Chapter 14: The Traveller
"It's just over the next ridge." Kaetor shouted over the howling wind into the transmitter. In his left hand he carried a heavy, sealed box—a special item he was ordered to take.
The Quintessons watched closely at a dozen monitors scattered around the cramped communications chamber adjacent to their throne room. Cameras had been placed to record a 360 degree view around the distant drone.
"We sent only a single drone?" protested Malice. "I could've amassed an army to force anyone there to surrender to us unconditionally."
Pride also spoke up. "Had we gone ourselves, this traveller would know that we do not send any underlings to do our business for us."
"Until we know this being has anything of value," Greed commented "we should not go at all. We take all that we desire, and bargain only as a last resort."
"SILENCE!" snapped Faith. "There has never been a planet so unique as this. It would be most wise, fellow judges, to address potential dangers promptly. I doubt this being is half as powerful as he claimed to be, but let us not dismiss it on that assumption alone."
Inquiry casually slid into position "A single drone is not enough to frighten away our quarry. We have the means to speak through him without placing ourselves at any risk. Sending only one assures that even a simple scouting mission does not leak to the masses. Information gives us power, and secrecy protects it. We must not have anything challenge the loyalty of our workers. Thus we will remain their only choice for servitude."
"There." Kaetor's line of sight raised up to reveal a small, grey, metallic object on the horizon.
"A small craft…" muttered Inquiry. He and the rest were dashing across to look over the scattered monitors. Although they were still far off, something could yet be lurking nearby and they had to be completely aware of Kaetor's surroundings. As he got closer more features could be seen on the craft: the squared-away tail fins; curved engine housings; a tall, geometric fuselage; and a sleek, tapered nosecone.
"Alkeerian." Pride sneered. Few things infuriated spacefaring engineers more than to have such makeshift scrap piles repeatedly keep pace with their perfect designs. These ships are more a product of desperate innovation than thoughtful purpose. The Quintessons saw Alkeerians as wastefully defiling advanced technologies they hadn't properly earned. It was one of the reasons the Quintessons had them all exterminated a century ago.
Or so they thought.
Kaetor continued to hike towards the craft. The exterior was in good condition. A few parts were clearly repaired, sloppily, with only minimal damage from a crash-landing.
"Slovenly engineering." proclaimed Pride.
"No room for cargo." mentioned Greed.
"No weapons." reported Malice.
"Clearly a modified scout." concluded Inquiry.
"This cannot be what we seek!" interrupted Pride "Royalty would not settle for such unsophisticated… such atrocious conditions!"
"Royalty in desperation, perhaps…" commented Faith. He raised his voice to address Kaetor "Do not approach just yet. Search the other side…" Kaetor did as he was told, as he was programmed. The port side revealed no surprises. No weapons, no significant damage. No signs of any activity. The engines showed some scorch marks, possibly from overheating.
'They may yet be repairable—' Inquiry thought, and the others sensed the realization. The windshield to the cockpit was tinted; nothing inside could be seen. Kaetor finished his perimeter.
"Wait here." Faith commanded softly. Kaetor stood at attention facing the small craft. "Now, repeat after me…"
Kaetor raised his chin as he charged his vocals to cut through the wind. "Alkeerian Vessel, I speak on behalf of the Quintessons: the Court of the Untamed Quadrant of the flagship Honor's Claim. We have generously responded to your call for rescue. If you do not respond we will force entry into your vessel."
The only sound over the transmitters was the wind.
"Go inside, Kaetor."
"Yes, my masters."
There was a sealed hatch. Kaetor could see a keypad on the door. Alkeerian letters look like crude glyphs. Kaetor tapped a random sequence of keys; expecting a 'beep' or a 'ding' or a 'KLONGESH TIP'FLAYEREEZ'—the Alkeerian phrase for 'incorrect sequence'. But the keypad made no sound. Nothing lit up. All systems appeared to be shut down. Kaetor wasted no time, he reached down, drew up a thermal torch and began tracing out the door into the vessel. After a moment he peeled the door out, tossed in onto the ground and stepped in.
The inside of the craft was in total disarray. Service panels were open, wires hung loose, containers of crispy, carbon-based material were spilled over floors and shelves. Kaetor slowly inspected the tight spaces inside and around the modular cabin anywhere a small crew member could be hiding away. He looked in compartments and behind panels to find no living thing. Stepping softly over scrap piles, he slowly made his way to the cockpit.
The door was closed, but not locked. Kaetor lurched the rusty door open, prying it with a dry grinding sound of mechanisms left too long without basic maintenance. Kaetor stood still for a moment looking around the cockpit. A bipedal body lay propped up against the starboard wall. Kaetors optics locked on immediately. The prolonged stare only diminished their optimism. No thermal signature, no motion… just a thin, grey suit and domed helmet clinging to a dried skeleton.
It would appear they arrived far too late for a rescue.
"This was all a complete waste!" cursed Greed.
"That's because this isn't the traveller we seek." announced Pride. "There could be hundreds of shipwrecks across this planet."
"Let's test that theory…" Inquiry moved away from the crowded monitor of the deceased pilot. He looked around the images of the cockpit. "The centre console…" He suggested. A simple vessel has simple controls. You don't need to be able to read Alkeerian to tell which instruments were for the engines, the communications, and most importantly, for the main power supply. "Reactivate the ships computer."
Kaetor groped around the console. Levers and buttons still didn't have any effect. But the mess of open panels eventually lead him to a small compartment with a heavy-gauge cable running fore to aft.
"That's the main power line." Inquiry stated, "See if there is a node we can work with." Kaetor traced out the path and began lifting floor panels until he saw a box with branching wires, relays, and other makeshift components. "Kaetor, disengage your secondary power cell…"
Kaetor paused at the order. "My lords, I may not have enough of a charge to return."
"We know."
Kaetor opened the panel on his chest and removed a cylinder to begin the connection. Sparks jumped as the final connection was made. Kaetor stood up to listen to old lights hum and computers buzz as the main console booted up. A digital voice stuttered and skipped while reciting its main functions. The Quintessons set their translators for Alkeerian.
"ESKOP JO GLESHNID."
The Quintessons' computer stuttered with the conversion [BLEEP-BLOP. SYSTEM… READY]
"Get us into the ships logs." Pride ordered. "If this is the traveller, what's so important that this pilot would call upon us for rescue?" Kaetor cautiously pressed single keys until the display changed.
"GORASH VERIN KER TO'POSIL."
[BLEEP-BLOP. PILOT… JOURNAL]
"Excellent." Inquiry grinned in anticipation "Find the entry when he landed here. It should be from around 17-6 with gamma chronosync." Kaetor read over the screen carefully. Tapping keys occasionally, until he found the likely file. Audio format.
"SSSKETSSEEE ISSSIKSSSSTEE SSSSST EESSSSAKTSSSSS TZZKSSS…"
The translator beeped and rang with error messages and noise.
"What is this?" Greed groaned.
"Something's wrong with the translators!" howled Pride.
"Nothing is wrong with the Translators!" shouted Inquiry. He slid around to review the monitors, listening carefully for subtle clues in the vocabulary. "Kaetor, let's have a better look at our pilot."
Kaetor knelt over the corpse without touching it. He could see the hand was holding a small tool. Dried fluid stained the tool and the pilot's chest. The face inside the dusty helmet was wide with small sockets for eyes. Deep, flat teeth beneath a leathery face that had folded over onto itself. 'Soft bones, perhaps?' His skin was riddled with mineral deposits. Metallic and crystalline growths sprouted out of his jawline and brow ridge.
Faith chuckled. "Hmm, yes." sliding over beside Inquiry. "I think our answer lies with his feet."
Kaetor and the others turned to see the feet. Boots of sorts, but rather than wear what looked more like blocky weights, the pilot held onto them with a short tentacle at the end of each leg.
"It would appear our pilot is a distant relative of the Gneer Slugs from Rius…" Inquiry hypothesized. "Interesting…"
"How did he get an Alkeerian ship?" asked Pride.
"We can't translate Gneer Slug!" grouched Greed. "Hargh, this whole operation has been for nothing!"
"Patience, fellow judge," Faith began "he acquired this ship somehow, and I doubt our pilot ever met a Alkeerian face-to-face. So they must have traded with someone, let's hope they adopted a language we can translate. The Glith? The Nur? NO. Remember, it had to be someone who knew how to send a distress call in our language."
"Alkeerians regularly sold ships to the Olos, the Drit, and the Felcur." recounted Greed.
"We conquered the Felcur." chuckled Malice. "They fell behind on their tributes. They trade in twigs now. Pathetic."
"Well, I suppose if someone still trades with the Vrend…" Greed laughed at his own preposterous notion.
Pride rolled his eyes, but Inquiry drew a tentacle around his chin as he let his mind wander. He drew out a rather eccentric correlation "The Vrend… traded spices between Rius and Alkeer! It's possible a small craft could have—" He hastily punched the commands to set the translators to Vrendish. The computer extrapolated the gender, age and mood of the speaker; producing the equivalent speaking voice for a more familiar species. The message hadn't stopped playing, so the translator picked up in mid-sentence. The speaker didn't sound quite like they expected. It sounded like a scornful youthful male.
[BLEEP-BLOP—fifteen days. I don't even remember falling asleep, or activating the autopilot. This stupid computer took me right off course into an uncharted solar system. I must've been hit by a solar flare and it scrambled the whole computer. I should have been scared, but this sounded just like that chapter in my grandfather's memoirs and made me feel sorta like a real adventurer. I spent the last five hours getting the darn thing to boot up. I wish you could have been here to see this planet. Yeah, it's far off, had to look through the grainy long-range scope. But wow. Completely metal. Both moons too! I've only heard there were maybe three such planets in the entire galaxy. I think before I leave I'll make a flyby and get a closer look. You'll get the images when I can transmit far enough to reach you. Until then, it's like I'm just keeping a personal journal.]
"Playing next entry." droned Kaetor.
[BLEEP-BLOP—Dear Sketzy, remind me to never set my tentacles on a Alkeerian ship ever again. The computer's worse than I thought, and I just barely held this rust-bucket together through that 'landing'. Shyeeesh. 'Just like new' the guy told me. 'She's only had one owner—' –yeah and it's been rusting in your dock for ages you cheat!" The voice took a deep breath. "At least I survived the landing in one piece. I wonder if my grandfather ever called for rescue. He never wrote about it, but just because it wasn't what saved him, doesn't mean he didn't do anything it took to make sure he made it home. There are two ships on long-range scan. One's a Quint—I didn't know they came out this far—but they won't help me for free. They'd take my ship, my body fluids and just drop me off in orbit to call it even…]
"Hmm… I like the way this one thinks." muttered Greed.
[The other one, I don't know… it has a strange signature. They keep repeating the same signal over and over… like some kind of ritual chant. I might be able to encrypt a message so just the Quints pick it up. I could make it look like just noise to everybody else. Still don't have anything of value. I better get back to work. I might try to take off on my own. There's usable metal all around. I'll patch up the damage and hope for the best.]
"He just said he has nothing!" shouted Greed.
"He may have discovered something that changed that…" replied Inquiry.
"Perhaps it is time for you to rest, Greed. We can wake you if your skills are needed." said Faith.
Kaetor tapped more keys "Nothing for a few days, this is the next entry..."
[BLEEP-BLOP—Dearest Sketzy, if this is cabin fever… I'm perfectly fine being stranded for a little longer. I mean, I know… I just know there's nobody around. But I can… heh. Iunno, I can hear people. I think I'm losing it just a bit. Maybe, I've been working myself too hard. I fixed the holes in the plating. I might try a test flight, see if she holds up. Those ships are still in range if I need to put in that distress call. They're taking their sweet time. I even think that second ship is… heh, following the Quints! Ah, well it's good to know things for me could be a lot worse. I can't imagine who would try stalking a Quintesson flagship. I've heard they don't like being approached. Everyone's heard of pirates attacking a Quintesson ship, but nobody's heard of a survivor from one. Asking for help is—h'yeah—foolish, but I'm not about to start making any sorta demands." The reconstructed voice inhaled deeply while the alien in the recording fiddled with loose parts. Busying his hands as he sighed. "I really hope things go okay. Not just for me, but for us when I get home. My grandfather made adventuring sound so glorious, so life-changing. I always thought my grandfather was so wise, but maybe my father had the wisdom to know his limits. If I make it back I'll… I don't want to be… heh, I want to live that simple life you talked about. I want it more than anything right now.]
Malice grunted at the level of sentiment. "Can we skip to the part where he kills himself!"
"It's obvious this isn't what we've been searching for." commented Pride.
"SILENCE!" commanded Faith as he took control and clenched the body's fists. "You're all bickering like Gorjan pups! We ventured far for the promise of power, and no matter your discomfort from any of this, we will have the truth!"
[BLEEP-BLOP—My beloved Sketzy, I'm lucky to be alive. Regulator in the port engine blew. I may have the materials, but those babies take two thousand slug-hours to make. I'm beginning to accept that I… I may never see you again. I've checked my rations, and I maybe have enough for another month—month and a half if I practice starving. At least I'm not alone out here… It's not like I'm hearing voices. More like I'm… feeling thoughts. Memories. They come and go just like that. Thoughts of home. Not of my home… just the feeling of being in your home. Friends… Hope… I'm stranded in a sea of momentary emotions. I sometimes see glowing lights outside when they come. It's helped me make it this far. If anyone finds these recordings, please bring them to Sketzy Tsaka in the spaceport city of Stilis, Asik province, southern continent, Rius. I hope against all odds that these make it safely to you. I hope you live a good life. Have a good family, and tell your children to work hard, never stop learning, make friends, and never ever fly in an Alkeerian ship! Hahaha—heh… Yours forever, Zyrk.]
"There's only one entry left. Approximately 17-6 gamma chronosync." Kaetor didn't wait for the order to play it.
The traveller didn't sound like himself. The reconstructed translation projected the restless trembling in his voice. He took long, insecure breaths before finally speaking. [BLEEP-BLOP—Something's… haunting me. I don't understand. I've felt the thoughts of a thousand sympathetic minds pass through. Each one lasted for a moment before leaving. I can... I can tell them apart like each one is a friend I've not seen in years. Each one was unique. But this one—THIS ONE, it—it won't leave me alone! I know it's coming when I see that violet glow… The others brought me comfort—they helped me, but this one seeks to... I don't know. I want it gone. JUST GO AWAY! I can hear it even when I'm sleeping. I've been awake for two days… it, you—YOU WON'T TAKE ME! I don't want to think of what I'll do if it tries to… AHH, THAT DECEIVING SALESMAN! THIS IS ALL HIS FAULT, BY THE FIRES OF THE BRIGHTEST STARS MY HATRED FOR YOU WILL BURN FOREVER! YOU SOLD ME THIS PIECE OF RUST AND LEFT ME TO DRIFT THROUGH THE EMPTINESS OF SPACE… TO CRASH HERE, ON THIS KARNFORSAKEN ROCK. I WILL BE FREE FROM THIS AND MAKE YOU SUFFER IN TURN! AND THE OTHER... WHO IS THE OTHER? I DON'T KNOW WHO THAT IS. GET AWAY! I WON'T LET YOU—] The voice in the recording reverberated through the hull of the vessel and out into the air of the metal planet. There's a long pause as the creature's breathing comes under control. His voice composed itself into a confident hum over a sea of the calmest, yet darkest intention. The voice didn't register in the translator. It spoke in perfect Quintessian: the universal language of power. "This form... won't do." The recording cut out.
"Immediately following the recording," Kaetor reported "a single transmission was sent out to our ship. Then everything was shut down." He began entering the keystrokes to play the recording of the transmission before Faith interrupted him.
"We remember all too well what the message said, Kaetor. Open the item we sent with you."
Kaetor had set it down just inside the door. He opened the sealed box. Inside were captive sparks linked to a detonator and a digital readout: a prototype spark-bomb.
"Turn it on, and exit the craft." Pride calmly ordered.
The time on the digital display counted down. Kaetor slowly walked away from the craft. After several moments he heard "Halt. Turn around." He looked back to the craft. Watching it sit there motionless before a white-hot fireball engulfed the entire shuttle. Shrapnel flew in all directions and the shockwave knocked him off his feet. After watching the monitors fill with dust and static Inquiry counted to himself, as the static eventually dissipated.
"Hmmm..." Inquiry mused "Only twelve clicks of interference... one of the sparks failed to detonate. Has the craft been destroyed?"
"Yes." Kaetor calmly reported.
"Good work, open your panel. Set the output on your primary power cell to fifty." Malice coolly suggested. Coolly or commandingly, Kaetor couldn't help but obey. But he voiced his thoughts while his hands worked.
"My… my lords. Are you not pleased with me? Will I return to continue serving your greatness?"
"You are. Set the output to seventy." Pride calmly replied.
Kaetor turned up the dial. He felt energy making small arcs in his circuitry. He collapsed to a kneel with the shock of several systems failing, data tracks and memories vanished.
"Set output to one hundred…" Malice grinned into the monitors. The trembling drone was smoking and collapsed to the ground. A trembling hand swiped across the components inside him. He lay still a moment before the power cell ruptured. The last images on the screens were the pieces of Kaetor exploding into the air.
The Quintessons turned off the monitors. Sitting motionless as their five brains processed what they just learned. They didn't need to speak aloud. Their minds could feel subtle empathies of puzzlement, envisioning, and finally clarity. The conclusion came into chilling focus, and carried heavy implications. They took a great risk coming to this planet. The call for rescue didn't suggest this unfortunate, desperate, sentimental adventurer; it was supposed to be a powerful ruler. This ruler was offering a reward in exchange for his… freedom. The word had seemed an odd choice to mean rescue, but the pieces were finally falling into place. They were not called to this planet by a mere lost traveller.
They had been called to this planet by a single, powerful spark.
"We've been tricked!" shouted Pride. "The mission, all this time, all the resources… everything! It's all been a waste!"
"We should leave this world." said Greed, emerging from behind. "We may find something of value on some nearby moon, asteroid, anything's better than sitting on this worthless rust-ball! However, Honor's Claim is still weeks from being spaceworthy again."
"If I may offer a dissenting opinion:" began Inquiry "there is still a resource here we may yet exploit…"
Greed groaned "You're referring to the sparks no doubt. Haven't we been careless enough with them?"
"Careless? We've merely been testing their potential. Although it has mainly been a side-project up until now, I think this now gives us all the more reason to devote our full attention to them."
"And we've seen where those potentials lie." said Pride "Shall we contact the Supreme Court and tell them we've discovered an energy source to create insubordinate workers or an unremarkable ordinance device? We have gone too long already without reporting our findings, and how few they really are. It would appear we know little more than a Gneer slug who died long before we arrived."
"My fellow judges…" Faith spoke up. "We are not as helpless as a Gneer Slug. We are Quintessons! We do not accept failure, and we do not abandon before a task is complete. Our heritage is dominance! We will take whatever means necessary to protect ourselves from any influence these sparks could have. The sparks and energon are now the only untapped power this world—perhaps this entire quadrant—has. Yet there is still much we do not know about them. There is still potential here, and we will see this through. If they cannot be exploited we will drill to this planets core and destroy every single remaining speck until only the lifeless hollow metal remains, then we'll tear up this world and sell the entire planet piece… by… piece!"
"I am concerned," Greed said as he keyed into a database on one of the computers "The sparks are already growing beyond our ability to contain them. In the last week alone the number of unaccounted protoforms exceeded five hundred! Even if we assume a modest percentage of 5% of our workforce experiences accidental losses, these numbers are rising too fast. Enforcers are not going missing, neither are recorders or drones. With the possibility that the secret to longevity has been discovered, it's possible our authority over the protoforms has already begun to diminish. We must do EVERYTHING in our power to hold the protoforms allegiance if we are to depart this planet with anything of value… not to mention our very lives. We may want to consider requesting reinforcements from the Supreme Court."
Faith slid into position looking out into the room as he retorted "Am I to understand you genuinely fear for our very safety? Need I remind you of our heritage. The Courts which preceded us endeavoured to produce the truest stock. Not a single Quintesson in our bloodline has ever fallen to an enemy. But we will fall to our own if we disgrace our proud society with even a single act of cowardice. I think we all know what steps must now be taken: the protoforms must all be destroyed."
The Quintessons unlocked the door and stepped into the throne room. They stepped out and saw Lockshot and Lodex Gamma bickering at the centre of the hall. Razor stood a ways back, observing.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Pride.
Lodex stepped forward. "How could you let this travesty happen? Why was Tracer allowed to live after what he did?"
"What do you mean?" asked Inquiry.
"The protoform broke the rules of the Colosseum... he somehow coaxed our enforcer into throwing the fight! What's worse, he turned the arena into a protoform resistance rally!"
Malice bolted to the centre slot as he bent their tall form over Lockshot. "WHAT? Were our instructions unclear?"
"My lords," said Lockshot "with all due respect, I was going off your instructions to ensure the crowd was satisfied with the result. However we may have wanted to control the outcome, our combatant willingly broke the rules. It had never been explicitly stated—"
Malice swung a fist and knocked the drone across the room "—That a match can have BOTH combatants lose?"
Razor stepped forward. "Clearly this task is beyond the abilities of a typical drone, I most graciously request that—"
Pride took control and glared down. "Let me guess: that we let you fight Tracer in the next match?"
"Please masters! I've never seen someone so deserving of it. I will kill him and the protoforms will fear you, as they are meant to."
"We can't just kill him anymore…" began Faith.
Lodex cocked his head as he performed come calculations. "My lords! Tracer's actions in the arena have already begun to affect the workers. We've had a fifteen percent increase in insubordination, and an unprecedented phenomenon of social unity would suggest the actions in the arena might cascade into a protoform revolt! Tracer must be eliminated immediately!"
"Killing him now would make him a martyr." continued Faith. " The problem with martyrs is you can only kill them once. We must kill his reputation first."
Pride glanced at the thin drone "Lockshot, you may return to the Colosseum and await our orders. Lodex, prepare a list of every protoform connected to any acts of insubordination or disappearance. Razor, come with us." The drones bowed and marched off. Razor followed the Quintessons as they slowly walked out of their hall into one of their adjacent laboratories. On one of the walls were shelves of sorted cubes small enough to fit in one hand. They were all made of a crystalline circuit encased in a metal frame. They had a slight glow that dimmed once every few seconds. The Quintessons ran their hands across the shelves, reading the cubes and counting spaces.
"Do you know how small your brain is?" asked Inquiry, not wasting a moment to supply the answer "Yes you'd prefer to have all your other components: your optics to see, your audio receptors to hear, your legs to walk etcetera, etcetera… but your personality, and your idiosyncratic perceptions can all be stored in one of these cubes. These cubes facilitate minimal activity, drawing infinitesimal energy. They act as a perpetual data storage device. Being efficient though it is, once a program is inside it will not be able to generate new experiences. A cycle of activity keeps programs from being idle, but once a cycle ends the next one resets and starts over. You cannot fully experience this level of existence. All you feel is the inescapable passage of time."
The Quintessons ran their hand along the wall of cubes. Scanning bar-codes as the hand moved up and down. "Although you are not the most cunning of our servants, even you must have noticed that no two enforcers are the same. If all our enforcers were the same, the flaws of individuals magnify into a weakness of our entire regiment. Each of your idiosyncrasies adapt to the chaos of real-world conditions. Programming personalities is usually a laborious task, but sometimes it becomes more art than science. At times we admire how simply through intuition we compose a personality that surpasses our expectations." They pulled one cube out of its socket in the wall. Holding it gently on their fingertips as they turned fully toward Razor "This one had a rather unconventional way of interpreting our orders, and yet a very efficient means of… executing them. We felt that his expertise were greater than the needs a the time. It is clear now, we need abilities well above those of typical enforcers, it seems we may finally bring him out of retirement… Say hello to Atross."
"You will not let me face Tracer in the arena?"
"We enter an unprecedented new phase in our operations. The protoforms—every last one of them—are now a serious threat to the future of this operation. Until now we have been very lenient toward them. The time will come when we will exterminate every single one of them, but first we must break their spirit. Tracer must be killed in the arena for all to see, but he must not die a martyr. You may know him well enough... you just might bring out the worst in him. Tempt, tease and taunt him down the evolutionary ladder. He will show his arrogance, that he is just as selfish and cowardly as any primitive creature. Then you can kill him like an animal. We will give you one chance to prove yourself. If you fail, Atross WILL kill Tracer… and we will scrape up whatever remains of your decrepit mind and put you in this very cube to regret your worthless existence until the end of time!"