The Legacy of the Lost Hope

The Legacy of the Lost Hope

  A Short story by C. David Goodall

  Copyright 2012 C. David Goodall

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  The dust flowed in the wind, red ferrous material choked the air. An orange hue was painted across the skyline and the clouds held back the torrential weather within them. Cybernetic tendrils raked up a clump of the soil and a spectral analysis determined the materials. Silicates and a variety of iron based compounds were the primary atom structures making up this world’s loose sandy crust. Statistical data mapped the surrounding terrain, the mountain ranges rose into unusual spires, craters formed from asteroid impacts. All of this data projected and overlapped itself through the bionic eyes of the Surveyor. She stood ready with her exploratory team of Analysis drones.

  Each one of the mechanical thralls took samples to study this rocky planet further. It had been notified as an oddity by expedition forces. Sulphuric scents poisoned the air of a world thought to have died from a scouring event that had happened many millennia ago. As such, the curiosity of an unprecedented event attracted the attention of the newly founded Consortium. One lowly transport vessel, a relic brought back from overuse, glided through the smog of sulphuric acid clouds. Roars thundered from overworked engines, as they were compensating for the ship’s adjustment in its angle of descent.

  Landing thrusters helped the feet to come to rest comfortably on the loose soil. The hull radiated with a mild heat and a rotten egg quality, not that it mattered to the surveyor or her accompaniment of drones. The rear hatch of the relic opened into a ramp, leading to a cramped compartment without benches or any form of discernable seating as it was more designed for cargo transport than shuttling people to and from the surface of planets. As a second and equally used transporter landed, the augment ordered her mechanical minions to take residence there. Even with the implants overriding her adrenaline levels, she knew she wouldn’t cope with claustrophobia and having to be packed up into one small room with five bulky reconnaissance drones. Through the radio channel came the binary gibberish and synthesised voice of the Expeditionary leader, Volg Kidd. “Sallyn, what is there to report of this oddity?” Sallyn replied in a similar synthesised voice. “Atmospheric pressures match that of Mars, a mild difference of +0.0176% density and rising. Primary surface material contains 38.90825% Iron oxide, 17.314% Sulphates and a high quantity of Silicon compounds. Precipitation appears to mainly be Sulphuric acids and a mild percentage of Water.” “Any Indication of why or how this world has been reactivated?” “None at this point in time, but perhaps the fossils collected will tell us something.” “Fossils? Of what origin?” “Unknown. Further investigation is needed. Some finds appear to have suffered severe bone distortions.”

  Shudders from the engaging thrusters echoed throughout the ship. Sallyn curled into a ball as the craft took off, she prayed to the engines and the pilot for guidance and protection. The human part of her implant ridden brain was still irrational as it was before joining the tutorship of Volg. When the engines kicked in, she was not settling down well, her body lost any notion of movement. It didn’t help that the lights of this vessel weren’t working properly. Meanwhile her motley crew of customised drones slumbered until reactivation was necessary.

  Turbulence rocked the already unsteady Sallyn for seconds until the inertia and turbulence faded away entirely. Knocking on the door to the control room, she wanted to talk to somebody but realised the pilot was another drone, emotionless and brain-dead, one that was not of any use in a conversation. As the door slid open, it revealed a compartment taken up with a pilot and the controls of the transport craft. Through acid scarred windows of the cockpit, Sallyn watched as the sky changed from orange to a sparkling black backdrop. Dancing in orbit were two large objects. Their approach made the objects grow even larger.

  The first was the familiar sight of the expedition craft as its dull grey hull reflected in the sunlight while its dark side glimmered with a blue haze. Flanking the vessel, veiled behind its shadow was another starship, shaped from what could be seen as a submersible with everything pretty much reversed. Sallyn’s cybernetic eyes automatically scanned and highlighted the approximate outlines of the unidentified entity before them.

  As data poured into her mind and the vessel’s schematics spun in a three dimensional presentation into the optic processing lobes of her brain, she saw that the space dwelling vehicle in question was a Sun Tzu patrol ship. Even so, for a patrol ship it was still dwarfing the expedition vessel by a factor of two at least. Naturally the tech within her began to analyse the Volg’s ship when she thought about it. Rolling her eyes, Sallyn had to sit through another presentation about the Columbus Generation Explorers and how those were soon rendered obsolete when artificial gravity pads were invented, in addition to the upgraded EM shielding emitters of today.

  Static growled through the speakers momentarily. Bursting out next were submission orders in binary format with infiltrating subroutines reprogramming the drone pilot to slow the course speed and redirect the transport to the Sun Tzu class patrol ship. Even Sallyn was barely maintaining control as her augmentations started to become infected by the virulent malware. Synaptic and bodily rejection inhibitors were afflicted, her body was aflame with sensory overloads while subconsciously her body realised it was infested with bio-mechanical intruders.

  Once the searing pain from the reprogramming procedure had finished, the augmented components began to remember their purposes. Those five seconds were some of the most painful of her life. While she recuperated, she felt the transporter judder for a moment and her systems went offline for more than a millisecond, interference still remained. A directed magnetic field of such intensity was now reeling in her craft with her special cargo on board. Erratic readings and signals interrupted the normal operations of her ocular implants.

  Minutes passed like hours, her anxiety rose to a point where her body began sweating and the urge to rock was unbearable. Sallyn had curled up and cradled her legs, as a mother would cuddle her child, restrained tears managed to escape the ducts in her eyes. Abandoned, alone and trapped forced all thoughts of rationality to flee her body as her claustrophobia conquered the mind.

  Squeaks and squeals echoed through the hull, soon after that ordeal the vehicle shuddered. Slams of locking mechanisms and gripping tools’ echoes rippled through the air. Pitch black shrouded the room and memories embedded within her mind flooded back. Fire, smoke, charred bodies started flashing within her head and forced Sallyn to rock herself in a vain attempt to comfort the child within.

  When the lights flickered back into full illumination, the rear hatch opened. Air pressure returned to an earth like level, with the influx of air came dozens of torch lights mounted on turtle head shaped helmets. ‘Consortium goons’ she thought until one of them lifted their weapons at her. Through the radio inside her ear she heard one of them. “Think again, bitch!” The soldier marched to her and rammed the butt of their weapon into her temple. System error messages and crackling clouded her eyes as well as flooding her ears for those last milliseconds before the body could shut down completely.

  System reboot and corruption check screens began processing as Sallyn’s eyes were waking again; she needed to open them now. Minor damage reports flared up pointing to a contusion on her right temple. The cold floor w
as uncomfortable, glaring halogen lights near enough exterminated the shadows lurking in the room. It was a simple construct, close to the perfect cube as machines of the day could manufacture. 2 metres by 2 metres by 2 metres, with a tolerance of +/- 0.1%, surface imperfections down to nanometres tolerance.

  “Stop analysing the room and prepare to be processed.” The voice boomed as it disrupted the silence and her subconscious scanning of the prison. Around her, walls thundered as machines outside the room activated. Light peered through growing cracks in the wall, that same wall was now lowering into a drawbridge. Once the mechanism aligned with the catwalk, the walls began to speak again. “Run and we’ll switch off the artificial gravity.” She rolled her eyes while getting to her feet, not exactly feet but at least she could always adapt them to better suit her environment. Then it came to her, she didn’t need to worry about the lack of gravity, her logic engines soon butted into her thought processes. Why did she need to run? What would be the