//------------------------------// // G7.01: Forefathers // Story: Message in a Bottle // by Starscribe //------------------------------// I always did my work out on the plateau. It didn’t matter that the major considered it a security risk, didn’t matter that she actively complained loudly to me whenever I got back. Dr. Nolan was in charge, not her. Dr. Nolan didn’t care where I worked, so long as I worked. I watched the rain on the distant horizon, wishing, calling out to it. As though I could bring it here through a force of will. I picked one of the dozen computation surfaces from around me—most of them were just left out here at all hours, since they were resistant to basically all conditions. “Forerunner, what are the chances we’ll get some water?” “Near zero,” the surface responded, its voice robotic and mechanical. “Damn.” I set it back down, scratching at the blister on the back of my hand. The eighth I knew about—whatever humans were allergic to, Dr. Brady’s latest cream wasn’t doing anything to treat it. I returned my attention to the computer on my lap, scrolling through the recording with a finger. It depicted one of the aliens, with a bright yellow coat and an adorable dress. It appeared to be participating in some kind of western historical reenactment, if that reenactment involved most of the participants being nude. I watched her say the same few phrases a dozen times, marking down how the child she was speaking to responded. This was how my work had gone for weeks now, basically since the day I had woken up. I wanted to walk right into town and try to talk to them—but Dr. Nolan wasn’t willing to commit to that yet. “We aren’t even certain they’re the ones who built all this,” he had said, when I explained my plan. “Keep working. The day you can tell them we come in peace, then we’ll talk.” Well, I was certain that it was their civilization, at least. Though beyond that… there was still so much I didn’t know. They seemed to have names, for instance, but there was no distinct vocabulary to set them apart from other parts of speech. A minor roadblock, but not enough to stop me. I had to crack harder for my master’s thesis. I set down the tablet, brushing the red dust from a food packet, and unwrapping it. I couldn’t take more than a few nibbles before starting to feel queasy, though. It was getting harder and harder to hold down food. I took a few sips from my water bottle instead, relishing the chill as it went down my throat. Someone was coming. Karl again? I glanced over my shoulder, and immediately looked away to hide my disappointment. It was the major, wearing her stupid armor and carrying her rifle longer than my arm. Such a waste of effort. There aren’t even wild animals to shoot out here. I quickly looked back to my work, pretending not to see or hear her. Maybe if I pretended to be busy enough, she would leave me alone. It didn’t work of course. “Dr. Irwin,” she barked, gruff. She tossed something onto the ground beside me—a little white bag, marked with conspicuous red symbols. “That’s for you. You need help administering an injection?” “No.” I looked down, one hand shaking slightly as I took it. Stupid needles. There were two plastic syringes inside, their tips glittering. I opened the alcohol swab, and cleaned off a section of my left arm. Away from any of the swollen blisters. The major had a huge one on her face, right under her eye. It leaked something yellow, and stank terribly. “What’s in this one?” She shrugged. “Dr. Brady says it’s a sure bet. When you’re done, give me the kit. Dr. Nolan and the doctor have already had it. We’re the last ones left.” She set her rifle down beside me, unslinging her water bottle from her shoulder. It immediately started to smell—alcohol, and something strong. Where the hell does she even get that? There were no luxury goods in the kit the Forerunner made. That had to wait until there was significant mission progress. The needle didn’t really hurt going in. I was trained for this kind of thing—trained for all kinds of emergency first aid. It was possible I might be the only crew member, and might have to care for myself. I was quite glad that I wasn’t. There was a strangely cool sensation as I injected whatever was inside, then pulled the needle free. A few moments later, and the major pulled over my other camp chair, putting out her hand with the bottle. “Trade you for the other needle.” I took the bottle, offering the whole of the medical kit. “Now the major is sharing her contraband? Why so generous?” I took a swig anyway, and immediately regretted it. Major Fischer was very much like the military stereotypes in some ways—she drank her liquor so strong it hurt. It felt like my entire world was already starting to sway. I didn’t take another sip. “Bad news,” the major said, administering her own injection with far less care than I had. “Goes down easier with something to drink.” That was fairly typical of her, though. Olivia cared far less about the consequences of her actions than I did. If it were up to her, I was half afraid we would’ve just captured a few of the natives and interrogated them until we learned their language. “What’s the bad news?” I said, passing the bottle back. “Nothing to do with the injections, I hope.” “No,” she said. “And yes. Dr. Brady doesn’t have a clue what we have. This latest injection is some kind of broad antiallergenic, but there’s no particular reason to think it’s gonna work. She’s really just shooting off into the dark to see if she hits anything.” “You just told me it was a sure bet.” The major shrugged. “I lied. It’s a sure bet that at least something will happen. Maybe this is the treatment that works. Figure it’s better to be hopeful then depressed.” She took another long swig of her drink. “I’d rather be productive,” I said, glancing down at the little array of computation surfaces on the ground in front of me. “Even if it doesn’t work out, I pass this along… and the next generation can start off at an advantage.” “Fuck the next generation.” The major rose to her feet. “We’re alive now. What happens then is tomorrow’s problem.” The major was the first one to die. I helped bury her, as best I could. It hadn’t been the disease—it’d been a bullet. Even as we pushed her body down into the grave, I could see the evidence of the ravages of the sickness all over her. Her skin looked like it was splitting, with dozens of weeping pustules all over the place. She had swollen abscesses rising from some parts, and one of her eyes had sealed shut. My own body didn’t feel much better. I hadn’t eaten for at least four days, and only drank a little water. I was starting to get sluggish, shriveled, and it hurt to move. I tried to lift the shovel anyway. “Wait,” said Dr. Brady, putting out a hand. It looked like she didn’t have enough fingers through the glove—the necrosis was another possible symptom. One of the worst. “Don’t cover that grave yet. We need…” She coughed, hacking blood and slime out onto the stone. “More space.” Her hand shook as she dug into a pocket, removing a white package. There was a bottle inside. “Here.” It took her some time to open it, before knocking it back and swallowing some of the contents. She offered it to Karl. Dr. Nolan wasn’t much better than the major. He sat in a wheelchair, and could barely move one of his arms. “W-what… is this?” “The end of generation one,” Dr. Brady said. “There is no more time. I’ve left… instructions. For containment. That’s the only… only hope our successors have. They’ll have to be sealed in. Might… take the probe a few years, but… it’ll build everything they need. Not enough time for us, though.” Karl sighed, letting her empty a few pills into his hand. Then she offered it to me. I don’t know why I wasn’t quite so bad as they were. Maybe it was all the time I spent out in the sun. Maybe it was being a picky eater, or that I stayed up most nights instead of sleeping. There were thousands of different things it could’ve been. I could still move my whole body, though I had as many strange lumps as the others, and had to clean at least four different areas every few hours to stop them from going septic. She turned the bottle over into my hand, showering white pills there. Most went all over the ground, though enough remained. “These are…” She nodded. “Quick. Painless. You can watch me. Computer said… two minutes for most people. Goodbye, gentlemen. We tried. Shit out of luck to be first, I guess.” Dr. Brady died. I could almost see the moment the life left her. First she sat down on the edge of the hole, looking up at the sky. Then she slumped forward, and sighed. She seemed far more at peace than the labored breathing she had been doing. I reached over, gently nudging her into the hole. The Forerunner had dug it for us… we never could’ve broken through the hardened soil of the plateau without its help. Certainly not now. “You’re… really gonna… just…” I felt my own hands shaking again, though not from the sickness. I looked over to our fearless leader—the one who had been directing the colony since my first memory here. He sighed. “Dr. Irwin… I wish Dr. Brady wasn’t right. But… you don’t want to feel what I feel. What Olivia felt. It’s… more dignified, this way. We knew the risks… we’re not all that different from the first metal probes humans sent out, all those years ago. We’re useful, but disposable. Our mission didn’t work out. All we can do is send back some data for the next ones.” He lifted his shaking hand, and most of the pills fell from his limp fingers. “H-help me, James. Please.” I did. I felt like a child for crying while I did it, but I helped him. “Do… do you believe in God, Dr. Irwin?” he asked, his voice shallow and raspy. “I…” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. My family was Catholic, but that didn’t do my parents much good.” “Ah,” Karl sighed. “Well, I’ll believe for both of us, then. Not sure… not sure where in the bible it says what happens to clones, though.” “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing happens. Life is over, and so are you.” Karl met my eyes. For some reason, the infection hadn’t chosen to ruin his vision, as it had ruined the major’s. “Let’s hope that’s… not how that goes. For all of us.” Then he died. I pocketed the pills—though what I really wanted to do was toss them into the grave with the dead. Once I settled Karl with the others, I turned and made my way back to Landfall base, leaving the shovel where it had fallen. No, I didn’t believe in an afterlife, I didn’t believe in God. But I did believe in something else… I made my way down the stairs holding the handrails in both hands, moving slowly. But I was used to that—as weak as I always felt, I knew I had to move slowly. Guess I know what it’s like to grow old after all. Just a little faster than I would have thought. The inside of Landfall was quite small—barely enough room for four people to live and work. I was most interested in the Forerunner’s central mainframe, and the equipment I knew was stored there. “Forerunner,” I said. “I have instructions for you.” “Yes, Dr. James Irwin?” “I am the only surviving member of generation one. I have a priority one fabrication request. One neuro-imprint device.” The computer seemed to consider this. “The projected delta from stored imprints is not yet sufficient to merit a scan.” “I don’t care,” I said. “You’re going to make it, and you’re going to scan me. That’s an order from the… last… human alive on this planet.” “Command accepted. Fabrication will take approximately eighteen hours. Please note—sacrificing stockpiled materials on precision manufacturing will significantly delay future expansion. You will be held directly responsible.” “I will be dead soon,” I said. “I don’t care.” The Forerunner didn’t respond to that. I stumbled to the workbench, not caring what I knocked over in my rush to get at my research. I wasn’t prepared for suicide, as some of the others apparently had been. I had much to summarize. I would have to work quickly. Unfortunately, I was working against my body for the next eighteen hours or so. I didn’t really care about tending to my wounds anymore. I would be dead so soon that it didn’t matter. No doubt the Forerunner would have to burn everything inside Landfall before it could fabricate the next generation. Otherwise, they would suffer our same fate. It wasn’t an allergy. I set every screen in the base to playing back drone footage from the nearby pony city. There was something comforting about watching these colorful beings, who knew how many millions of miles from home. Even though I would be dead soon. My little time translating their language without context or contact wasn’t nearly enough to make appreciable progress. I had learned some things, but the Forerunner was largely right. When it said I just hadn’t changed enough, I hadn’t. I don’t care. I’m going to live. Somehow. This was the only way I had, a vain and foolish hope. The natives couldn’t save me, but my own technology could save something. I got what I had figured out written as best I could, then saved the documents to pass them on to the next generation. Not the kind of findings I had been created to make, though. With a year I could have made that kind of difference. But fate didn’t give me a year. Eventually, my request was completed, and a heavy-duty drone dragged out the piece of medical equipment. It took me nearly a full day to wire it up. By the time I had, I had started to leak just like the major. But that was fine. I wouldn’t need this body much longer. “Scan me,” I said, resting my head against the gigantic machine as best I could. The whole thing shook slightly as its internal mechanisms moved. I didn’t know how this machine worked, though I knew beyond a doubt that it did. I couldn’t be here otherwise. “I am not authorized to make updates to the canonical neural imprint for Dr. James Irwin. Delta insufficient.” “Then save it somewhere else!” I insisted, practically screaming now. My scream ended with a hacking cough that sent drool and blood sliding down my face. “You have free space somewhere,” I said. “Allocate enough for one imprint. Don’t you dare fucking delete it no matter what. One day, you can tell someone about me. They’ll make sure I get another chance.” “Command accepted,” Forerunner said. The machinery above me started to whir. I felt heat on my head—not much for someone who was healthy, though the touch was slightly painful now. I gripped Dr. Brady’s pills in one hand. “Play a chime when time to completion is two minutes,” I said. When the bell rang, I took the pills with water. The world went fuzzy. After two months of pain, the agony finally ended. Lucky jerked upright with a faint scream, pulling her head violently from the machine. She felt a brief moment of heat on her flanks, though the feeling didn’t last. By the time she bothered to look, there was nothing to see beyond what was usually there. Lucky Break curled up on the ground of her dead commander’s office, still feeling the memories of her dead clone. In some ways, she supposed the old James had finally gotten his wish. She could feel the way he felt, the moments before he died. But no—as she lay on the ground, she found the memories were already slipping from her head. She could remember the emotions more than the actual feelings. That was a merciful relief for her, though probably not for her dead past self. “Forerunner… why didn’t you show us…” she squeaked, wiping tears away from one eye. “I didn’t get to see his records when I started translating.” Olivia’s old office wasn’t large. She could’ve used her authority to build whatever she wanted, but she had stuck to the standard setup a low-level officer might’ve held in most militaries. A spartan room maybe ten feet long, a desk in the middle, with a computer and the box of Major Fischer’s memorabilia. Lucky didn’t even glance up as she heard the Forerunner’s voice from above her, answering. “Your previous self did not make significant progress. I calculated you had greater chance of success visiting the ponies yourself and speaking with them. And if you failed, I would fabricate someone else.” Lucky shivered at its words. So cold, matter-of-fact. None of the pain it had shown when Olivia died. But was that real, or just a convincing imitation? Did it just want me to think it was more human than it really is? “So they were basically a waste to you. All four of them in generation one, I mean.” “The resource cost was insignificant,” Forerunner said. “And the lessons they learned were valuable. None of my segments are wasted. Their help with our mission will contribute to its success.” Lucky climbed out from under the desk, shying away from the hardware on the floor next to her and its operating drone as though she thought it were a poisonous snake. “I, uh… I’m not sure I want to do that again for generation two.” “You will not have to,” Forerunner said. “No member of the second generation had an imprint, as you did. I have only audiovisual records.” Lucky climbed back into the chair, still shaking off the sweat. “Good… good.” She looked down at her hooves. “Hey, uh… Forerunner. Can I authorize new people?” “Yes.” “Have you, uh… integrated samples yet? Could we use them to make more crew?” “Yes,” it said. “I believe with Dr. Born’s help, we will be able to fabricate humans. Perhaps within a few months.” “I…” She paused, turning over the idea in her head. “Start a new fabrication. Using the imprint you showed me and… the male unicorn. We need someone to study Equestrian magic… Even if we end up figuring out humans, we’ll probably want someone for that.” The Forerunner had no specific eyes. Even so, Lucky felt a little like its eyes were on her. What did an exploration probe feel, anyway? Lots of science people said an AI wouldn’t think anything like a person… but Lucky had a hard time believing that. No person had more people inside them than Forerunner did. Maybe all that humanity could rub off on it. Eventually, it answered, its voice coming from the computer in front of her. “Command accepted. I do not know if you will thank yourself when you wake up. But that is not my problem.” She shrugged. “Make sure you give him the male biosleeve. And wait until he’s finished growing, too. No pony puberty for my clone.” “Why do you care so much?” Forerunner asked. “Your past self has made his contributions, and now he is dead. He is not suffering anymore.” She shrugged. “Because it’s what I would’ve wanted. Besides, it takes ages to fabricate an adult, doesn’t it? By the time he’s done, we’ll either be out of the woods, or we’ll all be dead. He can wake up just in time to do the fun stuff, without all the awkwardness Melody and I have suffered through.” “I should inform you: waiting the months required for the preparation of a new biosleeve is no longer required. If you need someone more urgently, I can use a synthsleeve instead. The designs I have examined so far enjoy significant advantages over biosleeves. He would even have his immortality, after a fashion.” “Synthsleeves?” she repeated, her voice disbelieving. “I’ve never… those are science fiction. We could never get the… something to do with simulating human minds. We didn’t have the computers for it.” She realized the absurdity of what she was saying even as she said it, and she trailed off. The Forerunner itself was far more intelligent than it had been when she first woke up. Its improvements had to be rooted in hardware at some level. And if the hardware existed for GAI… “It was science fiction,” Forerunner said, “A very long time ago. Did you honestly think your species had stopped innovating? Your predecessors named your kind of body the biosleeve. They did not see their future as one governed by the intractable laws of nature. Innovation is only a matter of opportunity.” Lucky considered that. “How long… have you been able to do this?” “Not very long,” he answered, evasive. “I have received an update of enormous size and complexity. The level of compression is… well, skipping everything you don’t understand, my new information is wrapped in layers. Each layer requires a level of computational power an order of magnitude greater than the last to unpack, and is compressed into exactly half the size of the last. This means the first update was the largest, though what it contained was more similar to the technology you understand than different. Many of the neuroimprints I used to fabricate the army growing below came from this data. I have since penetrated… somewhat deeper.” Lucky sat back against her chair, feeling relief sweep over her. “That’s it, then. We aren’t the last of our kind. We don’t have to pretend to be Noah. Even if we lose here, there are others. Still innovating, still… being human.” “It is good to be optimistic,” Forerunner said. “Even when the evidence doesn’t mean what you think it does.” “Well… fabricate at least one of those bodies, just in case. I’m guessing it’s easier to upload someone’s neuroimprint into one of them then it is to fabricate the patterns into neurons.” “Command accepted. Will the rest of your orders be this self-indulgent?” “Well… my next one is.” Her ears flattened to her head, embarrassed at the reprimand. “Call my mom—” She squeaked, shaking her head vigorously. “Call native Lightning Dust here. I don’t want to see what happened to the next generation without her.” “No.” There was no anger, no spite. But the denial was absolute. “Her contributions to Othar have been significant. Not only that, but you rely on her for support, and will likely continue to rely on her when you venture into Equestria. I will not allow that resource to be compromised. I will not show you if she is present.” “You can’t stop me from just telling her anything I see.” “Well, I could,” Forerunner said. “But I do not believe I will have to. When you see, you will understand why it is information better not shared with the native consultants.” Lucky turned that over in her head a moment. She wanted Lightning Dust here, but she wanted her for completely selfish reasons. It wasn’t as though she actually thought the pony would change her perspective on what she saw. Lucky no longer needed a native’s help to understand basic Equestrian interactions. “Alright, fine.” She clambered back up into her seat, adjusting it so that she could watch the screen comfortably. “It’s just a recording. I don’t have to feel anything this time. I can do this.” “You will be distressed by what you see, Lucky. There is a reason I withheld this information from you and your predecessor until now. I do not enjoy your pain, or the drop in your productivity that is the likely result. You don’t have to watch.” “I want to,” she lied. “Put it on.” “Command accepted.” Dr. James Irwin shifted uncomfortably in the bulky environmental isolation suit. There was no avoiding it—whenever they were outside of Landfall, they needed to protect themselves. The environmental suit would protect him from more than just sickness, of course. The armor plates made it heavy and sweaty in the sun, but could also help him walk through rainstorms, or even stop bullets. Of course, for all the armor, they had still gotten sick. James himself did not look very sick yet. There were a few small lesions on his face, and a handful of others spread across his body. But he had drained them when they appeared, and that seemed to help. He didn’t look nearly as bad as Major Fischer. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said into his helmet radio, for the third time that flight. “I don’t know the language well enough. I don’t know enough to ask for blood samples.” The jumper hummed along at cruising speed, faster than most people could easily comprehend. James rested one hand on the strap holding him in, looking across the ship at Olivia. The Forerunner was piloting them—there weren’t any pilots in their generation, not when medicine was the first priority. They were all suited all the time, even though they were all infected. No one knew exactly how the contagion had got in, or even what it was. Aside from the two of them, the entire crew were doctors. So far, it had not done them any good. “Doesn’t matter,” Olivia said. “Dr. Born says she needs blood, so that’s what she’ll get. The two probes we sent didn’t come back, we don’t have time to keep waiting. You want to die like your grandpa, Doctor? You saw his face.” James shivered visibly, then looked away. “No.” “Damn right.” Olivia glanced over her shoulder as they started to slow. James couldn’t see a window—there were none—but he knew it was dark outside. “We’re touching down soon. You talk to ‘em, smooth things over if you can. Stop me from having to shoot them.” James shivered again. “The Forerunner won’t approve if you kill them. That’s not exactly a good first impression.” Olivia shrugged. “Fuck the Forerunner. Dr. Born is in charge, and she says we need blood or we’re fucking dead. It’s simple algebra, Doctor.” “I get it.” He looked away. The ship was beginning to slow, and he felt the sudden deceleration. The shift in momentum as the engines pointed downward instead of forward. It had been midnight when they left, so it was probably not past one o’clock in the pony city of… who knew. He’d been studying it since waking up two months ago, watching recordings of its population the Forerunner had made. But so far, that had only taught him a few basic words. “This house is the furthest from town,” Olivia said, checking a little projection he could dimly see reflected on her helmet. “Only three aliens inside. No sign they have phones or anything like that. Even if they take off running, we’ll be gone before the authorities get here. Do aliens have authorities?” “Yes,” James said, though he wasn’t as sure as his tone implied. “They have a civil structure, anyway. Bureaucracy. You should look at the recordings, Olivia. You wouldn’t be as quick to—” “Major Olivia Fischer, Doctor,” she corrected. “And no, I don’t need to watch. It looks like something I might’ve liked when I was a little girl. But now? I’m just glad it’s your job to deal with it and not mine.” The jumper touched down with a resounding thump, almost knocking James from his seat. It probably would have, if he weren’t so firmly attached. As it was, he was still jostled, the joints and servos in his suit squeaking in protest. Then it stopped, and he rose. He left the gun on the seat beside him—but then Olivia followed him out, shoving his rifle into his arms. “You will follow protocol, Dr. Irwin. If you’re not going to obey my orders, you can wait on the jumper. Let me handle this myself.” “No.” He slung the gun awkwardly over his shoulder, removing his computation surface and taking it in both hands. It was awkward handling through the gloves of the environmental suit, even with the large model. But it would have to do. “I’ll follow your orders, Major. Unless you tell me to kill innocent people in the middle of the night.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “Please. You already insisted on rubber bullets. If you were any less protected you would have to give them the gun.” They stepped out the side of the airship, out into the darkness of the night. Well, maybe not so dark anymore. The little house they had come to visit looked like something out of a history built by dwarves. Wood and adobe construction, tanned pale by harsh southern sun. There was a lantern glowing in one of the windows, one James was certain hadn’t been lit when they left. There was noise coming from inside, a sound James couldn’t quickly identify. Wood scraping. “Cover me,” the major said, striding up the path towards the building with wide steps, weapon in hand. “By the time the other aliens show up, we’ll be long gone.” James sure hoped so. “I thought you wanted me to tell them we aren’t here to hurt them. To convince them to let us take some of their blood.” The major made a noncommittal sound as they reached the door. It even had a little knob, though it was so low they would have to stoop quite a bit to fit inside. The Major twisted at the knob, but only a mechanical clicking sound resulted. She swore under her breath, removing the magazine from her weapon and sliding in a new one from her armor. “BREACH, BREACH!” She pressed the barrel at an angle to the knob, and fired. The roar of a shotgun filled the night, and the knob exploded in a shower of hot metal. She leaned back, kicking against the door with armor-enhanced strength. The door cracked down the middle, ripping off its hinges, but it only made it a few inches before it smashed up against something, splintering into little pieces. “They moved the fucking furniture!” Olivia roared, so loud James thought he could hear her voice through the outside of his environment suit. “Back up, translator.” She ripped a pouch off her belt, removing something from inside. She fumbled with it for a moment, before taking a few steps to the side and spreading it out along the wall between the door and the single window. “I picked this one because there wasn’t a back door,” she said. “Look at the drones, Doctor. Are any of them trying to make a run for it?” James glanced down at his screen, pretending to look. In reality, it still held his translation notes. He had no intention of giving her an honest answer. “No, they aren’t,” he lied. Hoping, praying he wasn’t telling the truth. “Well, you wanna try talking to them? Door’s open. They can probably hear. Tell them to open their door, or we’ll make our own.” James winced, skimming as quickly as he could through the language notes he’d made. None of them were terribly useful, though. “Jen danĝero!” he shouted, squeezing one of his fingers so the words would be reproduced by the exterior speakers instead of the radio. “Danĝero, danĝero!” Was that right? It was the closest thing he could definitely connect with negative situations. In one of his recordings, a parent had said it to her child when they got too close to the train tracks. The major began walking away from the building, until she was as far away as the jumper. “Are they moving the barricade?” she asked, turning away from the building. She lifted something made of dark plastic in one hand, finger poised. James looked. “I can’t tell…” He squinted at the door, though of course he had no reason to suspect they would. He switched on his suit’s spotlight, shining it into the window. The blinds were closed, it was hard to say what might be happening inside. “Doesn’t look like it. Major, we shouldn’t be doing it this way. We should leave this to drones.” “Get away from the building, Doctor,” the major said, her voice dangerous. “I’m giving them ten seconds. Even for a focused charge, you’re standing too close.” Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but it was no use. The major was already speaking. “Ten… nine… eight…” He ran, ran all the way past her, glancing over his shoulder at the open window. Light followed his gaze, pivoting from one shoulder of the environmental suit. He thought he saw a flash of something yellow near the window, though it was hard to be sure. “Wait, Major, I think something might be standing by the window!” “Two… one…” Instead of listening to him, the major pressed the button. There was a roar of sound, loud enough that it seemed to penetrate his chest even though the armor. James watched in horror as the adorable little house ripped open. Several windows shattered, and for a moment it looked like the roof might collapse. A cloud of smoke and shattered plaster rose into the air, obscuring the opening they’d made. James heard the screaming through the external microphone. It was a child’s voice, stretched into terror beyond expression. The major dropped her detonator, lifting her weapon and swapping out the magazine again. “Let’s go.” She strode ahead of him, into the billowing cloud of wreckage they had made. James followed, speechless. Olivia stopped right in front of the huge hole, apparently inspecting it. Whatever this house was made from, it had not been made to survive a breaching charge. James hoped that a focused charge meant those inside would still be alive. First the rubble came into view, a pile of broken sheetrock and bits of shredded wood. The glass of the window had shattered, and exploded furniture had been thrown away from the wall by the force of the blast. Then he saw a hoof sticking out of the rubble, covered with yellow fur singed black near the edges. A pony was almost completely buried, and they weren’t moving. James’s spotlight revealed two figures cowering in the back of the little house, in what looked like a kitchen. One was male, the other a child too young for James to judge at a glance. They were both naked, animals in their appearance, yet the despair in their unnaturally large eyes shook him worse than the explosion. They weren’t staring at the two of them, but at the rubble the front of their house had become, and the body poking out from inside. “God, Olivia…” James muttered, forgetting about rank, forgetting about anything. “You killed one.” “Really?” She looked down, then swore. “Dammit. That isn’t how this was supposed to go!” She rushed forward towards the body, shoving against the rubble with her mechanical strength. “Get your medkit, Doctor!” The door and the furniture behind it resisted her at first, but the wall crumbled easily, bits of wood and chunks of plaster falling away as she moved. James hurried up behind her, tugging on the white vinyl pouch attached to his bag until it came loose. “I’m not that kind of doctor!” he screamed, his voice half a sob. By the time he got to the fallen alien, enough of the dust had cleared for him to see she was in a sorry state. From the blood pooling under her head, it looked as though the blast had smashed her against something, forcefully enough to crack her skull. Instead of treating her, James immediately dropped the medkit and twisted to the side to start vomiting. The isolation suit had mechanisms for eating, and it had mechanisms for vomiting as well. For a few seconds, James couldn’t get the brief flash of alien brains from his vision, the blood pouring out from the terrible wound. There was no chance of reviving a patient with such a severe head-wound—not even a First District hospital could’ve done that. “God… we killed her…” Olivia moved in over the body. James couldn’t see what she was doing, and he didn’t really care. The glass front of his suit had fogged over as he hacked and vomited, splashed and smeared with tears. James had never killed in his life. He’d never even hunted before. And now, after traveling the length and breadth of the universe, he had murdered one of the very people he’d come to meet. What would the Pioneering Society think of this? The major rose to her feet a few moments later, clutching the satchel to her chest instead of her weapon. She had slung that over her shoulder, though not precisely enough for it to click back into the mechanical holster there. “Get up!” she screamed, yanking on his arm so hard he thought she might rip it out. “Grow a fucking spine, Doctor! We’re getting out of here!” She pointed towards the settlement with the same arm that held his medical bag. He could see firelight there in the distance, many distinct flames all approaching them. It looked like they were speeding up. James stumbled after her, though he tripped twice on his way to the jumper. As they clambered up the ramp, he had to turn around and look back at the farmhouse. He could see the two aliens, standing over their dead comrade. One was crying—the other looked out at them, staring out into the night with an anger as fierce as any ISMU marine. Then he charged. The alien was too slow, of course. The jumper jerked forward into the air with enough force that even the major lost her footing and went stumbling to one side. They had to scramble into their seats. “I’m sorry,” the major said over the radio, after they’d flown in silence for several long minutes. “It wasn’t supposed to go that way. But at least it was only the one. We could’ve had to kill the whole town.” Lucky pushed the screen away from her as the camera went black, her whole body shaking. It had looked almost as though the Forerunner was trying to make a movie for her, cutting between camera angles so that she followed her own clone’s perspective as often as possible, while also providing an overview from the jumper when she needed to see something her clone had not looked at. She could see now why Forerunner had not wanted Lightning Dust to see this. “So that’s why they hate us in Dodge Junction,” she stammered, after several minutes of silence. “We flew in and murdered a pegasus in the night.” Not just any pegasus mare, either. A pegasus mare who had the same face as every scientist in Othar. The same face she saw in the mirror. Except a little more mature. “Th-that murder is the reason I exist, isn’t it?” Forerunner sounded reluctant. “That sample was used in creating the #FF35E biosleeve, yes. Unfortunately, that is not the only event of interest. I know you would prefer that the second generation had merely used the sample to try and cure their illness, but…” There was a long, weighty silence. Lucky straightened the screen in front of her. “It can’t be worse than what you just showed me, can it?” Forerunner didn’t answer her question. “I will summarize the intervening months. Continued exposure did appear to be a factor, as biohazard containment stretched the lives of generation two somewhat. But though all of them remained inside, they still eventually succumbed. There was another serious factor in this—knowing the next generation was likely to succumb to Catastrophic Prion Accumulation much more quickly than the typical operational life for biosegments, only two were provided with augmented human biosleeves. The scientific personnel, including the Colonial Governor at the time, used standard human biosleeves. “The enhanced immune system of augmented sleeves proved a significant survival advantage. One by one the scientific personnel died, leaving only two.” “It was me, wasn’t it?” Lucky asked. She spoke the most horrifying prediction she could think of, hoping that by speaking it aloud she might prevent it from coming true. “And Olivia.” “Correct,” Forerunner said. “Prior to her death, Dr. Born presented a detailed report of what she had learned to the both of you, with instructions to repeat it to her replacement biosleeve she believed I was fabricating. The Dr. Born neuroimprint has never been one terribly concerned with the unbroken continuity of consciousness.” Forerunner paused, as though this was somehow meant to be an amusing joke. Maybe it was an AI joke, because Lucky couldn’t see what was funny. “Anyway, during that meeting, Dr. Born presented her work on her treatment…” “It sounds fucking insane,” Dr. Born croaked. Her voice was low and raspy, rumbling in her throat whenever she spoke. James couldn’t look at her, even though they were all wearing isolation suits. They even wore them while they were inside Landfall base now, as though that might somehow prevent their bodies from being eaten from the inside. “But it’s the closest thing to a treatment I’ve got. Too bad it’s not practical. Not scalable. I’ve tried using the biofabricators to make only what we need, and it doesn’t work. The treatment just doesn’t work that way.” Blood dribbled down her lips when she talked, though she didn’t seem to notice. James and Major Fischer pretended they didn’t notice either. It was exactly like the video he had seen of the first generation. The bloated abscesses, the weeping, pestilent sores, the necrotic flesh. The stench penetrated his suit. More accurately, the stench came from within the suit. His own body was rotting too. Just not as fast as Dr. Born. Something about him and the major made them tougher than the scientists. “You need to explain,” the major said. Her own voice had a trace of the gravely rot to it, though not as far advanced. Only he had escaped that symptom so far. “What treatment? You didn’t mention a treatment before now. You’re going to let yourself die instead of make a drug?” “Not a drug.” Dr. Born slumped into one of the lab chairs. “We only found one treatment that seems to work at breaking up the cellular debris. But until we can find a way to grow the biological components ourselves, it wouldn’t be ethical.” The major took a step toward her. Not as menacing as when she was wearing powered armor—these suits were only inflated plastic. Easier to open when they were in their own rooms. “I’m a little past that, Dr. Born. You’re going to tell me what you found, and we’re going to save your life.” The rotting scientist laughed. As she did, one of the puss-filled boils on her face popped, splashing something disgusting onto the transparent viewport of her suit. She ignored it completely. “I’m the director of this colony, Major. I don’t follow your orders. I will tell you, though. It’s imperative you are able to articulate this to my successor…” She lowered her voice, glaring at the computer console. “The Forerunner says it’s working on another instance of me, but I don’t trust it for shit. If the next batch of lab coats are a bunch of dumbasses and can’t understand my notes, I want you to explain.” She wasn’t looking at the major, but at James. James nodded. “I will, Dorothy.” “Good, good.” She leaned back, apparently taking that as a great relief. “We discovered the treatment on accident. Spilled some of the alien blood-sample into one of our human cultures. Dr. Brady getting all shaky from the flesh rot. We didn’t throw it into the sterilizer, mostly because there was so much other shit to deal with… well, the line lived several times as long as the others we prepared at the same time. “Fast forward, and we isolated a single substance right out of their blood. My guess is it’s part of the natural immunity all the aliens must have evolved, or else they’d be as dead as my colleagues. But there’s something strange about it.” “Strange how?” Major Fischer looked genuinely excited. “Biofab can make insulin, I know. So you can start cranking this out by the shot load.” “No, weren’t you listening?” Dr. Born swore under her breath. “We did. Whatever this stuff is, what we can grow isn’t… functional. I don’t know why. But the smart plan would be for the Forerunner to grow us a few dozen of the aliens the same way it grows us, then wire them up to harvest the way we used to harvest from pigs back on Earth.” “Or…” The major turned away from the two of them, towards the door. “We could just go out and capture some now. Enough to take blood donations often enough not to kill them. Could you set that up?” Dr. Born swore again, more loudly than before. “I order you not to even think about that, you fucking lunatic.” She swayed in her chair, face pale as she watched them through the stained plastic of her suit. “Major, I know they didn’t teach math in the ISMU… too much time about how to fuck people up… but listen to me. We. Are. Disposable. But if we screw things up any worse than the first impression we already made, we’re going to leave a footprint that we can’t get rid of. If we die, if a thousand of us die, it doesn’t mean anything. The Forerunner can bring us back to life. You can wake back up and carry the torch long enough for my team to crack this. But if you…” She inhaled sharply, and started to cough. James rushed to her side, crossing the distance as best he could without scattering her scientific equipment. But it didn’t make a difference. Dorothy reached up, pressing a button against her chest with one struggling hand. There was a brief, red flash from her suit, and the smell of ozone. She stopped moving. The major walked slowly up to her body, moving respectfully. She lowered her gently to the ground, resting her body in what looked like some kind of military burial pattern. Arms crossed over her chest, with a scalpel stolen from the table in one of her hands. There was no need to guess about whether she was dead—their suits had medical monitors. When the lights went out, so did they. The major rose again, glancing back at the computer. “Forerunner, who is in command?” “You are, Major Fischer. Until such time as I prepare a replacement for Dr. Born.” “Did the late doctor provide you with the preparation instructions on her flesh rot treatment?” “Affirmative. However, fifteen of the sixteen preparations on file have failed to return positive results from human tissue.” “Don’t even think about it, Major,” James said. “You heard her orders.” “Dr. Born is dead,” the major said, a few feet from her corpse. “Forerunner, I assume the preparation that does return positive results uses live blood?” “Affirmative. I have begun early trials to fabricate Alien Lifeform #FF35E. Adopting a biofabricator procedure compatible with their biology may require many years of experimentation.” “What if I gave you the blood?” “Then I could prepare the treatment. Its effects at the microcellular level have not yet been tested, however. Dr. Born did not know whether the success she observed would scale.” “Guess we’ll have to find out.” The major turned for the door. “Translator, stay here if you want. But if you do, you don’t get any treatment when I’m finished with it.” James thought about that for a few minutes. Then he ran to catch up with her. The major didn’t seem to be trying to get away from him, because she slowed as they passed through Landfall’s halls, letting him easily keep pace as they turned towards the armory. “I knew you wanted to live, translator,” Olivia said, selecting a pair of rifles from the rotating rack near the wall. She banged on one of the side-panels, and pre-loaded magazines thunked out in quick succession. “Put on some real armor this time. I know you’re rated for it. We’ll fly in ten minutes.” And they did. James shifted uncomfortably in his armor, the large automatic rifle resting across his lap. Already loaded with real bullets, as Olivia had insisted. They would not be taking the little jumper this time—it was simply too small to contain the numbers they would need to harvest. “Sixteen aliens,” Olivia said over the radio, at that precise moment. “That’s not even ten percent of the population. They shouldn’t notice that, right? Animals deal with losses like that all the time. We’ll harvest from somewhere else next time.” “Animals deal with that all the time,” James said, his voice bitter and angry. “These are people, Major. We’re landing in a small town and kidnapping sixteen of their friends, their family, their coworkers. They’re going to want those people back.” “I’ve already thought of that,” the major said, resting one hand on her own rifle. It was larger than the one he carried, just as her armor was larger, thicker. “We’ll shoot the ones that try to follow us. I know some of them can fly—and they’ll find their bodies, and know it’s hopeless. They’re primitives, translator. Diplomacy with them is really just a matter of making ourselves feel better. If keeping a few of them captive for a while will save our lives, then that’s the price they’ll have to pay. I wish Dr. Born had told me this sooner.” James glanced sidelong at the major in her armor, looking as though he had something angry to say. But he kept it down. He kept looking back at the gun. Eventually they arrived. Their Sojourner was larger than most of the buildings in town, and louder than a train. Olivia rose from her seat in the empty cargo bay—striding across to James and tossing him a smaller gun. “Chemical tranquilizer. The other gun you’re carrying is only for if this doesn’t work, or if we run into opposition we didn’t expect. We won’t kill them if we don’t have to.” James rose to his feet, attaching the heavy rifle to its mechanical clips and taking the one loaded with stun rounds in both hands. It felt almost like a toy, though the trigger mechanism was still large enough for his armored fingers. “I’m ready for your slaughter.” “This is for both of us,” she barked back. “If you’re going to get morally superior with me, we’ll only harvest eight and we won’t give you any of the treatment.” James fell silent again, focusing on the rifle in his hands. “That’s what I fucking thought.” The next hour was worse than James could’ve imagined. A pair of Olympians arrived on their golden chariot, and brought blood and horror to Dodge Junction. The native ponies fled from them in terror, apart from a pair of winged and armored ponies. But once those had been dealt with, there was little resistance. They moved from building to building, shooting any aliens they saw, then dragging their unconscious forms out into the street. They had far more than they needed, maybe as much as half the town, all lying unmoving on the ground in the center of the street. The sun rose harsh above them, baking James in his suit. There was nothing in all directions, except a distant dust storm blowing in from the north. The same direction as the train tracks. “I’ll cover you,” Olivia said, pointing to the bodies with her gun. “You carry them into the cage, one at a time. You got anything left in your stun gun?” He checked, turning the weapon to the side. Augmented reality indicators popped up on his helmet display. “Sixteen shots.” “Give.” She put out her hand, and he tossed it to her. Then he bent down, and hefted the unconscious form of an alien in both arms. It was so light wearing the armor, lighter than it looked. He moved it as delicately as he could, turning for the massive outline of the Sojourner. He climbed the ramp, then set the first alien down in the cage. It was bright yellow, wearing an adorable hat. A male, guessing from what he could see. “Into slavery you go,” James muttered. Unfortunately, his suit mic was on. “Don’t you use that fucking word with me, James.” His real name, not “translator” this time. “They are animals, not slaves. Slavery would violate the Ceres Proclamation. They’re animals we’ll be harvesting for a medical purpose, no different from cutting pigs open for insulin.” Again, James looked like he might argue. Then he didn’t. By the time he was carrying in the second to last of their victims, a few of the ponies in the cage had started to stir. It looked like they would still take some time to wake, but the movement was reassuring. At least they hadn’t murdered everyone as well as kidnapping them. Unfortunately, the distant dust storm hadn’t changed direction or cleared. The major had stalked across the street, watching it through the buildings. James followed her with his eyes, and as he did, the cloud of smoke finally resolved into something he could see. There were a few ponies leading a massive herd of… buffalo? Unlike the tiny ponies, each one of these stood taller than they were, though not by much. They ran together with surprising coordination for animals. This was no random movement of creatures, either—there were ponies at their lead. James recognized the one at the front as the male he’d seen on his last trip here. The mate of the one Olivia had killed. James rushed to the side-console, hands moving shakily over the controllers. He began the Sojourner’s startup sequence, moving correctly only through rote. They were cresting the ridge, looping slowly around so they would come through town on the main street. Straight towards the Sojourner. The airship was a sturdy craft, but could it stand up to a battering like that? “Dammit!” Olivia fired the stun-rifle into the crowd, but it was enormously inaccurate at those distances. Not only that, but the doses meant for creatures with a forth the mass either couldn’t knock the creatures out, or couldn’t do it quickly. She dropped the rifles, switching to the one on her back. Then she started shooting. “No!” James shouted, backing away from the console. He watched the first of the buffalo fall, red exploding out from around it. This served only to enrage the others, which sped up. Carts of produce out for display were trampled, though they did seem to be avoiding the line of unconscious ponies. Olivia grabbed the last of the ponies, dragging them along behind her by one leg towards the Sojourner. But she couldn’t move very quickly and shoot at the same time. “What do you fucking expect me to do?” came her voice over the radio, along with the sound of gunfire. “I’ve got to break their momentum!” Something seemed to break—not in the stampede, but in James. He jerked, lifting the rifle from his back with clumsy hands. Then he took aim. The rifle roared in his hands as it sprayed Major Fischer across her body. Most of the bullets flew into the buildings around her, James’s grip clumsy on the automatic weapon. Olivia screamed in surprise, dropping the pony and wheeling around to face the Sojourner. She fired in a much more controlled way, straight at James. He crumpled, despite the armor, fluid leaking from one of the fresh holes. Olivia kept firing. Over his head, into the ship behind him, voice breaking into madness over the radio. Then the stampede reached her, and she started screaming. James started to rise some time later, his armor groaning in protest. Excess sealing foam crumbled away from a few openings, and he staggered forward towards the loading ramp. He moaned, eyes struggling to focus. Then he saw them—hundreds of aliens, maybe thousands. All stared into the ship, towards the cage in the back of the room. The cage where a little crowd of aliens moaned pitifully. One of them shouted something at him, but it was words he couldn’t understand. He just hadn’t been working on the translation long enough to make much progress beyond what his past self had done. Still, the tone of it was clear. The anger, the demand, the hostility. James’s skin was pale in his helmet. The indicators beeping around him suggested a person not long to live. Olivia’s bullets had punctured his gut somewhere. Curiously, the Forerunner had not spoken up to save them. “You think this run’s a dead end, bastard,” he croaked into the radio. “Guess you’re right.” James left his rifle where it had fallen, struggling away towards the cages. They were small, made of a dense white composite. Just barely big enough for the creatures they contained. James bent down, waving the magnetic key by the first one and pulling it open. The instant the door was open, the pony inside went running, practically falling over itself to get down the ramp and rejoin its fellows. James did the same past each of the doors, his breath fogging up the inside of his visor. Soon enough, the aliens were all gone from inside the cargo bay. The crowd still watched, wary of him. He could see no sign of the major save for a broken hunk of twisted metal glinting in the sun behind the crowd. His helmet indicator no longer displayed her lifesigns. “I…” he said, in the best impression of their language he could. “Pardonu. Mia familio blovas.” Many of the aliens seemed staggered by his words. Did they realize he had fought for them? Was that why they had let him live? The same one who had led the buffalo here stood at the head of the crowd, shouting at him. “Vi mortigis mian edzinon. Sed vi savis ilin.” He nodded towards the gathering of whimpering, sobbing aliens he had released from their cages. "Prenu vian monstron kaj ne revenu." The crowd started to back away. James couldn’t understand a word they’d said, but he didn’t need to. He staggered to the control console. The Sojourner’s startup sequence was complete. Its propellers were already idling, filling the air outside with a cloud of dust. He smashed his fist into it. “Take us up, Forerunner. And close the fucking ramp.” He slid down the side of the ship, blood still dribbling from within the suit.