SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Pure-tech

She caught the pulse on the fourth ship-cycle out on the plain. He had been chasing her for almost twelve cycles, and she had run out of tricks. She knew she could not outmatch him in pure speed, indeed he was gaining on her fast enough he would catch her within five-twelve’s of a cycle. The pulse gave her hope, not for saving her own life, but for ending his. His sensors were overengineered for hunting, and they wouldn’t be able to detect the pulse at such a low end of the spectrum. She hoped.

She altered her trajectory toward the source of the energy spike, ignoring his transmissions. She had turned off her receiver long ago; she didn’t want to hear him gloat, and there was nobody any distance out past the Sai Ciet range anyway. She started searching for the pulse again, and timed it. To her knowledge, only a singularity had the power to project its presence into overspace. Even as she began to open up the path to normal space, she wondered at the weakness of the energy; it was far weaker than any recorded. Rysthhn would be interested in this, she thought Space phenomena were his specialty.

She could almost feel the other’s confidence as she slowed down as the gate opened back to the real world. I’m glad that abomination doesn’t know what I’m doing. She mentally braced herself for the distortion of spacetime the entry of a singularity into overspace would cause. A few more instants, and both of us will be a handful of atoms a few degrees above space-norm...

In a military spacecraft, in orbit millions of klicks beyond Pluto, a technician and his commanding officer gazed into a heavily shielded bay half-full of equipment.

"It opened up almost all the way that time, sir. I’m sure that next time we can achieve a stable portal towherever that is. But"

"But?"

"I believe that there is something in thatplace. I am almost sure the instruments detected motion. Towards us."

"Yes." The commander stroked his chin. "It doesn’t matter. ‘Almost sure’ is not good enough. If we wait too long this entire procedure has to be started again. Try it again."

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant slowly fed enough energy to power Earth for several years through the complex jumble of wires, crystals, and laser arrays that few knew about and fewer understood.

"Sir. Our portal’s opening...but we haven’t reached full saturation yet!"

" Isn’t that a good thing?"

"I don’t thin..."

To her horror, space was not sucked in, but blown outwards, toward her and her pursuer. A jet of pure energy shot out of normspace and her gate split in half, the two halves spinning out of her control, out of anyone’s control. She screamed mentally as the jet seared her dorsal surface, but had the momentary satisfaction of seeing him speared by the jet of energy, broken into scrap, before one of the errant half-gates slammed into her and dragged her into darkness.

A section of space that, to the naked eye, or even sensitive intruments, looked no different to any other piece, suddenly birthed a half-kilometer starship outside the heliopause.

Three-foot chunks of alien alloy, white hot from their unpowered transition to normal space, slammed through the military spacecraft at 8 million meters per second, impacting the antimatter power source, breaking the containment on the dangerous material.

The three trillion dollar military spacecraft became an expanding ball of ionized gas and liquefied metal.

¤

Megan took off her helmet as she came through the inner door of the airlock. She efficiently doffed and racked the suit, and walked to the messroom. She grabbed some coffee, in a zero-g bulb, and half climbed, half floated to the command area.

"I’ve been telling you Martin, you ought to replace those old mining lasers. That’s at least the fourth time I’ve had to retune that array, and they eat energy like nothing else."

Martin grinned. "That may be true, but with these things I’ll never lack for power if we need bore through, say, tungsten carbide." His grin soured. "Or if we need to defend ourselves."

Megan shook her head, "why would we need defenses? It’s not like anyone has enough money to make piracy worthwhile, and even if they did we certainly don’t have anyone worth stealing."

"Yes to the second, but to the first...let me show you something one of my friends back home sent me"

Martin’s eyes glazed over as he direct-linked to the console. A holographic display popped up, a rotating mesh of lines, symbols, and colors.

"Gee," Megan said, "it looks likes a porcupine that had a love affair with an eel. What is that thing?"

"The designs for an antimatter propulsion system," Martin announced.

"Those things have been floating around longer than we’ve been using fusion, Martin." Megan stated.

"Ah, but this one is different. It got pulled from the military IntelNet."

"Intelnet...? How did...? What makes you think this is real?"

"Because it’s already been built." The pilot said.

"I don’t even want to know. That must be so classified the guy who designed it doesn’t know what it does." Megan shivered. "I’m not sure that talking to your ‘friends’ is a good idea."

Martin grinned. "Finished playing devil’s advocate?"

Megan smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess. It’s not like me saying anything will change what you do. Now," she continued eagerly, belying her previous response, "let me see what you’ve got."

"Well, the reason I was interested in this in the first place is that someone else apparently managed to get the plans." Martin raised his hands. "I’m not a complete expert, but these files were definitely accessed before-and not through the proper channels. I’m not planning to build one, but I think someone else is. Someone not the military."

"What?" Megan hissed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my datasifters found that exact supplies needed for that propulsion system have been ordered. Not by one company directly, but mulitple companies over roughly a one-month period."

"You’ve got damn good datasifts."

"Thank you." He grinned, "I programmed them myself."

He kept on explaining the detailed dataspace in front of them. "You see, every company that bought the equipment is a subsidiary of Alton Industries. These four purchases," he said, highlighting some lines of text on one of the lists he’d called up, "do not have anything to do with the needs of the company. I mean, twenty tons of rhenium alloy for a logistics company?"

Megan sighed. "Exactly how long have you been working on this, Martin?"

He looked up at her. "Almost five years."

"Five! Martin, you’re obsessed!"

Martin shrugged and grinned. "Of course. I’m obsessed with everything. Some things I’m obsessed with longer than others...But I have one more thing to bring to your attention. For your enjoyment, I present the reason why!"

The engineer rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. They’ve found a planet close enough to colonize. No wait, I know, they’re going to meet aliens from outer space."

"Not quite. Remember the Phoenix Disaster?" Martin asked. "Everybody could see the explosion flash, so the military had to say something."

"Mm-hmm. They said they were working on antimatter propulsion" Megan’s eyes widened. "Oh! And that was five years ago too" She looked at him. "Is their stuff still floating around?"

"I don’t know, and I wish I did. But there is something out there. The military cleaned it up, but"

"But?"

"There’s only one telescope that points out that way with the resolution to see anything. And it’s owned by Alton Industries." Martin kept explaining, "The telescope has been pointed that way, like it was tracking something. But the photos on Pubnet don’t show anything. I ran one through my analysis software, and it looks to me like they’ve been doctored. Everything is just too neat. And there is some fairly odd data scrambling right in the middle of the pictures. It’s not random like normal static."

She said to him, "So, you know Alton is building a military-class ship, and has found something, but you don’t know what or why." She threw up her hands. "You and your ‘hunches.’ The infowars are over, you know." Martin’s "hunches" were actually an inborn ability to see emergent patterns in almost any type of data. Augmented by his implants, he could piece scattered data together into a coherent picture. It was by recognizing and harnessing the value of abilities like Martin’s that the Western Coalition won the Information Conflict of 2073.

Martin slammed his fist into the console. "I really want that data, Megan." He looked back at her. "I’ve paid a hacker to get it for me. He should be calling in within the next week."

"You’re going to let him call you at the station? He must be good! And how much does this ‘service’ cost?"

Martin looked into her eyes. "Four million."

"Jesus H. Christ! That’s an entire class two asteroid there, just for some pictures!"

"Spare change, Meg. I’ve done some playin’ around with the stocks."

With the commission from asteroid mining paying better than the best white-collar job, four million wasn’t as much as it seemed. Still, Megan knew it was a hefty chunk of change to spend chasing fairies.

At that moment, a small light went off on the manual console, and a technical overlay replaced the schematics Martin had displayed before. "Ok we’ve played this little asteroid out. Look at this, four hundred tonnes of ytterbium, another thousand of titaniumthis was one heavy little mother."

Martin stood up and data cascaded through the display. He then disengaged and rubbed his eyes. "That’s it, were heading back. I gotta get some sleep." He stumped out of the bridge. Megan followed after.

¤

In the absolute temperatures and weak radiation of space, trillion of tiny doctors, miniature robots, labored over a complex combination of biological, electrical, mechanical, and quantum systems. After a time, after the nanoscopic technicians had done their work, buried subroutines started a trickle, then a flow, of chemicals and electricity across certain channels.

She awoke.

She checked over her self-diagnostic and repair systems. Her gravitic drive worked, if barely. Her forward and ventral sensors were still functional, but her dorsal and aft ones were gone. Several of her upper decks had been vaporized, and she was missing a full seventeen percent of her mass. Most of her reserve raw materials had gone to reconstructing inonized neural pathways. In fact, she noticed with alarm, over a third of her nervous system had been rebuilt. Internal timekeeping had been disrupted so much she did not know long she had been comatose. Whatever that was, it hit me hard.

Well then, time to find out where I am. She cast her remaining senses outward. And outward. She could find no source for the overspace pulses that had attracted her attention. That can’t be right! Where would something with that amount of power be? Unless that gate tossed me somewhere other than what I would have expected

Regardless of how she got where and when she was, she had to find some way to repair her systems or she would be stranded on the far side of the Range for next several million years. As luck would have it, however, she was few light-hours away from a full solar system, rife with resources. There was just one problem. Energy point-sources? Must be artificial. She searched through her database. Fusion? That can’t be good, only get those in a low-tech society. Myriad possibilities cascaded through her mind. She had learned from her stint as transport for xenoarcheologist K’lu’ra*m that low-techs were afraid of high-techs, just as high-techs like her were afraid of pure-techs. To brazenly approach a low-tech society would not be the most intelligent of choices, for them or her. In her present state, she might not be able to defend herself. Guess it’s time for me to be an asteroid. A few pulses from her engines, and she settled into a spiral orbit toward the main belt of the solar system. She also kept one weapon operational, although she hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. Then she shut down her higher functions, as it would take two circuits of the blue-green planet about its primary for her to reach her destination.

¤

Megan strode through the corridors of LaGrange Orbital Station 3, waving at the people she knew and nodding at the few she didn’t. Martin walked beside her, wrapped up in a remote conversation with the chief of the mining operation. She felt a twinge of envy; it would be nice to be able to use an implant. Unfortunately, very few people had the mental capability to use one.

"I was thinking of taking the four-man rig out to sector 118, you know, the place where we got all those high-density mass readings from?"

"Of course someone will need the material. You know, there’s a program in the works to put a Lagrange station by Jupiter? Uh-huh, full station, and you know how much those things take."

Megan was only listening with half an ear. She was keeping an eye out for

"Daryl! There you are." She nudged Martin. "I’ve got to go, Martin. I’ll see you later."

"700 Meg," he said absently, and carried on his conversation with Mining Chief Adam Batesman.

"’Cause I’m the best pilot you’ve got, that’s why, and that section of the Belt isn’t mapped half as well it should be. Yes, of course you can choose who else goes. Yes, I know you’ll only choose the best for a speculative haul. No, I don’t think it would be a good idea to involve them"

"What’s Mr. Davies trying now, Meggie?" Daryl asked as he took her by the arm. He ducked a bit as he steered her down a side hallway. His six-foot-plus frame left him scarce inches from the top of the ceiling.

"He’s playing another one of those hunches of his, that’s all." Megan said, since that explained everything to those who knew Martin.

"Ah. Well. Are you ready for dinner?" Daryl asked brightly.

Megan laughed. "Yes! I’ve been Out for a week and a half, and our rations get rather bland after that long. I always look forward to your meals, though, even if I haven’t been living on preserved food."

"Well, then," Daryl gestured extravagantly. "Right this way, madam. Your meal awaits."

Megan and Daryl walked through a door which bore the label "Daryl W Miles, Ph.D., Professor of Planetology." Daryl’s office was on the outermost deck, so he had the luxury of a .8G room. Megan suspected he had requested it so he could eat his own cooking without the low-gee tools necessary on higher decks.

Daryl led her past his office and into his personal quarters, where he had the table already set. He held the chair out for her, then seated himself opposite.

"Today I have almond-glaze chicken, imported from Luna, and a fresh vegetable medley, since our hydroponics are thriving. Also, sweet potato with marshmallow and pecans."

"Ah, me," Megan said, inhaling the aromas rising from the various dishes, "Smells so good.how do you afford this?" She shook her head, "Don’t answer that. We’re all pretty wealthy up here. I guess I’m just not used to opulence." After a few minutes of silent munching she asked, "So, how is the research?"

Daryl’s ice-blue eyes lit up. "Since you want to know, the ratio of metals in those asteroids you’ve been bringing in show that the Belt had to have been formed from an original planet. The density spread over the outlying sectors"

Megan listened and chewed as Daryl chattered on about his research on the formation of planets and planetoids, and in the back of her mind wondered about Martin’s pet project. Even as her mind began wandering, she started to yawn. "I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought."

Daryl smiled. "Well, it is running on station night, and you’ve probably had a long a long shift. Let me walk you back to your quarters."

"All right. And I will allow you one good-night kiss, no more!"

"Score!" Daryl raised his arm in triumph.

"Hush, you!" Megan smiled.

Daryl escorted her up three decks and across to her room, where he bent down to receive his kiss.

"See you later, hon," Meg said to him, then went into her quarters. She kicked off her boots, then peeled off her clothes and took a sonic shower before collapsing into her bunk.

After concluding his negotiations with Chief Batesman, Martin ate a quick dinner in the commons and went back to his rooms. The message indicator was on, so he activated the message and sat back to watch.

"Happy Birthday Martin!" A sim of Martin’s mother waved at him from the holographic projection screen.

Martin blinked, confused. "Huh? My birthday isn’t for another six months!" Martin muttered. He started to call up the registry data on the message when an androgynous voice interrupted Mrs. Davies’. "Alpha pattern confirmed. Decrypting." The image fuzzed, then re-formed. A false sim appeared instead, that of the archetypal image of Santa Claus. "Here is the data you requested," it said, "It’s downloading now." Then the image winked out. "Uhmmm." Martin said. "Well, that was simple." He looked for any signature on his system to indicate where the message came from, but there was no record. Then he called up the pictures he had spent so much time getting.

The object he was searching for appeared to be a smallish asteroid, with an albedo slightly above the norm. The only thing that set it apart from the rest of the unnamed and unregarded planetoids floating in space was the fact that it broke the laws of physics. Three times during its inward spiral toward the solar system it changed direction. The changes were not major, but only a powered ship could achieve those maneuvers. Its current trajectory, by luck or fate, meant that it would pass through the same area they would be prospecting, 96 hours after they would arriveif he tweaked the flight plan a little.

Chirrl’th reclined in her chair, coordinating information sent from various employees in her department and structuring for resending to the appropriate parties. Ten minutes from the end of her shift, a chime alerted her to a message. The message was given a higher priority than anyone she knew of was capable of sending. Anxiety stirred within her; this message could only come from world government level or above.

She opened the message, read it once, then again. She completely stopped her work to read it a third time. She jumped out of her chair and pirouetted on three legs before returning to her interrupted work. Coworkers stared at her, then returned to their work, vaguely confused.

As soon as she was released from work, she raced down the slidewalk to her habitation. Chirrl’th bounced around the room, humming to herself. She dialed her parents, waiting impatiently as the call went through. The screen showed her mother’s smiling face.

"Ah, Chirrl’th, dear, so nice of you to call. We’re entertaining guests at the moment, so don’t mind if I’m a bit distracted."

"But mother," Chirrl’th chittered, "my request was accepted!"

"That’s nice, dear," said her mother, who obviously had no idea what she was talking about, and then turned to speak to a blue Rytherian.

"I’m – getting –on – board – a – Sua’nor!" She shouted, emphasizing each word.

Both her mother’s head and the Rytherian’s eye cluster turned toward her as if drawn by an invisible string. "You what?" her mother whispered, disbelieving.

Chirrl’th herself didn’t believe it fully. The Sua’nor, the sentient starships that helped hold the galactic civilization together, were harder to meet than royalty. They didn’t require crew, and most of the time preferred not to have other beings around. Most of the time they explored overspace, as only they could, or carried items or persons who were of absolute vital importance. Very, very rarely they were hired as mercenaries.

Most members of the galactic civilization submitted a request like hers as a matter of course; everyone wanted to meet and talk to the Sua’nor. Very few people has a request approved; they were only approved when a particular Sua’nor wanted to talk with that particular person. The fact that she would be able to meet one, and perhaps even travel with it, would completely shift her social and economic status, beyond the simple experience.

"A Sua’nor, a Sua’nor!" Chirrl’th half chanted it. She sent a copy of the message to her mother’s screen. Her mother scanned it, antennae quivering slightly. She looked up again at Chirrl’th and said, "Wewe’d throw you a party, but"

"I leave tomorrow!" Chirrl’th finished happily. She was giddy from the rush of the knowledge; normally she was more sober. After listening to some other stammered congratulations, she cut the link and lay back on her bed, suddenly drained. When the vidphone beeped, she didn’t bother to answer it, instead listening to the message.

"This is Brantth Teuxu, with a message for Chirrl’th Ptertx. I am the head of Datacorps, and I have received the message that you have been accepted for a meeting with a Sua’nor. I would like to inform you that the company will consider this a holiday and we will be happy to have you whenever you get back. Thank you, and congratulations."

Chirrl’th clacked her mandibles together. Of course they would love to have her back. Companies with staff members with Sua’nor experience always looked more impressive. "Receiving, off," she ordered the computer, then lay back and tried to go to sleep. It took a long time, but eventually she drifted off, dreaming dreams of stars.

Chirrl’th walked along the corrider of the space station clutching her carryall, peering out the window, trying to figure out which ship was the Sua’nor. There were all styles of starship; bulbous, lumpy transports, thin, sleek couriers, some stylized yachts, and even the massive wedge of a battleship.

Before she could decide, she reached her destination, a shuttlebay, and walked up to the guards at the door. "Excuse me, my name is Chirrl’th Ptertx, and I..."

"You’re here to see the Sua’nor." One of the guards smiled at her. "Yes, ma’am, just need to see your ID." As she handed it over, she asked, "which one is it? Out there, I mean, I can’t tell"

"That’s ‘cause he’s up above the station." The other guard gestured upward. "He didn’t want to block the traffic lanes. Nice one, he is."

"Yep." The other guard, handed her back her ID, and she realized that they didn’t have name badges on. "What are your names?" She asked as the door hissed open.

"Can’t tell you that, ma’am, sorry." One guard said as he ushered her through. "Have a nice trip," the other added. The door hissed shut and she was alone in the hangar.

In the center of the hanger there was a small shuttle of unfamiliar design. It was a flat black, and the nose of the ship swept back to the aft with no corners or sharp edges. As she approached, a patch of the hull shimmered, and an opening to the interior appeared. With no small amount of trepidation, Chirrl’th went inside.

There didn’t seem to be anything extravagant, simply a Trirr-style couch in the middle of an otherwise featureless space. She sat down on the couch to wait. Almost instantly, the hull blinked and cleared around her. It appeared that her couch simply floating above the deck plating. Moments later, the shuttle had cleared the bay and she was out in space, with a clear view of everything.

Small transports and ‘bots danced about the starships like luminous ti-flies. One courier gracefully slipped away from the station, then accelerated and was gone with the strange visual twisting that accompanied faster-than-light travel. Then she looked up and saw the Sua’nor. It-he, she corrected herself, was huge. He was almost as large as the station itself, the same matte-black as the shuttle, and of similar design. It was a daunting thought that such a being would be interested in speaking with her.

The shuttle drew closer, and for a moment it looked as if she were going to simply crash into his hull, but then there came a shimmer, and she was inside. The hull of the shuttle again became visible around her, and the opening appeared. She slung the carryall over her shoulder and stepped out. She gazed around, looking for a clue as to what to do next.

"Greeting, Sud Sair Chirrl’th Ptertx hiir Thrrl." The voice purred behind her, making her jump, the chitin on her feet clattering on the deck. Not only the suddenness of the greeting startled her, but also the use of honorifics that, while in her family, had not been used for over three centuries. Before she could frame a proper response the apparently sourceless voice continued. "If you would follow the guide"

A soft blue light appeared in front of her and bobbed up and down, then started moving away. Chirrl’th followed it, while the voice murmured in her ear. "You will be shown to your room, where you will have time to eat or perform toiletries while the Sua’nor prepares to exit the system." They were moving down a corridor, well lit and, in contrast the dark exterior, a silver-gray color. However, there were no other beings in sight, and the clicking of her footsteps was the only noise besides the drone of her guide’s voice. "It will take approximately two standard time-parts. At that time a guide will escort you to the terrace."

The blue guideball halted in front of a faint arched line in the side of the corridor, and the substance of the walls slid aside to reveal a spacious room, furnished for a Triir. Chirrl’th entered and then turned to thank her guide, but it had already vanished. The material of the door parted at her touch, but she decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go out wandering.

She wandered around the room, which was furnished, but had no personal touches such as artwork or sculpture. Finding the menu, she dialed sauteed krushnea and ate ravenously; there hadn’t been time for a breakfast that morning. After finishing the meal, she went over to the fresher to get herself ready for the meeting. She stripped off her body harness and gave herself a sponge bath, then polished her chitin with the supplied cloth. Dumping the old harness in the laundry slot, she donned a new one and regarded herself in the mirror. She couldn’t let herself meet the Sua’nor looking even slightly rumpled-although, she reflected, she was inside him already and he had undoubted viewed her at least once since she had arrived.

Preparations complete, she wandered around the room to find something to do while she waited. A set of controls near the mirror changed it, after several tries, to an external view, looking down on the station docks. She watched the slow, graceful dance of interstellar traffic until, after a time, there was a soft chime from the door.

She got up and walked over to the door, suddenly nervous. It opened at her touch, and there was a guide there, seemingly no different from the first.

"Are you ready?" The voice sounded subtly different, but she couldn’t figure out exactly why. She clicked the affirmative and stepped out into the featureless silver hallway. This time, there was an unaccountable sense of motion, as if the floor were moving under her. She started to ask, but stopped as the end of the passageway appeared before her, seemingly out of nowhere. "Welcome to the terrace," the guideball buzzed, and the blank wall ahead of her melted away.

She stepped inside, and whistled in awe. The far wall was completely given over to a view of space. Above her floated a vast projection of the whole of the civilized universe, galaxies and quasars sparkled like gems amid the blackness of space. The terrace itself was massive, large enough to fit a normal luxury cruiser. The walls stretching away to either side were a velvety black, yet finely textured. The ceiling far above had lights sprinkled on it, some of them moved, as if alive.

As she stood there, the air seemed to coalesce in front of her, into an unfamiliar biped. It spoke to her in a strangely resonant voice, "Welcome Sair Chirrl’th Ptertx. I am the Sua’nor Daetrin."

She gasped, and started to kneel, but Daetrin put out a hand to stop her. "Please don’t. I have to endure enough ceremony with everyone else." She stood up, thoroughly embarassed. He smiled at her and said, "come, sit." She started forward, then stopped, wondering how she understood his body language.

"Nanites," he said, answering her thoughts. "You’ve been given a crash-course in this species. Don’t worry about it."

He gestured to some furniture that seemed to be sculpted out of the floor, and had definitely not been there earlier. She sat on the Triir couch, while he sat down on his. He tilted his head back, then asked, "how much do you know about the Sua’nor?"

She blinked, not having anticipated that particular question. "Well," she said, "I know that there are very few of you, that you have some Pure technology, that you’re the only beings that can actually navigate overspacebut other than that, not much."

"Very good," said Daetrin, "but there is a lot that nobody is taught." He looked at her. "For example, the Sua’nor Traalt’x was once a Triir."

"But" she protested, her mind working on this tidbit. "How?"

"Every Sua’nor in existence," Daetrin continued, "was once a normal being. We are not race that reproduces at all quickly; I’m not sure we even can. The Sua’nor are built, not born. When someone is found who can see in overspace, they are made into a Sua’nor." He lifted his hand, light glimmering on his fingertips. "Pure-techs always contribute to the building. Nobody knows why. Otherwise, the finding race bears the brunt of the building. It usually takes the economic output of an entire system." He sighed. "That’s why we are bound to service for a time. We have to make up the price of our creation."

Chirrl’th looked back at him and asked, "Is it worth it?" The question surprised her, she had been meaning to ask something else entirely.