Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever (25 page)

Dumb matter chains that form and break millions of times a second link smart matter clumps that pump out speckled laser light. They shine like dappled stars and sing
I am here! I am here! Now I am here!
like
lost children on a beach.

A three-dimensional net forms
, infinitely flexible, growing larger with time.

A final burst of pure viral computing dust is released into the net, filling gaps, being reproduced by the old bacterial dust.
Being smart.

I project myself into the sparsely distributed structure and find myself in a gently undulating net of cloud, each intersection marked by a blazing star.”Indras Net,” says the soft non-voice of Unity. “You must know about that given your ancestry, Sri.”

“I’m English, all the way back to the corner shop. Don’t be racist.”

“Sorry.”

I can sense it smile, a gin-and-tonic over fresh-mown grass.

“What’s the point, Sri? I promise you’ll all be safe in me and I’ll re-incarnate you when we reach the Destination.
Why this elaborate scheme to get away?”

“If you didn’t already know, you wouldn’t have given us so much support.” I relent, though, and tell it what it wants to know. “It’s a Bridge. It’s sparsely linked, it wobbles a lot and it’s going to be very long. But it could carry people and objects far easier than you — in pods with life support, like the
Jules Verne
gondola. It’s designed to carry dumb matter objects by disassemble-move-reassemble.

“Above all, it’s a symbol, made up of symbols. Other bridges give it a gentle curve and pylons. There are hydrogen bond analogues in there. There are assemblages that look like coin lattices. There are hundreds of other symbolic linkages in there, mapped into it by our semioticians and Virtual designers.”

“It’s a mess Sri.” Thunderclouds over that perfect lawn.
“A barely coherent jumble of smart matter, dumb matter and light.”

I make the beauty of the current representation fall away to reveal the ugly truth. Symbolic cancers ripple over a landscape of randomly shimmering numbers.

“That’s why I’m here.
To fix this this.
In two thousand years this Bridge will be the largest, most beautiful structure the species has ever built. You will be at the Destination and the Bridge will give you a way back to heal Earth.”

“You will fail, Sri. This is certain. The others know this and will not come.” Rain falls across the grass, mixed with a bitter smell of burned oil. “You deleted your indexes. No copies can be made of you now. Why?”

I start to understand the Bridge and I stabilise the numbers over a large section of it. The cancers disappear. “I want to be an angel and angels can only be in one place at a time. If the others won’t come, I’ll be the whole of the Bridge. The maps are sophisticated enough to allow that.”

 
“I can’t support this project anymore. I never anticipated you failing so comprehensively, so quickly.”

I plant a million saplings. They die but one hundred grow green shoots.

“I understand. All I want is to build bridges: bridges with our technology, bridges between us, bridges within us,
bridges
to our past. You should want that too, Unity.” I’m far enough gone into angelhood that my laughter is yellow blossoms blowing in a breeze.

We are all dead. Yet soon I will make us alive as anyone in our species has ever been.

Soon I will begin to walk the Bridge, memorizing as I go.

~~~

KEN BURSTALL is a middle-aged Englishman living in Austin Texas, with far too many children. He works, intermittently, as an oilfield geologist, and has calculated that he has spent six of the last twenty years on oil rigs far offshore. “Connect” is his first published story. He has a strange, unpopular weblog at
http://fallslikesnow.blogspot.com/
.

Fleeing with the last remnants of the Oshen race, Indigo has only one chance to ensure his people are never forgotten.

INDIGO’s GAMBIT

by
Adam Israel

Three.
Two.
One.
Bang
.

The
Drifting Star
skipped on the wave of a collapsing micro-sun, soaring through the void between the stars. The astronautical library contained surveys and charts on hundreds of thousands of star systems within the alliance of civilized worlds the Fringe called Sing Xu. This would be the thirty-eighth Indigo had visited since his journey toward the core planets began. So far none contained a world suitable to revive the Oshen race.

Indigo’s three light-blue fingers and thumb moved gingerly across the computer console. The sinewy web between each digit was dried and cracked, as was much of his skin. Too long away from home — or what was left of it. His last memory of home was of fire raining down from the warships in orbit and the seas burning as he fled in his stolen scout ship. Now he and the fertilized eggs preserved in the cryotank at his feet were all that remained of the Oshen.

Navigation confirmed the ship’s arrival at the edge of Theta 4127, a six-planet system with a single red giant. He plotted a course toward the fourth planet, close enough for the scanners to analyze the surface. If the environmental conditions didn’t match the specific balance the Oshen needed to survive, he would continue to the next system, never stopping until he found one that was suitable.

The Oshen had been content living beneath the seas and on the land, ignorant to what was happening among the stars. Indigo had never heard of the Sing Xu or the Fringe until the first scout ship arrived. Soon after, more Fringe vessels appeared, offering promises of knowledge and prosperity in exchange for the naturally occurring mineral that the Fringe needed to construct their ships.

The two races worked together to excavate and process the mineral. Some of the Oshen, like Indigo, showed an aptitude for the alien technology and worked with the Fringe on their assembly lines. Life was good for the Oshen, until the land was stripped of its resources. That’s when their relationship with the Fringe ended, along with their hopes for the future.

Indigo leaned forward in his seat and scrutinized the results of the planetary scan. Sixty percent dry land but the seas contained a high concentration of sulfur — too high for Oshen physiology.

Another system, another disappointment.
Thousands left to visit. The search continued.

The next potential system on the list would take three skips to reach. Once he programmed the destination into the navigation system, the ship settled into a stationary orbit and began the calculations for the first skip. The only thing to do now was
wait
.

An alarm blared inside the small cabin. Indigo sat up stiffly and tightened his grip on the chair. The countdown to skip was still running. All of the ship’s systems were normal. He cycled through the external cameras, looking for any sign of trouble. The dorsal aspect appeared on screen and Indigo caught his breath. Just within camera view was the last thing he ever wanted to see again: a Fringe warship.

The enemy vessel must have just skipped into the system. If not for the energy signature of the skip, he might not have known they were there until it was too late. As it was, it would take them a few moments to get their bearings and notice their stolen ship hanging prone below them. Ninety ticks left on the countdown and any course change or movement would reset the clock.

Indigo turned the comm to an open channel. He just had to stall them for a short time.

“Attention Fringe vessel,” he said in his native tongue. “I am Indigo of the Oshen. I escaped the destruction of my world by your warships, the last witness to your ruthless genocide. And I would like to negotiate my surrender.”

Thirty ticks and counting.
The extra ticks it took to run his transmission through the translation filter could mean the difference between life and death.

“Oshen.”
The slow, rough Fringe voice rolled the word over his tongue as if savoring it.
“The last of your race.
Your escape only delayed the inevitable. It is time you joined your people in oblivion.”

Fifteen ticks to go.

“Wait,” Indigo said. “I can still be of value to you. I worked in the factories, was trained to fly your cargo ships.”

“You are inferior, easily replaced. We have no use for you.”

Ten ticks. The jump drive started spooling up, something their sensors were sure to detect.

Silence from the comm. The stalling was over.

Five ticks. Their guns would be locking on, if they weren’t already. The order to fire would be given.

Three.
Two.
One.

The jump drive engaged as the Fringe ship opened fire. The
Drifting Star
lurched and disappeared.

~~~

The
Drifting Star
popped back into normal space. Indigo’s teeth chattered and his blue skin was already mottling with deep reds and purples where it had collided with the console. The discharge from the Fringe weapon had done more than knock him out of his seat. Red lights on the console flashed and the deafening blare of alarms filled the cabin.

Fire suppression systems had been activated all over the ship. The jump drive registered offline and the repair subsystem estimated over six hours to restoration. The ship was self-sufficient; Indigo begrudgingly gave the Fringe credit for that much. He wished he could speed up time, though. It wouldn’t take long for the Fringe warship to follow.

One by one he silenced the alerts, until the only ringing was in his ears. According to the logs, the blast from the Fringe hit at the exact moment the jump drive engaged, knocking the ship off-course. He was lucky he didn’t materialize inside a planet or star.

Astronomical charts overlaid with the visible star field flashed on the screen until one map finally matched the ship’s location.
A relatively young system, its sun still yellow.
He set a course for the center of the system and hoped his pursuer was far behind.

Every star system Indigo passed through was a unique wonder. Every time he thought he had seen it all, he found himself gaping in awe with the next skip. The sixth planet, a gas giant, proved no exception. A wide ring of ice and rock revolved around the planet and dozens of moons joined it in orbit.

 
Every living planet had a natural rhythm, an inherent balance that it strived to maintain. It was beautiful to see a planet with a healthy biosphere. Some of the worlds he had seen during his journey were tortured places, damaged beyond hope by their inhabitants. All he could do was
mourn
their folly.

The third planet came into view.
Much smaller than the gas giant, more likely to be hospitable to the Oshen’s delicate frame, and a moon in orbit around it.
Its proximity to the sun, along with the slight rotation and its elliptical orbit, meant its climate would be uniformly distributed.

Alarms went off around Indigo again. The long range sensors detected a faint burst of energy from the direction of the ringed planet. The signature matched that of a jump drive arriving. The Fringe had found him with the
Drifting Star
still hours away from being able to make another skip.

Indigo scoured the scanner’s results, looking for anything that might mask the presence of his ship. He could make a run for the third planet, but it would take too long to breach the atmosphere without leaving a wake behind for the Fringe to follow. The debris floating in orbit was too small and fragmented to hide among. The heavily cratered moon showed more promise. The soil contained a high concentration of iron and several clusters of metal spread across the surface. It might be enough to fool their sensors, if they didn’t look too closely.

The Fringe vessel was still too far away for visual contact but they were closing the distance. Though designed for deep space reconnaissance, the
Drifting Star
did have several defensive options, including a decoy drone. Packed tight inside was a complex set of counter-sensors, navigation and power system. Once released, the decoy would spool up its small jump drive and wait to be scanned. The Fringe would see the signature of a small scout ship just beyond the edge of visual range before the decoy skipped away.

He released it and set course for the largest cluster of metal on the surface of the moon. The thrusters ignited, giving the ship a boost as it arced toward its target. The image of the moon’s dusty surface filled the console. The
Drifting Star
banked for its approach and Indigo closed his eyes. The booster engines fired a tenth of a second too late and the ship touched down hard, throwing him forward.

Indigo groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and scrambled back into his chair. At the rate the Fringe had been closing on his position they would be in visual range soon. One by one he shut down every nonessential system and switched the engine core offline. Within moments the ship was running on minimal reserve power, the darkened cabin illuminated by the refracted light from the external cameras. Indigo’s heavy breathing cut the silence as he watched the console.