From the void [Zara]
16 Aug 2024Haraldsen
I had been piloting the Diamondback Scout for days now, my cybernetic brain seamlessly integrated with the ship’s systems. Every maneuver, every adjustment, has become as natural as breathing. As I floated through the void, a faint distress signal disturbed this meditative, new-found routine.My ship's sensors picked up the faint transmission, and I directed my thoughts towards it, reaching out for its source. In my visual cortex, a medium-sized ship appeared whose engines had failed and which was drifting helplessly through space. I redirected my voice through the comms and initiated contact.
“This is Zara. I r-r-received your distress signal. How can I a-a-assist?” My speech module glitched still, and therefore my voice was stuttering and echoing. Fortunately at least, this time I did not speak in chorus.
There was a pause, then a shaky male voice responded. “This is WRKC-5 personnel transport! Please, we need immediate help! Our power distributor has failed, we are rapidly losing power and can no longer reach a station. We have a replacement crew on board for a Wreaken industrial operation, and it's already getting dangerously cold in here - some of the crew are unconscious by now. Please, hurry!’”
I immediately set course for the medium-sized ship and accelerated. After a few minutes flight I arrived and circled the transport to check for any damage, unaware of the fear I was about to instill. My ship, a small Black Flight ship designed for stealth, barely stood out from the surrounding darkness and was in its current cold running state almost invisible to scanners.
When I came within sight of the other ship's cockpit, I could sense the rising panic in the pilot’s voice. “Who the hell are you? Where have you suddenly come from? And what do you want?” he stammered.
"I-I’m Zara. And I'm here to h-h-help. H-h-help." I tried to reassure him by adding a video to the communication, completely overlooking the fact that the damage to my synthetic skin from the fight during my escape from Lab 23 clearly showed that I was more machine than human, a sight that could easily inspire additional fear or revulsion. Indeed my looks only heightened his terror, and my voice suddenly deteriorating into stuttering loops and a chorus of voices did not help either. “Your ship needs r-r-repairs, and I-I-I-I can a-a-assist with that.”
“Stay back!” he screamed, his voice trembling with terror. “You’re a machine, an abomination! I don’t trust you. And your ship… it looks just like the ships from the Back Flight, the ones from all the rumors and whispers. We have nothing of value! Please, just leave us alone!”
I paused, slowly becoming aware of the impact I must be having on him. With complex AI being outlawed, my battered appearance only seemed to exacerbate the situation. Moreover, I had neglected to consider that I had escaped using a stolen Black Flight ship. “P-please, trust me. I know I may appear f-f-frightening, but I mean you no h-h-harm. Let me help.”
The pilot’s voice trembled. “Your speech… it’s malfunctioning. You sound… terrifying, you look terrifying. And your ship… it resembles those nightmare vessels we’ve heard about. I’m scared...”
I concentrated on sounding as normal as possible and tried to reassure him with an appeal to common sense. "I understand your fear. I may-may seem scary, but that's not-not by intention.... I've just been da-damaged, could use some help myself."
Wait, did I really just say I was damaged? That felt wrong. I wasn't damaged, I had been injured. People got hurt, not damaged. I went on. "And I'm probably your only-only option. You'll f-f-freeze to death before a-anyone else gets here."
There was a long silence, filled only by the static of the comms systems. Finally, the pilot spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright. I don’t have much choice here, but if you try anything, I’ll… I’ll defend my ship.”
“I u-u-understand,” I replied, my voice module still glitching. “I will d-deploy repair drones, they will fix-fix your ship. You can m-m-monitor their progress-ess-ess-ess.”
I transmitted the necessary commands to the on-board computer of my ship, and the repair drones were deployed. As they worked, I monitored the transport’s systems, ensuring everything was functioning correctly.
The pilot’s fear slowly subsided as he saw the results of my efforts. “Thank you,” he finally said, his voice steadier. “I… I didn’t know what to think.”
I nodded. “It’s u-understandable. Space-space-space can be-e a frightening place, and appearances can be d-deceiving. But remember, not all who look scary a-are enemies-enemies.”
"These are dangerous times," the pilot replied. "Only recently the Emperor was attacked in space. News had it that those Neo-Marlinist terrorists are back, at least someone named Cassia has claimed responsibility for the attack. However, I admit that I was wrong about you... Thank you very much for your help. You saved a few lives today."
The pilot of the transporter said goodbye, hurrying to get out of here quickly. As the transport's engines roared again, I prepared to continue my own journey. The pilot's gratitude echoed in my mind, but even more so a name he had mentioned: Cassia. A name I was all too familiar with. But it would be an incredible coincidence if it was my sister.
Nevertheless, I decided to find out more about the attack the pilot had mentioned. If there had been an attack on the Emperor, there had to be something about it in the news. So I instructed the on-board computer to show me all available news channels that showed news that had something to do with rebellion or resistance to the authorities.
I flicked through the news the computer had selected and learned about an organization called the NMLA, which seemed vaguely familiar, and the circumstances of the attack on the Emperor. Then I got stuck on a news program that looked more cheap than serious with its yellow and orange makeup, featuring someone named Ina Muir from a military organization named Anti-Xeno Defence Force. A picture of a woman who looked familiar appeared on the screen... the data-driven part of my memory contributed that there had been a file about this woman in Lab 23. Just according to that file, said woman had been gravely wounded during an attack on an Azimuth Biotech facility some time back, and the file was closed with the note ‘deceased’...
My visual cortex broke down the image from the screen into vectors, mapping out every contour and line, and then initiated the facial recognition protocol. Calculations compared the vectors of the woman’s face on screen to the stored image from the Lab 23 file. The symmetry of her features was analyzed first, taking into account the distances between her eyes, the angle of her jawline, the curve of her lips, and the size of her eyes. Each measurement was cross-referenced with the data from the file.
Next, her upper body and hands. Algorithms estimated the proportions of her shoulders, the length of her arms, and the shape of her hands and fingers. Every detail was meticulously converted into data points and compared against the image from the Lab 23 file. As the analysis progressed, a pattern emerged: the symmetry of all features matched perfectly, but there was a discrepancy in the scale, the height being notably different. My cybernetic mind worked quickly to interpret this anomaly, coming to the conclusion that the match in symmetry was too perfect to be a coincidence. This had to be a completely new body, crafted in the likeness of the woman in the file - albeit with a larger body size.
I wasn't quite sure whether I should be pleased or shocked by the result. I had merely imagined that it would be useful to compare the two representations of the woman, and instinctively, in a kind of subsystem, this detailed analysis was carried out. Once again I realized that although I felt human, technically I was not. How could something feel so real to me that wasn't real at all? And did it perhaps only seem so real because my previous, human self wasn't really real either, but just a program?
I banished these thoughts as quickly as they had come. The fact that I had something more tangible to focus on helped some. Based on the information available to me, I came to the conclusion with a 63 per cent probability that the woman could have come from the test series of a predecessor program - the artificial body and her hostile attitude towards Azimuth suggested this. I almost had to smile a little at her statement on the news that some idiots probably thought all soldiers were cyborgs. Well, certainly not, but you are, Ina Muir - mid-ranking officer of the Anti-Xeno Defence Force. And maybe it would be worth paying you a visit...
A quick search of established organizations showed that the Anti-Xeno Defence Force was based in Haki. I didn't expect to find this Ina Muir woman there - from what I'd seen in the news about these aliens called Thargoids, she'd probably be in combat somewhere. But there was a high probability that I would find out more about the organization and this particular member, maybe including her current whereabouts, at their HQ. After all, most military organizations had something in common: a centralized administration.
I set a new course and accelerated the Diamondback Scout towards Haki.