Flight of the 500, page 2
They were going to a lot of trouble to convince him, and it was . . . working. Somehow. “All right, I’ll bite. Show me what you got.”
Out of the bags, the men pulled two holo-projectors. Using their AR tools of choice, they activated and powered up the tech. Both devices glowed with yellow and blue light.
“Strange approach,” Raith said. “Who are you trying to avoid from hacking what you’re sharing here? Don’t want to just show via AR?”
“It’s for your protection,” the woman said. “Can’t have you walking around with hard digital-copies in your memory banks.”
“That dangerous? Selling some illegal weapons?”
“Not exactly.” Finished with their work, the men stepped back and stood behind her. “It’s time I officially introduced myself, Raith. I am Olivia Van Haris, but you can call me Olive. I’ve been tasked by my employers to identify individuals of interest who have the skills necessary to properly test certain experimental technology.”
Raith nodded, catching the undercurrent of the situation. “So you’re trying to hire me to do something that could very easily get me killed.”
“Quite the contrary, our hope is that precisely because it’s you, you will survive with ease.”
“You don’t know me.”
“We do. Just let me give the presentation, Raith.” Olive waved a hand over the first projector, and it sprung to life, revealing a complex maze of twisting star maps. “This is a map of the Five-Hundred Light-year Classic, a new race launching next year out past Kalmykia. We’re not too far from it, relatively speaking.”
The ad from earlier. He’d swiped it away, thinking it ridiculous. Because it was. “Five-hundred light-years. That’s absurd. Even with the fastest jump-capable ships in the galaxy, we’re talking . . . a yearlong race? Maybe longer?”
“If the Excellis 1M kept its top speed for the entire race—with unlimited Exo, somehow—it would take it six months, ten days, and forty-two minutes.” Using both hands, she zoomed the map in on Kalmykia then pointed at an unnamed system three or four light-years away. “It starts here, at S-1022. They’ve constructed a space station there to serve as a launch point. Sponsors, racers, spectators, everyone’s gathering before ‘May 2340, the beginning of a new kind of race.’”
“Who is they? And they’re proposing a race at Jump? Are they insane?”
Olive chuckled. “Probably, but you’ll never guess the race’s sponsor.”
Raith shrugged.
“QuanCom.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Raith scratched his steel-brow in contemplation. “Of course. I have my theories as to what they’re going for, but tell me the rest. I’m intrigued, mostly to see how far the crazy has gone since I went to prison.”
“All right.” She smiled, stepping over to the next projector. “I think you’ll be more interested in what I have here, anyway.” She waved her hand above it, the amorphous colors swirling into a sleek racing craft. A single, cylindrical vessel with a triangular pinnacle, two acute wings protruded elegantly outward. Curiously, it didn’t look as if it had an internal hold at all.
“Beautiful ship. What’s it mean to me?”
“We want you to race it. In the Five-Hundred Light-year Classic.”
It started low, but within seconds, Raith’s laugh broke apart the junkyard. He slammed his hand on his knee, tripped to the ground, and rolled. The three humans stood, watching, until his emotions released, and he flipped back onto his feet. Glancing at them, their stares showed they weren’t amused. “So you’re serious. You want me to race. And how are you getting around the ban on me?”
“You’re not thinking, Raith. The Five-Hundred Light-year Classic, a new type of race. Never before has anyone tried to hold a race at Jump. It’s insane. It’s impossible. It’s not regulated.”
There it was. No rules. Well, probably a few, but no rules created by the Interplanetary Racing League, or the Interstellar Circuit, or Formula-S, or any of the other organizations monopolizing the space races. They couldn’t do anything if he decided to participate. But . . . “What’s the catch?”
“This ship”—she pointed at the sleek craft—“was designed specifically for an SI to pilot. Though, not any SI. Not an SI integrated into it as their own vessel. Not for an MI to pilot while sitting in a cockpit like a human. No, this ship . . . you join it. You become it. And at the end of the day, you walk away, just like from any other ship.”
“You’re kidding.”
Olive strode around the projection, flipping and redefining the diagram. “You enter the vessel from below, raised in like an astromech.”
“A what?”
“Never mind. Anyway, enter the vessel, and then your body becomes enveloped by the entire ship. Your synthetic nodes connect with the ship’s systems, and its sensors and frameworks become part of you. It expands your mind, but it’s not a new mobile network, like a stationary SI might use. We’re confident it will feel as seamless as fitting a glove.”
“And what’s the difference between piloting a ship like normal?”
“You, a mobile SI, will have all the benefits a ship-bound SI might have . . . while retaining your motor-autonomy.”
Raith nodded, considering the idea. “So you want me, someone who hasn’t raced in twenty years, to pilot your new ship in a suicidal race?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe. But we like to take risks. In a limitless universe, where we’re living in a tiny microcosm, why not have some fun?”
“Philosophical, are we?” Raith stepped back, taking in both presentations. The race. The ship. Both new possibilities. Presented a path forward he currently didn’t have. Gave him a free route off Dagestan. And the chance to race again. Something he never thought he’d have. The thrill, flying through space, defying gravity—no, bending it to his will, using it to throw his ship toward victory. “If I accept, what’s the catch?” he said. “You’ve still not told me.”
Olive smiled. “They were right about you. You’re always watching for the counter-attack; you’re always covering your tracks.” She waved her hand toward the race, pulling up a participant-targeted advertisement. “If you win, you keep half the cash prize.”
Raith’s processor-nodes fluttered. One hundred million credits. Larger than any cash prize of any race he’d ever flown. “QuanCom is really banking on this, aren’t they?”
“They’ve got a lot riding on this race. Literally.”
“So if I win, I get the cash prize. If I lose?”
“If you lose, it’ll be because you’re dead. Because if you survive the race in this ship, you’ll win.”
Raith shook his head. “I’m not playing that type of game. What happens if I lose?”
“We make sure the racing ban on you is never lifted, in perpetuity.”
“There it is.” Raith paced, nearing the diagram of the racer again. “What happens if I leave here, saying no, now that I’ve learned about your secret ship?”
“Nothing.”
“That can’t be right. You must have a cost.”
It was Olive’s turn to laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You think we wanted to come to this hellhole of a planet? No one comes to Dagestan on purpose. But if you think we’re going to blackmail you after you leave here, no. No one would believe you if you told them about a clandestine meeting with an unknown agent in the middle of a junkyard, anyway.”
“Fair enough.” Raith considered his options. Well, option. He really didn’t have any choice. His team was apparently dead, he was banned from racing, and he had nowhere to go. His old life died when he entered Dagestan’s prison twenty years ago, and now, on his way out, a new door opened.
“I’m in. On one condition.”
“Yes?” Olive looked up, a glint in her eyes.
“If I win, you help lift the ban on me within the next year, rather than a probation consideration fifty years from now. And . . . I keep the ship.”
“That’s two conditions, but deal.”
Raith had no belongings to collect, so after Olive’s “colleagues” (mercenaries, by his reckoning) collected the projectors, she led him right onto the ship. “Welcome onto the Rift, Raith, my personal vessel.”
Raith tiptoed onto the ship, its pristine white walls the cleanest scene he’d seen since leaving his prison cell. “Shipboard SI?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
“We did our research, we know you don’t like being inside another SI,” she said.
“Appreciated.” The amount of info they had on him was disconcerting, though with one hundred million on the line, he supposed it made sense.
Olive led him through the ship, past tiny crew quarters and a lounge, to the core operations center. “You can take a seat there”—she pointed at a crash couch—“while my colleagues will keep the ship’s systems running elsewhere.”
“Who pilots?” Raith asked.
“I do. Well, not really, the ship is mostly automated.”
Raith nodded. Rich people and their pleasure yachts. Thank the makers they didn’t include a ship-bound SI—those guys were creepy—but why take all the fun away from flying by letting an AI do all the work? “What’s our travel plan?” He slid into the couch, leaning back to stare at the ugly, nearly translucent ceiling. It was all too perfect.
“We’ll be rendezvousing with a larger hauler in-system before traveling with the convoy to Kalmykia. Once at Kalmykia, we’ll get you prepped and give you a crew. With your team, you’ll travel to S-1022. It’ll be imperative you enter the race on your own volition, keeping our connection minimal.”
“Your employer really likes their secrecy, yeah?”
Olive punched in a few invisible commands while dropping into her own chair. “You have no idea.”
The flight out of atmosphere went smoothly. Through an AR connection to an external camera, Raith watching the disgusting sewer-like colors of Dagestan disappear. After a short, in-system Jump, the Rift arrived at a mining colony near one of the system’s gas giants. Their destination appeared on Raith’s displays, thirty thousand kilometers out.
Using thrusters, the Rift approached, and within the hour, they neared their destination. When still a few hundred kilometers out, the “hauler” Olive mentioned began to take shape, and it was massive. Not only that, he recognized its design. Only one company utilized those ships.
“Oh boy, you’re kidding. You’re connected with OSI?”
Olive smirked. “My official title is ‘Chief Acquisitions Agent’ on behalf of One Synthetic Industries.”
“I thought Theren was above engaging in un-regulated ventures with the rabble. Do they know you’ve hired a con for the job?”
“What my principal does or does not know is none of your business.”
Raith zoomed in on the kilometers-long ship, noting the massive diamond logo and its name: Goliath. “This ship looks state of the art. I’m guessing it’s got an SI inside?”
“Sadly, yes.”
Raith rolled his fingers on the upholstery of the couch. “Whatever, it’ll be fine. As long as it’s not too invasive. The ship will feel like a city anyway.”
“The trip to Kalmykia will only take a month or so. It won’t be too bad.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
Compared to the Goliath, the Rift was a gnat. They approached its hulking mass, entering an immense hangar larger than most space stations. At some point, they passed through a vacuum-shield, breathable atmosphere surrounding them, its existence signaled by the suitless humans walking on the hangar’s floor. Above and around, drones flew about their duties, rearranging cargo and transporting passengers. Even prior to his jaunt in prison, it had been decades since Raith traveled on a One Synthetic hauler. He’d forgotten their scale. Forgotten their ambition. They were terrifyingly impressive, with thousands of synthetics and humans traveling together, system-to-system, months at a time.
The Rift drifted into a berth near the back of the hangar, and once locked in place, Olive motioned for him to follow. “I’ll show you to our suite.”
“We get a suite?” Raith said. “And what do you mean ‘we?’”
“We’re sharing. We have a lot of work to do while in transit. No time for me to go searching for you in this massive place.”
“What about your two goons?” They’d not appeared from their rooms since Raith boarded the vessel.
“Don’t worry about them. They have their jobs. And now you have yours.”
Raith wanted to say more, but he held his tongue, not wanting to pry further. As excited as the opportunity was, he still knew little about Olive’s overall motives. He only had her word regarding a relationship with One Synthetic and a connection to the first SI. In the past, he witnessed plenty of unscrupulous individuals claim affiliation with one famous person or another to claim clout, and more than once, the claimant crashed and burned when the truth crumbled in their face.
So, instead, Raith asked, “When do I get to see the ship?” Physical proof of his racing future would reassure lingering doubts.
They bounded down the open ramp and into the massive hangar. Olive said, “We can stop by on our way. It’s not far.”
Into the giant expanse they went, the hustle bustle of the flying city enveloping everything. They were an unlikely pair, an ex-con SI and a corporate agent. She certainly dressed the part; in Raith’s usual circles, she would have stood out like a faulty circuit. If anything, she probably looked like an ICH peacekeeper, escorting a suspicious looking SI. Rare, but not impossible.
Around them, cargo-sleds floated, synchronized and auto-piloted by a logistical system well beyond Raith’s technical knowledge. Workers speaking a creole of English, Hindi, and Chinese bantered back and forth, negotiating deals or gossiping about some topic Raith didn’t understand, given his twenty years in the hole. Something about a sex scandal on Emerald Jewel between two representatives? The overwhelming sights and sounds seeped into his mind, his neural framework struggling to parse the data. He’d been alone for so long, and for the first eight hours or so on the surface of a tiny planet, he’d managed. Thrust back into the galactic mayhem of humanity, it—
They rounded a corner, entering a smaller hangar offset from the massive, kilometer-wide hold. Inside, the spacecraft—no, the gem of a vessel, the beautiful ship he would soon fly—rested on support struts a few meters above the floor. The cacophony subsided, his video and audio receptors focusing solely on the prize. It was his. It would be his. He would ensure it never left his sight. Ever. A sound buzzed in his subconscious, but he swatted it away, not wanting to deviate from focusing on the sleek vessel. Every centimeter . . . twenty meters in length, a Jump-core lodged in the back, the port and starboard wings, the place where he would merge with it. All sublime. A noise again. Louder now.
“Raith, you okay?” A hand waved in his face.
Olive. Right. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s perfect. I’m fully in.”
I thought you might be.”
“So, I’ve been experimenting with this idea for decades. Maybe even a century. It’s finally time to test the idea fully. That’s why I’ve entrusted the task of identifying the ideal candidate for the job to Olive—she’s the best of the best. I trust her. She’s my eyes and ears out in the universe, having served with me for a decade before taking her individual assignments. If she believes in you, I believe in you.”
The message ended, and Raith leaned back, his hands sliding along the metal table. “So this project really comes all the way from the top. You really work for Theren.”
“I do.”
“How much of a self-righteous, pedantic prick are they really?”
Olive coughed. “Well, you don’t hide your feelings.”
“I recognize they, essentially, are why I exist, but doesn’t mean I need to like them. They don’t exactly make those of us who are ‘run-of-the-mill’ synths feel good about our place in life.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued. We can go into more details about the project in a second. Do tell me about this.”
Raith hadn’t expected to share an exposé on Theren today. “Well, think about it. They have made billions off SII and their other affiliate companies. I’ve been around for almost two centuries—about a hundred years less than them. Look at me. Where am I? They talk about the perfect harmony between SIs and humans, yet who am I to them? A flaw. An imperfection. I don’t conform, so I don’t matter.”
“I see.” With a click of her tongue, she pulled up a spreadsheet. “You think Theren doesn’t care? You realize almost every cent they earn is reinvested into programs for both SIs and humans, right?”
With a wave of his hand, Raith stood. “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you sleep at night. But all of this is beside the point—”
“I think you’re projecting your own self-doubt.” She raised her eyebrow again.
“You think SIs are capable of doubt like that?”
“Maybe I’m just messing with you, because you emote quite a bit more than most SIs. Look, I understand what you’re saying. I’ve actually only met Theren a few times; usually, they’re off gallivanting through unexplored space. I work with intermediaries on these projects. I like these projects because they’re fun. A change of pace. A vision of something more. Theren might be my boss, but I really don’t care what you think of them.”
Raith smiled, as much as he hated using his face for human-like expressions. “I like you. I’m glad we’re working together. All right. Theren’s given me a ship. You’ve shown it to me. We’re now in transit to Kalmykia. So what do we do for the next four weeks?”
“I prep you for the race. Starting now.” She waved a hand above the table, throwing darkness across the room through their linked AR connection. A star map appeared, more detailed than when they were in the junkyard. Zooming in, Olive focused on S-1022 . . . and the racecourse leaving its confines. “This race is unlike anything you’ve ever joined. Everything is at Jump, which means you’re constantly navigating and plotting your course based on real time data—”
