This month’s short story is on the rough side, mostly because the idea snuck up on me at the last minute and I haven’t been able to polish it up too much. I might revisit and expand on the idea once I know what direction / what sort of tone this short story would fit into. I can think of two distinct directions right now and the story will be very different depending on what I pick.
I can say that one of my inspirations for the story is that I have been re-watching old 80’s and 90’s space battle mech shows, and it got me thinking a lot about giant robots. I will be the first to admit I know very little about either giant robots or the people who work on heavy machinery like them beyond what I can google. If I have anything extremely wrong, drop a comment and I’ll do my best to fix it in the story. I didn’t want to do too much research since these First Friday Fictions are supposed to just be short stories, but I’ll likely have to do a good deal more research if I really want to continue with this one.
Now on to the story:
The Mind in the Machine
The massive mech that had fallen out of the sky, code-named “Prometheus”, was overwhelming even when broken into pieces. It had taken the hastily gathered team of maintainers five days working around the clock to break the machine into more manageable parts without damaging the internal mechanisms of the Single Occupant Mobile Armor. Even in a dedicated warehouse on the edge of the base there was a lot of damage a weapon of unknown origins could do. Especially when they still weren’t sure what, exactly, the weapons it was equipped with did. Now that all the weaponry and movable parts had been separated from the power sources, and they had been able to identify the main computing module, the research could be done at a more reasonable pace.
Captain Thomas Raven took his time walking around the central cockpit of the machine, sitting like a half-cracked egg in the central work bay. It was his first chance to observe the machine up close. He had been too busy working through red tape and standing through debriefing meetings to do this before, and he likely wouldn’t get the chance to do it again once the group from the Air Force Research laboratory arrived in two days.
Eventually, he turned back to the small group of men set up in front of the open cockpit, the only ones still present in the warehouse. Most of them he could only identify by the name on their work suits. As the main administrator of Area 55 he’d read their names in action reports and supply requisitions but he’d never held a conversation with any of them. In front of the box frame computer, checking wires and connections, was Master Sergeant Norman Hallfell. The only one of the lead Maintainers that he had spoken to before the crash had happened, Hallfell had been elected as the lead spokesman for the specialized systems team. Clustered to the side were the recently promoted Master sergeants Manuel Rios, James McMillian, and Frank Fields. Rios was from Armament systems, McMillian from the Fabrication corp, and Fields from the Propulsion specialist team.
From the look of it he was the last one to arrive.
Walking over he answered their salutes with a short salute of his own before waiting to hear what Master Sergeant Hallfell had called them out here for after hours.
As soon as the salute dropped, Hallfell started talking.
“So my team thinks there was a consciousness hooked up to the cockpit computer when Prometheus crashed.”
Thomas blinked, looking from Prometheus’ empty cockpit to Hallfell. “How do you mean ‘hooked up’? Remotely or like there was someone inside Prometheus.”
“It would have to have been remote, wouldn’t it? There was no one in the machine when it was cracked open.” Rios leaned over the box frame currently connected to Prometheus’ brain through numerous cables.
“Well, nothing we recognized as remains were found when we got the cockpit open, but there was that goo that we had to clean up,” Fields reminded everyone.
All the maintainers present shuddered at the mention, Rios briefly making the sign of the cross. Thomas had only seen a sample of the goo when it was being processed to be sent to the Research laboratory. It was a thick, viscous substance that moved like sticky, congealed gravy and was a deep, blue-grey color. He thinks he remembered hearing something about a smell like rotting algae and curdled milk, but was never close enough to smell it himself.
“Wait, you’re saying we’ve been cleaning up somebody’s body outta of the fuselage? I’ve been using the AWS on that crap.” McMillian’s face took on a slightly green look.
“It’s not like we’ve been letting any run off from this thing into the watershed,” Rios pointed out. “It’s all being sent to the sanitation reserve.”
Thomas made a mental note to have the environmental civil engineers check on the chemical breakdown of the sanitation reserve moved up to tomorrow. It might be a good idea to check if there was organic material in there as well.
“The water shed ain’t the problem. I thought it was a leak from a busted coolant reserve or lubricant buildup, not a person. I woulda been more careful with removing the goo if I knew they were remains. I don’t want to be haunted by whatever freaky alien was in this thing.” McMillian shuddered as if he could feel said alien ghost creeping up behind him.
“We don’t know if it was an alien, we still haven’t confirmed where this thing came from,” Thomas cautioned out of habit. He’d been in too many meetings already trying to keep people from catastrophizing or mythologising what Prometheus’ appearance meant. The last thing he needed was the maintenance crew starting their own hearsay.
“You think that if humans were capable of this we wouldn’t already know about it?” McMillian asked skeptically. Which was a fair point. Based on the preliminary reports, Prometheus didn’t seem like a beta or test model. This was something that had gone through a good deal of wear and tear, and had marks that showed it had been in active combat. “Besides. I’d rather this be some freaky alien ship rather than find out what can turn a human body into goo like that.”
“Alien or no alien, we think that something sentient was running in the main computer when it all went offline. Since we’ve isolated the main computer from the rest of Prometheus, my team is more or less certain they have it all contained in this box frame.” Hallfell patted the machine. “But we want to make sure all the data is out of the cockpit. Even if it’s not connected to the rest of the machine we really can’t risk there being anything we don’t have control over loose, as it were.”
Thomas looked at the empty warehouse and then over at Hallfell, skeptical. “And it has to be done now?”
“Preferably.”
Fields chuckled. “You mean preferably before the Research lab grunts get here and the higher-ups have us all kicked off the project for our own good, yeah? I’m in.”
Rios taped an old LED model screen plugged in on top of the Box Frames’ main computing console. “I’m guessing that’s what we and this relic are for? Accomplices helping to contact the alien’s brain data?”
“I would think of it more as inquiring minds, but that’s close enough.” Hallfell nodded, “Specifically, we’re planning to turn the main computing module on Promethius on to check if we’ve gotten everything migrated over, but once it is on the cable connections will work as a two-way street. We’ve set up safety measures and breaks but it’s not a full proof measure. You all will be talking to the consciousness through this guy,” Hallfell gestured to the keyboard under the monitor. “It’s the only model we had on hand without built-in broadcast and network options. We don’t know how advanced this thing is and the last thing we need is the consciousness running around in classified systems.”
Thomas rubbed his eyes, running through his options. On the one hand, this was a terrible idea. On the other hand, as the acting head of the base, he had been given clearance to do what he felt necessary to have Prometheus safely neutralized before the research team got here and a rogue intelligence could prove a threat.
He also couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little bit interested in the idea of being involved in first contact.
When he made no objections to Hallfell’s idea Fields stepped up, rubbing his hands together and looking far more eager than was probably warranted. “I’ve always wanted to interrogate an alien.”
“Can we even communicate with them?” Rios peered down at the keyboard. “Assuming this is even an alien, is there any way to be certain they’ll be able to understand us?”
“We should, assuming that it all compiled correctly. Since the consciousness is already translated into data we’re just expressing that data in English.” Hallfell explained. “Technically we should be able to express it in any language we can input into the machine.”
“And that’s assuming the consciousness, or AI, or whatever it is, is intelligent.” Rios pointed out.
“And not damaged, or incomplete, or hard locked to a specific person or code.” Hallfell shrugged. “Look, there are a lot of variables that could mean this won’t work. All we really need to do is make sure whatever this is is out of the cockpit’s computing module so we can poke around with no problems. If it’s busted and doesn’t respond it’s not a problem. We just need to keep it active so we can make sure there are no parts left behind. Everyone on the same page?”
Thomas and the maintainers glanced at each other, then moved closer to the box frame. Thomas hung back to observe while McMillian stood to the side, leaving Fields and Manuel to take the lead. Technically, Thomas was here in a supervisory capacity, here to observe, document, and potentially veto any unreasonable or dangerous ideas that the maintainers might suggest or attempt. Thomas looked warily at Fields, who had already brabbed the keyboard and was currently flexing his fingers.
Hallfell moved to a secondary console, hooked directly into the cockpit module. “We’re starting now.”
A handful of seconds slipped by before the box frame gave a low hum and the LED screen lit up, leaving a blinking cursor on a pale green screen.
Rios glanced over to Hallfell. “It’s on. Should we start?”
Hallfell nodded, already focused on his own console. “Yep. systems all green.”
Rios leaned in towards the screen. “What are we asking first?”
McMillian leaned back, arms crossed “I want it on record I think this is a terrible idea. I don’t know why you want to gamble on a high-tech Ouiji board.”
Fields ignored him, instead typing out the first message. They all watched as the words “How are you finding your accommodations.” appeared on screen.
Rios raised an eyebrow. “What are you, a comic villain?”
“Whatever you’re doing the data’s reacting, so keep it up,” Hallfell called back to them moments before the cursor on the screen wavered, then began to move.
“So you finally show yourself, you Rilixian Scum. I don’t know how you learned telepathy or where this sensationless prison was constructed but you won’t prevail. We will put an end to your tyranny in the Spetilion quadrant.”
They all stared at the response, Thomas mentally starting to draft how he was going to report this and to whom. Then he stopped, pulled out the personal pad from his jacket pocket and started drafting multiple options. “If this is a joke from the specialized systems team, there will be a lot of meetings about what is and is not appropriate in their future.”
No one else responded, McMillian backing up a good foot from the Box frame while Fields stared blankly at the screen.
“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Fields finally admitted out loud, clearly trying to think of the appropriate response.
After his own silence, Rios finally started to laugh. slowly at first, then slightly hysterically. “We’re in a Saturday morning cartoon,” he finally gasped out, leaning forward to rest his head on his hands.
“Any suggestions on how to answer them?” Hallfell called out from his own console over Manuel’s laughter. Apparetly he could see what they were getting on their screen as well as his own.
“Ask them what Rexialinas are, what they are, and what is considered part of the Septilion quadrant,” Thomas ordered as he continued writing.
This was going to be a massive headache.
