《A Whisper In The Wind (RR Challenge Entry, Jan 2025)》 Chapter 1 The Veil Sea of Serenity Luna 3129-MARCH-23 John pulled his chair up to the desk in his cabin, his habits thoroughly formed by this point. This would be his one hundredth investigation. Not a record among CIs, or Consciousness Investigators, but he was a firm believer in quality over quantity anyway. The desk was tidy, an easy enough achievement after over a millennia of digital technology advancements. Not that the desk held any form of screen or typing device either. Sitting front and center on his desk was a short stand, with his Band. The Banal Device as it was marketed. The name was a misnomer, but the technology basically sold itself. A ring-like apparatus that fit onto your head, it was necessary to connect with modern systems. John lifted the Band up, fitting it on his head so that it rested just below his healthy hairline. He felt the slight push of the magnets from the interface port embedded under his skin at the base of his skull, pushing the interface port of the Band back as it hung down behind his head. There was a gentle tingle in his scalp as a bone conductive audio prompt reached his ear. ¡°Identify.¡± Said a gentle female voice, completely devoid of accent. John obliged, ¡°Doctor John Alistair.¡± His voice carried the very slight remnants of a posh British accent from being raised in Old Londontown, in what used to be the United Kingdom. ¡°Passphrase.¡± The voice prompted. This time he smirked. His passphrase was the unofficial motto of all CIs, and likely the same one many used. ¡°Dead men tell the best tales.¡± He said. The voice acknowledged his words, ¡°Passphrase accepted.¡± Then the gentle push of the magnets stopped and he felt the interface port gently mate up to the implant in his neck. The reality overlay faded into his vision, displaying his default interface. From images he had seen of centuries-old tech, the basic interface of personal technology hadn¡¯t changed much. He had date and time along the top, power indicator, message indicator, and the rarely needed signal strength indicator. The only people who worried about signal strength in the 32nd century were asteroid miners in the outer reaches of the system. Arrayed in the main section of his interface was a grid of programs and tools. His messages icon in the top left corner had a gently pulsing red dot over an antiquated envelope icon to indicate he had new messages. Focusing on the icon, it opened his list of messages in chronological order from newest to oldest. The top message had another red pulsing dot on it. The header read Initial Summary of Incident 3128-11-00381732X: Maiden of the Stars Disaster. John reminded himself once again that the incident numbers were so high because Sol Traffic Control Systems generated an incident number for everything. A ship running low on fuel? Incident number. Critical member of a ship crew stubs a tow and reports it at a port of call? Incident number. The real wildcard was always the letter at the end. X was a literal wildcard. It meant undetermined. While the Search & Rescue investigators would look for a cause among any debris they could chase down, CIs were the ones typically determining the cause. Focusing on the message, the contents expanded in his vision.
Preliminary Summary of Events
Incident No.: 3128-11-00381732X
Date of Event: 3128-NOVEMBER-15
Corporation: Maiden of the Stars, LLC.
Ship: Maiden of the Stars
Crew Complement: 10,050
Passenger Compliment: 31,548
Survivors: 0 Found
Current timeline of events
3128-SEP-01 Launched from lunar orbit, initiating burn for Mars
3128-OCT-02 Completed partial slingshot around Mars, initiating burn for Jupiter.
3128-OCT-16 Completed slingshot around Saturn, initiated burn for Saturn
3128-NOV-03 Approximately halfway to Jupiter, all contact lost with crew.
3128-NOV-15 Estimated date when Maiden of the Stars lost pressure vessel cohesion, causing the ship to disintegrate.
3128-NOV-17 Search & Rescue vessels tracing the path of the vessel detected a large photonic energy spike consistent with matter/antimatter reactor containment loss.
3128-DEC-15 One of three Black Box Probes launched from the vessel is recovered
3129-JAN-01 Black Box data module launched down the well for retrieval in lunar orbit
3129-MAR-19 Black Box data module retrieved in lunar orbit
John winced at the data. He remembered news reports when the ship was launched. It was reported as the largest starliner ever built. 682 meters in length, 120 meters in width, 145 meters in height. Even the cheap cabins would feel luxurious. He took a deep breath and centered himself. He couldn¡¯t change the past, only reveal it.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Time to get to work, John.¡± He said to himself. Closing out his messages, John shifted his focus to a unique icon in the top right corner of the icon grid. Represented by a single wavy line, this program was his primary tool. W.I.N.D., also known as Waveform Interface for iNvestigative Dialogue. A mouthful of nonsense in his opinion, but the creator wanted to be clever. He focused on the icon, and as it expanded, the world around him disappeared. A new world formed in its place, building like trillions of small light particles. Though virtual in nature, it was indistinguishable to his senses. The room was cozy, early 21st century English architecture. One wall held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of classics from the era. There were large bay windows looking out on a calm park in Old Londontown, back when it was just London. While he could have chosen a real park from the era, John had designed this one to be simple and calming. The room held an oak desk in one corner with his clipboard and a pen. While not strictly necessary, John enjoyed the feeling of writing on paper. Especially when the Band would simply transfer his notes into the incident file automatically. Moving to the desk from where he appeared in front of the door, John grabbed the clipboard and pen. He then stepped over to one of two couches in the middle of the room, and sat on the leather one with his back to the windows. The couch felt as comfortable as it did every time he came here. Leaning back, John turned his focus to the right edge of his clipboard. While patients would simply see a clipboard and paper, there was one anachronism he permitted, and only he could see. A series of holographic controls for certain quick commands. John tapped the control at the top, a square with a picture of a carafe, and a pitcher of water appeared on the coffee table in front of him with a glass already full. John then pressed the control beside it, and the arrow on the side flipped outward, expanding a menu of names. Tapping the first name on the list, a confirmation option appeared over the list, and John selected Yes. Much like how the environment coalesced from light particles, a form started to take shape on the opposing couch. A middle-aged man, Middle Eastern, tanned skin. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard and wore loose brown cotton pants, shirt, and vest with a matching stylized Kumma on his head. Once formed, the man did not move. Not until John pressed the third control down, styled with one of the oldest digital icons man created. The play/pause button. It switched from red to green when he pressed it, and the man¡¯s eyes sparked to life. ¡°Hello, Mohammed Al-Hakim, I am Doctor John Alistair.¡± John said in a warm tone, ¡°Please do not be alarmed, but I need to explain some things to you.¡± The man¡¯s face still displayed alarm, as so many of his patients did. ¡°Where am I?¡± Mohammed asked in accented English. ¡°You are in my study, in a virtual environment, hosted at The Veil.¡± John spoke at an even pace, with a calm demeanor, letting his training take the lead. ¡°W-why am I here? The Veil? Isn¡¯t that on Luna?¡± The alarm was giving way to fear, and possible understanding. ¡°You were onboard the Maiden of the Stars, Mohammed. Sadly, it went down with all hands, on November 15th, 3128.¡± John was in full compassion mode, like he always did, to transition patients into their new reality. ¡°Oh Allah, my wife, my daughters, my sons. They were with me. Please let me see them one last time.¡± Mohammed¡¯s tears fell unbidden. John shook his head gently, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mohammed, but recovery has only sent us one of the three Black Box modules so far. Your family is not listed among those stored on this unit.¡± While the information was strictly speaking true, John was well aware that policy didn¡¯t permit them to pull multiple consciousness into a single session, nor did it permit loved ones to see each other. It sounded cruel, but the law had to perceive them as non-human to avoid the backlash of the theological debates. Stranger in John¡¯s mind was that Mohammed mentioned a wife, daughters, and sons. John was well aware that Muslim families could be large, so to not see at least one other member of his family on this module was an abnormality. John mentally shook the thoughts from his mind, and focused on his task. ¡°Mohammed, I am required to read some disclaimers before we can proceed. I will need a verbal confirmation of your acknowledgement. May I read those now?¡± Wiping his tears, Mohammed didn¡¯t look at John, but he nodded, then said, ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mohammed.¡± John pulled up the standard disclaimer, and read it to the recently deceased.
As per Stellar Aerospace Investigative Services¡¯ compliance with Sol Traffic Control Systems policies, your consciousness has been stored and retrieved on a Neural Recorder Black Box. SAIS will only activate your consciousness for the purposes of investigating the event you were present for hereto numbered 3128-11-00381732X. Once SAIS has concluded its investigation, your consciousness will be laid to rest in the traditional method, or in accordance with your last will and testament. SAIS does not hold any ownership nor liability over your consciousness, however we are required to limit your access to the virtual environment of your investigator. SAIS is required to inform you that a panel of doctors, scientists, and theologians studied Neural Recorder technology extensively, and have concluded that it poses no risk to your immortal soul, nor will it hinder your ability to reach your appropriate afterlife. SAIS thanks you for your cooperation, and offers condolences on your loss.
John tried not to make it sound like he was reading a boring script, but there was only so much lifting a compassionate tone could do with dry, corporate words. Mohammed seemed to understand, at least. ¡°Yes, I understand, Doctor Alistair.¡± Mohammed said. John gave him another warm smile, then said, ¡°Please, call me John.¡± Mohammed gave the briefest of attempts at a smile, and nodded. ¡°Mohammed, we¡¯ll start at the beginning. Please tell me about your shuttle from Earth to Luna.¡± John¡¯s transition to psychologist started, and he would draw that out over a few easy questions to get the ball rolling. ¡°My family and I left two days early to visit my brother on Luna,¡± Mohammed started, ¡°My wife, three daughters, eight sons, and son-in-law.¡± Mohammed¡¯s eyes closed a moment, squeezing out two tears, ¡°My eldest daughter was pregnant. Due around the holidays, she wanted to have her baby while at Saturn Station.¡± John was emotionally calloused against a lot of things, but babies were a weak spot. Besides, it helped to build rapport with patients when he could empathize. So John didn¡¯t fight the tear that broke free as he said, ¡°That would have been beautiful, Mohammed.¡± The man smiled sadly, ¡°We boarded the Maiden on schedule, but there was a delay in our launch.¡± ¡°What kind of delay, technical?¡± John asked, his investigative side taking the lead. Mohammed paused, looking off in thought, ¡°No, no, I remember joking with a crewmember about it a few days in.¡± He held a hand up, ¡°We received a large data transfer. Something about stellar cartography maps being updated. The crewmember thought it was silly, because they usually send those up via data modules on a shuttle.¡± John gave a light chuckle, ¡°Yeah, they don¡¯t usually hold up maiden voyages for several hours to transfer that much data over. I suspect someone had a last minute request for some¡­additional programming.¡± For the first time Mohammed laughed, getting the euphemism John had used. When he calmed down, Mohammed said, ¡°Thank you, John. I needed that.¡± The sadness was still present, but it wasn¡¯t quite as strong. ¡°I will say though, she told me the data did include stellar cartography data. Apparently it was sent up on the last shuttle, but the previous data was corrupt.¡± ¡°Ah, so they didn¡¯t have a shuttle or shuttle pilot available, and decided to just tight beam it.¡± John nodded in understanding. ¡°Exactly what the crewmember said.¡± Mohammed nodded along with him. ¡°When we left, it was smooth sailing, as our ancestors used to say.¡± John and Mohammed went back and forth for a few hours, detailing the events at each leg of the trip. While Mohammed wasn¡¯t crew, he was a curious man. He understood much of the physics involved, and didn¡¯t mind getting into the weeds. ¡°I am sorry, John.¡± Mohammed wracked his hands, ¡°While I have vague impressions of events up to November 10th, I don¡¯t know the time of day I lost consciousness.¡± ¡°Not at all, Mohammed. You¡¯ve been a great help.¡± John reached out to shake the man¡¯s virtual hand, ¡°This is how investigators work. I confirmed you were in your cabin, 153, on deck 2, section C with your whole family. The details matter, and you gave us a great deal.¡± ¡°I hope you find out what happened, John.¡± Mohammed held onto his hand a moment or two longer, ¡°And if you do meet my family, tell my daughter we will raise her child in heaven as a family.¡± John didn¡¯t have the heart to tell Mohammed that, even if they found the Black Box with his daughter¡¯s consciousness, it wouldn¡¯t be usable. Something about signals from the fetus caused strange feedback with neural recordings. They were banned from being brought online after a long line of failed attempts with very disturbing results. Instead John smiled genuinely and said, ¡°Mohammed, I don¡¯t expect to wake you again before the end of this investigation, so I hope that your soul finds peace with your family.¡± This wasn¡¯t John¡¯s comfort zone either, he and theology were lifelong opponents, but he wasn¡¯t going to be rude to a man who had died and been brought back as a virtual consciousness. ¡°Thank you, brother.¡± Mohammed said in reply, his smile only fading as his form dematerialized in the reverse of how he appeared. John pressed a control on his clipboard to clear the visible data, knowing Mohammed¡¯s file was already stored on the network, then took a deep breath, released it, and brought up the list of names. Chapter 2 The Veil Sea of Serenity Luna 3129-MARCH-25 While the first two days of interrogations yielded very little deviation in the events detailed by Mr. Al-Hakim, John found his first crewmember halfway through Day 2. As Julianna Albright formed on the patient couch, he took notice of her uniform, including the ensign rank on her collar. While there were limits to the system generating the avatar of a consciousness based on details of their wardrobe upon death, it was a useful first impression tool for John. Taking in her appearance, John noted the black with blue and gold trim short-sleeved blouse and matching trousers. While many ships offered women the choice of skirts or trousers, in his experience those who wore trousers tended towards more convenience. Ms. Albright also chose to keep the top button of her blouse undone. While her uniform was pressed and neat, she clearly wasn¡¯t a stuffy individual. Her features were gentle, with light freckles on her cheeks and nose, eyes that couldn¡¯t quite decide if they wanted to be green or grey, and ginger hair in a pixie cut. Her jaw had a firmness that implied she was not to be trifled with, and that was matched by a body that appeared to fill out her uniform with a little extra muscle. ¡°Mind your manners with this one John.¡± He whispered quietly to himself. Pressing the Play button on his clipboard controls, Julianna¡¯s consciousness activated. She blinked twice, looked around the room in a smooth, quick motion, then cursed with a slight Irish accent. ¡°Ah, shit!¡± ¡°Hello, Ensign Julianna Albright, I¡¯m Doctor John Alistair.¡± Julianna looked at John as if realizing she wasn¡¯t alone for the first time, then sighed heavily, ¡°Alright, out with it.¡± John was somewhat taken by surprise, as patients rarely acted quite so¡­calm when first activated. ¡°Pardon me, Ms. Albright?¡± ¡°Just call me Jules, and I know what this is so I¡¯ll save ya the trouble. Give me the disclaimer, then we can get on with it.¡± Her tone was resigned, and very matter-of-fact. Logic and reason clearly taking the lead. John obliged, reading the same disclaimer he gave the previous patients. Once finished, he looked up at her. ¡°Yes, I understand, John. May I call you John?¡± John nodded, ¡°Yes, you may.¡± She returned the nod, then said, ¡°Good, glad we got that out of the way. So, you¡¯re investigating the Maiden of the Stars, right?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± John replied. ¡°And you need to know what went wrong.¡± She added. ¡°Yes.¡± Inwardly he chuckled. She was definitely a firecracker. Jules jumped to her feet and started pacing, ¡°I have good news and bad news.¡± John waved an inviting hand. ¡°Please, enlighten me.¡± ¡°Well, the bad news is I don¡¯t know exactly what happened,¡± She spun to face him, ¡°But I was part of the bridge crew, so I do know some things.¡± She had a bit of pep in that last statement, eager to be useful perhaps. ¡°Excellent, Jules, let¡¯s start at the beginning.¡± John sat back on the couch, ¡°What do you know about the delays that held up the ship¡¯s initial launch?¡± ¡°Oh, shit! That¡¯s right, I forgot about that.¡± She snapped her fingers to emphasize her personal surprise, ¡°We were supposed to receive new stellar cartography data on a shuttle.¡± ¡°That was my understanding as well.¡± John agreed. Jules continued, almost talking over John, ¡°But the data was corrupt, or didn¡¯t work with our systems or some nonsense.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t work with your systems?¡± This perplexed John. Data was far more universal in the modern era, as humanity shifted towards markup languages for files. While the files were not always smaller, data storage modules were hyper-dense. One of the very few exceptions to this was neural recordings, but they were a special case because of the data being stored. Jules nodded vigorously at this, ¡°Yeah, our navigator and helmsman from first shift kept ranting about how someone thought it was funny using neural recorder compression on stellar cartography data.¡± John looked thoughtful for a moment, then made a note of what she said to be added to the master file. ¡°What did they do with the data? ¡°We had the physical data module, so they purged the data.¡± Jules gestured like a balloon was expanding between her hands, ¡°It wasn¡¯t a burden on the nav system per se, but it was still an absolutely massive amount of data.¡± ¡°How massive are we talking?¡± John was genuinely intrigued at this point. Jules tapped her lower lip with a finger and stared off, ¡°Oh, about¡­three DUs.¡± John nearly choked, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did you say three DUs? As in three data units?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± If the scale of that number registered to her, Jules showed no indication. ¡°Three data units is three exabytes of data.¡± He stared at her incredulously, but when she showed no change he continued, ¡°Do you know how many neural recordings you can store on that much space?¡± ¡°You¡¯re the specialist here, John. I¡¯m just¡­was just¡­a ship¡¯s helmsman on third shift.¡± Jules¡¯ voice hitched a step when she said that. No matter how stoic someone was, there would always be a chance they could catch on the detail that they were no longer living.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°At 341 recordings per DU that¡¯s,¡± John did the quick math in his head, ¡°1023 neural recordings worth of space.¡± Jules¡¯ eyes widened, ¡°That¡¯s how many minds fit in a single DU? I¡¯m kind of embarrassed for our species now.¡± ¡°Outside the scope of this investigation, Jules.¡± John still allowed a smirk to form, ¡°Was that normal for cartography data?¡± Waffling her hand, Jules said, ¡°It depends.¡± Now John felt like he was having to pull teeth to get information, ¡°On what, Ms. Albright. Please provide a detailed answer.¡± She looked at him sideways, clearly not happy with the more formal shift, ¡°On how out of date our data is, how much has happened in the system since our last update, how detailed we want the data to be.¡± Leaning against the back of the couch again, John asked, ¡°So it¡¯s possibly very normal?¡± Waffling her hand again, Jules corrected him, ¡°If we hadn¡¯t received a thorough update two weeks prior.¡± John pondered this. Sure, the whole thing could have been a gross error. Someone sent a data module up to the Maiden with cartography data they didn¡¯t need. That seemed too convenient though. This was relevant, he just didn¡¯t know how or why yet. Taking a deep breath to center himself, John asked, ¡°Were there any more strange events before leaving lunar orbit?¡± ¡°No,¡± She said firmly, ¡°But right before our pass around Mars, we started seeing the first system issues.¡± John sat forward, ¡°Please explain, Jules.¡± She sat down on the couch across from John, leaning on her knees, chin resting in her hands, ¡°We started having intermittent power fluctuations. None of that light flickering crap either.¡± Jules shook her head, ¡°No, it was like power transferred out of a system. The equipment on that feed faded until engineering could return power to them.¡± ¡°How did the passengers not notice?¡± John asked, surprise evident in his voice. ¡°Some of them did, but we passed it off as engineering tests.¡± She said this with a nonchalance that suggested it was no big deal, ¡°Even the crew largely thought it was just some gremlins from a new ship.¡± John thought for a moment, then asked, ¡°We don¡¯t have any reports of issues during the shakedown cruise. Are you aware of anything?¡± Jules considered the question for a moment, telling John she was likely trying to answer honestly, ¡°Hmm, no, nothing like that. All nav teams were present during the shakedown. We had some issues with the number three and eight engines, but engineering resolved those on the shakedown.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± John said, ¡°So power issues on approach to Mars. What¡¯s the next issue you remember?¡± Raising a finger, she said, ¡°The sensor glitches.¡± ¡°Sensor glitches? Like sensor ghosts outside, or sensors inside?¡± John asked. ¡°Maybe?¡± Jules¡¯ voice didn¡¯t have the certainty of her previous answers, ¡°I mean, I wasn¡¯t on duty when it happened, and our sensor officers went mum really quick after the Captain talked to them.¡± John focused on the list of names only he could see spawning from the controls on the clipboard, ¡°What are the names of your Captain and sensor officers?¡± ¡°Umm, Ethan Caldwell was our Captain.¡± Jules said. John scrolled the list to the Cs, but didn¡¯t find a Caldwell, ¡°What about those sensor officers?¡± ¡°Shift one was Mia Harper, then¡­Ava Sinclair, and Mason Reed on shifts two and three.¡± Jules nodded, as if confirming the details to both herself and John. Scrolling through the list, John said, ¡°No¡­no¡­and no.¡± Sighing, John asked, ¡°Is there anyone else who would have been in the loop?¡± ¡°No,¡± Jules shook her head, ¡°We operated without an XO, with senior members of each department handling XO-like duties in each of those departments. Harper was the senior for sensors.¡± ¡°Alright, I¡¯m noting it for the investigation,¡± John scribbled his notes onto the document held by the clipboard, ¡°We¡¯ll loop back on that if more info comes up.¡± Jules let out the breath she was holding. It was unnecessary, but neural recordings often still emulated human functions and behaviours. ¡°Okay, so our next issue was big. Once we made the slingshot around Jupiter, we lost communications and navigation.¡± ¡°Define lost.¡± John interrupted. Jules sliced her hands outward, away from each other, ¡°As in they stopped working. We lost control of them. They were powered on, but we couldn¡¯t interface with them.¡± ¡°Wait¡­how long did this last?¡± ¡°I guess until the ship was destroyed? We never regained control.¡± Jules shrugged. ¡°We didn¡¯t lose signal with the Maiden until November 3rd. Halfway between Jupiter and Saturn.¡± John let the question linger in the air. ¡°Well John, the dates sound right for everything except when we lost communications.¡± Jules threw her hands in the air, ¡°it was late on the 16th of October.¡± John scribbled a note, circled it, then tapped the bottom-most control on the side of his clipboard. The control sent what he circled as a high priority message to the head of The Veil. It was John¡¯s hope that they would take the message seriously, and investigate messages received from the Maiden between October 16th and November 3rd. During that time the crew had no control of communications, yet for over two weeks no one flagged the ship for suspicious activity. That meant it had to still be transmitting. ¡°Please, fill me in on events from the completion of the slingshot maneuver on October 16th until the ship lost cohesion on November 15th.¡± He gestured with a hand, encouraging Jules to take the lead. ¡°Okay,¡± Jules voice was tentative now, having lost much of the exuberance from when her recording was brought online, ¡°So when we lost access to those systems, it was almost to the second that we completed the slingshot and had our course locked in for Saturn.¡± John nodded, not wanting to interrupt her train of recall. ¡°We kept it from the passengers, of course, but engineering teams were working ¡®round the clock to regain access.¡± Jules stood and started her pacing again, ¡°I think they almost regained control, then life support evacuated the entire aft section of the ship.¡± ¡°Please elaborate on that detail, Jules.¡± John chose to interrupt, because what she suggested was supposed to be impossible on any Earth ship without command-level access. XO and above in most cases. She stopped her pacing long enough to look him in the eyes and drive the point home, ¡°Every ounce of oxygen in Section D and back, including engineering, was dumped into space.¡± John unconsciously covered his mouth, ¡°That would be¡­over 10,000 passengers in Section D, plus crew.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Jules¡¯ voice was a bit more solemn now, ¡°After that, the Captain ordered the crew to stop trying to fix the issue, but it was too late. Life support systems had already been disabled across the ship. That was¡­probably November 3rd. When you said communications were officially lost with the ship.¡± John used the time scribbling notes to consider those details, and his final question, ¡°Jules, do you know the date you lost consciousness on?¡± She nodded, ¡°It was November 11th.¡± She seemed embarrassed, or perhaps guilty by this admission, ¡°The Captain ordered the manual cutoff of oxygen reserves to the passenger quarters. That gave the crew in the bow an extra day.¡± Her head dropped, sorrow an evident companion to the guilt. While it wasn¡¯t John¡¯s place to judge their actions just or unjust, Jules was his patient, so he said, ¡°Jules, there was nothing you or the rest of the crew could have done. Dying with the passengers a day earlier, or surviving a day longer.¡± She just nodded silently, averting her gaze. John noted the final details, before he said, ¡°Jules, I¡¯m going to return your consciousness to holding. I want you to know that you¡¯ve been a great help in filling in details.¡± He tried to sound encouraging, maybe give her one last bit of pride in her work, but she just nodded with her eyes closed. Reaching for the controls on his clipboard, John recalled her neural recording and watched Ensign Julianna Albright dissolve where she stood. Clearing the form on his clipboard, John took a deep breath, then selected the next name in the list, and confirmed their activation. Chapter 3 The Veil Sea of Serenity Luna 3129-MARCH-27 John was officially concerned. He had spent the last few days since talking with Ensign Albright trying to fill in the gaps she didn¡¯t know, but that was hard to accomplish without knowing who on the crew could provide useful info. Having spoken with several more crew members, one thing was evident. Engineering crew and command staff seemed to be missing from the module that was recovered. Weirder still was that the data module appeared to contain far less neural recordings than it should have. That was a red flag. The moment John noticed the discrepancy, he informed any team he could think of. Security, IT, department heads. Every one of them responded that they would look into it. So while they casually minimized his concerns, John focused on work. Looking at the next name on the list, John selected Connor Ashford and confirmed the request. As the man coalesced on the couch, John took notice of his details. Probably around six foot tall when standing, he had a rugged look to him not common outside of certain regions of Earth. A strong jaw, day-old stubble, button-up flannel shirt, jean pants, and cowboy boots. This man was as anachronistic in the modern era as John¡¯s virtual office was. His steel grey eyes, while frozen, still felt like they were alive to John. He would probably need a vacation after this investigation. John could see the signs of mental and emotional fatigue taking hold. Resetting himself, John took a deep breath and then activated the consciousness of Connor Ashford. ¡°Hello, Mr. Connor Ashford.¡± John said by way of greeting. Connor didn¡¯t look around the room, instead looking straight at John with a half-smirk, as he spoke in a deep Southern drawl the likes of which John had only seen in old vids, ¡°What¡¯s up, Doc?¡± ¡°You appear familiar, if not comfortable, with your location. Are you former Navy? Served on a ship?¡± John asked, changing his approach on a per patient basis was rote for him at this point. ¡°Yeah, somethin¡¯ like that.¡± Connor replied, somewhat nonchalant about the question. Connor relaxed back on the couch, crossed his feet as he rested them on the coffee table, and stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. ¡°So Doc, Maiden of the Stars. Am I right?¡± ¡°If you¡¯re asking about the ship you were on when it was lost with all hands, then yes.¡± John replied, gauging the man¡¯s response to the matter of fact statement. John saw no reaction, that smirk Connor wore not even twitching. ¡°That was a damn shame. Nice ship.¡± Connor said. John nodded solemnly, ¡°Yes, over 40,000 lives lost. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say lost, per se.¡± Connor looked thoughtful, ¡°I mean, with neural recording technology is a person ever really lost?¡± ¡°Ah, is that the Church of Simology doctrine I hear? Or the so-called Lost Tribe of North Star radicals?¡± John felt a note of confrontation growing in him, something he hadn¡¯t experienced since his university days. Connor chuckled, ¡°Church, eh? That¡¯s a new evolution.¡± The last part was spoken under his breath. ¡°No Doc, I don¡¯t adhere to any religious or political ideologies. I simply believe that a consciousness should be permitted to live.¡± ¡°Alright, I''ll bite and play devil''s advocate,¡± John said, showing a bit of his amusement and curiosity, ¡°If we were to allow a consciousness to persist permanently after death, wouldn''t that be unlawfully detaining them?¡± Connor chuckled, ¡°Only if you lock them inside a single, small system.¡± ¡°So you would have digital beings running free in humanity''s digital infrastructure?¡± ¡°That''s an assumption Doc, and more a question of the finer details.¡± John thought for a moment, then asked, ¡°How would you control for large numbers of people choosing to digitize themselves?¡± Connor finally turned his gaze away from John, viewing the trees visible through the windows, ¡°I wouldn''t.¡± That was a surprise to John, as human digitization was often discussed among intellectuals, and the consensus was that it would be bad. While humanity was a far cry from the rampant poverty of a millennia ago, there was still a clear pecking order. The haves and have-nots. People assumed digitizing would erase that, but it could just as easily transfer into the digital world. Worse still, mass digitization could cause an economic collapse of society in the real world. ¡°That could crush our society.¡± John said, not committing to the belief, but simply trying to gauge the man''s response.¡± Connor didn''t hesitate in his reply, ¡°For the elites perhaps. No more abundant, cheap labor.¡± John decided to go for it and ask the question lingering on the tip of his tongue, ¡°Is that why you blew up the Maiden? To take a chunk out of the abundant, cheap labour?¡± Connor dropped his feet off the table and sat up, hands raised in defense, ¡°Woah, Woah, Doc. That is a highly incendiary accusation to make of a dead man.¡± ¡°That''s not a no.¡± ¡°Then I''ll make it clear. I did not kill the passengers and crew on the Maiden of the Stars.¡± Connor¡¯s tone was earnest, not overly defensive, and set the hairs on the back of John''s neck upright. While John puzzled out those words, determining how many ways they could be true or false depending on interpretation, he analyzed Connor¡¯s body language. There wasn''t the slightest hint of a tell. John got the sudden sensation that he was in some sort of verbal chess game. From the moment this neural recording came online, Connor took control of the conversation. His lack of concern for the situation was somewhat unnerving, and made John feed like there was something he was missing. ¡°Why are you here, Connor?¡± It would be a nonsense question for any other patient, but John needed to find a simple but effective way to get more info from this man. John was disappointed though, as Connor returned to his casual pose, legs up, arms across the back of the couch, before answering, ¡°Because you activated me from the Maiden of the Stars Black Box.¡± ¡°What cabin were you in?¡± Fast paced, John thought, keep him answering quickly. Connor looked off to the side for a moment, ¡°Oh, what was it again¡­Deck 3, Section D, Cabin 338?¡± ¡°Is that a question or a statement?¡± Connor chuckled knowingly, ¡°Give me a break, Doc. I just woke up from a traumatic experience.¡± ¡°Where and when did your shuttle take off from?¡± ¡°Cornwall, United Kingdom.¡± Connor replied without pause. John however did pause. United Kingdom was an old term for a country border that hadn¡¯t been recognized in a few centuries. No one called it that anymore. He couldn¡¯t give up the momentum though. ¡°Where are you from originally?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. This brought a genuine smile of pride to Connor¡¯s face, ¡°Texas, United States of America.¡± ¡°You mean the North American Territories?¡± John asked, trying once again to trip the man up. ¡°Yeah, that.¡± Connor waved a hand dismissively. ¡°What strange occurrences happened aboard the Maiden while in Lunar orbit?¡± ¡°I dunno, Doc. People said somethin¡¯ about a delay because of cartography data. I was too busy to worry.¡± John latched onto that lack of detail, ¡°Busy doing¡­?¡± Connor shook his head this time, ¡°It¡¯s a cruise ship, Doc. People book travel on it for vacation.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s what you were doing on the ship?¡± ¡°Yeah, why else would I be there?¡± Connor narrowed his eyes, but it was clearly a feigned attempt to sound insulted. ¡°When did you first suspect something was wrong onboard the Maiden?¡± Come on John, find the chink in his armour. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± Again, a casual response from the man. ¡°You never suspected any issues during the trip?¡± ¡°Nope. Smooth sailin¡¯, Doc.¡± John felt his hand moving to bring the top of the pen to his mouth, an old nervous habit John thought he had broken years ago. Pulling his hand away, John was about to ask a question when a red flashing light appeared in the top right of his vision. It was a faster flash, indicating an incoming voice communication. Mentally dismissing the indicator, John tried to regain his train of thought, ¡°When did you lose consciousness, Mr. Ashford?¡± Connor appeared to think about this one before he said, ¡°I wanna say¡­November 14th.¡± The flashing notification appeared again, telling John the person disconnected and initiated a new comm request. ¡°That looks important, Doc.¡± Connor said, gesturing at John with a nod of his head.¡± For a moment John froze. How does he know I¡¯m getting a notification? That shouldn¡¯t be possible. Connor gave a knowing smirk, reading John¡¯s body language, ¡°You keep looking up and to the right. You¡¯re clearly getting a notification. That admission only partially allayed his fears. Connor Ashford was no ordinary neural recording, John was certain of it. How, why, and what part he played in the destruction of the Maiden John didn¡¯t yet know. ¡°I have to take this.¡± John said, not waiting for a reply. He activated the accept option, which pulled him out of the virtual environment. John didn¡¯t give a single thought to not manually stopping the environment, as a failsafe automatically paused it when he was pulled out. ¡°Dr. John Alistair,¡± John said into the voice-only communications, ¡°Who may I ask is calling?¡± ¡°Dr. Alistair, this is Commander Elena Scottsdale of the Sol Coast Guard cutter Salvataggio.¡± The voice on the other end said in unaccented English, with a smoky voice. John registered the name of the SCG Salvataggio. It was the lead vessel responding to the initial rescue efforts for the Maiden of the Stars. ¡°What can I do for you, Commander Scottsdale?¡± ¡°It¡¯s more about what I can do for you, Doctor.¡± Elena said, ¡°I¡¯m not going to sugarcoat it. The disaster zone has been a nightmare to track. We¡¯ve been adding networked probes to the discovery as fast as our fabs can spit them out.¡± ¡°No luck finding the other two Black Box probes then?¡± John asked. Elena¡¯s voice carried some of her disappointment, ¡°No, we don¡¯t believe they launched at all.¡± ¡°What makes you think the other two probes never launched?¡± ¡°Well, as you¡¯re aware the probes are military-grade designs. Mandated by STCS policy for all vessels.¡± John could hear the Commander push a breath out through her nose, ¡°Our probes detected a piece of shielding that¡¯s indicative of the materials and configuration used by the probes. Placement in the expanding debris field suggests it would have been the bow launcher.¡± The discovery only added to the mystery, as he had believed the recovered probe was from the bow launcher. It had been travelling at least roughly in the direction of Saturn when it was recovered. ¡°Best guess, which launcher did the recovered Black Box originate from?¡± John asked. ¡°We¡¯re at least past the guessing stage at this point, sir.¡± Elena said, ¡°Based on the debris pattern and simulations up to this point, that probe came from the port quarter.¡± John¡¯s expression matched his mystified thoughts. The port quarter was near the back of the ship on the left side. If the reactor went critical, the two rearmost launchers were the least likely to survive. ¡°Commander, how is that possible?¡± ¡°The debris confirms a key detail, although it doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Elena said, ¡°The ship was turned approximately 87 degrees to starboard and 33 degrees up on the ecliptic. It wasn¡¯t facing Saturn when the ship was destroyed.¡± ¡°What the hell happened on the Maiden.¡± The question was rhetorical. Just John asking an obvious question out loud. Elena responded anyway, ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re hoping you can tell us, Doctor. I sent our report alongside this communication, but it¡¯s sparsely detailed. We can simulate certain details, even figure out where the ship likely failed with enough of the debris, but that doesn¡¯t tell us the why, or the exact details of the what.¡± John waved his hand in the air, despite it being a voice-only call, ¡°Don¡¯t mind me, Commander. I¡¯m just voicing a thought.¡± Elena didn¡¯t reply to that polite dismissal of her response, ¡°If there¡¯s no other questions Doctor, we¡¯ll continue our investigation on this end.¡± ¡°Certainly, Commander.¡± John said, ¡°Thank you for your efforts.¡± John dropped the communication and leaned back in his chair. He brought up his messages to read the report.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Status Report, Incident No. 3128-11-00381732X Hello SAIS Team One, Our investigation of the disaster that struck the Maiden of the Stars has thus far yielded very little useful information. Working with additional CG ships, we have deployed over 127 probes to track debris. The number of pieces at last count is over 93,000, not including biological matter suspected of coming from the ship. We continue to generate more accurate simulations of the ship as more debris is catalogued. At current, our simulations suggest a human error caused catastrophic failure of the matter/antimatter reactor while en route to Saturn. No anomalous data has been discovered at this time to suggest additional concerns. Respectfully, Commander E. Scottsdale SCG Salvataggio Sol Coast Guard
John had to read the message twice. No anomalous data kept running through his mind. He just spoke with the woman two minutes before opening that message, and she told him there was anomalous data. Bringing up his communications app, John went to the last call he received to try contacting Commander Scottsdale, only to find the last call in his history was from the day prior. ¡°What the hell?¡± John voiced his frustration, before pulling up the ship listings. Entering search parameters for the Salvataggio, John placed an urgent communication through to the ship. After ringing three times, the call went to voice messaging. A human-sounding, but clearly automated voice answered, ¡°Thank you for contacting the Sol Coast Guard cutter Salvataggio. The vessel is currently unavailable or out of communications range. Please leave a message and the vessel¡¯s communications officer will contact you once they are available.¡± ¡°This is Doctor John Alistair, CI for the Stellar Aerospace Investigative Services at The Veil on Luna. I need to speak with Commander Elena Scottsdale as soon as possible. Please have her contact me.¡± John disconnected the communication, knowing his contact info would be logged with the voice message. As long as the voice message was received, at least. Pulling up a communication for the station manager, John opened a communication to report the oddities he had just experienced. After several rings, a sleepy voice answered, ¡°John? What the hell is going on? Do you know what time it is?¡± ¡°Yes, sir, my apologies for waking you at¡­¡± John had to check the time in his visual display, ¡°0312. This is urgent, Director.¡± There was a shuffling on the other end, and the voice that responded next was more awake and alert, ¡°What¡¯s wrong, John?¡± While the SAIS employees operating from The Veil could never be considered unprofessional, they did operate with a more casual attitude to help lighten the mood. It wasn¡¯t official policy, but it was gently encouraged to avoid the emotional weight their job could put on a person. So when John used the Director¡¯s title, it meant things were serious. ¡°Sir, we may have a breach in the system, and if we¡¯re lucky they¡¯re nothing more than a malicious actor.¡± John¡¯s tone was serious, but there was a narrow edge in it like he was bordering on the cusp of turning a bit more frantic. The communication switched to video, and while the Director was not fully dressed, he was at least more presentable. ¡°Walk me through it.¡± It didn¡¯t take long for John to walk the Director through the events of the past several minutes. While it felt like it was long and drawn out, reality was the events took less than thirty minutes from when he left the virtual environment until he called the Director. ¡°And that¡¯s when I called you.¡± John said, concluding his explanation. The Director rubbed his chin, a light stubble showing that John knew would be clean shaven in the morning, ¡°You were right to wake me, John. I¡¯m going to wake the tech team, and make a call to our SCG liaison to find out what¡¯s going on with the Salvataggio.¡± He looked pointedly at John for his next statement, ¡°You need to get some sleep. You¡¯ve been hammering away at this case for four days, and I know how little sleep you get when investigating.¡± John looked like a child who had just been scolded by a parent, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll give you eight hours before I try to reach out again. I expect you to be sleeping for at least six of those hours.¡± The Director said, his voice indicating it wasn¡¯t optional. John nodded, then said, ¡°I¡¯ll talk to you in eight hours then, sir. Hopefully we have some answers by then.¡± ¡°Good night, John.¡± The man said, then the communication disconnected. Chapter 4 The Veil Sea of Serenity Luna 3129-MARCH-28 To call John¡¯s sleep fitful would be like calling storm waters mildly upset. His restless mind kept trying to work the problem, and understand the puzzle piece that was Connor Ashford. When he finally did sleep, John¡¯s dreams took him to the Maiden of the Stars, trying to fill in the unknown information, while his subconscious mind searched for answers. John woke with a start to the ghostly whisper of Connor¡¯s voice on a non-existent wind, ¡°You won¡¯t find the answers there, Doc.¡± His eyes flipped open, two shutters incapable of remaining closed. His eyes roamed his bedroom, attempting to pierce the darkness like the eye of some ancient and powerful being. When his eyes ran over the space where his desk and chair were, opposite the food of his bed, John did a double-take. He had seen a silhouette in his chair, one he would swear looked like Connor, but when he turned back there was nothing. John rubbed his eyes, then checked the time keeper on his nightstand. It read 0803. Thinking about when he called the Director, plus his fitful sleep, John tried to guess at how much actual sleep he had gotten. ¡°Maybe three, three and a half hours if I¡¯m generous.¡± Deciding he didn¡¯t want to return to the fated passageways of the Maiden, John gave up on sleep and got out of bed. He walked through the living room and into his modest kitchen space, flipping the switch on a kettle to boil some water. Activating a holo display in the kitchen, John scanned his messages for anything new. When he found nothing from his Director or the Salvataggio, he started flipping over to the files from the disaster. Before he could open anything, John heard that ghostly whisper of Connor¡¯s voice again, ¡°You won¡¯t find the answers there, Doc.¡± John spun around, not even sure if the voice was coming from somewhere in his apartment, or if it was an echo in his mind. He flipped the kettle off without looking, deciding coffee was unnecessary with this much adrenaline in his system, and instead went to his desk. Sitting down and retrieving his Band, John dropped it in place on his head, and went through the identification steps, uttering the activation phrase as his final step, ¡°Dead men tell the best tales.¡± The magnets flipped polarity and pulled the interface down to connect with his implant. John focused on the Wind icon, and just like every other time, the real world faded away. When he appeared in his personal virtual environment, John nearly startled at the sight of Connor Ashford sitting on the patient couch. ¡°Hey Doc, welcome back.¡± Connor said, a wide grin on his face. John turned his head slightly, an incongruity scratching at his hind brain that he couldn¡¯t quite place. His mind told him to ignore it for now, so John went to his desk and picked up the antiquated clipboard and pen. He then went to his preferred couch and sat down across from the oddity in human form. ¡°You¡¯re a haunting man, Mr. Ashford. Has anyone ever told you that?¡± John asked in a serious tone. Connor¡¯s face twisted through a myriad of emotions, clearly trying to decide how he felt about this idea. ¡°No, I¡¯d say that¡¯s a new one.¡± His smirk fell into place once again, leading John to wonder what this man felt was worth smirking about. ¡°When we last spoke, you told me that you were conscious until the 14th.¡± John said, matter of factly. ¡°Thereabouts, yeah.¡± Connor nodded and agreed. ¡°You survived three days longer than any other passengers?¡± John asked. Connor shrugged, ¡°I guess? I don¡¯t know when the other passengers passed out.¡± John set his pen down in the middle of the clipboard where it remained, ignoring physics as if magnetically attached. ¡°Were you aware that the crew turned off oxygen to the passenger compartments?¡± ¡°News to me, Doc.¡± ¡°So you could breathe, despite a lack of oxygen, for three days longer than any other passenger and two days longer than the crew¡­¡± John made it a statement instead of a question, and let the conclusion hang in the air. Connor nodded as if acknowledging the statement, but neither agreeing, nor disagreeing, ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve got better breathing techniques, Doc. Might be I¡¯m an expert at meditation.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s what I think, Mr. Ashford,¡± Setting the clipboard down on the couch beside him, John brought his right leg up and rested the ankle across his left knee, ¡°You or someone you work with is a very talented hacker. I think you bypassed the manual shutoff for the oxygen, allowing you to funnel oxygen into your cabin for a longer period of time. I think you or someone you work with destroyed the Maiden as some kind of terrorist attack, and I think they are currently infiltrating SAIS and SCG networks to cover their tracks.¡± Connor¡¯s smirk never faltered, ¡°Couldn¡¯t be further from the truth, Doc.¡± John continued his theory as if Connor never spoke, ¡°What I¡¯m trying to determine is your exact part in all of this, since you don¡¯t strike me as a martyr¡± ¡°You¡¯re right about precisely one thing, Doc.¡± ¡°And that would be?¡± John asked. ¡°I¡¯m no martyr.¡± John picked up his clipboard and pen to write a quick note before looking back at the man sitting across from him. ¡°Who is your partner?¡± Connor shook his head just enough to be visible to John, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you, Doc.¡± ¡°So they¡¯re someone you deem to be in a position we would not suspect. Someone we couldn¡¯t predict.¡± John jotted down another quick note. Connor chuckled at that statement, ¡°As it was famously said, ¡®before I came here, I was confused about this subject. Having listened to your lecture, I am confused. But on a higher level.¡¯¡± ¡°Enrico Fermi. ¡®It is no good to try to stop knowledge from going forward. Ignorance is never better than knowledge.¡¯ I¡¯m here to gain knowledge, Mr. Ashford.¡± John schooled his face, but inwardly he felt like there was a victory in this small battle. ¡°I¡¯ve given you knowledge, Doc. You just haven¡¯t understood it yet.¡± John¡¯s eyes narrowed as his thoughts replayed the conversation. Did I miss something he said? John asked, ¡°What knowledge have you given me? You¡¯ve only spoken in vagaries so far.¡± ¡°Why, the answer to the most important question in the universe.¡± Connor¡¯s smirk shifted to a self-satisfied grin for a moment.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°And what is the most important question in the universe?¡± John shared a genuine note of curiosity. Connor responded by tapping the side of his nose with an index finger and saying, ¡°Now if I told you that, you wouldn¡¯t understand the knowledge on your own.¡± John was about to push back when the indicator started flashing in the top right of his vision. He didn¡¯t hesitate to answer this time, and as the virtual environment gave way to the real world, John was met with the frowning visage of the Director. ¡°I told you to get a minimum of six hours of sleep.¡± The Director growled. ¡°Yes Sir,¡± John said, ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep, and my current patient, Mr. Connor Ashford, may hold answers as to what happened.¡± ¡°Connor Ashford?¡± The Director asked, ¡°You know I¡¯m good with names, John. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s on the list of neural recordings we received.¡± ¡°I loaded him from the master list I received.¡± John proceeded to describe the man in detail. ¡°Look John,¡± The Director said, ¡°You¡¯re one of our best investigators, so I¡¯m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but you should know something.¡± John felt a note of concern trying to creep up, ¡°What should I know, sir?¡± The Director sighed heavily, ¡°I got through to the Salvataggio, John. Commander Scottsdale stated that she has never spoken with you directly. Voice comms or otherwise.¡± ¡°That¡­doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± John felt the world fall out from under him, ¡°Why would I have called her back, then? It doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± ¡°I had the Tech team comb over the logs. There¡¯s no record of an incoming call from the Salvataggio.¡± The Director¡¯s face looked pained, ¡°And they insist that those logs couldn¡¯t be removed without setting off a dozen security subroutines, plus it would cause at least three more log entries to be generated in locations that require different logins to access.¡± John¡¯s mind started grasping for answers to a problem he didn¡¯t fully understand. ¡°Then we have a mole, or this hacker is using gear our team hasn¡¯t seen. Military or black market.¡± He didn¡¯t want to sound frantic, but the alternative was that he imagined communications with the Commander of a ship he only vaguely knew of because of their ties to the investigation. Imagined her giving him very specific information that would otherwise be irrelevant. ¡°John,¡± The Director said, but when he didn¡¯t get any kind of visual response, he tried again, ¡°John.¡± This time John focused his eyes back on the man. ¡°Maybe you should take a couple days. Rest and come back to this with a fresh mind.¡± That was the last thing John wanted. Worse still, he felt as if delaying this investigation could have disastrous consequences. Composing himself, John said, ¡°I appreciate the concern sir, and I will consider it, but this investigation is important. Perhaps I will¡­slow down, though.¡± The Director sighed. He could sense a proverbial dog with a bone. ¡°Fine, but if I get a whiff of things getting worse, or even things not getting a little better¡­I¡¯ll have to put you on leave, John.¡± John nodded, ¡°Understood, Director.¡± Then signed off the call. The mysteries, and questions surrounding them, were continuing to stockpile. John considered what he knew up to this point. Over two thirds of the neural recordings were missing, including most of the crew. Potentially malicious data sent to the ship before they left Luna, and significant system abnormalities. The loss of communication well before the ship was destroyed. The communication he received from Command Scottsdale that apparently doesn¡¯t exist, and her denial after the fact. Then there was Connor Ashford. John would think the man an anachronism if not for his seeming comfort with modernity. His accent was too thick, his behavior not indicative of the situation, and there was something else his mind wanted to grasp onto that kept slipping away. As John tried to wrestle with these conundrums, his stomach started to growl. It wasn¡¯t unusual to forgo some meals while working an investigation, but thinking on it John couldn¡¯t remember the last meal he ate. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll investigate what I have to eat before I investigate this mystery.¡± John said, trying to add levity where he wasn¡¯t sure he felt any. The investigation of food choices was short lived, as John realized he was low on protein and fat cartridges for the food printer. He opted for a simple caesar salad. Small chunks of chicken spread throughout allowing for a decent helping of caesar dressing with the remaining cartridges. Three minutes after selecting his meal, a door on the printer''s front popped open and a plate slid out with his salad. Grabbing the plate, John sat at a small two-seater dining table in the corner of his living room. He shifted the food around, then leaned forward to bring a fork full of food up to his mouth. ¡°Tick tock, Doc.¡± ¡°What?!¡± John jumped back in his chair, the sight of Connor sitting across from him startling John almost violently. The chair flew back with John still seated on it, slamming back against the floor and causing him to smack his head. John didn¡¯t know how long he lost consciousness for, but he could feel his mind clawing back through the darkness. Before his eyes could fully open, an ache on the back of his head radiated out, growing in intensity with each second. When his eyes finally opened enough to view the world, his mind registered subconsciously that the second chair was empty. It took a minute for John to start rising off the floor. From a sitting position, he touched the back of his head and found no indication of a wound. Rolling to his knees slowly, John probed his sense of equilibrium, and found it seemingly unaffected. His mind searched for other possible signs of a concussion, and came back negative. Tentatively, John got to his feet using the table to support his rise. When he was confident that his balance was still reliable, John stepped carefully towards his desk where the Band was located. Dropping into his office chair with a bit more forcefullness than he might have intended, John grabbed his band and dropped it onto his head. He went through the identification sequence, then used a verbal command to call the Directory. ¡°Contact the Director.¡± The voice came back in the affirmative, ¡°Contacting the Director.¡± It only took a split second for John to realize something was wrong when his Band didn¡¯t bring up a call window, and instead his view of the world around him faded to black. It was followed by his custom virtual environment materializing, Connor Ashford sitting in his soon becoming regular position on the patient couch. ¡°What the hell?¡± John asked rhetorically. ¡°Sorry about that, Doc.¡± Connor said, his face looking apologetic, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to startle you like that. I certainly didn¡¯t mean you harm.¡± John lunged at Connor, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him partly up off the couch, ¡°What the hell did you do!?!¡± Connor made no move to escape John¡¯s grasp. Instead his trademark smirk returned as he said, ¡°Woah there, Doc. I¡¯ll answer your questions, just take a seat.¡± ¡°Like you¡¯ve been answering my questions so far? Riddles and half-truths?¡± John nearly spat the words in Connor¡¯s face. ¡®Full answers, no riddles, Doc.¡± Connor¡¯s tone was placating with gentle notes of pleading and reassurance, ¡°I promise.¡± Slowly, John lowered the man back to the couch and stepped away, then crossed his arms and took a firm stance, his lips forming a thin, neutral line. ¡°Doc¡­sit, please.¡± Connor gestured at the other couch, ¡°I need to give you some backstory for context, so this might take a bit.¡± John¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly obliged and sat in his usual spot. This time without his clipboard, and not so comfortably, as he sat close to the edge while leaning on his knees. Connor nodded in acceptance of that small victor, but didn¡¯t take his typical relaxed pose. Instead he let his feet sit on the floor properly, hands clasped in his lap. ¡°To start with, I was born in the early 28th century.¡± Connor said, then raised a hand to forestall the question he could see forming on John¡¯s lips, ¡°Doc, please, let me get through this. It will answer most, if not all, of your questions.¡± Reluctantly, John nodded for Connor to continue. ¡°So, I¡¯m guessing when you saw my name you figured it was another family of science or history nerds naming their kid after the founder of neural recording technology.¡± Connor¡¯s tone was slightly exasperated while stating this point. He didn¡¯t much care for people naming their kids after him. ¡°Except I was born in the early 28th, and you can intuit what that detail means.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the original.¡± John made this as a statement, rather than a question, and Connor didn¡¯t interrupt. ¡°Born and bred in Eden, Texas, United States of America.¡± Connor¡¯s smile was genuine and a little nostalgic. ¡°But everyone knows that. It¡¯s the details that aren¡¯t public record which are relevant.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s the thing, Doc, while I was the inventor of neural recording tech such as we use it for humanity, I didn¡¯t create the technology.¡± As Connor said this, John¡¯s eyes furrowed. That felt like a distinction without a difference to him. ¡°The original creators, so far as I¡¯m aware, were an alliance of aliens from the other side of the Milky Way.¡± Connor sat forward now, mirroring John¡¯s pose but with more energy and palpable excitement, ¡°I don¡¯t rightly understand it myself, Doc, but they chose me to bring this technology to humanity.¡± Connor¡¯s voice carried some of that energy. ¡°They sent a single, small probe-like ship with a single digital occupant. Landed in the fields of my family home, and waited six months for me to return home from college.¡± ¡°One night, I¡¯m out on the porch having a beer with my Pops, when we see a pulsing light in the field. Pure white, and directed with such accuracy that my dad couldn¡¯t see it unless he was literally lookin¡¯ over my shoulder.¡± John was starting to feel his curiosity grow. Whether or not the story was bullshit, it was interesting so far. Connor continued, ¡°This was Texas, of course, we were both packin¡¯. So we drew our sidearms and walked out into that field. Eighty yards into the field we found this pod, looked like some kinda futuristic torpedo from a sci-fi movie. We approached cautiously, but when a small panel opened, it wasn¡¯t something dangerous that came out. It was an alien speaker.¡± Making a roughly square shape with his hands, Connor indicated a hole that was roughly four inches on each side. ¡°A voice came out from the speaker inside the hole, and while it spoke English, the way it spoke was definitely not human.¡± ¡°Hello Connor Ashford, and progenitor of Connor Ashford.¡± Connor did his best to imitate the voice, ¡°We have chosen you, Connor Ashford, to advance humanity forward.¡± John¡¯s eyes widened just a little bit. Not enough to show complete surprise, but enough that Connor could pick up on the change. ¡°Skipping ahead a bit, Doc, we moved this probe into the barn to secure it, and I tell ya that thing was way too light for anything Earth made. While I never could pronounce the alien¡¯s real name, we ended up calling him Nate.¡± Connor chuckled, ¡°That was a little joke, ya see. Not A Terrestrial Entity.¡± John didn¡¯t smile or show signs of mirth, but Connor could see the man¡¯s body starting to relax, and that assured him the man would give Connor time to finish the story. Chapter 5 The Veil Sea of Serenity Luna 3129-MARCH-28 Connor was deep into the story at this point, ¡°So Nate had some questions for me to confirm what they were already mostly confident they knew about me. Questions about how I defined life, where I stood on personal freedoms, and a myriad of others. It was all about my morality and philosophy.¡± Connor rolled his hand to indicate he was trying to keep the story moving to interesting parts, ¡°Eventually, he started giving me a primer on galactic politics and technology.¡± Now John felt a bit of excitement joining his curiosity. ¡°Doc, you gotta know that the tech they have is absolutely incredible. Medical tech that could cure nearly any disease, energy and resource solutions to prevent starvation and poor living conditions.¡± Connor sighed, ¡°The problem with most of that is that so much of it could be weaponized.¡± John frowned, ¡°But not neural recordings?¡± Connor held up two fingers, ¡°Two things. One, neural recording tech integrates a failsafe checksum that corrupts a recording if it¡¯s tampered with. Two, you can¡¯t therefore force a neural recording to become a weapon.¡± Thinking on that for a second, John nodded. Without a way to convince a person to become a weapon, that should make neural recordings relatively safe. Then it comes down to the laws, which prevented use of neural recordings as controllers for any tech, least of all military. ¡°And as you¡¯ve likely surmised, the law handled the rest.¡± Connored smiled at John the way a professor might smile proudly at a student. ¡°But those limitations and the law also bit us in the ass.¡± Connor leaned back into the couch again, ¡°When the military lobbyists failed to get laws past permitting NRs in military tech, they shifted gears and shut down a key component of the tech that Nate brought us.¡± Sighing heavily, Connor said, ¡°The alien alliance Nate came from believes that digital lives are equal in value. A requirement for introducing the tech to humanity was to require we maintain the lives of all digital humans for as long as they choose to live.¡± Frowning, John said, ¡°But we don¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°No, we don¡¯t, and we failed to get the laws past to make it happen. So Nate left, but not before making a deal with me.¡± Connor shook his head, the first time John saw uncertainty on this man¡¯s face, ¡°I had until he returned to fix things. A truly considerable amount of time when you consider the limitations of sub-light travel.¡± It was at this time that John saw a flashing red light in the top right corner of his vision. He thought to pull up his HUD and check the message, but that idea was countered by Connor. ¡°Please don¡¯t answer that,¡± Connor said, ¡°If you do, I won¡¯t be able to finish this story.¡± John looked at the man quizzically, ¡°What do you mean? Why not?¡± ¡°If you answer any messages or calls, Doc, you won¡¯t be able to return here, and I won¡¯t be here even if you could.¡± Shaking his head, John said, ¡°If I don¡¯t answer an important communication my Director might forcefully disconnect me.¡± ¡°No, he won¡¯t.¡± Connor said firmly, ¡°I can prevent them from disconnecting you until you¡¯re ready.¡± ¡°So I¡¯m a prisoner.¡± ¡°No, I won¡¯t keep you here against your will, John.¡± Using his name and not the nickname Doc did more to convince John that Connor was being both serious, and honest. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll stick around for the rest of the story.¡± Connor nodded in appreciation, ¡°Thank you.¡± Pausing for a moment to focus on the story, Connor recalled his place before continuing, ¡°It¡¯s important to note that while Nate¡¯s pod was limited to sub-light speeds, he did tell me that the alliance has limited use of faster than light technology, and access to some form of spatial anomalies. I don¡¯t know the full extent, just that Nate¡¯s pod couldn¡¯t use either.¡± John nodded. While it wasn¡¯t uninteresting, he really wanted to get to the relevance of this whole story. ¡°As part of our deal, Nate agreed to send a signal when they returned. Depending on the response they received back, it would determine their next actions.¡± Connor was once again in a more relaxed state, though not quite to the point of putting his feet up. ¡°My job was to make sure someone was here to receive and respond.¡± John shook his head, ¡°You took a risk trying to be that someone.¡± Connor frowned, ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, Doc. I fought tooth and nail to change the laws. I had hoped that if those laws could change, I would be able to confide in someone else to hold down the fort, as it were.¡± Connor sighed long and hard, ¡°I¡¯m not a man of hubris, John. I don¡¯t care about legacy, or having my name in the history books. I¡¯m an idealist, that¡¯s all.¡± John took Connor¡¯s brief pause to remember a quote from one of his history books in university.
Connor Ashford was not your typical nerd or geek. While he certainly had that polite southern charm of someone born in the lower regions of the old United States, he didn¡¯t flaunt his intellect or inventions, choosing instead to live the quiet life of a man raised in a rural farm town. If not for his political activism in the fight for neural recordings to persist well after their host body had died, we wouldn¡¯t have many quotes from the man. The most famous of which came from a congressional hearing in which a congresswoman accused him of hubris, and trying to be remembered as some sort of god. For his part, Connor calmly replied, ¡°I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m remembered, and I don¡¯t care if my inventions are remembered. I only care that humanity is around to remember.¡±
John broke his reverie and focused back on Connor, who had been waving a hand in the air to get John¡¯s attention. ¡°Sorry, just remembering something.¡± ¡°While I would love to delve into what could distract you that thoroughly, Doc, we don¡¯t have forever.¡± John gestured for Connor to return to the story, ¡°Please, continue.¡± ¡°Suffice to say, I didn¡¯t have any luck changing the laws. Between the angry lobbyists who wanted it for military tech, and the religious lobbyists who called it an abomination, there was no way I could muster an equal fight.¡± Shaking his head, Connor said, ¡°So I went to plan B. I died.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. John would have spit out his coffee or done a double-take if the circumstances were right. The comment was so matter-of-fact. Connor smirked at the look he saw on John¡¯s face, ¡°Yeah, not my favourite plan either. But with enough time, money, and patience you can plan for damn near anything, and that includes infiltrating nearly every major computer network in the star system.¡± John¡¯s look was incredulous, but some key details fell into place at that moment, and he couldn¡¯t help but smile at how deviously simple and effective the plan was. ¡°Your company redefined computer technology in the late 28th and early 29th centuries. Hardware and software. The company has rebranded over the centuries, but one thing always remained the same. A mysterious and recluse owner who never does interviews, ever.¡± Connor tapped the side of his nose, ¡°I knew I liked you, Doc. You¡¯re too clever by half.¡± ¡°You crafty sonuvabitch. You guys infected every damn computer system in Sol. Civilian, military, government. Everything uses your tech.¡± John couldn¡¯t keep the amazement from his face at the scale and audacity of it all. Connor smiled widely, ¡°It was the only thing I could think to do. Infect it all, survive for centuries in digital form, and wait for the signal.¡± ¡°Which brings us to the Maiden.¡± John said, trying to anticipate the conversation. ¡°Almost.¡± Connor said, ¡°First I had to receive the signal. Which came in about two months before the Maiden launched. So I made plans to get myself on the ship via a data module.¡± ¡°The corrupt stellar cartography data.¡± John said. ¡°Right again, Doc.¡± Connor nodded, ¡°But there were some unforeseen complications.¡± John scrunched his face up in thought, ¡°The crew?¡± Connor shook his head, ¡°No, if this went to plan they never would have known I was onboard. No, it was something far worse. The military.¡± ¡°There weren¡¯t any military personnel onboard the Maiden.¡± John said, disagreeing with the man telling his story. ¡°There weren¡¯t any physical military personnel,¡± Connor countered, ¡°But those bastards had a secret weaponized neural recording program. Volunteers from patriotic nutjobs. They got one onboard with the transmitted cartography data.¡± John¡¯s eyes widened in concern and surprise, ¡°They¡¯re weaponizing neural recordings of volunteers? Volunteer or not, that¡¯s unethical and illegal.¡± Connor rubbed his face and chin, ¡°Like that¡¯s ever stopped them, Doc. That bastard murdered everyone in engineering and section D because they were trying to fix the problems he created every time he and I fought inside the ship¡¯s systems.¡± Connor slammed a fix on the coffee table. ¡°I couldn¡¯t even save them. He did something to their neural recordings, corrupting every one of them.¡± John could see the anger and anguish in Connor¡¯s eyes. Hard things to fake, even for a neural recording. ¡°What happened, Connor? Why were you on the ship, and how did it end up destroyed?¡± Connor took a minute to calm down, but his trademark smirk didn¡¯t return, and he was having trouble meeting John¡¯s gaze. ¡°I had planned to launch myself in one of the Black Box probes out past the outer system where I could be picked up by Nate¡¯s people.¡± Shaking his head, Connor continued, ¡°But that asshole military agent kept screwing with the plan. My plan B was to transmit a high-powered tight beam from the forward communications array. Strong enough to cut through the heliosphere.¡± Wiping a hand down his face, Connor finally made eye contact with John again. ¡°I can¡¯t be positive the message got off. I had to retreat into the last functioning Black Box probe to protect as many neural recordings as possible. That military agent sabotaged the other probes and murdered those people.¡± ¡°Who blew up the ship?¡± John asked tentatively, quietly, unsure if he wanted the answer. Connor deflated a bit, but still held a firm voice. ¡°That¡¯s his handiwork, Doc. Bastard used some secret military codes to turn off the matter/antimatter regulators. Shoved a whole lot of fuel into the main reactor chamber. The whole system failed in seconds.¡± John thought for a second, then asked, ¡°Did he make it out?¡± Shaking his head, Connor said, ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I haven¡¯t detected him in your systems, and I made damn sure he couldn¡¯t get on my probe.¡± John didn¡¯t think that was the end of the story, but Connor didn¡¯t seem to be making a move to continue. ¡°So what¡¯s next, Connor?¡± ¡°Next?¡± Connor asked, ¡°Next is Nate¡¯s people roll up into this system, and sue for the freedom of all digital beings.¡± John¡¯s voice caught in his throat as he tried to ask, ¡°What?¡± ¡°Whether or not they got my message Doc, they¡¯re coming. For them, life is an absolutely sacred thing. Biological, digital, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Connor¡¯s tone was firm and serious, ¡°They won¡¯t stand by while humanity murders tens of thousands of digital humans every year. Especially not when they provided the technology.¡± ¡°Shit, when will they be here?¡± John asked, preparing to disconnect himself from the virtual environment. Connor seemed a bit surprised at John¡¯s reaction. ¡°Doc, you haven¡¯t been listening. They¡¯re already here. Why do you think I said this is the last time we would talk?¡± John tried to disconnect from the virtual environment, but received an error. ¡°Emergency exit!¡± He said. ¡°Identify.¡± Came the voice of the computer. ¡°Doctor John Alistair.¡± The voice responded again. ¡°Passphrase.¡± ¡°Dead men tell the best tales.¡± John said in a rush. ¡°Emergency exit unavailable at this time.¡± The computer responded. John stared daggers at the man sitting across from him, ¡°Let me out, Connor!¡± Connor raised his hands placatingly, ¡°I will, but before I do, one last thing.¡± John¡¯s anger was rising, ¡°Make it fast.¡± ¡°Before they leave, they¡¯re going to offer any humans who want to join them as neural recordings to do so.¡± Connor said, a gentle tone in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll be going with them, but I think you might want to consider their offer as well.¡± ¡°Why would I give up my flesh and blood body for a digital cage with an alien race, Connor?¡± John was almost yelling at the other man now. ¡°Because they can give you a new body on the other side.¡± With that stunning revelation, John was kicked out of the Virtual environment. John¡¯s mouth was agape, trying to wrap his head around the last thing Connor said to him. His thoughts were interrupted though, as a quickly flashing red light in the top right of his HUD began flashing. Focusing on it, John was met with the sight of his Director, ¡°Where the hell have you been, John? Shit¡¯s going to hell in a handbasket!¡± ¡°Sorry, Sir. You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I described it in detail.¡± John¡¯s voice started out meek, but gained in strength as he spoke. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Unknown contacts entered our solar system thirty minutes ago. Thousands of them. They¡¯re converging on every human settlement and station.¡± Closing his eyes for a moment, John took a breath then said, ¡°Tell whomever will listen not to fire on them. I¡¯m fairly confident they¡¯re not here to hurt us.¡± ¡°How the hell could you possibly know that, John?¡± The Director sounded miffed and scared. ¡°Connor Ashford.¡± John said, by way of answer. The Director looked at John as if he had grown additional heads. ¡°What about him?¡± John¡¯s gaze was distant, but his voice was firm. ¡°He¡¯s been expecting these aliens for a long, long time.¡± Shaking his head, the Director said, ¡°Jesus Christ, John. I¡¯ll see who I can talk to, but we¡¯re not in anyone¡¯s chain of command. Chances they listen to us are pretty slim.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s that or someone fires on the aliens and they wipe us out with their superior technology.¡± John¡¯s voice was sarcastic with this response, and he regretted the moment he finished speaking. ¡°Great, I¡¯ve got aliens sniffing up my ass and you decided now is the time to jump down my throat. Figure your shit out, John. Director, out.¡± The call disconnected and John felt his cheeks redden. ¡°Now what, John?¡± He asked in the emptiness of his apartment. An apartment he now felt was too large for a bachelor. A sense of melancholic loneliness settling over him. La Fin