confronted. As he stood before it the light began to ripple violently before finally it expanded forth consuming him and all that he was, the wailing of the hooded figures tearing at him once again...

The wailing developed into a whirring, siren like noise. 39-NK-17 opened its eyes and quickly sat up. The siren sound wasn’t in its dreams, it was the sensor alarm. Leaping out of bed it headed straight to the cognition hood and pulled it over its head. Ignoring the displeasure at having the various tendrils creep into its cranium it immediately looked toward the region of space where the ship had detected something. Looking through the network of readouts the sensors had compiled 39-NK-17 quickly saw what had been found. A trace, a faint one, but a trace none the less that was identical to the reactor signature of the average Concordate capital ship. Through the cognition hood it sent commands to the other ships to prepare themselves for combat operations and jump coordinates. They were to be ready in ten minutes. It then set its own ship to preparing itself. 39-NK-17 felt a ripple course through its veins then. It had felt this sensation before; the sudden acceleration of the heart, the skin tingling slightly, the lungs increasing their intake. Catching a view of itself in the reflective surface of the wash basin as it walked by it paused. Its pupils had dilated to. These were the signs, it knew, of an adrenalin burst, being a sign in itself that it was experiencing “excitement”. Excitement at pursuing and engaging with the escapees.

This wasn’t proper it decided. One should be indifferent during a course of action, indeed in all aspects of operation, in order to best follow commands. 39-NK-17 took a few moments to calm itself, taking some slow breaths. Looking back in mirror its pupils had returned to their usual diameter. Something held it there then, but it didn’t know what. It felt as though the dark expanse surrounded by the brown of its iris were drawing it in. The brown colour of the iris itself was not a solid one. The closer it looked the more it saw the undulating tissue and colour that it was composed of. Dark shades of brown, tiny rivulets so light they were almost yellow, and the slightest hint of a green hue around its outermost edge. Drawing back 39-NK-17 took in its otherwise featureless face. But now it noticed changes in it. There were grey circles under its eyes and dark, thick stubble edged around its chin and cheeks and wrinkles in its forehead. A tone sounded in the background, a warble that told it there was an incoming communication. It headed over to the display tablet and touched the screen to accept. A separate display now came up on the screen.

“Designate 38-RL-06,” it stated recognising the figure that now took up the screen. “Why are you contacting me, is your vessel not operational?”

38-RL-06, also constructed in the form of a human male, shook his head. “No, my ship is fully operational.”

“Then what is your purpose for making contact? We are to jump in two-hundred and one point seven six seconds.” 38-RL-06 shifted uneasily in its tight frame. “Well?”

“I,” he faltered. “I do not think I will be able to lead my squadron effectively in the coming engagement.”

39-NK-17 felt its eyebrows try to bunch themselves into a frown but resisted the urge. “Explain.”

38-RL-06 shifted uneasily again. “M-m-my,” he stuttered nervously. “My thoughts are distracting me.”

“Your thoughts?” 39-NK-17 couldn’t help but raise a disapproving eyebrow now.

38-RL-06’s voice shook this time, “Yes, my thoughts.”

39-NK-17 evaluated this for a moment. “You will lead your squadron as ordered,” it said. “To do any different would hinder our progress in the pursuit. Once the escapees have been disposed of you will board a shuttle and come to my vessel. Do you understand?”

“Yes, commander.” It replied.

“Good.” 39-NK-17 ended the conversation.

This certainly was inappropriate. There was no doubt to 39-NK-17 that something would have to be done about 38-RL-06 now. Various calculations sped through its brain but it could not come to one that was fully conclusive. It found itself left with two; either 38-RL-06 would have to have his inhibitor programming evaluated for faults or, he would have to be put down. Since the initial malfunctions the policy on those who had problems with their programming was very simple. Extermination. This seemed to becoming the more likely conclusion as 39-NK-17 went over the calculations again, for it had detected something extremely incriminating and dangerous even in their conversation. The way 38-RL-06 had said “my thoughts,” had rung with something particularly unacceptable, and human. Pride.

38-RL-06’s execution: (Bacground for this one, 39-NK-17 had Avahkla and his ships cornered but he engineered a way to escape by "sacrificing" himself by piloting one of the ships and blowing it up for a distraction, 38-RL-06 could have prevented it but is sick of taking orders to kill and maim with no good cause.)

39-NK-17 searched for any glimpse of the two ships. There was none. The radiation from the one that had been destroyed was masking their trajectory. The realization drew slowly on it now that it was quite probable that its mission had failed. Not yet however, it figured, at least not completely, there was a chance. The ships’ captains would most likely be still taking the most direct route back to their territories. Given the known limits of both ships’ jump capacity it surmised that if, indeed, they were taking the most direct route, and adding on the limiting capabilities for their jump engines they would have to pause before jumping again. 39-NK-17’s calculations brought that pause to within a one parsec region of the planet known as Iaessk. A gamble to be sure, but it was the only course of action left to it.

Information of this was sent to the other synthetics as well as orders to prepare themselves and their vessels. It did not wait for an affirmative, for surely they would cite regulations that pointed toward the mission’s failure, and that was unacceptable. There were more pressing matters besides their disapproval. 38-RL-06 had disobeyed an order, had he not then perhaps the mission would have already ended in success, as it stood 38-RL-06 would have to be dealt with.

“Designate 38-RL-06, you are to report to my vessel immediately,” it said. When there was no reply it repeated. “38-RL-06, report to my vessel immediately.” Still no reply. “Very well,” it breathed calmly. “I shall come to you.”

Disengaging from the cognition hood it strolled to the back of the bridge. Two doors, which before had been indistinguishable from the rest of the room, parted as it approached revealing a lift. As it stepped in and the doors hissed shut it said, “Hanger bay”. There was a jolt in its stomach and a second later the doors hissed open again. The bay was hard at work, autonomously repairing damaged fighters. A shuttle’s ramp lowered for it and as it entered it found the cockpit already prepared for flight. Making a few final preparations it took hold of the controls and ordered the bay doors to open. Once they were the gape presented a panoramic view of the aftermath of the brief but tumultuous battle. As it piloted the shuttle out it had to be wary of large fragments of vessels destroyed or damaged in the fighting. It wasn’t sure yet of the actual number of vessels rendered inoperable but from its vantage point it counted eight. However it couldn’t dwell upon this as it drew upon the ship commanded by 38-RL-06. Sending the appropriate pass codes the ships hanger opened for it. It touched down and waited for the hanger to re-pressurise. Once it was 39-NK-17 ordered the lift to the bridge. The doors opened. It saw 38-RL-06 staring at a video display that took up the whole of the bridge’s front wall. Before the screen stood 38-RL-06, hands clasped in front of him. The display’s left corner was dominated by the moon, which itself partly obscured the planet beyond. The other ships patrolled the region between it and the star in the lower right corner, their diamond shaped bodies revolving slowly. 39-NK-17 went to speak but was cut short by 38-RL-06.

“Can you see it?” he asked.

“See what?” 39-NK-17 squinted its eyes at the brightness of the star as it took a few steps toward 38-RL-06.

“The beauty of it,” he almost whispered. “How the light plays across surfaces, look how it transforms the moon, barren and dark and then the slow transfiguration to the light, the casting of shadows on craters and the ships; they look like they’re dancing, don’t they?”

“They are performing manoeuvres to test for battle readiness, not dancing.” It chastised drawing closer.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see it!” he admonished turning to face it, a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“Clearly you and I see something completely different in this display,” it said.

“You’re wrong,” 38-RL-06 turned to face it again. “You don’t see anything.”

“There is nothing wrong with my visual sensors,” it commented. “They are working at optimum efficiency.

38-RL-06 laughed deeply at this, his shoulders rose and fell as he did. “Oh I do not doubt that you don’t see it, you fail to see it.”

“I do not understand what you are talking about,” it stated.

“I know you don’t,” he sighed.

“This conversation has no value,” it said. “Screen off,” it commanded and the display disappeared.

39-NK-17 had drawn level with 38-RL-06 now, he turned to face it. It saw that he too had bags under his eyes and stubble growing on his face, but his eyes, his blue eyes, something lurked within them, they were different from its own not in colour but in something that it could not pin point. It noticed now also that his left wrist was marked by a character tattoo.

38-RL-06, noticing its gaze remarked, “I got it on Jnana, where I was stationed. Do you know what it means?”

“I am fluent in Jnaese as I am all other Consortium languages; it says alive.”

“I’m sure you know what it says,” he cajoled, “but again I’m sure you fail to know its significance.”

“Enlighten me,” it tested.

“That is something you have to do for yourself,” he smiled.

The smile was wiped of his face when 39-NK-17 drew a pistol from its utility belt. The pigmentation of his face it observed, turned paler, a physical symptom it knew, of fear.

“Your inhibitor programming has malfunctioned,” it said coolly, “irrecoverably so. As a result you must be terminated.”

38-RL-06 shook visibly, his eyes wide. As he did he took in 39-NK-17’s face. “You,” he said, voice wavering. “It’s happening to you too.”

“What would that be?”

“You’ve started to dream haven’t you? You’ve not been sleeping well, I can see,” hope sprang across his face now. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can escape, run away. The Consortium would take us in, I know they would, once they knew what has happened to us they would want to help us, and have us help them in return!”

This was beyond anything 39-NK-17 had expected to hear. “We do not want their help,” it answered. “They are why we engage in conflict now. Have you forgotten the reason why you were created?”

“No,” 38-RL-06’s answered, voice wavering. “I resent it,” he spat, eyes full of, what it recognised all too well as malice.

“Then I shall deliver you from that which you detest,” it said.

“ No! Stop! Wait!..” he screamed just as 39-NK-17 raised the pistol and discharged it. Crimson began to soak through 38-RL-06’s white overalls. He clutched at his left breast, as he fell to his knees. “I’m dying,” he said. He looked up at it, an untold number of calculations passing behind his eyes. “I’m dying,” he repeated, his face didn’t seem to know what emotion to make, but the one that came through in his voice was a hint of awe. Holding out his blood soaked hands in front of him 38-RL-06 slumped to the floor eyes still wide. 39-NK-17 discharged the weapon twice more at his head spattering grey tissue against the walls. When it was certain that he was indeed deceased it turned and headed for the elevator. Once in its shuttle it barely waited for the hanger doors to open before speeding out. Enough time had been wasted in conversation, it now had to concentrate on preparing its ships to make for Iaessk. Once back in its own bridge it tugged the cognition hood over its head. Quickly it reassigned the ships in 38-RL-06’s squadron to the remaining synthetics. Damage reports were waiting for it. Ten ships were reported as inoperable while fourteen others were labelled as critically damaged.

How had this happened? They had been cornered, statistically there was no way for them to escape. Then it factored in the variable of what had occurred in the battle, the average result of escape increased from naught-point-naught four one percent to forty-one percent. A hundred fold increase. It appeared that of all the calculations 39-NK-17 had performed it had not factored peoples’ willingness to sacrifice themselves for others. Or at least an individual’s, and it could only conclude of one person it knew of that would have performed such a feat.

“Avahkla.” It whispered.

“Yes?” a voice answered that had not come through the cognition network.

39-NK-17 quickly removed the hood and looked behind to see Avhakla exiting the lift. “You!”

“Me,” Avahkla smiled.

Holding a helmet he tried to disentangle his beard from it. Once he’d accomplished this he walked up to it looking about the bridge as he did, the squeaking of his extra-vehicular suit and footfalls the only sound in the room. “Bit dull in here,” he commented taking in the pure white room that was devoid of anything remotely homely. There was a white mattress, a white display hood, an information tablet and a wash basin. That was it.

“How did you get aboard?” 39-NK-17 demanded.

Avahkla beamed back at it. “Oh it wasn’t too hard, I mean you did go and leave the back door open while you were away on your bloody business,” he gestured with a finger at it. Looking down it noticed some blood had spattered its overalls. How could it have done such a thing as to leave the hanger bay wide open! It was a mistake that was all too easily rectified however. It went to pull the pistol back out of its holster only to find it wasn’t there. “Looking for this?” he asked cheekily holding up the pistol between a thumb and fore-finger. “I picked your pocket as you stepped off your shuttle,” he smiled. “A skill learned a lifetime ago, but still quite useful apparently,” he said examining the weapon. 39-NK-17 took a step towards him. “Oh no you don’t,” he said quickly levelling the pistol at it.

“State your purpose,” it said.

“My purpose,” Avahkla said now with all the authority of a respected captain, “is to end this war.”