G4.05: Collect Call
Many miles away, the Forerunner Probe was hard at work. The standard living quarters it had fabricated would not suffice for the needs of this next team, given every previous failure. But information it had gained from its last attempt, along with significant increases in the availability of resources as its infrastructure grew meant it had the power to be more ambitious.
In the central hall, five biofabricators still hummed. Their occupants were far from completely formed, though much of the skeletal system and the forerunners of organs were in place. Adult-sized skeletons this time, thanks to a breakthrough in the biological understanding of Alien Lifeform #FF35E. But this generation wasn’t the most numerous the Forerunner Probe had ever manufactured, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Even as its next crew grew in their tanks, the probe removed a false wall it had installed blocking access to the hanger. While an army of little drones cleared away the dust, slightly larger limbs gathered up human-sized pressure suits and rolled them over to the recycler, along with numerous personal effects it had been storing in the human-sized crew quarters attached to the hanger bay.
Building deep underground had not protected those who had lived here, and it did not now protect their last traces from being stripped into their constituent molecules and recycled.
The Forerunner Probe made no moral judgements as it fastidiously erased any trace of previous occupancy from its corridors and quarters. It was simply a matter of weighing probabilities—in this case, the likelihood of persistent psychological trauma and unacceptable loss in performance was in the high forties, far too high to be worth considering.
So, the probe took great pains to repair every trace of wear and tear on the single Albatross. Broken glass could be repaired, bullet-holes filled in with composite, and shredded armor panels replaced with new ones. New, lower ceiling panels could even be added to the interior to give its alien biosleeved crew the illusion that their airship had been purpose-built for them.
It wouldn’t be long now. The Forerunner Probe would accomplish its mission regardless of the cost in fabricated lives. If its latest plan didn’t work out, it could always make more.
* * *
James waited many hours alone in the empty house. She tried to use the time productively, continuing her study of the textbook and what it contained. But despite her natural talents, despite her gift with languages, her brain could absorb only so much in any one sitting before each unfamiliar word sounded alike.
She spent a few minutes playing with her collapsible guitar, expanding it to full size and trying to squeeze out something like music. But just like every time she’d tried before, her hooves just didn’t have the dexterity to strum a guitar or depress the strings with any precision. Guess I’ll need to learn a new instrument. At least she would have plenty of time to practice.
Eventually it got dark. James stared out the window at the stars, searching for anything familiar. Not a single constellation was recognizable, not a single star. But that’s not strange. I’m no astronomer. She stared up at the sky even so, hoping that maybe she might see some hint as to where in the galaxy this planet was located. It would be a terrible shame to discover friendly life so distant that no meaningful relationship with Earth could ever exist.
But as she stared, James noticed something: the stars were moving. It was the same sort of motion she might expect if they were on Earth, the slow progress of rotation around the central axis of the sky. Only she wasn’t using some time-progression photography; she was watching with her eyes.
Now that she had seen it, she couldn’t look away. But if we’re spinning this fast, why is the day so close to twelve hours long? There were many plausible explanations for such rapid stellar motion. But how many of them would account for such familiar day/night cycles? Now more than ever James regretted not studying the planet’s profile. She’d been so flustered at her biosleeve that other details of only cursory relevance to her mission had slipped through the cracks. Maybe Lightning Dust will find my stuff. Then I could ask the probe for a new computer and get the answers to all my questions.
The door rumbled from downstairs. James forced herself to look away from the strange sky, and poked out the door to her tiny bedroom as Lighting Dust arrived.
She looked exhausted, her mane flat with sweat and her whole body drooping a little from some incredible effort. “Hey!” The pony waved up at her. “Lucky, come down here! I found something.”
James took the stairs two at a time, bouncing so vigorously that the clouds squashed a little under the pressure. She didn’t notice, didn’t have eyes for anything but the satchel Dust shrugged off her shoulder and set down on the ground at her hooves. She opened it right as James came to a stop only a few inches away.
James stared down at the transmitter, bent and twisted and missing most of the dish.
“I havis nubmarŝan sorĉon sur ĝi antaŭ I portis ĝin here,” Lightning Dust said. “Ĝi ne devus fall again. Everything needs a cloudwalking sorĉon before you can uzi ĝin ĉi tie”
James hurried over to the transmitter, scooped it up in her forelegs and walked to the kitchen table. She pointed what was left of the dish out the open window and up at the sky.
“Don’t be sad if it doesn’t work,” Dust said, watching her in the gloom. “Whatever magic tiu aĵo havis, devis have worn off. Like a minotaur sidis sur ĝi.”
James dragged over one of the chairs, then stood on it and propped her forelegs up on the table beside the transmitter. She held one hoof up to the side, close enough that it should be able to read the RFID chip under her skin there.
The dented metal device beeped, and a tripod of legs emerged from within, folding down and lifting it off the table. One immediately snapped off and it fell sideways, its upper section rotating around and around as it filled the room with unpleasant beeps.
“Dolĉa suno, it’s working.” Dust crept up beside her, staring at the object. “What is…” James didn’t have the concentration to spare to listen to her anymore.
James swore under her breath, though she didn’t use the pony language to do it. If Eoch even had profanity, nobody had taught it to her. She lifted the transmitter and held it in place with one hoof, doing the job of the tripod. From the edge of the spinning disk, a guidance laser scanned the room, tracing a faint green dot on the ceiling and walls until it eventually encountered the window. No sooner had it passed over one of the many stars did it stop in place, and the device started making a different sound.
“SatCom-G locked. Waiting for relay,” the device said. “No local computer detected. Operating in emergency mode.”
James felt a jerk as Dust forced her head to look away from the device, meeting her eyes. “What is it doing? It isn’t going to hurt anything, is it?”
“No!” James said, holding her legs still against the table. “It’s… sending a letter. Talking to my home.”
The pony was no longer sympathetic and motherly. Her expression shifted between upset and fearful, staring at the tiny communications device. “Okay, Lucky. But if this goes bad…”
“Peer relay successful. Temporary network: 12 addresses. Forerunner responds signal green. WARNING: mRTG reports critical hardware fault in containment vessel. Immediate disposal of this device is recommended. Please wash your hands immediately after handling to minimize cancer risk.”
James shivered, but managed to keep her hooves in place. mRTG used 300 grams of Strontium-90, more than enough to keep the device running during regular use. Unfortunately, the state of its casing did not suggest that being dropped out of the sky counted as regular working conditions.
But none of that mattered so long as she could get her message back to the Forerunner. “Can you hear me, computer?” she asked, switching back to English.
As with all satellite communication, there was a brief delay. Only a few seconds, but compared to the virtually instantaneous communication of quicker methods, it could be a little disorienting. “Message received, James Irwin.” The probe’s voice came in heavily distorted, stretching one minute and jumping in pitch the next. Yet she heard it all the same. “Please provide status report. This transmitter reported OUT-OF-RANGE disconnection 41 days ago.”
“My gear was destroyed,” James answered, speaking as quickly as she could. She could feel the slight warmth of the metal surface resting against her leg, and she knew where that warmth came from. “I require replacements sent to this transmitter’s position immediately.”
Another pause. “Command acknowledged. Please update mission progress.”
James opened her mouth to do just that, but she didn’t get the chance. At that moment, Lightning Dust started screaming.
“How dare you! Your daughter eĉ ne scias, ke nubaj urboj ekzistas, kaj vi sendis ŝin nefluga in the Badlands dum storm! Even Malkonkordo ne farus ion kiel aĉan! Klarigu, kial la- "
Dust slammed her hooves on the table, leaning in only inches away from the transmitter. The jolt sent it crashing sideways, and what was left of the metal dish cracked off in two pieces.
“Error-SIGNAL LOST” the tiny cracked display flashed one last time, then went dark.
Dust stared down at the destroyed machine, breathing heavily. She looked satisfied.
James didn’t. She whimpered, backing away from the table and staring down at the limp piece of hardware. It’s okay, she told herself. The Forerunner got my position, and it got my request for new hardware. I’ll get all my stuff back. I had to throw it away anyway.
“So fragile,” Dust said, poking at one of the bits of metal with her hoof. “It postvivis a fall from alteco sed ne povis survive a little interpuŝiĝo?”
“No, it wasn’t.” James said, sitting back on her haunches and sighing. “It’s okay. It did what I needed. We should keep it on the cloud with us for another day or so, but get it away from our food. Oh, and we need to wash this table. Our hooves, too, or… we’ll probably die.”
Lightning Dust crossed around the table over to her in a few long strides, expression darkening. “What kind of magic li uzis por paroli like that? Lucky Break, I heard a voice, ĉu ĝi estas via mother?”
“No,” James answered. “I don’t have parents. That was a friend. Forerunner.”
“Oh,” Dust still looked tense. “Forerunner, huh? Is she the pony who sent vin into the Badlands?”
She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, then hesitated. If this alien attached the negative feelings she was clearly experiencing with her human mission and all the hardware behind it, completing her task would be much harder. Sooner or later she would have to go back to the probe to report what she had learned and teach the newly-fabricated diplomats.
So, she lied. “No. I got lost. It… not her fault.” She yawned, stretching her wings briefly to their full wingspan, before snapping them back into place on her sides.
“I ne ŝatas tion.” Dust took a deep breath. “How did you ĝisiris tien, kid?” She pointed at the broken transmitter, which had finally stopped moving. “I think I meritas la klarigon. The truth.”
The filly shifted on her hooves, looking away from Lightning Dust and over to the wreckage of the transmitter. “Words are… hard,” she began. “Not believe. You wouldn’t!”
“Tell me,” Lightning Dust insisted, touching the side of James’s face with one wing, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I can be patient. If we have to sit here all night, I can wait. It’s time to tell the truth.”
Well, here we are. James had hoped this moment wouldn’t come so soon. What if the native didn’t believe her? Worse, what if she got rid of her? What if she thought she was crazy, and put her back in the basement? She yawned again, stretching her wings out as before. But it didn’t look like Lightning Dust would be giving her enough time for a nap.
James’s mission parameters were very clear. It was not her duty to make first contact, but it was also not her duty to remain hidden if doing so would compromise the likelihood of mission success. It would be even worse for a newly contacted alien race to see humanity as a species of infiltrators and spies. James was well within her rights to tell the truth on an individual level.
But if she did, and her decision had negative consequences, she might very well go down in the annals of history as the first astronaut to ever botch first contact. They’re so like us, it shouldn’t be a problem. Except for the flying, and eating hay, and believing they made weather…
James looked up.
Lightning Dust was still staring.
She saved me from the basement. I owe her the truth. “Okay Lightning Dust. I’ll try.” She took one last, deep breath. Then she told the truth.
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The truth is ...
Aliens
I have all the questions about what was the Probe clearing out and disposing off and what happened. If it is what I think happened ,well happened , everyone panic we have a probe with questionable morals and designers who forgot to run simulations of only one of the most important thing that could happen, first contact.
Also, every single action done by the probe has to be brought to question. Everything
Oh wow. so g1 and/or g2 were humans. They had a plane that was attacked, and they died either there or in the underground facility. Do the Equestrians have weapons that can produce bullet holes?
Also, they should dispose of the radioactive device before their story-time.
8160167
Most definitely. Risking having cancer is nowhere near worth hearing the truth from an alien.
Dust is going to need a stiff drink after this story.
a vary good chapter and this is vary interesting how this is all playing out.
FINALLY!!! AN UPDATE!!!!
8160167
Almost certainly not. Which implies stray rounds from the humans hitting their own ship. Which probably means ponies were in the ship while the shooting was happening.
...Or the humans turned on each other. Dun dun dun!
I am afraid what this mission really entails.
The probe doesn't seem to accept no as an answer.
8160161 The probe is most likely just programmed with (lots of) scenarios and extrapolation algorithms. It doesn't have morals; it just has a goal and calculates what (based on its collected information) is likely to have the highest chance of achieving that goal. If it tries something and fails (and is still operational afterwards), it incorporates any new information from the last attempt, adjusts its predictions accordingly, and tries again. And again. And again. It's a machine following programmed instructions as best it can, nothing more.
The process of "try something; tweak it and try again if that doesn't work, and share the collected information with other probes (or Earth base)" is presumably successful enough that it's been built into probes as a standard methodology when dealing with environments, aliens, and societies which could be completely unknown in ways the probe couldn't anticipate. Presumably, if a probe is destroyed, the lack of communication is noted, and eventually a followup probe is sent, upgraded with any information which has arrived from the probe network since the last one was launched. Of course, it may take decades, centuries, or even longer for the next probe to arrive.
well well well, the forerunner has something to hide. and what is it going to do now that it knows james " lucky" is alive? now it has a biosleeve copy being made that is no longer needed.
i bet she told a truth but not that truth
8160245
Maybe it would, if it was actually given a definitive "no". If the mission kept being interrupted without a first contact established, then why wouldn't it just try again and again?
I'm actually reminded of naturalists in the 19th century who went out of their way to collect and catalogue a huge variety of species. That they ended up exterminating several varieties in their collecting mania they didn't realize until later.
I hope they remember to wash themselves before being too engaged in the story!
8160161 Makes one wonder if the radiation the ponies are dealing with is accidental or intentional.
8160213
...Changelings?
The humans realized what the probe was doing and tried to stop it.
I think it was killing the local intelligent life forms.
8160167
Strontium-90 is a Beta emitter, so disposing of the device isn't an urgent goal, but they should be washing their hands and the outside of the casing to get rid of any that wouldn't be stopped by it.
(It doesn't take much aluminum to block beta radiation so, given the safety instructions, it's fair to assume that any which didn't get outside the device will have its emissions contained.)
8160375
Stop it from doing what? If we go by chapter titles, it's up to generation 4, and Lucky Break is from generation 3.
I'm guessing G1 found the reason why it had to use local life as templates, and G2 was getting the sample that was used for the future generations.
That mission must have gone pretty badly though. Perhaps the crew had no idea what to expect?
Either way, so far we haven't seen the probe do anything objectionable besides lie about the existence of previous missions. It's not like the probe is the one who carried out the mission, and it in fact may have no idea how it turned out save for the results.
All the probe does is harvest resources and manufacture things and keep a communication and surveillance network running, so far.
Though we'll see what the probe decides to do upon discovering where Lucky Break is. Will it do as commanded and supply new equipment, causing a huge fuss in the attempt? Or will it try to clean up Lucky Break as something to hide without regard for the damage that would do to the mission? Either way, I think it'll cause a huge commotion in attempting to do anything in a cloud city
So moondancer was telling the truth about radiation poisoning symptoms. That is rather unexpected, but interesting.
Previous humans. Never went out, it seems. Was it the probe that killed them, or was it themselves? Being forced to live inside a small building for decades could very well cause such breaks...
I wonder if Lightning will believe it. It's a cold alright, but she did see the skeleton shenanigans, the weird gear, the strange language, the lack of common knowledge... Too much weird stuff going on for her to ignore. Because, unlike the others, she cares
Bullet holes? A simple civil war or fighting against natives seems unlikely to be enough on its own to explain that, since the probe would likely just have tried again with more humans if fighting was what ended the earlier generation. Does magic make humans go crazy, maybe? Make them fight each other?
Dust's reaction to the truth should be pretty interesting too.
Okay, never mind. Changelings or Diamond Dogs are involved.
Probably Changelings.
Oh, radiation poisoning, clearly an explanation for the mysterious deaths from the technology. Everything they use must be radioactively powered, I bet, and if you don't know that and the precautions and procedures for proper use of course you get random unexplainable deaths.
8160521 if the planet has more of a magic field instead of a magnetic field, then radiation poisoning does sound plausible.
oooh boy. dust is gonna say NOPE. then a drone is gonna fly through the window, dump a bunch of gear, and then dust is gonna say NOPENOPENOPE.
8160375
Seriously dust?
Smashing equipment?
Ah well
8160589
then its all going to fall right through the floor and back to square 1 lol
Luckily Strontium-90 goes through beta decay and so does it's products until it hits Zirconium-90 which is stable. The only issue is if it gets into the body where it likes to get deposited in the bones. This could lead to cancer years later. So I am assuming radioactive decay of RTGs is not causing the illness the ponies are claiming since it would take years.
8160443
8160521
It would have taken a lot of Strontium-90 to cause illness that presented itself sooner than years later. Even then damage is mainly kept to the skin (unless ingested) since it Sr-90 is only a beta emitter. This is assuming that ponies are not exceptionally weak to any sort of cellular and genetic damage.
8160422 Hooray, science!
8160167 Maybe they aren't bullet holes? Horn-blaster holes might look similar?
It would explain some of the skullduggery going on with Equestrians in the know if they were covering up some mystery threat while they tried to find out more.
RTG powered equipment... of all the boneheaded...
This is a big reason why we don't use RTG's in close proximity to people; one casing breach and you've got a radioactive mess on your hands.
8160696 maybe other pieces of gear use different fuels. But still, didn't know that about strontium, thanks
Wow Dust, thanks for destroying the communication device, its not like James need it
Whilst I'm definitely not liking the action the computer takes, it is taking the most optimal path. And yes, "James" or any of his copies might die in the process, but we shouldn't forget that there is always a base James imprint stored in the probe. Every James that is produced is completely artificial, so mission failure, such as death, is the same as a machine irreperably breaking. The probe doesn't kill anyone, and hiding the fact that some previous generations made horrible mistakes, is not neccesarily a bad thing, if it significantly improves the mental health of the next generation of biosleeves. The does nothing out of malice, for it is incapable of such things. It is cold and calculating however, which can easily be interpreted as malice.
8160589
A bunch of gear that promptly falls through the floor.
8160940 Inorite? In the words of GLaDOS: nice job breaking it, hero!
8160167 8160270 8160213 8160443 8160722 The plot thickens!
Well now. Apparently humans don't work well on this world, for one reason or another. Not the probe's ever going to actually tell them that. That information would damage the probability of mission success.
As for James, at least she's proven that she's not just some crazy filly. Though she will need to get all her gear enchanted posthaste. Definitely looking forward to seeing how much Lightning Dust gets out of the explanation, both in terms of what she believes and what she even understands.
Well, I came here [the comments] to discuss the mRTG, and how since it is only a Beta Emitter with a long half-life, that the hand washing is a practical and sufficient, if not entirely kosher decontamination process, but it seems that more than a few readers (in addition to the author) know their stuff pretty well, and don't need my affirmation.
What a strange place to find a crowd like that...
Edited
Well, that part at the start is not foreboding at all.
8160207
"Finally"? This story is on a regular schedule.
8160940
8160631
Look at it from dust's perspective.
The voice on the radio was described as female, which Dust said she thought was her parent.
Dust probably thought that her 'parent' left her behind during that flood, and started screaming and lashing out at the device in an attempt to tell 'her' that 'she' was a bad parent.
"I was squash from picture seed over the ceiling road, and acorns later, my belly was baked and harvested so I could teach my house marble the horse words. I'm a two stilts nature pony from ceiling. We canter in hush."
8160696 well ponies do use their mouths to manipulate objects so they could have opened an RTG and have picked up something covered in it and have been none the wiser.
Knowing the author's other stories, I suspect the magical world of Equestria is fatal to human biology.
8160161 At what I presently imagine to be the extreme end of rampant speculation: what exactly are the "changelings" in this universe?
8161932 * Slow claps * Marvelous.
Argh short chapter lol
Looking forward to next one ;)
Cliffhanger?! Noooooo-okay. Time to go to bed.
Why did LD fly off into a rage? She had no clue what the voice was saying, just the James was extremely eager to talk with it.
That AI has a screw loose.
Not sure where the twelve hour day comes from. Unless it refers only to the hours of daylight rather than the whole day/night cycle.
8161854
Yeah but we have no patience. XD