Ghost of Mind Episode One, Page 2

Chapter 2

  John Doe

  It hadn't always been this way. The universe had not always been connected. Many years ago, hundreds of thousands of years before the great Universal Union had been formed, the stars had been separate and life had remained unconnected. All of those millions and millions of races throughout space had lived their own lives, suspecting but never knowing the extent of how populated and vast their dimension was.

  That had all changed. It had all changed because of incredible technology. Because of the Old Ones.

  Leaning back and yawning, John Doe stretched his arms out, letting his shoulders push his tired muscles out, lengthening them as best as he could.

  ‘Do you wish to stop the playback?’ an electronic voice sounded out from the console before him.

  John made a face. He was lucky he had turned off facial recognition, otherwise the computer would be asking him what exactly that expression meant. And even though he knew it shouldn't be capable of this, it would no doubt have a sarcastic edge to its tone.

  John played with his jaw for a bit and then he mumbled a no.

  He needed to know this stuff, didn't he? It was part of the mission. Hell, it was part of his job description.

  ‘No, but pause for a couple of minutes while I get a drink,’ John mumbled as he pushed himself up and walked over to the other side of the room.

  The quarters he had been given were quite roomy, fantastic even. They were far more comfortable than his own quarters on his ship.

  Becoming distracted by the view, John walked over to the huge windows that offered an unrivalled perspective on the city below.

  When he had first come to Orion Minor, John Doe hadn’t been expecting much. He knew from the Great Universal Database that Orion Major was a real power in the system, and that Orion Minor was, well, where they sent everybody else. John didn’t like to use the word scum; he’d been around the galaxy and the universe long enough to realize that some people were just unlucky. Get born on the wrong planet, get born during the wrong war, get born where there aren’t enough resources around, and you’ll find yourself turning towards crime just to survive.

  Still, Orion Minor was not a nice place.

  As John waited for his drink to be manufactured by the computer, he rested a hand over the glass, pressing his palm right into it. Shifting his jaw from side to side again, which was somewhat of a habit of his, he stared down at the dilapidated buildings below.

  It was a strange world. The tops of the buildings were all sparkly and clean and nice, and everything else was junk. Slums. Dark, dirty, dank, and full of the people the rest of the galaxy wanted to forget.

  No doubt if John had been in the mood, and ready to carry out the unending directive of the Universal Union to combat crime, he'd grab some armor, grab some high-powered guns, and try to rustle up some scum.

  He wasn't in the mood.

  A place like Orion Minor was full of people too unfortunate to keep dragging into the security station every day just to satisfy the dictates of the higher ups. Plus, John had far more important things to do. While he was on Orion Minor, his ship refueling and restocking, John had to come up with a plan. This was the last stop on his way to the Rim. And John really needed to be prepared before he stuck his head into that ugliness.

  Not for the first time and not for the last, John leant his head back, closed his eyes, and gave the most loud, frustrated, rattling, almost screaming sigh he could. He was fortunate there was no one else in the room, he was also fortunate that none of the audio devices would have picked it up and relayed it to the rest of the building. He didn’t need security busting down his door thinking he was wrestling an Andian Lion or fighting off an infection of Terra Bites.

  When John was finished he stretched his back, planted both hands on the glass, and stared down at the dirty ghettos below.

  Orion Minor was an unforgiving place, not just for the poor; the weather made the planet practically uninhabitable. The city was spread out into various blocks – huge mega structures that housed layer upon layer upon layer. But while the top halves glimmered and gleamed, the bottom halves received no such maintenance.

  Scum, after all, didn’t care where they lived, right? You could take away their heating and light and they’d just get on with their crimes unabashed and unaffected, right?

  At least that’s what the rest of the planet seemed to think.

  For someone who had climbed up the ranks of the Union Forces, John had come from the lowest point possible. The slums. As he stared down on them right now, his eyes locking on those filthy, junk-covered levels, he remembered them. He remembered how to fight to live. He also remembered being judged for it. By those more fortunate. Those born into money, into safety, into success. To them stealing to live was a crime. Technically it was, but it was just as much of a crime to allow people to go unfed when you had too much food yourself.

  John stiffened one of his hands, running his fingers along the joint of his thumb. He’d lost it once; it had been ripped off in the door of a fleeing transport. John had tampered with the door, sneaked inside, salvaged what he could, and had been caught on the way out.

  When he’d joined the Union Forces, they’d fixed him up; their fancy technology knitting him a new one, repairing in seconds an injury John had lived with for five years.

  The pain of the slums he could forgive; the judging he would never forget.

  If it was up to him, and it bloody wasn't, he would redirect the funds the Union was wasting trying to pick up Old Tech in the Rim to fixing up places like this.

  Because it was a waste. How many security forces, how many ships, how many aliens were being redirected to that area, and for what purpose? So what if the pirates had found new caches of Old Technology? Leave them to it. It wasn't like they could use it anyway.

  There was so much about the Union’s priorities that was wrong these days.

  And John Doe hated it. Then again, it wasn’t as if John Doe could do anything about it. He was just one man in a very big universe.

  ‘Computer, continue,’ John said as he walked over to a different console to pick up his drink. Sipping at it slowly, mulling over the taste, John tried to let the words of the Great Universal Database wash over him.

  In a way he already knew this stuff, but in a way that wasn't good enough. If he was going to take his ship and his men into the very dangerous territory of the Rim, he needed to know exactly everything he could. Because if he didn't know everything, and he came across some unexpected situation, then he would be the one to blame.

  And the Rim would be full of unexpected situations. From pirates to ancient caches of Old Tech, this would be his most dangerous mission yet.

  ‘Old Technology is the backbone of the modern universe. Without it instantaneous travel between galaxies would be impossible.’

  Yes, of course John knew that. Every single kid in the universe knew that, everything from the most sophisticated of creatures right down to sentient slime.

  You wouldn't have the modern universe if you didn’t have Old Tech. The amount of energy and resources required to travel from one galaxy to another were astronomical. And yet the Old Ones had done it. They’d managed to create an interconnected interstellar travel network that served almost the entire universe, save for the furthest, most far-flung reaches of space.

  John couldn't say he understood the technology. But to be fair, he couldn’t say that anyone else did either. That was the point; Old Technology was steeped in mystery. Only the Ancient Races had understood, and they were dead. All of them.

  But there was one fact about Old Tech he could understand: it was running out of energy.

  The transport network still had enough to function though. Everything else did not.

  Just as any kid could tell you that the Grand Universal Transport Network had been created by the Old Ones, they could also tell you that the Old Ones had had access to a type of energy that no one understood and no one could replicate. How it
had worked, even the best scientists in the universe could not figure out. Everybody knew it was practically out of juice though. Most of their technology was utterly useless. Useful as statues, reminders to the past, or giant paperweights – unless you were a pirate wanting to stuff your den with rubble-covered ancient memorabilia of a time tougher than your own, all of it was pointless.

  Well, okay, not all of it. A few items still worked. And that was the reason they were going to the Rim. If reports were to be believed, then there had been sightings of actual real usable Old Tech out there amongst the pirates and death-trap mine belts, asteroid clusters, and barren, waste-land planets.

  The hint of useable Tech would not make it worth the trouble though.

  Because John had seen it all before. He'd seen planets, he’d seen whole races uprooted because of the stuff. If a cache of it was found under some city, say good bye to it. It would be uprooted. Say goodbye to the inhabitants. They would be moved. Whether they liked it or not. Their city and everything in it would be destroyed. Apparently Old Tech was worth it. Who cared about disputes, who cared about skirmishes, who cared if entire races turned into pirates just to fight for their lands back? If they could get their hands on Old Tech, the Union would do . . . anything.

  Tapping his foot against the side of the console, wincing as he took another sip from his drink, John tried not to be too cynical.

  ‘It is the imperative of the Universal Union to acquire as much Old Technology as it can. It is currently being stockpiled in several key systems throughout the Union. It is integral to ensure no Old Technology falls into the hands of the Factions.’

  Factions. Ah yes, John felt like ducking his head back and laughing at that. What exactly did the Universal Database mean by factions? Pirates, dissidents, people who had been uprooted when the Union had decided they wanted their hands on the Old Technology sitting under their houses and towns?

  Yeah. If John hadn’t been dealing with a computer, he would probably point out the nuances of that particular position, but there was really no point. Instead he shifted his shoulders again as he walked further around the room.

  ‘There have been many skirmishes to date in the Rim, as the technology believed to be there is of great import. It is also of great import to stop any Factions from gaining hold of any Old Technology that has yet to be catalogued. It is a fact that although the Universal Union has acquired and catalogued much of the Old Technology, there are still many devices that we have never seen and have only heard of. If Factions were to gain hold of these,’ the computer began.

  John put up a hand. ‘Stop there,’ he mumbled. He had finally had enough. Mulling over his drink, twisting the glass around and around in his hand as he closed his eyes, John shook his head sharply.

  It was time to go out. He’d had enough of this stuffy room, he’d had enough of this stuffy lecture, and he just needed to feel air, real air on his cheeks.

  Dumping the glass back on the computer panel, and only flicking his gaze over to it once as the molecules were broken down by the recalibrater, John headed for the door.

  He didn't even pause as the computer manufactured a thick jacket over his shoulders; he just headed straight out as soon as the doors opened with a swish before him.

  It had been years and years since he had been to Orion Minor, and it was time to see if the place had changed.