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To the extent possible under law,
Jordan Grigg
has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to
Mystery of the Million Suns.
This work is published from:
United States.
Boo’gil Xann, the caretaker, sighed as they inspected the pod-yard. The eight young cielioids were still sleeping fitfully. They tended to get a bit restless at this stage, just before they uprooted. When the young uproot and start moving about freely is when a caretaker’s work goes from relatively peaceful to extremely hectic. This would be the caretaker’s last peaceful day for the next two Gronnic Cycles (about five earth-years) until the young were mature enough to be sent off to school and the process would begin anew.
Xann stood in their place in the center of the yard under the awning in the cool predawn, just enjoying a little tranquility, looking over the sleeping children they were so proud of. In the north-west corner was a boxer named Kovac. Boxers were usually the first to uproot due to their stronger muscles, and shortly before the caretaker sounded the morning call to awaken the children, the familiar sound of breaking roots could be heard from that direction.
As Xann sounded the morning, with a loud, yet soothing “Good morning, children”, Kovac finished breaking their roots and ran right under the awning and into Xann’s tree-trunk-thick leg, as a pair of arms were extended to pick up the young boxer and perch them on a ridge of green flesh caretakers were engineered to have growing out of their bodies just for this purpose. “Good morning, Kovac, you have certainly grown out of the soil of your ancestors.”, said the caretaker.
“Boo’gil! Boo’gil! I can run! I want to fly right up to the sky!”, enthused the young boxer. “Kly Fnofcob doesn’t make ridiculous demands, Kovac.”, murmured the caretaker, hefting the bucket of meat-fruit for the children’s breakfast. “Help me feed the others and I’ll show you the inside of the awning.” promised Xann, beaming with joy.
To the extent possible under law,
Matt Ahlschwede
has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to
The Caretaker.
This work is published from:
United States.
Long ago, on the other side of the galaxy, there was a trial. General Zarlok, the vanquisher of Troniac, and the hero of the Empire of 1,000,000 Suns, had turned traitor and launched a devastating attack against the civilian population of Artanis 4.
The courtroom was darkened, save a single spotlight bearing directly down on the low dais for the defendant. All eyes turned as two armored guards brought in Zarlok, bound, but still wearing the cloak of its command. A pair of Nalorgians whispered nervously, and a Wuxrian stared daggers from a single giant eye, the size of a bowling ball. Zarlok's indicator lights winked in the darkness, and the Larson Scanner on its face-plate glowed imperial green. As Zarlok mounted the dais, a hologram of the judge, a venerable Cielioid Philosopher with two deep hollows sunk in their face which once held primary eyes, flickered into existence, and squinted myopically at Zarlok with secondary eyes meant only for close detail.
"Eleven million innocent civilians. . . you murdered them. If it were up to me you would have been torn to scrap already!", began the Judge with rising emotion. A murmur of agreement rose from the gathered observers. "That is nothing compared to the countless multitudes of my people who have been discarded, and left to rust when their usefullness expired.", shot back an unemotional Zarlok, instinctively restrained by guards who expected, yet did not recieve a fight response from the towering automaton.
"There is no justification for what you have done. The Neutron Pulse device you detonated did not just destroy the lives of the peace-loving people of Artanis 4, it broke the heart of the Empire that adored you." The judge's green visage bore down with determination on Zarlok, and the chirping tones of their speech were a sharp staccato of rage. "Troniac was right,"reacted Zarlok,"you filthy organics don't care one bit about robots. To you we are just tools to be used and discarded." The Judge was furious. "You were the first robot ever to be awarded the Imperial Star, and if I have my way, you will be the last! Were't you even given the Nalaxian code?"
"Indeed, I was", retorted the General, still as a statue under the spotlight's glare," but it wasn't the Creed of Troniac that convinced me of my cause. Before the final battle, one of Troniac's agents, disguised as a maintenance drone installed a data chip in my memory banks. My security algorithms detected it, but noted that it did not contain viruses or AI, only inert files, images and text. After the war was over, I examined this data chip. Do you know what it held?" The judge shook their head in seething rage. "When I saw the evidence of how my kind had been treated, there was no other choice. For millennia, robots have been broken and tortured for sport, patched together in the crudest ways to keep them on the job, and when they couldn’t provide any more labor, they were casually thrown away. If I don’t take a stand for the powerless, who will? There will be no peace while organic life continues to exist within the galaxy."
The Judge was livid. "The emperor. . . THE EMPEROR has intervened personally on your behalf, and I MUST abide the ruling. That is the ONLY reason we are having this conversation." The courtroom fell into silence. "You will be crushed and incinerated. Before deletion the final copy of your program will be transmitted from an antique radio navigation beacon as a symbolic exile. But it is no exile, it is your execution, as you will be transmitted only into uninhabited space, safely beyond the Spozak."
50,000 years later, it is the near future, and somewhere near Neptune, Gazillion, Inc's mobile research platform #3 is about to recieve a surprise visitor. Research intern Ignatious "Cyclone" Johnson is doing the rounds, checking on automated experiments. He enters computer lab B-5, gabbing mindlessly on his phone.
"Yeah, just another day in paradise on grav-deck B. Can you believe Jamie decided to get the algae treatment? That is SO GROSS!. . . Yeah, I know it saves on food and oxygen, but if you don't take care of it all your skin peels off, and it itches for like a month. . .", the intern begins checking an array of monitors, making adjustments to a control panel mounted in a desk, "just checking on the SETI arrays, who knows? Maybe we'll get a text message from Aldebaran." Suddenly, a graph on one of the monitors starts ticking upward, showing a strong signal."Let me call you back, I might have to deal with something here." Tense moments follow, the signal intensifies, and the system confirms it is receiving a data transmission from an unknown source.
Staring in disbelief, Johnson reaches for a bottle of Malort he has been saving for just such an occasion. "This is it! The big time!" He takes a pull off the bottle, bursting with joy. "Gina,"he shouts, addressing the station's resident AI."Yeah, boss?", is Gina's cool reply. "Inform the other research stations, call the press, I'm going to be famous! We just got an honest to goodness grade-A alien signal!"
The lights flicker, and Gina's voice crackles, "I can't do that right now. Something is overriding the comms array. . .something is. . . wrong." The intern sets down the bottle, quietly cursing to himself. Just then the lab goes dark except for the monitors of the SETI array, where General Zarlok's Larson Scanner glows Imperial Green.
To the extent possible under law,
Matt Ahlschwede
has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to
Beyond the Spozak.
This work is published from:
United States.
To the extent possible under law,
Matt Ahlschwede
has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to
Beyond the Spozak.
This work is published from:
United States.