The Fathers, page 8
part #1 of Doragon Series
“Kazimir, we have a problem,” Akahana said bluntly.
Kazimir blinked. He had barely awoken somewhere in the universe and challenges already nipped at his feet for attention.
“Please advise, Akahana,” Kazimir said. He tried to stretch his limbs in the cramped space.
Akahana went on to describe the injury she sustained when they left the exploding research station and how it manifested itself, forcing them to return to standard space and time before they could reach their destination.
Their entrance into the system in this galaxy took them far from where he wished to begin his storytelling, the laying of red petals for the Queen’s delicate feet. Worse, they arrived like thunder on a clear night. Not that space made a noise, but well under the ordinary world of sights and sounds men's ears hear, Kashmir's entrance caused a significant event in the local system. A slushy mixture of hot active gravitons poured in from unknown space. Excited particles were spinning in every direction, many finding their way into the inner system where the humankind of this galaxy made its way. Any other empty system and no one or thing would have known.
She told Kazimir she felt sorrow, at least the best form of the emotion she could apply. Her navigational sub-systems fractured and then utterly failed. That failure forced her drive engine to go dark in safety. No navigation to find their way meant no low-space jumping or foolishly risking reentering open space inside solid objects like a planet, sun, or worse, jumping into a black hole. Plotting a course required enormous calculations of quantum waves and gravity. They were navigationally blind, limited to real-time, line-of-sight travel. Where they appeared in common space was where they would stay.
“Akahana, do you feel pain from your injury?’ Kazimir inquired.
“Pain is subjective, Kazimir. A data stream is a form of nerve information. By that thought, I can term it as pain if you wish.”
“Will you repair? Is it possible?” Kazimir asked. He felt sadness overwhelm him. Failing the Queen could not happen.
“I am unable to repair systems built before my awareness began. My schematics are not stored in my internal data. I do not have a reason why this occurred. Perhaps it is an oversight by the design and program teams.”
Kazimir felt the anger grip him. With great difficulty, after many minutes, he calmed himself enough to speak. Akahana respected the silence, keeping the cocoon free of all noises.
“No, Akahana, not an oversight,” Kazimir said at last. “Can you try to reverse engineer? Work backward. Your mind is far superior to anything the Empire conceived.”
A seemingly long moment passed before she answered, “Yes, I suspect that is possible. New programming can be written. However, Kazimir, my estimates are rough. Perhaps in five to ten standard years. That will translate into two of the local years. Also, I will require shutting down most of my systems. Communications, life support, and such will be unavailable. I may require time to obtain synthesized replacement modules. This will require time to accomplish with a local source of raw materials; otherwise, traveling to other star systems will take far too long in my current state. I possessed space-worthy bots and a full replication system.
“All the required elements are available in the surrounding asteroid belt. I can hide my presence inside the corona of the local star while I make repairs. Your physical body will not be able to remain on board. However, there is an orbital station within our ion engine reach. I can navigate in real time to within connection range if you wish to enter the structure.”
Kazimir rubbed his face and eyes and scratched his thick eyebrows, the only hair on his otherwise bald head. The sleep reluctantly and slowly released his body. The hint of roses wafted through the air, or at least he thought so. “Make way for the structure. Be as quiet as possible. Just in case we have other visitors. I assume there are external access ports I can enter through. Once I am safe aboard the structure, you can begin the repairs. From here I shall travel to find ears that will listen and hearts that will believe. How shall we reconvene?”
“With your permission, I can insert a signal beacon in your forearm that will operate in Q-Space. I will be able to track you for up to seventy thousand light years.”
“Please do so.” There was a slight prick on his arm.
Akahana then said, “Setting a course. Half pulse power with a minimal trail. No active scanning, although for the most part, the subjects in the structure lack the technology to detect our presence.”
Kazimir sighed. “Tell me of this container of stars hosting this system.” Kazimir thought he felt a slight gravity effect at the sudden motion. Moving at sub-quantum speeds was old-fashioned.
“I have accessed their pitiful SI systems, beginning with this local solar system, well into their long-range information data stores. With the gathered data and my passive sensor scans, I can state this container of stars is slightly over 157,000 light years across at the maximum dimension. That is 57,000 light years larger than our home. That is not the most significant fact. There are at least, in my estimation, more than two hundred and fifty million planets. Copa Law predicts twenty-seven percent of those will be useable. That translates to sixty-seven million possible life-sustaining transformable worlds. I have not counted satellite clusters. At this time in their collective evolution a single, predominant power controls the majority of the discovered worlds. Two hundred and twenty-one of the three hundred and ninety-five known worlds. There are two different time systems. One based on a long-dead religious leader and a second termed AE for ‘After Enlightenment.’ This method came into use after the core homeworld succeeded in subjecting several rogue colonies, resulting in a religious upheaval and the near destruction of the homeworld. One can consider this moment as the seventeenth day of February in the year 2426 AE or as the 43.31.8. AE time.”
“What languages must I learn?” asked Kazimir, then added, “and learn very quickly.”
“I have prepared and inserted directly into your physical memory all the data you require to speak any known language in this container of stars. There is one dominant language called Old English, which you will find spoken on most official levels with local variants. As with your implants in the past, all you need to do is recall the data as if you already learned it. Details of the history and customs, even the scrambled coded data from the puny military objects. Everything I could find. The feeble security systems that wished to protect the up-links to outer connected worlds were useless to stop my access. They humbly bent their silicon knees.”
“Sounds like you enjoyed yourself. Now for the most relevant question, Akahana. Are you able to calculate any ordered energy waves? If there are none, then we are truly defeated.”
“My detection range is limited to fifty thousand light years. Without the boosting power of the research station, I am unable to listen any further. I have not been able to detect any energy waves of the kind we expect. In fact, there appears to be a negative value.”
Kazimir coughed in disbelief, then said, “That is impossible. At least in theory that I understand. In all the readings the Fathers reached with their minds, they never once detected a negative value.”
“I am unable to understand the results. Perhaps my detectors are damaged. The devices used to test the sensors may also be out of service, leaving us with little choice either to believe the results or ignore them outright.”
Kazimir thought for a moment. “Well, we may as well believe in the best scenario. For the present.”
“Agreed, Kazimir,” said Akahana.
“Is there a name for this container of stars?” Kazimir asked.
“Their word for the container in local tongue is 'galaxy.' Our home container name is in their catalogs as NGC 3627. They call this galaxy the Milky Way. We have moved approximately 36.4 light years. Far short of the seventy-five planned. Because of the malfunction stranding us here in this timeframe, I can calculate that 1.5 years have occurred since we left. Also, Kazimir—”
“Yes, I know," Kazimir interrupted. After a moment, he marveled at the thought. “She knows. I am sure. And so do the Fathers. What she or the Fathers can do about it is speculation for now. We must look behind each door in every closet and be slow to trust. Let us place our stratagem into action.”
Kazimir decided to quiet his heart and mind while Akahana moved them closer to the structure. At the reduced speed, it took several local hours to arrive at a distance safe enough to attempt leaving Akahana and entering through an external physical entrance.
“I have located an access port that leads into the maintenance parts of the structure not accounted for in the original schematics. It is safe to enter and will go unnoticed. Our entrance into the solar system has reduced the structure’s ability to operate efficiently. External sensors are inoperative. I can override the internal systems to ignore any access through the external port. You will arrive unnoticed,” Akahana announced.
She retracted the sleep bed, then assisted Kazimir in getting dressed. They did not speak for a time. She could not feel, but she did understand his desire for time to process events. She gave him a skin-tight autosuit, a small package that, when placed on the chest, activated and unfolded to conform to the contours of the body like a second skin over natural flesh or over light clothes. The suit provided a perfect seal against hard space, heat from internal conditioning smart wires, air from packaged oxygen, and a full communications suite. It even had a small needle laser just in case. When use of the suit was complete, it reformed itself back into the package, the size of a small, easily carried case. The super-compressed oxygen mix lasted for a comfortable six hours of local time. The rest of his clothing, all black polymers and pure steel-like silk, designed for comfort and tactical, along with his military coat, she placed in a soft package attached to the autosuit.
“Farewell, Kazimir. May you find the reconciliation your mind wishes and the path your story must travel.”
“’Tis not my mind that seeks reconciliation. It is my heart that seeks forgiveness. Until we meet again.”
This feeling of love that grew as a weed in his cracked concrete heart had an odd side effect. For the first time in his long existence, he felt alone.
The bluish planet regarded as Jovian size in the local terminology harbored the only habitat structure, skimming just above the angry blue-green gasses in a low orbit, containing the life forms that were human, backward by his standards, but sentient. As long as he remained alive, so would a future with love, not for him, but for life everywhere.
No sooner had Akahana closed the port behind him that he entered in the station, she disappeared to hide inside the upper layers of the local red dwarf star. The feeling of being free in space, the view of the breathtaking planet below him, and the looming station structure filled his heart with anticipation. Another emotion new to him.
After entering the external service port, then sealing the doors to pressurize, he shed the autosuit and dressed in a form-fitting jet black leather-like pants, synthetic wool pull-over, and dull black knee high boots. He smiled. In his arms, he held the military overcoat the Dragon Knight had given him on his departure from Queen Princess’ homeworld. He slipped it on, putting the hood over his head. It did not matter why randomness landed him here in the galaxy; he was here now, and he felt more determined than ever in his long life to make the best of the time left.
“Love,” he whispered aloud. His mind’s eyes saw red petals, deep red and full of life, reach out before him, traveling in time and space to her very throne. Kazimir, the once heartless killer of billions, breathed in the aroma of freedom.
The universe was full of surprises.
Chapter Ten
The cold gray military Class 9 orbital station bathed itself in pale yellow starlight. Located in the farthest solar system from all the civilized worlds of humankind, she became the calmest and quietest destination imaginable. The phrase, 'have you been to the edge of the galaxy,' although a misnomer because humankind barely scratched the galactic surface of star systems, for a time hung itself around the necks of travelers as medals of honor, boasting of who went to the most exotic destinations. Space travel, although fraught with dangers and lengthy trips that were tedious, though nothing like the days of hibernation, had become much like the centuries of fossil fuel travel; distance was limited on resources and terrain. Travelers found the triumph of going to the edge of humanity's reach to look and see the unknown. At least most thought the emptiness was just that, empty. Fortunately for Mother Earth, after many years of failure, lost crews, not to mention a dozen or so caravans of pioneering humans, the expense of relativity was overcome with exotic fuels and poorly understood physics. The pioneering caravans set out to Alpha Centauri in hopes of saving humankind from extinction were both upset and elated when the new drive starships intercepted the sleeping pioneers. Unfortunately, some of those early pioneers of space because of poor guidance still experienced time dilation nestled in the sleep beds somewhere between Earth and wherever Newton’s laws took them. The whole ugly “what to do if they resurface” debate ended up forgotten in the rush to find new worlds.
The orbital station almost looked clean and homey in her sentinel responsibility. She stood tall against the wash of interstellar waves like an ancient style lighthouse, warning any intergalactic travelers that shallow shores posing hazards lay hidden under the seemingly calm surface. The last illumination of light, the last outpost of men, the billboard that proclaimed that beyond here lay the utter blackness of the unknown. Once anchored into orbit, her christened name became “Wayward Shores.” Everyone who cared thought that name most fitting.
She housed the regular maintenance crew, a few white coat technicians, and a small security garrison. The only other living things aboard other than the rats were the visitors who stopped there on their way somewhere else, just to say they had been to the other side of the known galaxy and could brag to friends. Lazy technicians operated the long-range sensors, pointing their quantum detectors towards the inky blackness of interstellar space. When the recent system solar event occurred, it knocked them off their collective clipboards for being the most activity seen in the years Wayward Shores had existed. Multi-system crashes occurred across the station, and if it were not for redundancy, the occupants could have been in grave danger to the unforgiving vacuum of hard space.
Very little existed in the way of entertainment on a small station this far out other than the bar, and he had already been there the day before, plying his trade and spoiling his tender liver. A pounding head advised him he spent too much time in that very bar. A lower backache said he slept very wrong. Smells of sweat and sex told him a bad story and he was the lead actor.
Allen Monroe Duncanson did not intend to stay another night and would have happily left, checking another place off his list of places to visit, if it were not for the far too early and loud intercom message over the station’s PA babbling about some sort of solar event shutting various airlock systems down. Despite the many layers of shielding, the navigation systems aboard the brand new passenger cruiser recently delivered from the Newark Shipyards suffered a system-wide failure. The technical staff required an unspecified time to restart.
Allen rolled his eyes behind his eyelids, then tried to open them with his numb fingers. He hoped he was dreaming. The announcement went on to say no danger existed for the station or the inhabitants but in the interest of safety, a full system test and calibration were ordered by the station commander before the transport cruiser could leave. Starting the SIs, then the subsystems, took some time. The estimate ranged in the two to twenty-four-hour window.
With painful moans spilling from a thick, sticky tongue, he reluctantly rose, quickly remembering why he was naked, barely making it to the little chemical toilet to empty his insides. The putrid smell convinced him to ensure those interiors were empty and should remain so for a time. In hopes of soothing the sick, achy feelings, he surrendered to a scalding, steamy shower, washing away the smells with loads of sudsy soap, letting the bland reclaimed water rinse his fur-covered teeth clean.
Afterward, Allen repacked his travel bag and settled his room bill. He nursed his tricky knee, trying to mask the limp. The hard, metal floors and dimly lit station walkways did little to smooth aches and gloomy feelings. Limping past the sleeping other travelers who were also no doubt hungover from the night before, he decided to head to the bar rather sit in the hangar waiting area. He glanced at his paid bill before stuffing it into a pocket in his travel bag and tried to remember the charges, but he decided not to bother to debate anything with the old nearly toothless fellow managing the small rentable rooms. Some things better off ignored, Allen figured.
As Allen walked into the bar, much to his surprise, the room looked just like the night before. The entire dim room filled with pipe smoke, and every chair, from the back where the booths sat to the long bar, had a body. He recognized some from the night before, some he did not. One thing was different, he noted: no one stood on tables, wildly singing while swinging some object. He lowered his head, hoping for invisibility, and then hobbled as fast as he could to the empty standing space at the other end of the counter. His mother always yelled his full name when he walked with his head down, as if shame on him for something, and usually he needed to be ashamed for some reason far past his understanding of a mother's insight. He hoped the entire bar ignored him, and other than having a few drinks to pass the time until boarding the cruiser to leave, he genuinely wished the bartender had forgotten about the previous night.
The bar smelled of stale animal meat or at least that was the best Allen could figure. The broken waste processors in the privy did not help the air quality either. For some reason, those most critical devices succumbed to the solar event that upset the cruiser passenger liner. He had smelled the most repugnant odors from vast fields of wild animal dung on hideous planets filled with bizarre animals. This smell in the bar could come in second place.
