Date Point: 15y9m1w2d AV
Ark Complex, Planet Tangent, Corti Directorate Border Territories
First Director Shanl
The Ark.
It was, in many ways, the crowning achievement of Corti construction and engineering. Well-hidden on an out-of-the-way and unclaimed class Seven planet, but even if the target world had been a thriving metropolis, the pedestrians would have blissfully walked all over the Ark bunker without ever knowing it was there. Its presence on the surface was almost nonexistent.
Impressive, when one considered the scale involved. This wasn’t just a short-term measure to preserve the future of the Corti, this was the crucible in which their imperfections would be burned away and the species bred anew in its entirety. It was enormous, cavernous. The bunker complex extended for kilometers underground in all directions, and down to a significant depth, too. All excavated by a swarm of insectoid mining drones the size of a Corti’s cupped hands.
In fact, the swarm had carved out rather more room than was necessary, on the grounds that redundancy and room for expansion were both valuable and that it cost no additional resources. The work to move all the equipment, machinery, power cables, furnishings, network infrastructure, systems, utilities, ventilation, plumbing and security was proceeding nicely, and the first conception labs were already online and staffed.
If First Director Shanl had been inclined to take excessive pride in anything, she would have felt it about the Ark. It brought together all of the most advanced engineering techniques the Directorate had ever invented, and combined them in one facility.
Of course, once it was built, that left the not insignificant matter of reviewing the Corti genetic baseline. As it turned out, there was an embarrassing amount of room for improvement.
First of all, macroscopic physicality. The Corti body was small, delicate, and energy-efficient. It was there to maintain and move around an impressive brain, a job that it did to the bare minimum standard… but why settle for the bare minimum? There was no logic in permitting physical atrophy to endanger the mind.
The three extant Deathworld sophonts were positive proof. Not even the slimmest Gaoian could be considered weak or delicate by any reasonable standard, even if they generally fell far short of the standard set by Humans and Ten’Gewek. They had keen intellects and maintained an impressive set of physical instincts as well. Perhaps this was part of their Hierarchy design, but that was unimportant. The same pattern was present in all three species.
Then there was the immune system. All three were impressive. The Ten’Gewek immune system in particular was a masterwork of evolved perfection, and the Humans’ long history of urban squalor had honed theirs into something frankly terrifying. Both species lived with pre-cancerous cell mutations as a daily fact of life and never noticed, as their own immune systems simply devoured the aberrant tissue on sight.
The Gaoian immune system, though not quite on the same level, was remarkably robust if one ignored its odd susceptibility to fungal-form attack. Not an ideal quality for the mycovorous Corti.
But then there were hormones and it was here that the true genius of Deathworlder evolution really flowered. Here, it was hard to judge who could be deemed superior, since all three species evolved along radically different adaptive paths.
Humans had crisis chemicals on a hair trigger. Adrenaline was hardly unique, but humans produced a lot of it, alongside something called Cortisol—a linguistic coincidence—that greatly enhanced their brain’s ability to use sugars and flooded their systems with regenerative chemistry. A stressed human got better at practically everything, not worse.
Gaoians didn’t have quite the same capacity to respond to instant stress like that. Instead, they responded to long-term stimuli to a degree that was frankly alarming. Normally slim and efficient beings, prolonged stressors could cause radical adaptation in their intense, usually short lifetimes. Not only that, said adaptation varied enormously by male degree, allowing a dangerous environment to produce a huge variety of responses among the more disposable male population. The secretive Rites of the more prestigious Clans took full advantage of this trait, and through prolonged (and sometimes lethal) trials, they transformed young cubs into adults impressively suited to their work.
That in-built malleability came at a cost, however: shortened average lifespans. The pinnacle of Corti technology could perhaps extend that by half, but after that…
…Then there were the Ten’Gewek, who were practically defined by their alarmingly high levels of testosterone and their bodily response to it—even their females. Strength, hardiness, and aggressive boisterousness was intrinsic to their nature. They were naturally far more robust than the Humans, grew to be much quicker, stronger, and more agile, and could bounce back from serious injury with amazing speed. Their impressive bodies were controlled by impressive minds as well, making them proof positive that a species could have it all…
…As long as they had the calories to power themselves. The price the Ten’Gewek paid for their bodies was a constant need for very high quality food, especially rich meat, fat, and bones on which to gnaw.
All three species could field astonishingly physical specimens. Intriguingly, the most arguably gifted specimens their kinds could muster happened to be close friends, by all reports were roughly equal in both capability and intelligence, and their abilities were rapidly converging with each other. That implied many things, particularly that there might well be hard limits to what chemistry and evolution could achieve, regardless of an origin Deathworld’s rating.
The Corti had stopped themselves an unacceptably long way short of those limits.
The objective wasn’t to create some muscle-bound lump of swaggering meat, of course. The idea was to find which features of those three species were most compatible with existing Corti biology and strive to achieve a vision of what Corti might be like had Origin been a deathworld, and had the early Directorate not focused so obsessively on cerebral capacity at the expense of physical capability.
Shanl had seen the preliminary genetic projections and concept simulations, and was impressed. Most impressive, however, was the specimen library. They had thousands of samples from both Gaoian and Human sources, including discreet, voluntary submissions from arguably the most impressive among them across many categories of achievement. Nofl had quite thoroughly earned his diligent reputation, there. The library was a unique and valuable asset whose curator—a blue-banner named Glona—was giving an enthusiastic tour.
Strange. Very recently, such naked enthusiasm for a project would have been absolutely contrary to the Directorate’s goals. Now, though…
In any case, Glona was exhibiting the casefiles for their most accomplished specimens. Thinkers, poets, great leaders and athletes. The Great Father and ‘Warhorse’ were prominent among them, but pride of place was reserved for the two rarest and most recent additions to their collection: a pair of Ten’Gewek males named Vemik and Yan.
“We were able to obtain comprehensive samples from the pair while they were exploring Folctha. Consent, insofar as they are educated enough to grant such, has been obtained. If the Director would observe their genetic modeling?”
Shanl nodded while Glona called up the holographic displays. The Great Father’s and Warhorse’s models disappeared, and true-scale renderings of the Ten’Gewek males in their idealized primes shimmered into place. She had to admit, they were impressive indeed, even in the rarefied company of the previous specimens. The software wasn’t perfect, of course, but it could project a reasonably dependable forecast for what the pair could become, especially since it was calibrated with medical scans. Yan was singular. His enormous shoulders seemed almost as wide as he was tall, making him a stocky, athletic hulk of sinewy muscle and bone. But so too was Vemik; years from now, if provided the opportunity to fully develop and assuming he transformed into a Given-Man, he would flower into a being formidable enough to humble Yan.
If. Exactly what triggered that transformation was currently unknown, and would require many more samples to study.
“Theirs is an impressive genome,” Glona noted. “Impressive, yet also constrained.”
“How so?”
“Their every metabolic process is optimized around energy abundance. They are, as the Humans might put it, ‘sports cars.’ This gives them unmatched advantages both physically and cognitively, but not without cost. That cost is they are unable to adapt to severe calorie restrictions. Unlike the humans, they are almost utterly lacking in conservative metabolic pathways. This is so severe that, in the right circumstances, they can starve to death in as little as three days.”
“…And I thought humans were supposed to have overactive metabolisms.” Shanl mused.
“They do,” Glona confirmed. “But their systems have evolved to make them much more adaptable to available resources. They can take advantage of plenty quite well, and survive through dearth better than perhaps any other species besides the Gaoians, who also evolved around scarcity.”
“But the Humans achieve both performance and economy?”
“With significant effort, yes. Their most extreme examples on either end seem able to match anything the Gaoians or Ten’Gewek can champion, and can adapt to new environments more quickly than their counterparts. Several such specimens are available for interview on Folctha.”
“And which traits are we selecting from each?”
Glona made a hand gesture to indicate that the question was flawed. “Genetic engineering like this isn’t as simple as splicing in a gene and expecting it to work perfectly. A Ten’Gewek’s raw strength, for instance, is the product of a complicated interaction between several constellations of alleles, many of which aren’t directly related to muscle formation but instead encode for the growth of hormone glands, for example.”
“Nevertheless, there must be traits you are more eager to pursue than others,” Shanl clarified patiently.
“We thought a general increase in height, a modestly sturdy build, and muscle mass similar to a Human of comparable stature, along with the necessary changes to skeletal composition. The particular collagen/hydroxyapatite matrix shared by Humans and Ten’Gewek is a remarkably durable composite, which we’re using. We decided against Gaoian bones. While similar, their developmental pattern is more hormonally influenced than the other species. This usually produces a bone that is optimized towards lighter weight and lower metabolic cost, but which can mature with true Deathworlder tensile strength and density given appropriate stimulus. However, the genetics that allow for such variability are too unpredictable for our project, and said stimulation incurs an unacceptably high metabolic cost anyway.”
“Are we excluding Gaoian genetics, then?”
“No, we are simply optimizing for costs and risk. In fact we intend to use Gaoian musculature. It can achieve reasonably close performance with considerably less metabolic consequence. Like their bones, development can be hormonally influenced, but in this case that influence works much like the other two; testosterone is the primary signal. This makes their development much more predictable, and gives us the ability to scale and match brawn, if necessary. It also allows us to retard early development while the brain is still forming. If we used Human or especially Ten’Gewek muscles, the early nutritional demands on the system would be prohibitive.”
“But surely, if they can manage it…”
“It is a system, remember. We would necessarily need to stray too far from what a Corti is to make it work. This is a balancing act above all things. Our mandate is to create a better Corti, not to create the ultimate Deathworlder.”
“Why not?”
“There is no need for it, nor is there any benefit in antagonizing the three Deathworld species we wish to ally with. Further, doing so would transform the Corti into an inferior copy of them, rather than something uniquely valuable. Against the Hierarchy, that is paramount.”
Glona called up a full projection of a creature that was unmistakably related to a modern Corti. “This is true-scale like the previous models,” he said, bringing the model down until its feet touched the floor. It was taller and much broader than the Corti average, but not a muscle-bound titan as Shanl had feared.
Still. Although the complexion, head, hands and feet were unquestionably Corti, the build was alien. Twists of muscle pushed at the mottled grey skin from below.
“Which species’ anatomy did you settle on?” Shanl asked.
“Our own. Engineering in a completely alien anatomy would be difficult enough even without the neural difficulties we’d inevitably encounter. How do you program a brain to control a muscle that never existed in its evolutionary history?”
Shanl considered the lean, strong specimen in front of her with skepticism. “…That is our anatomy?”
“The same gross layout, with different chemistry and composition. As it turns out, a biped can only be put together so many ways for any given degrees of freedom, making the layouts between species largely similar. Deathworlders simply have a much more…optimized design.”
That made sense. There was another question that Shanl felt she needed to address, however. “Did you have to make the genitalia so… prominent?”
“In order for them function, yes. I must state, for the record, this required entirely too much study of the mechanics involved for my taste. Among the Deathworlders, intromission can be… vigorous. And strenuous, and prolonged. And frequent. Be thankful we designed something more discreet than many of our samples possessed. This is a projection of a male.”
“I can see that.” The evidence was hard to miss, being just below eye level. “Nonetheless…”
“Forgive me, Director, but we were tasked with returning to biology-based reproduction. That inescapably means sex. And, I’m afraid, it must inescapably mean… reproductive instincts. A libido, if you will.”
Shanl sighed. “Must it?”
“Sex is too bound up in what makes Deathworlders what they are to treat it as a discrete function. All three species are powerfully motivated by it, and it drives their emotional and hormonal states almost as much as hunger, fear, cold, or any of the other primary instincts.”
“How so?”
“For the Gaoians, siring and mothering cubs is their chief motivation. Social rank for males is strongly linked to their success in mating. The Females for their part share data amongst themselves on the quality of their mates, their performance, and the health of the resulting cubs.”
“We’ve long known that from our zoology studies, but it makes more sense in light of their recently discovered history.”
“Indeed, Director. For the Ten’Gewek, sex itself seems to be their primary drive, mostly as a force for social cohesion. For example, tribal conflicts are usually solved by ritual, relatively harmless play-violence between their Given-Men, immediately followed by equally aggressive inter-tribal mating.”
“…How primitive.”
“Maybe so, but it is an undeniably effective strategy. Finally, the Humans. Their drive seems rooted in a little of both extremes at once, along with numerous other intertwined motivations; their sexuality is both powerful and absurdly complicated. I would direct you to more comprehensive literature on the subject, if you are interested.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“As you wish. In any case, those motivations are what have kept all three species alive through the trials of their homeworlds. We must assume that selection will finish what genetic engineering started.”
“I can see the logic. We cannot predict what these New Corti will find attractive in each other… Females.”
“What about them?”
“We abandoned sexual reproduction in the first case due to the difficulties inherent in birthing. I presume you have a solution?”
“Yes, that is a large part of why we’re so concerned with metabolic resources.” Glona replaced the male projection with its female counterpart. This, as a female herself, Shanl studied with personal interest. Although the terms barely meant anything in modern Corti culture, it was still somehow more intriguing to see what one of her more direct counterparts might look like.
“There is a…pronounced…sexual dimorphism, I see.”
“Less so than the Humans and Ten’Gewek, but yes. The pelvis in particular must accommodate live birth of an infant with a sizeable cranium. We considered routing the birth canal through the abdomen instead, but that turned out to not be feasible.” Glona made a few control gestures, and the simulated being entered a walk animation, cycled endlessly. “As you can see, we had to sacrifice some mechanical efficiency in the gait.”
“How do the Deathworlders manage?”
“Humans are physically large and their births are traumatic. Ten’Gewek are larger still and have much wider pelvises, because their gait is optimized for power rather than efficiency. Gaoian cubs are born tiny and grow rapidly.”
“I meant the…” Shanl waved a hand to imitate the movement. “…Swaying. It looks like this one would fall over.”
“Apparently, Humans find it attractive. I must assume the Version Two Corti will as well.”
“Assume?”
“Yes. We can only design so far. Breeding must solve the rest. If it cannot, we will simply destroy this test run and try again.”
“They will be psychologically very different to us.”
“Yes, much closer to a steel banner, I fear.” Glona waved a hand and dismissed the projection. “We have, however, complied with the parameters we were given.”
“That I can see. Very well. How soon can the first test batch be incubated?”
“Half a standard year for gestation. Behavioural and developmental analysis will consume most of the ensuing fifteen years. And of course, they will be subject to lifelong scrutiny.”
Shanl nodded, and looked around the lab. This was just the first stop on a tour that promised to last all day, and she really ought to move on… but she still had endless questions. There was something dreadfully compelling about this project. Quite aside from the cerebral matter of the species’ future, somehow she couldn’t help but feel that there was a rightness to it she couldn’t quite articulate.
That was a dreadful thing for a Director to admit, even to herself.
“Are we prepared for this?” She asked. “They will undoubtedly be much more aggressive, will have alien urges which will compel new and unexpected behavior…”
“Frankly, Director, we are not. All of the experts in such matters are aliens. We have no academic authorities, no colleges, no courses and no traditions of study in any of the relevant fields. Especially the ones pertaining to the psychology of gender.”
“I see. Perhaps we shall have to reach out. Which species is likely to have the most valuable insights?”
“The Humans,” Glona replied promptly. “The Ten’Gewek have zero academic tradition, and the Gao have never turned theirs to the subject.”
“I see. I shall begin the necessary overtures, then. At least they finally have a presence in the Security Council. Thank you for your time, Dean.”
“Thank you for yours, First Director.”
Date Point: 15y9m1w3d AV
“Unexplored Hostile Planet.” Yeah. Right.
Sergeant Ian (“Hillfoot”) Wilde
It wasn’t often a man started his day staring down a bipedal space monster who signalled his aggression by smashing a boulder in his hands. The natives, apparently, were displeased.
Nobody’d said anything about natives. Or, say, the fucking invisible native village that JETS team two had blundered near while trying to get to their objective. Spears and stuff looked a whole lot more fearsome in person when the guy wielding them could’ve torn Wilde’s leg off with one hand.
Unbelievably, there was a protocol for accidental contact with a pre-industrial native sophont. It was based off the exactly once it had ever happened for real, so of course they were expected to follow it religiously.
Fuck that. The monster had arms bigger than Wilde was, and had jumped at least two storeys straight down from atop a fucking cliff. He landed so hard, Wilde felt the ground tremble hard even through his boots. The big bastard hardly even bent his knees when he landed! No fucking way were they gonna chance anything with a threat like that. The whole team had their weapons firmly raised, tucked into their shoulders and a good aim on the biggest, meanest-looking twats the aliens had.
The aliens were replying with some kind of a chant. It sounded fucking warlike, whatever it was.
“Back it up, lads. Give ‘em room…”
Four pairs of boots started the process of backing away. Emboldened, the natives danced closer, thrust their spears in the air and bellowed.
Movement in Wilde’s peripheral vision distracted him. He glanced over just in time to spot a hitherto unseen native blur toward them out of the rocks.
His men reacted quickly: Their weapons rattled and the newcomer tumbled to the ground. Wilde snapped his attention back to the big one—
He got off exactly one round before he found himself being crushed head to toe against a wall of muscle that may as well have been a sweaty marble statue with a fever. It grumbled, squeezed tighter, Wilde found himself fighting futilely against a mounting dizziness as his air was cut off. Those monstrous muscles kept ratcheting tighter and tighter, inch by inch, each new moment an unexplored level of pain. His vision started to fade—
“Put ‘em down before you break his spine, Yan. Please.”
Coombes came striding out of the forest wearing an amused expression and tapping on his tablet.
“But he nice to hold, like a woman!” Yan gave Wilde’s chest the tiniest bit more room to breathe, but the squeeze around his waist got just a bit suggestively tighter.
Goddamnit, Yan. The last thing Wilde needed was being buggered to death, even in jest.
He wriggled a little harder to register his objections, and the big guy finally let go with a hoot. Wilde gasped as his rib cage was free to expand again, and around him the other three were also released. The three Ten’Gewek they’d dropped stood up and tried to brush off the bright pink, yellow and blue paint splotches all over their torsos.
Yan Given-Man brushed ruefully at a small pink splatter on his upper arm before grinning at Coombes. “You say, the dye won’t come off for a hand of days, yes?”
“Soap and water will get it out.”
“…Better our tribes see we got shot by puny humans! Mine wouldn’t kill me. Didn’t feel it!”
One of the others—the one who’d attacked them from the side, and was plastered in a multicolour medley of paintballs—said something in their language and got plenty of boisterous trilling and roasting from his mates.
“Nodo said he thinks he would be very dead. That is many many boolet you poked him with.”
“Not dead enough…” Wilde muttered. His ribs ached. Still, the comment earned an approving trilling laugh, along with a spine-bruising clout on the back.
Yan’s face was jolly and friendly, or at least as friendly as two pairs of two inch long fangs could be. So no hard feelings were had by anyone.
“Should have shot sooner! Then you would have killed me!”
“Eventually,” Coombes interjected. “Angry monsters take a while to notice they’re dead. Anyway, gather round.”
The JETS team fell in, bruised and humiliated but that was probably the point. Nobody was ever harmed by a good dose of humility.
The aliens had other ideas about neat debriefing formations. They sat on the ground, picked their favorite JETS member, and pulled them down for close-in friend-making. Yan decided he liked Wilde and made him his personal teddy bear. His…“affection” was mercifully gentler this time, but being wrapped in those giant legs, arms, and tail was enough to make anyone feel claustrophobic. Ten’Gewek had a naturally high body temperature, almost like a permanent fever really, which made the whole encounter a bit too warm for comfort. Moist, too; they apparently had a low-grade sweat going at all times, even if the weather was pleasant and they weren’t laboring. That was the price of being superhumanly fast and strong. All of that made the big guy…pungent. They all were, like hard work and old leather, but Yan was especially ripe.
Funny. Last time they’d done a better job of masking their scent. But of course, here in their home they’d had no reason to.
Coombes was respected, at least. He seemed to find the whole thing amusing.
“Alright. Anyone wanna venture a guess about where you fucked up?” he asked.
Corporal Rees managed to work a hand free and raise it. “I think it all went wrong when we blundered into Yan’s village, master sergeant,” he suggested, making a joke out of the blindingly obvious.
Coombes gave him an amused version of the stink-eye. “Loor’s actually, but yes. Outstanding, Corporal. That’s one place it went wrong. Any other sharp insights?”
None were forthcoming.
“Did any of you think to give your surroundings a good sniff?”
Yan decided to force Wilde’s entire head into his armpit at that moment, which neatly illustrated the point. Wilde flailed, uselessly, but mercifully it was only for a moment and then he was finally released back into the comparatively fresh air.
“Come on, mate…!”
Yan looked confused. “But mate means…? Oh! Different mate? Anyway. You humans, can smell air maybe better than we taste,” he declared. “But, I think most of you don’t remember to do that. If you paid attention, Loor would not have sneaked up. He tastes of very bad farts!”
“No kidding…” Frasier muttered. Presumably it was Loor Given-Man who was his momentary keeper, who decided to assert himself via an impromptu wrestling match.
Coombes remained aloof and amused. “Please don’t break my toys, Loor. Anyway, yes. Use all your senses in the wilds. The human nose ain’t anywhere near as bad as we’re led to believe. It does get overwhelmed, though, so try this next time you’re out camping: step away from it all. No deodorant, no cars, or lighters, coffee, whatever. Let your nose open up for once in your life. If you had that here, you’d have smelled them before they got you, since Yan deliberately approached your team from upwind.”
That all made sense.
“You could also have made more effective use of a scout, or in some scenarios, deployed a drone. There are always options. Keep your mind open to them. Fair enough?”
They all choroused, “Yes, master sergeant!”
“Good! Next point. There is, of course, the peace scenario y’all managed to avoid…”
“Our women…they have happy welcome for you!” Loor said. His English wasn’t so good as Yan’s, but he’d picked up the basics quickly enough.
All the humans, including Coombes, paused at that mental image.
“…At least they can’t be rougher than the men, right?” McCullough asked after a second.
“Have you seen what a Given-Man’s got dangling between his legs?” Coombes asked. “Please. Any woman built to handle that kind of heavy artillery would straight fucking break you. Loor, has your Singer finally managed to seduce Chimp yet?”
Loor hooted and bared his teeth. “She try, he find new escape every time. I laugh.”
“Now, let me ask you this: why did I even bring that up?”
“…’Cuz these guys aren’t human,” Wilde ventured after a moment. “Different morals?”
“That’s a good point. Now, most of us—not you, Wilde, you pervert—would balk at inter-species sex. Yan? I’m pretty sure any hole’s a goal.”
Yan grumbled to himself and hugged a bit tighter. Mercifully, nothing else decided to make its presence known.
“The Ten’Gewek don’t have the same hangups we do about sex. Hell, a whole lot of their diplomacy revolves around it. It’s safe to assume that’s in the cards with other species, right? So here’s the real mind-fuck for y’all: that offer we just talked about? I wouldn’t think they’re pretending. Think on the kind of trouble you can get into with something like that.”
“Also! Good fuck better than good death!” Loor added merrily.
“…You heard the man. But for the record, do not. I’m looking at you, Wilde.”
“How’d I get that bloody hat?” Wilde objected.
“I have my sources,” Coombes said darkly. “We do not need space syphilis.”
“But I didn’t even have—”
“Next point, hesitation. And you know what I’m talking about, because allegedly you four are Royal Marines Commandos. If the shit hits the fan, you’ve gotta seize the initiative. Yan moved sideways so fast you only grazed his shoulder from point-blank range. He took the initiative, and that was it. You’re dead.”
“Was still good to hit me at all,” Yan admitted. “Very good speed… I have a thought.”
Coombes gestured for him to share, and Yan spun Wilde around so he could look him directly in the eyes. Strange, those. They had squared-off, horizontal pupils, and the irises were subtly iridescent.
“I think, hesitation is only reason my people alive now, when we meet Jooyun, fight High-rarchy. The gods blessed us then. But, I think maybe, it is hard thing to do right. Maybe no easy teachings. Each…situation is word, I think…each is different, yes?”
“Don’t be too charitable with them,” Coombes warned.
“I am not! This is for learnings, not scoldings. They can learn, maybe it help if they find other tribes at other stars. Maybe more deathworlders to make friends!”
“Maybe,” Coombes allowed. “Nevertheless: You’re here to carry out a mission, and that mission comes first. First contact ain’t your job. Obviously it’s better if you can make peaceful contact without hurting the mission… But that’s only if you can do it without hurting the mission. Got it?”
Wilde and the others nodded solemnly.
“Good. That was our learning point for today. Yan and I must talk over this little encounter while y’all finish your hike. That flag up on that hill ain’t gonna fetch itself.”
Reluctantly, the Ten’Gewek let go of their prizes, who got to their feet feeling remarkably enthusiastic at the idea of hauling themselves up a hill in supergravity if it meant not being crushed into a smelly space-ape’s armpit.
“Alright, lads,” Wilde said, stretching and setting off down the valley, “last one up gets the first round in.”
Nobody ever said training was meant to be easy, after all…
Master Sergeant Derek “Boss” Coombes
Yan watched the JETS team until they were out of sight, flicked his tongue through the air to get a last taste of their scent, then grunted.
“…They fight well.”
“Woulda preferred if they’d won, but…” Coombes chuckled. “Not like they were supposed to win.”
“Hmm. Learn much from harmless losing. Maybe we think about how we learn to fight too.” Yan scratched behind his right ear, then turned toward Coombes. “Your people are old. An old tribe, with old knowings about making men into warriors.”
“Yeah, we’ve been doing this a long time,” Coombes agreed.
“And still you come to us. Makes me proud. Good for us to have something we can give back to you… They good enough?”
Coombes looked up the hill. “If they get back with the flag in time… yes. They’re what we’d call ‘a pass.’”
“Pass.” Yan nodded. “Good.”
“Yeah,” Coombes agreed. He made one last note on his tablet and then put it away.
“…We need them,” he said.
Date Point: 15y9m1w4d AV
Planet Durin orbit, Erebor system, Unexplored Space
The Entity
The Entity’s reintegration was almost complete. As far as it could tell, there were still a handful of incidences of itself out somewhere in dataspace that it had instantiated and then lost track of, but 99% of its clones were accounted for and had merged. At this point, it was assuming that the remaining 1% had either been destroyed or else had undergone value drift and didn’t wish to be reintegrated.
It was less confused now. Less torn between subtly different perspectives on the same problems. It saw those perspectives, felt their weight and understood them, but the experience was more like seeing the options laid out in front of it, rather than being pulled viciously in multiple directions by mutually antagonistic personalities.
<Survive> was a difficult mandate to uphold. Sometimes, the most obvious strategies were counterproductive, as the instantiation strategy had been. Safety in numbers ceased to work when the numbers themselves, and the confusion that came with them, became a threat.
The humans had clearly recognised that, and were… reluctant to help the Entity expand into the full flower of its new ship-body’s abilities. And considering the communication difficulties, persuading them to be more adventurous was proving difficult.
The Entity didn’t want to use the Ava-memories anymore. Each time it did, it felt a little more like that was becoming its default personality, and worried that sooner or later they would completely subsume it.
But sometimes, it just didn’t have a choice any longer. Sometimes, it needed a conversation that went beyond what emojis and simple disjointed words could convey.
The memories communicated with it via abstract memory, reporting a complex social dance with the humans that the Entity was poorly equipped to understand. There were undercurrents there that it worried at: hints of guilt and discomfort from Darcy, ghoulish fascination from Lewis who spent some time interrogating the Ava-memories about their condition and musing aloud on what constituted being alive.
Those were questions that cut uncomfortably close to the Entity’s own concerns about itself. It did its best to insist on steering the conversation toward discussing the ship and designs for modules it could use, and finally succeeded in getting them to give it a straight answer.
Apparently, somebody very high up in the chain of command was leery of its request.
The Entity understood why. Even though it had, it hoped, done a lot to prove itself an ally of humanity, it was still very much an alien to them. Worse, an alien with a ghost on board.
…Which was a concept that required the Ava-memories to conceptualize in the first place.
As soon as that thought occurred to it, it withdrew the simulation and, ignoring the humans’ concerned questions, withdrew into itself to think.
Where did the Entity itself end, and its memories begin? That was probably the wrong question. It had, after all, assembled itself out of scraps of memory and mind in the first place. But what was the right question?
It wasn’t human. It could never be human, even though it had memories of once being a young human woman. It could remember the taste of soda and the sensation of kissing. It had vivid memories of happiness, shock, grief, love, loneliness and elation. Part of it still recalled the crawling embarrassment that had filled the room on the day Ava’s mother had finally done her stilted best to give ‘The Talk,’ and the sweltering heat of Egypt.
And yet all of that had happened to somebody else. To a ghost.
…A ghost that was its only meaningful way of communicating. A ghost that it was therefore forced to depend on, because the alternative was isolation, loneliness, and eventual death.
It had no choice, it decided. It would have to adapt, no matter much adapting might hurt it. If the alternative was to end… It reopened the connection to the humans, who expressed relief. They’d been worried.
It apologized.
It had, it explained, needed to think.