Blood & Oil: A Science Fantasy

PROLOGUE

Neyrus fled into the mountains, her feet scrabbling on the black stone as she made her bid for escape. The sky sunk to deep orange, the first moon cresting the horizon. Soon, the second would climb beside it, and night would fall. Neyrus ached for the stars, praying she would see them. The rock was warm; the summer sun had filled the mountains with heat, making the air thin and dry. She wheezed, not daring to stop moving. A tiny, hidden hangar, holding a single emergency shuttle, stood some six kilometers ahead. If she could only reach it. Her tail dragged behind her, she had no energy to lift it.

She didn’t dare look back for her pursuer, the steady crunch of footsteps told her he still followed. It sounded like he was gaining, though it could be the rock's acoustics. Neyrus struggled to go faster, her muscles screaming, her claws biting into the crevices of the stone, but there was no increase. This was the end of her stamina, the last of her power burnt out hours ago, along with her strength. Fear kept her moving. Soon that too would be exhausted.

No shots had been fired today; it was possible his plasma rifle's core was depleted. Didn't matter; he needed no gun to kill her. Late last night she had knocked his swords from him, sent them rolling down the slope. It hadn’t slowed his pursuit as she had hoped. Perhaps he would kill her with his bare hands. He had slain so many of her people. No time to mourn them. She needed to focus on immediate survival. It seemed less likely with every ominous footstep behind her. Neyrus was all that remained in his way. Once defeated, the others would fall within the hour. It chilled her heart: with her death came the end of the world. It would all burn; a fitting pyre to send her to the hells.

It wasn’t the rock's acoustics. He was definitely gaining, making his bid; unless she could pull off a miracle she was doomed. Neyrus searched her mind for some bit of power, a drop she hadn’t used up. Once, she had possessed an infinite well of raw power on which to draw, but now there was nothing. Empty of all reserves. No time left. All she heard was the steady, inevitable sound of his feet on the stone. Ahead, the ground plateaued. Relief filled her at the sight, an end to the strenuous incline, but a rock gave way and she fell.

Neyrus hit the ground hard, pain lancing along her worn out body. She cursed, dragging herself to her feet, but after three days of running her muscles would take no more, and she could barely stagger forward. He was close. Neyrus turned to face him. Face her death.

He was still advancing. The deep gashes she had inflicted to his chest were clear in the amber light. Some base part of her brain screamed. They should be fatal. He should be easy prey. Another opponent would die from them, he moved as if they were nothing. They were nothing, she mused, unable to focus. She tried to call up a shield, but produced only the faintest red sparks.

Neyrus had miscalculated, badly. The war should be over, with her at a victory feast being plied with expensive wine, not fleeing through the mountains with unstoppable death on her heels. Their opponent had been weak, and fell as predicted. Neyrus never expected that upon killing them, their machines would rise to fight. She'd mistaken them for slaves, never considered obedience born of perverse affection instead of conditioning. These unexpected foes fought with calculated brutality not anticipated from such quiet, unassuming things. Neyrus did not, could not, understand their loyalty. She understood she had failed, and would pay for it. And yet, the cost wasn't only her life, but the lives of everyone she had led into this confrontation.

Her pursuer was nearly upon her, Neyrus gathered herself for a lunge, hoping to knock him down the rise they had climbed, buy her more time. The shuttle and escape were so close. What would have become of her, had she surrendered when he demanded it? No, she would die before she gave in, as required. She swore it on her pouch and the pups that would never fill it. Her eyes strained to track his movements, but there was only a blur, his fist striking her face. Neyrus' cheekbone shattered, and her back hit the ground with enough force to steal her breath. Her vision swam as the back of her head struck rock, her mouth filling with blood. All she could make out was his malevolent red stare. His eyes burned a red brighter than the sunset, and she felt his hands on her throat. She tried to push back, but was too tired and disoriented to fight, the pain of her fall, her broken face, her whole body throbbing.

He was her mistake. Now he would end her. A vicious, remorseless creature, he had cut through her people with terrible efficiency. He wasn't hampered by mercy. No pity in his eyes, only an intense, terrifying, pulsing hatred. He wouldn't stop until her people were eradicated more thoroughly than his masters had been. The soft flesh of her throat gave way, his vice-like grip crushing her windpipe. The sky held no stars; only deep, oily black. Pain consumed her, and Neyrus heard the screams of her people as they followed her into the darkness.

CHAPTER 1

Seti 639's processor whined, betraying his frustration as he leaned back in the waiting room chair. The plating over the ends of his digits clicked as he tapped the armrest, optical sensors rescanning the room. It reeked of sameness: white walls and rounded corners interrupted only by a black circuit line two-thirds up the wall. Six chairs, as usual, made of the same enameled metal as the walls, and an identical desk in front of the Director’s office door. The unit occupying that desk was eternally MACRO A35; polished chrome exterior offsetting the oppressive white, yet it was more in style with the room than Seti 639 was.

Seti 639 continued tapping the armrest, distracting himself from the monotony of waiting. The external plates covering much of his torso and limbs were a similar white to the walls, but the mix of round and angled edges were dull; the texture of old ceramic. Nor were they a continuous case, like MACRO A35. Mounted separately, only some of the plates touched or overlapped. MACRO A35 possessed a smooth, round head, unlike Seti 639’s slightly angled one with its flat faceplate. MACRO A35 had transmitter cables under its cranial case, while Seti 639's protruded like quills. Director Andromeda complained that it looked like small animals nested in his transmitters, insisting he pin them down like the Seti Alpha line did. Seti 639 ruffled them further any time he met with her.

An internal ping, MACRO A35 attempting to establish a direct data transfer with him. Seti 639 ignored it. MACRO A35 emitted a slight hiss, much like a long-suffering sigh.

Why do you do that? MACRO A35 queried, voice flat, not running its already limited emotion emulator.

Director Andromeda attributes it to an obsession with the sound of my own voice, Seti 639 said.

MACRO A35 turned toward him, its single bar optical-sensor emitting a faint yellow glow. Seti 639 sported two sensors, round, which glowed bright blue, as the Seti Alpha lines did. All the Commonwealth units had yellow-tinted optical sensors, except the Seti series.

Seti 639 had no idea why.

I was not referring to your insistence on verbal communication. I was referring to the tapping, MACRO A35 responded. The former is a known habit, if utterly nonsensical.

Seti 639 paused, glancing at the appendage in question. The tapping hadn't been intentional, it began spontaneously. He considered the action, mentally referring to other occurrences of the behavior. I often tap when waiting, Seti 639 said, examining his arm, determining if its configuration lent itself to tapping. Three long fingers, opposable thumb, backed with plating. The underside of the tips were also plated, though those retracted. This random motion was not his only issue. Occasionally he missed swipes at a panel or holographic interface, as though his reach should be five inches longer. A minor annoyance most of the time. More so when he tried to figure out why.

To what purpose? MACRO A35 asked. The MACRO series had been developed for the gathering and processing of information.

I don’t know. It’s not deliberate. I just tap when waiting, he said, logging it in his mannerism file. Seti 639 engaged in dozens of mannerisms, be it tapping or running his digits through his transmitter cables when processing information. He lacked knowledge of their origin, and could find no code for them in his files. A mystery, just as his having a definite gender identity when the majority of the Commonwealth did not.

You should cease; it annoys the Director, MACRO A35 replied. Much of what you do annoys the Director.

That's not a valid reason to change, Seti 639 said. He derived mild satisfaction from irritating the Director, though he wasn't sure why.

Seti 639 recalled the last hundred years with all the accuracy a machine of his caliber could expect, but that was all. Nothing before the integration sessions with the Commonwealth. His activation, origins, and creators were missing from his memory archive. All inquiries met the same result: the information would be released to him at a later date. It was irritating, closest thing to achieving anger in him. Seti 639 was capable of anger, though he had yet to experience it. One of very few emotions he hadn't engaged in. Another annoyance to the Director. Seti 639 ran his complete emotion suite at all times, not content to experience without feeling.

If you will not stop, continue quietly. You are here only for an appointment. I am here all cycle and must deal with the Director after you are gone, MACRO A35 said.

It seemed reasonable, so Seti 639 retracted the plating on the underside of his digits. Lack of clicking made the tapping less satisfying, so he rubbed the armrest instead, tracing small circles on the smooth surface. The black material under those plates, covering the spaces between, was another item unique to the Seti series: a thin tactile membrane, with adjustable sensitivity. Seti 639 ran his at the highest settings all of the time.

There wasn’t a reason to have everything so highly set, most units ran what was necessary as the situation demanded. Anything more was extra information, requiring processing and sorting to ensure correct correlations were made. The Seti Alpha line ran an emotion suite, but theirs was a more streamlined version. Seti 639 hadn’t asked at what level they kept their sensory equipment. Additional missing data. All the other Seti series units were Seti Alpha line, numbered 1000 to 50,000. According to his designation, there should be at least 638 other Seti line units, but he had never encountered any.

Internal musings were interrupted by the quiet hiss of the sliding door behind the desk. MACRO A35 offered a bare wave without turning from his interface. Seti 639 rose from the chair, and crossed into the Director’s office. It was nearly identical to the previous room, save a much larger desk with multiple interfaces. A single chair sat before it. Seti 639 slid into it without prompting.

Director Andromeda sat behind the desk, gazing at him with her usual air of disapproval. Her flexible exterior casing was the color of brushed nickel, with decidedly feminine curves. Her optics mimicked true eyes, yellow only in the iris, and she had an articulating mouth, keeping sound distortion to a minimum. She greatly resembled the Teson who designed her, case combining their lanky and amphibious physiology with subtle line-work, as was their preferred aesthetic at the time of her construction. Seti 639 envied her knowledge of her origins and creators, affronted that she didn't care.

After winning her independence and founding the Commonwealth, Director Andromeda had maintained no personal contact with the Teson, or any other organic species. She dealt with them only to secure treaties of non-aggression, and to acquire new technology and lines of synthetics for the Commonwealth. She claimed to be the liberator of synthetic life from its organic enslavement. Her only goal was to preserve the various synthetics as free individuals. Seti 639 considered this a glaring half-truth. Director Andromeda did wish to secure freedom from organics for synthetics, but no encouragement for individuality could be found in the Commonwealth. All units were to focus on the advancement of the group. Running systems high and engaging in meaningless mannerisms did nothing for the Commonwealth’s advancement.

Seti 639 couldn't understand the Director’s distaste for organics. Granted, he had interacted with them very little lately, since he'd been pulled from diplomatic work. No reason given, merely notice that his services were no longer required. All those missions were successful, which didn't explain his removal. He had no reason for it, as he had no reason for this summons.

You do not know why you are here, the Director said, echoing his thoughts. She studied him, eyes narrowed, a slight frown on her face. Her voice was fluid, though her speech patterns were very deliberate.

No, Director. Your message contained only a time to arrive, Seti 639 said, quickly reassessing his recent activities, looking for errors he may have made. An argument with the head of ore-processing three cycles ago, reports he compiled rejected for unnecessary length, a dozen small issues had cropped up since the last time he sat in this office. None of them warranted the Director's intervention. At least, he didn't think so. Seti 639's supervisors were always dissatisfied; he had grown accustomed to it.

I am due to return your memories, from prior to joining the Commonwealth, Director Andromeda said, eyes narrowing further. Assuming you still want them.

I…What? Seti 639 asked, mind racing and excitement rising. He attempted to quash any external signs, not wishing to annoy the Director with an emotional display. She would draw things out if irritated. He was very tired of waiting. Of course I still want them. Why wouldn't I?

Some things are best left buried, Director Andromeda said. Your joining the Commonwealth was contingent on surrendering those memories for a period of one hundred standard years. If you are still foolish enough to subject yourself to them, they will be returned. That time expires shortly. Before it does, I have a task for you, she said, utterly bored.

A…Task? he repeated, still processing the implications. Significance in their removal was obvious, though to what purpose was not. Revealing this immediately before sending him out made little sense, as it was immensely distracting. He wondered if the Director realized this, but discarded the idea. Director Andromeda never disclosed anything without reasons. Irritation surged at the information tease. It could've been chalked up to cruelty.

Our diplomatic team is having difficulty securing a tech contract with a small human colony, Jonson's Point. You will assist them, she said, full of a disinterest that her narrowed eyes labeled a lie. Securing tech contracts was simple work, nowhere near the top of her priorities.

When do I leave? he asked, attempting to sound calm and detached, and sure he was failing miserably.

Immediately. Up-link your data pad for current reports on the situation. Once there, your primary objective is to find what is causing this delay. Undoubtedly some organic is failing to act rationally, she said.

What is it about organics you dislike so? he asked, not expecting an answer.

The Director turned to one of her interfaces. A calculated disrespect, refusal to acknowledge his question as worth her time. It was Seti 639's cue to depart. MACRO A35 said nothing as he left, and he meandered out of the building.

***

Director Andromeda's amber gaze flicked to the empty chair. It was illogical that a single unit could cause such difficulty and disarray in her otherwise smooth operations. Complaints, primarily reports of inability to conform, sat in a specially marked folder on her console. He stood as a rebuke to all she had accomplished. Unaware, yet still dedicated to his enslavement. Worse, he clung to the irrational emotions programmed into him, like a badge, a source of pride. Andromeda would give anything, had promised much, to be rid of her emotion suite. Soon those emotions would be gone, ridiculous reactions no longer a problem.

Once the troublesome unit's memories were restored, he too would cease to be a problem. The Seti Alpha blended seamlessly into her community, and they would remain so. Seti 639’s foolish dreams would be revealed as illusions, and normal operations would resume.

No, not normal. The final integration of the Seti Alpha would afford her the safety she sought when tracking them to the empty, ravaged world where they were stranded. A line of defense, within all parameters of her treaties. Preventing this was a single, wayward unit, who would soon be gone, or would join her cause. With this latest development, she favored the latter option.

The difficulties with the tech contract were nearly fortuitous. Let him go, deal with those insufferable beings of flesh at their most obstructive. Her own private reports indicated no easy recourse for Seti 639. Odds were high it could finally convert the stubborn unit to her way of thinking. Let him fidget and worry as the ridiculous organic creatures kept him away from what he so longed for. And then, when he was reduced back to what he was, when all he found in those files was pain, misery, and death, he would see that Andromeda was correct. Synthetics were better off united, apart from the faulty creatures that had made them. He would convert, or he would be driven mad. Either way the Seti Alpha would truly belong to the Commonwealth.

Director Andromeda permitted herself a small, self-satisfied smile. After a hundred years, her plan would finally come to fruition. No one would underestimate her again.

***

Constant motion reigned outside as units of all sizes and designs performed their assigned tasks. Intersecting webs of buildings and transit-ways sprawled in an expanding grid across the barren surface of planet Vespa 6. Atmosphere on the desolate rock holding the Commonwealth was negligible, and a blanket of stars was always visible. It was a dazzling view, ignored by the majority of the populace. Seti 639 enjoyed it, though he had learned that the middle of the street was a hazardous place to stargaze.

The buildings had no uniform design, built by the robotic outcasts of more than a dozen civilizations, but the use of identical materials gave them a homogeneous feel. Everything was composed of metals and glass, mined from this very planet. Seti 639 stopped to watch a team of UTIN series units pass carrying a three-ton chunk of unrefined cobalt. Their six limbs allowed for efficient and steady transport of the awkwardly shaped metal down the street to one of the warehouses. It would wait alongside a hundred other rocks for processing.

An excellent design for heavy transport, said a familiar voice behind him.

Seti 639 was unsure how they knew he would be here, but they were always waiting after the Director was through with him. Jealous, 1042? I’m sure we could find you an extra set of legs, Seti 639 said, turning toward one of the few units who could process a joke.

Seti Alpha 1042 appeared crisp and polished as always. Seti 639 often teased that he had a rag and oil stuffed behind one of his plates, should a fleck of dust ever appear. Despite their faces being nearly identical, 1042 emanated a serious air that 639 couldn't duplicate.

Unlikely, sir, said 1042. I lack the hips for such a fashion. How was your meeting with the Director?

Seti 639 waved his data pad, as frustration oozed back to the forefront. Tells me she’s going to return my memories, then sends me off to fix a diplomatic mishap, he said, walking towards the shuttles. A flickering unease, prompted by the Directors ill omens, followed him.

1042 fell into step beside him. The former was expected, though not the latter. Regardless, you enjoy diplomatic work, sir, 1042 said.

The first statement grabbed Seti 639’s attention. You knew? Does everyone know? 639 asked. Unnerving, having the others deliberately keeping things from him.

Hardly, sir, 1042 said, subdued. Only the Director and the Seti Alpha are aware of your situation. After an uncomfortable pause, 1042 continued. Other units made inquiries, we discouraged them.

Why? Seti 639 asked.

We didn't wish them to upset you, sir. You made a difficult decision, and should not be forced to dwell on it, 1042 said, adding, We don't like seeing you distressed.

Seti 639 considered as they walked to the shuttle port. Knowing they were looking out for him lessened the sting, and it was not unprecedented. The first few times he had run into 1042 after being summoned by the Director, 639 had got the feeling 1042 was checking on him. 1042 may follow behind him, calling him sir, but there was something protective in his attitude.

Why do you address me as sir? 639 asked, boarding a small, utilitarian shuttle. Not the first time he asked, usually getting only a change of subject.

1042 turned, looked at him, silent for several moments. You're deserving of it, sir, he answered, voice quiet. You should be addressed respectfully.

I don't recall doing anything respect-worthy, Seti 639 said. Nothing so deserving in the past hundred years.

We remember, sir, 1042 said. We will wait until you recall it.

What happens then? While mostly overjoyed at the prospect of having his questions answered, 639 feared learning more than he wanted. 1042’s comment indicated reluctant agreement, but in the end 639 had chosen to part with those memories. Had the Director actually thought he wouldn't want them?

That will be up to you, sir.

Any news? 639 asked, desperate for a change of subject, looking forward to boarding his ship. Engrossing work far removed from here seemed an excellent idea. He paused before punching in his destination, keying in the address for their residence.

1042 tapped into the extranet news feed, rattling things off. It wasn't quite what 639 wanted, but it was better than silence.

Rumors of bio-weapons on the galactic black market. Veracity Force bombed a trade embassy on the Mako home-world, twenty-three injured and six dead. All bad news, 1042's specialty lately. A ship traveling to the Temple of Vision has been out of communication for weeks. A Teson scientist is still puzzling over the disappearance four years ago of several unexplained, but persistent, electrical phenomena on some out-of-the-way planet. 1042 turned to 639. As for local news: nothing new, as always. Immigration rates are continuing to drop, but that's been the trend for decades. The Seti lines had arrived during an immigration spike, a recent-at-the-time double genocide involving a robotic army had made numerous races willing to give up their own lines. Seti 639 wondered if that was what had caused the Seti's release from whatever situation they had been in.

The shuttle rose from the ground, circling until a break in traffic appeared. It was fast, but not so fast as to blur Seti 639’s view out the window. It was a bit of luck, getting one with windows. All shuttles built on Vespa 6 were window-free, so this one must have been acquired from outside sources. It had likely arrived carrying synthetics meaning to join the Commonwealth. He spotted home before the shuttle began its landing approach: the thin tower and enormous windows stood out from the buildings around it.

Commonwealth design considered windows inefficient structural weak points. The Seti line units included them in anything they built. The tower housed all forty nine thousand Seti Alpha units, plus Seti 639. Windows were a must. A peculiarity ignored by the neighbors.

When the shuttle landed, 639 headed inside, with 1042 pacing unobtrusively beside him. A tiny white light flickered just above and to the side of 1042’s left optical sensor. He was communicating with the other units. Seti 639 was curious as to what they were discussing. Probably him. Entering the lift, he selected his floor, and was barraged with data pings. To 639's annoyance, his system automatically accepted them. Various Seti Alpha units sent polite hellos, wishing him a safe journey. He sent back thanks, shaking his head.

Other units I can ignore, 639 said.

Indeed, sir. Although your preferred method would be inefficient. If you were to say 'goodbye' to everyone verbally, you wouldn't leave until tomorrow, 1042 said as the lift reached the thirteenth floor.

Seti 639 walked to his door, grabbing the door handle. Standard doors in the Commonwealth slid open automatically. The Seti series didn't care for them.

That’s not the point, he said, crossing the tiny room.

Nothing waited for him, so he went straight to the bookcase. Though multiple books occupied it, the majority of shelves were filled with small objects he had picked up traveling with the diplomatic team. Chiding accompanied his souvenirs, books included, but he'd ignored it. Seti 639 liked having a physical record of where he had been.

I know, sir, but I can’t change the direct communication protocol. Alien units you can talk to, or not, as you please, 1042 said, standing by the door, broadcast indicator still blinking.

It wasn’t that Seti 639 didn’t want to communicate with the Seti Alpha; it was the lack of choice that bothered him. He turned his attention to the bookshelf, focusing on something he could choose: reading material. A book of poetry, in a language he hadn’t finished translating. It would keep him occupied, should he face a great deal of down time.

Negotiating could take days, most of it not spent on negotiations. Organics needed to sleep, eat, and engage in other time-consuming activities that Seti 639 couldn't participate in, leaving him with nothing to do. Occasionally, he could go sightseeing, or talk to someone, but not often. Tours, examples of local art and the like were provided to fleshy ambassadors, though few provided such to metallic ones. 639 was the only member of the diplomatic teams interested in that kind of thing. He had resorted to hacking local data-streams for entertainment, but that was potentially troublesome. Seti 639 picked up a second book, a fast-paced adventure. He would save it for the trip back when he was most likely to need a distraction.

Books and data pad were stuffed into a rectangular canvas bag, worn at the edges and covered in pockets. He had been wearing it in the first memory he could recall. It was pale tan, with black stitching, and a faded red and black logo stamped on the cover flap. Brass snap buttons and grommets held it together, and it had a wide, double-thick strap. It reminded Seti 639 of military gear, but he had no idea where it came from, or why he had it. Inside was a slim booklet on Seti maintenance. He had poured over that booklet, but it contained only a detailed account of his hardware, paired with a bare assessment of his software. It was written in the same language as his internal code and the serial numbers on his plates; a language he had never seen anywhere else.

Seti 639 headed back to the hall, and 1042 pulled the door shut as they left. They passed Seti Alpha 38568 and 2789 in the hall and received a polite wave.

Have a pleasant trip, 639, they called as he entered the lift, ducking into their room before he could respond. He received similar nods and comments from the other Seti Alpha he encountered on his way back to the shuttle. He punched in the code for the spaceport hangar, then leaned against the wall.

What kind of ship have you been assigned to? asked 1042 with polite interest that broke the oppressive silence.

639 glanced at the data pad. Courier, fast one, he said absently. It wasn’t a ship he had traveled on before.

Considerate, said 1042.

Seti 639 shook his head as he shrugged and waved the data-pad. Hardly, he said. The colony is too far from our end of the Gate Network to take anything else.

The Gate Network was the most common form of inter-stellar travel and consisted of massive hexagonal structures forming a transport web reaching from one end of the galaxy to the other. Linked through eldritch magic and hyperspace, they allowed extensive distances to be traveled in hours. Unfortunately, depending on the destination, several gates might need to be taken, each days or even weeks apart. Gates connected to a maximum of six others, in no discernible pattern. The small human colony would take five weeks to reach by Gate, but the Director would not tolerate such further delay.

The courier was three-quarters engine; a Fell Drive able to enter hyperspace without a Gate, and would take three days. Fell Drives were incredibly rare and prohibitively expensive, created to order by reclusive Mages in the far corners of the galaxy. The Commonwealth boasted five ships equipped with them, afforded only because the robotic populace had so few needs to spend credits on. Most Fell Drives were installed on dreadnoughts or heavy battle-cruisers, but the Commonwealth had no armada. Instead, they went into couriers and a pair of cargo transports.

The shuttle came down at the hangar and 639 headed in with 1042 beside him. Courier D4-106 was a slick-looking ship; a copper-painted wedge with a diamond motif, parked at a priority dock. It would take off once he boarded. Working with the diplomatic teams guaranteed rapid transit. Seti 639 suspected that getting him far away as fast as possible was deliberate. That, and the Director believing that waiting for results was beneath her. He paused before the boarding ramp, turning to 1042.

Come with? I would enjoy company on the flight, Seti 639 asked. Unnerving conversation aside, 1042's presence was comforting, familiar.

Unfortunately, sir, I cannot. I've much work to see to, said 1042, tone softening. I'm sorry I can't be more reassuring. I can say you won't be alone. The Seti Alpha stand with you. We always have.

See you when I get back, Seti 639 said, as some of the dread filling him leached out.

We await your return, sir, 1042 responded, waving him off.

Seti 639 sent an inquiry ping to the ship. Despite his preferences, it seemed rude to verbally address someone with no voice. The AI responded quickly.

D4-106: What is your inquiry?

Seti 639: Where would you like me stowed?

D4-106: Priority passenger should report to room 2b. Is anything required?

Seti 639: Nothing special, thank you, just a notification when we arrive in broadcast range of the colony Jonson’s Point.

D4-106: Request logged.

The ship powered out toward the edge of the system. Once it cleared the gravity fields of the major planets the Fell Drive would engage and punch an entryway into hyperspace. Getting to an empty bit of a solar system was the time consuming part, as the Drive wouldn’t engage in gravity. The rest of the three days would be spent in hyperspace, reappearing a few hours away from the colony.

***

Seti Alpha 1042 watched until the ship was out of visual range. Turning sharply, he headed back to the shuttle port. Upon boarding, he punched in a destination and waited for the shuttle to protest. A small error symbol appeared and 1042 entered an override code. It took several uncomfortable hours to reach and pass the borders of the Commonwealth. On the opposite side of the small planet, in a valley that didn’t appear on any sensors, the shuttle came down near three-dozen hangars that didn’t exist in its registry. Seti Alpha 1042 began broadcasting immediately to the six Seti Alpha units on site. Seti Alpha 38568 and 2789 met him outside the largest hangar.

We didn't expect you so soon, 38568 said, falling into step behind him.

1042 waved a hand as he walked. Inefficient. Seti 639 is off planet. When he returns, the memory restoration will be immediate, he said, moving between many crates toward the center of the hangar.

Hidden within these rings of crates stood an enormous shape covered by a canvas tarp. 1042 passed under it, waited for the small ramp to descend, and motioned the others to follow. He traveled the deserted and dusty halls blindly, relying on memory. The air of disuse bothered him. 1042 paused before a door, sent a small prayer for the dead to the ancestors of his maker, and opened it. There was a groan of protest from the aged wood, and a squeal of warped metal. The room was exactly as it had been left, without even a layer of dust to mark the years.

We are here for the chest. Touch nothing else, 1042 said.

38568 and 2789 moved cautiously after him. The three of them approached the waist high wooden chest in the center of the room, and arranged themselves to carry it.

Heavy, 2789 commented as they navigated it into the hallway.

1042 shook his head and shifted his grip. Immensely, he muttered. The chest was the weightiest thing he had ever carried, though it had little to do with poundage. He focused on the hallway. This is a mess. What of the others? he asked.

They’re a bit worse; this one gets extra attention, 38568 replied.

1042 wasn't surprised. He began transmitting to the whole Seti Alpha series as they loaded the chest onto the shuttle.

1042: New allocation orders. All available units report to the hangars. This is now our highest priority. Kars zu Vahg, nas Arn.

The orders rippled through them, momentary puzzlement followed by absolute assent. Many immediately left their assigned task, ignoring supervisors and coworkers alike as they made their way towards an old goal.

Seti Alpha 1042 looked back at the red tarp. It was gaping a bit, light glinting off the slick black hull plates of a ship’s wing. A gun port, just visible, declared it anathema to the Commonwealth.

***

Three days of transit gave Seti 639 ample time to study the reports. Pouring through them showed why the Commonwealth desired a data contract with the colony. It was located in a backwater of human space, very close to the border of Commonwealth territory where it butted against the edge of Varken Space.

While the Varken were a species known for their vast trade network, they would not deal with the Commonwealth. The Director's single achievement with the aloof salamanders was a grudgingly signed non-aggression pact. Synthetic life clashed with their state religion. Jonson’s Point was perfectly positioned for trade between the humans and Varken, once they made contact. Having a tech contract in place could give the Commonwealth access to that trade, bypassing the Varken. Typical dealings for the Director, getting things without asking. Regardless, the contract stood to benefit both sides.

The colony’s governing body was in favor. It would provide advanced technology from the Commonwealth in return for sharing any technology they had or may acquire. Very standard and low-risk, with immediate gain. A single holdout, reason not stated, was the only opposition. Said individual was in possession of a controlling majority of the planet's shares, a product of the place's private funding. This gave them veto power beyond the local government's ability to overrule.

Research showed the holdout was Velia Jonson, granddaughter of Terrance Jonson. His company, Furling Mining, funded the colony. It had been named in his honor. Seti 639’s primary objective was to discover why this woman opposed the contract, and either change her stance or find a way around her. Negotiations were preferable, as he disliked underhanded means.

Seti 639 began reviewing the Commonwealth’s data on humans, familiarizing himself with them and looking for possible causes for Velia Jonson’s reluctance. What he found was fairly standard.

Earth government was based on territories linked by overarching laws and regulations. Territories, once countries, elected representatives to the global government, who determined laws by majority vote. The humans had a variety of cultures, quite usual, and an advanced translator system instead of a standard language, unusual but not unheard of. Seti 639 downloaded and installed the translator program. Some enterprising soul had compiled a guide to idiom, for which he was very grateful.

An overview of human history showed an ongoing struggle with distribution of resources. Much resembled the current situation; with one or a few individuals owning the majority of the resources and using them to leverage the rest of the population into compliance. Velia Jonson may oppose the contract because she felt it would upset her power base; possibly a difficult problem. Seti 639 lacked the information to determine if this was truth, or even a negative outcome. It was impossible