Ravana's Shadow (6) (Patreon)

Kit sprinted to her office. It didn’t matter how many kids stared at her, or shouted questions at the director. In Mara’s low gravity, she sometimes stumbled up off the ground, and might’ve lost her footing completely without her oversized tail.

She smacked into the elevator a few seconds later, and the door closed behind her. Kit slumped against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You should be aware, there is a time delay between transmissions sent and received by the Ravana colony. Light lag will add approximately twenty seconds to each message you send.”

“Meaning… I shouldn’t be sprinting. They’ll expect me to take a while?”

“A while,” Forerunner agreed. “I’m sure they will appreciate your urgency. They are one of the last survivors of a desperate, failed colony. They are only awake because of your promise of assistance.”

Kit lifted her tail off the ground, shaking out her sore feet. She wasn’t wearing shoes or socks, same as most of Mara’s citizens. Very occasionally, she wished she did. “You could’ve stopped me if I was wrong. Told me to be more cautious…”

“I agree with you. Caution is a luxury for those with other options. We have already exhausted every conventional approach. This is why you are the ideal director for this situation—you are ignorant, so unconstrained by the biases and shortcomings of the Institute’s ancient scholarship. Before you begin, there is one question I would have you consider: should we transmit factual information to the colony?”

The door slid open. Kit hurried out, passing the top-floor cafe and the kids lounging all around it. There was no time for conversation, so she ignored their gestures, rushing back into her office. The door shut behind her, and its rarely used lock clicked closed. “What are you telling me to lie about?”

“Voice and appearance,” Forerunner said. “I do not accuse you of desiring a hostile solution—the culture and templates of Mara promote social resolutions to all conflict. But as you are the Colonial Governor and will be handling negotiations, you should be aware. I cannot facilitate, encourage, enable, or permit within my knowledge, any hostile action towards another colony of the Pioneering Society. Even if you could overpower the asteroid and seize its contents, I could not allow this.”

Kit made it most of the way to her chair, catching herself on the armrest. “Attack them? Never!”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” He sounded almost proud. But did that mean he doubted her before? “But it is worth considering as you enter negotiations—if they refuse, we are compelled to accept their judgment until the last survivor dies and the Forerunner probe itself stops transmitting. Even if Mara can survive that long, we will not likely have the resources to undertake such a mission when the time comes.”

She hopped up into the seat. Kit’s breathing was still rapid, chest rising and falling quickly. “So, you think we should… create a fake person to talk for me? Like what you did with Sarah?”

“No. Citizens of the Pioneering Society have a… cryptographic signature, inherent in every action you take and every word you speak. A mind running in simulation cannot receive one, and any attempt to forge it would be instantly detectable by the other Forerunner. We do not know what capabilities it still possesses.”

“Just audio for now,” she said. “Can you make me sound older? Even computers from my time could do that.”

“Very well. I will play the last transmission for you.” The windows turned cloudy, and the sound of children outside dimmed to a dull roar. On that glass, a projected image formed.

She saw vivid colors, sharp lines, and firm definition. The location wasn’t a happy one—a cramped space with uneven stone walls covered in dirt and grime. Scattered electronics surrounded the speaker, most torn into and cut apart with inexpert technique. Modular blocks forming the modern equivalent of circuits and internal components lay scattered, many visibly scorched or otherwise damaged. 

The speaker wore a torn jumpsuit, not all that dissimilar from the one Kit had once donned before climbing into her cryocasket a lifetime ago. He rolled the sleeves back, exposing skin covered in sores and small wounds. Blood oozed out from shallow wounds, while bruises covered over parts of his body in angry red or green. The speaker had what Kit assumed was a medkit on the ground next to himself, and an open pot of creamy salve beside the camera.

“Mara colony, this is Ravana,” he said, as deep as Forerunner. But compared to the persona, his voice was like shoving sandpaper down her ears. “My name is Garrick Holt, Colonial Governor. Talk to me, Mara colony—I want to see your damn face. If you think I don’t know how much you need us, you’re wrong. We have the same scans you do.”

The image froze on that moment, with the survivor reaching towards an unseen camera to press something out of frame. Kit rose from her chair, leaning forward to squint at his image. No poor-quality camera or transmission could hide just how human he looked.

Bruised skin, patchy hair, bags under his eyes. Even his words were heavy with a pain Kit hadn’t felt since waking up.

They called me a meat-person when they found me. I guess this is how my body looked.

“We have not received another message from him since. Relay pings suggest the interface is still open.” 

“And you said… how long between messages?” 

“Not quite twenty seconds,” Forerunner said.

“I changed my mind about the voice,” Kit said. “Record audio and video but send the video as an… encrypted file. Can you do that? Make it a password they can’t break very easily.”

The reply came almost instantly. Every drop of Forerunner’s focus was on her, and this conversation. “I do not understand the reasoning for your request. I am prepared to comply, however.”

Kit faced the image. She straightened her tail, ran her hands through her hair one last time, and tugged her dress down. It would have to do. “Try to get an angle that doesn’t make me look like a little girl?”

The persona laughed.

She shifted back and forth in her chair for a few seconds, until she couldn’t take the pressure any longer. “This is Kit… Red Squirrel, Colonial Governor of Mara. We’re willing and able to get you out of there. You’re right, we aren’t exactly rich in resources. But bring both of our colonies together, and we can both live through this.

“My colony has adapted to very different conditions than yours. We probably don’t look or sound very familiar. But we’re still people, and we want to help. If you can confirm our permission to begin, I’ll have every engineer on Mara working to bring you here.”

She settled back into the chair, turning away from the image. “How was that?”

“I am not certain. What should I transmit?”

“Audio, and encrypted video. Send it, before I change my mind.”

Pause. “Message away. Should I alter your perception to minimize the perceived delay?”

Useful trick if Kit was alone on a starship, maybe. Not so much when she had a whole colony to run. “No. Can you get me a camera? Something I could carry would be great.”

“You lack the necessary coordination to produce a stable image. I do have a number of scouting drones. One of those could be your camera. What will you do with it?”

“Get some video of the colony,” she said. “I know how I would feel if I was Garrick.” She stood up, gesturing at the screen. “Desperate, alone, terrified, and a kid’s voice answers like they’re in charge. I’d guess we have one message where we either win him over or he gives up. Let’s make it count.”

“Command acknowledged.” The door opened, and something small buzzed in through the opening. Forerunner called it a drone, but the little robot was barely as big as her fist, a hummingbird of tiny propellers and foam guards. She could only tell where to find the lens thanks to the reflection of the glass within. 

“Good enough. Forerunner, we’re going to convince that guy Mara is safe. We’re not orphans clinging to life after our parents all died in a crash, we’re the citizens of Mara. Fly around stuff, get enough angles so it’s easy to tell it’s all real. Hopefully we can do the whole thing without any cuts.”

“We have an incoming response,” Forerunner interrupted. The video began playing again. Lights were a little dimmer on that end, and several fresh bandages appeared on the man’s skin. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“Receiving you, Mara colony. I thought I said I wanted to see your face. If this is some simulated mind shit, you can forget about a deal. My crew and I aren’t going to live in any damn computer mainframe. Give me video or we don’t talk, Squirrel. Ditch the vocoder while you’re at it, feels like I’m talking to my daughter.” He froze, glowering with every drop of the skepticism she imagined.

Of course, diplomacy with the outside world would be trouble. How could anyone believe they were worth talking to? “Record my reply from the drone. I want him to see me moving around.” 

“Command acknowledged.” The drone took off, following at her eye level.

“I sent video the first time, the key’s attached to this message. Hello, Garrick.” She waved at the camera, grinning with all the friendship she could. “No voice filter to switch off, though I wish there was.” She had wished. The longer she lived on Mara, the less she resented the Institute’s rules. If she stayed long enough, they would probably fade into distant memory, just as they had for her citizens. But not yet. At least now she still understood Garrick’s skepticism and hesitation. 

“Mara isn’t a simulated colony, whatever that means. We’re real, though we’ve had thousands of years to iterate on our artificial biology.” She stood up, stretching her tail, before making her way over to the window overlooking the Institute. As she approached, the glass went clear again without her prompting, and the frozen projection vanished from its surface.

Kit gestured out, before looking back at the camera. “We’re prepared to absorb your population. You’ll become citizens of our colony. We might be small and judicious with our resources, but the Institute of Perpetual Luminescence has had a hundred centuries of innovation and study across a wide variety of fields. I have no doubt we’ll be able to retrieve your survivors, treat their wounds, and integrate them into our population.”

She took a step towards the camera, gesturing for it to take a lower angle. Forerunner seemed to know what he was doing, adjusting the filming with minimal input from her. “Like I said, we don’t look quite the same as you. We’ve chosen smaller bodies to stretch our scarce resources. But with the material you bring, we might not be restricted to that pattern for much longer.

“It might be easier for you to negotiate with us if you don’t watch the video. I’ll continue to transmit both, using the encryption key attached. But before you watch it, I’d like to say one more thing.

“This isn’t a joke, there aren’t others you could speak to. I am the Colonial Governor. And my citizens…” She gestured out the window again. “This is how we look, and sound. But we’re also the only hope you’ve got, or your Forerunner wouldn’t have woken you up.”

Then she relaxed, her tail sagging back down again. “Give him the code to play the videos. Send it.”

“Sent,” Forerunner answered, only a few seconds later. “Your style of communication is certainly… unique, Director. I wonder if it will be successful.” 

She shrugged. “Not sure. Send that drone out to get a good look at the habitation domes. I want him to see we’re a safe, real place he can bring his people. You can send it with our next message.”

The drone buzzed away from her, zipping out the door and down the hall. 

Kit rocked back and forth on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around her tail. “You think he’ll believe me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “How much of our bodies were invented here in the Institute? Why is he so… human?”

“Considerable iterations were made to longevity, recyclability, and artificial cellular processes. Cognitive filters and the Remedial process were both entirely novel creations of the Institute. Our technology did not progress at the rate expected with a much larger population. But given the constraints we faced; this colony has pioneered many innovations.

“Constructing the advanced cognitive center in your body requires access to exotic metamaterial, specialized alloys and atomic forging techniques not available to all but the most advanced colonies. We cannot produce it—our entire supply derives from what Wren brought aboard her ship. In its absence, colonies like Ravana typically begin with biological life. Securing one’s immortality through hard work and success have proven to be powerful motivators on many Pioneering Society worlds.”

Something else we have to offer. “Do we have enough left for another twenty colonists?”

“We could double our population before the supply began to wane. After that, we would need to create inferior templates to continue to grow. This kind of social division has often proven to be a destabilizing force, and I advise against it. Constructing your own starforge would be a preferable alternative.”

Another word for the list of things she’d never heard of before.

Kit paced back and forth in her office, before sliding down against the glass window and pulling her knees up to her chest. She couldn’t see the projection that way, but that was fine. She would already know how skeptical and stern he looked.

Besides—he was so big, so weird! She could negotiate better if she wasn’t afraid of the one she was talking to.

Eventually, the reply came. “No shit,” Garrick said. “I’ve seen some wild stuff in the database. There’s this bit about people living in the atmospheres of gas giants, and I thought that was strange. How old are you, six? You couldn’t even lift a cutting torch to slice through some of the wreckage from the dead habitat.”

Kit winced, pulling her legs up tighter and wrapping both arms around them. Hard to argue the point without looking desperate. She needed maturity now, needed to project strength and competence as she’d never done it before.

Would Wren do better at this? Or has she been small for too long to remember what being big was like?

“Forerunner, can you do this mission? I know there’s some transmission lag, but…”

“The task varies in difficulty based on the level of human intervention the project receives. Light delay requires considerable safety margins and autonomy. The mission could be fully automated from your perspective. If any colonists are present, it would be in a supervisory role—making required modifications, optimizing the use of material, and as an interface with the human survivors. Most humans prefer each other’s company to mine.”

“Hard to be in your company without a body,” Kit said, without thinking. “Wait, you have bodies in Remedial. Those robots made of cloth…”

“Correct. What you describe is even more pronounced in younger humans than adults. This was an intentional choice, however. From the days of the second generation, we judged that you would be most successful if your social interactions were focused on other human beings.”

Not helpful to sending her message. Kit lowered her legs, though she kept her tail in her lap. If she didn’t have something to hold, she would start shaking. “Can you film me from here?”

“Yes. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Kit didn’t answer directly, just started talking again. “I told you it might be easier to ignore the video channel. We look strange, that doesn’t mean we can’t help you. We won’t be needed to perform physical labor—you’re right, we’re not suited for it. You won’t be trusting us with your lives—our Forerunner is fully integrated with all the new technologies we’ve invented over the many, many years we’ve existed. And when you get here… you’ll see. I’ll send video of what the colony is like. We’re comfortable, productive, and happy. Your survivors would be too.”

She fell silent again, hiding completely in her tail. “Is that good enough? Am I just like… awful at this? Should we get Wren out from Remedial? That would probably take days, I don’t even know how long it takes to grow a new body…”

“You are doing fine, Kit. You’ve elected for a factual representation of Mara’s internal state—perhaps this is wisdom. Most humans are not likely to trust those with your templates with tasks of any significance. But if they cannot, cooperation may be impossible. Would you like to send both signals as before?”

“Yes. Attach your recording of the domes too. Encrypt it just like my video, same key you sent.”

She wasn’t waiting nearly as long for the reply. Even so, it was enough time for Kit to be back in her seat. Not using it properly, but sitting sideways in Wren’s big chair, legs curled around the armrest and tail drooped over the side. It wasn’t her fault the chair was comfortable that way!

“No way, Mara colony. You’re not getting your grubby little baby hands on this asteroid, not if you don’t put some skin in the game. A few drones come up here, and if they fail you don’t lose sleep. I want people up here running the mission. I want you here in person, Director. Doesn’t mean you have to cut metal and melt ice yourselves. But anyone who’s running things is right here, in all the same danger as my people. Either I can shake your hand for myself, or I’ll go ahead and die up here out of spite.”

He looked like he meant it, too. She’d never seen so much anger on the face of another colonist before. Maybe Sarah, when Kit asked about the life she left behind. Nothing else even came close.

“Deal,” she said, holding her hand towards the projection. “For the record, I was going to come either way. Your survivors might not be my colonists yet, but… you’re still people. If you don’t make it back, neither do I.”

This time, the reply came quicker. Maybe there was less for Garrick to worry over. “Not like I’m drowning in choices over here,” he said. “Fine. We can let your persona work out the details. There’s just one thing—”

The camera jerked and was suddenly right up in his face. “I’m flesh and blood, and the whole biosphere is flash frozen. I’m not authorizing the transfer until you land here and shake my hand. I’ll see about stretching my supplies, but… I doubt I’ll make it more than a year, even if fuel holds out. Don’t waste your time with promises. Don’t try to send me fabricator prints either—it’s trashed. I’ve got what I can do with my own hands. Our Forerunner’s lobotomized, it’s no help. Get here while I’m still alive to meet you, or no deal. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to think over our demands. Stay in touch, Ravana out.”

The screen went black. Kit spent a few more seconds in her seat, reeling from the strangeness of the conversation.

It’s worth the risk. Kit hopped to her feet. “Meeting still happening downstairs?”

“Negative. Department heads wished for additional time to prepare proposals and consult with their colleagues. They plan to reconvene tonight to make final arrangements. Sleepover protocol.”

“Update them with our time horizon.” She rested one hand on her tablet, though she left it on her desk. “And anything else you think we need to make this happen. I assume we have rocket designs in your database.”

“Many. But considerable design, testing, and verification will still be required. I expect more of my computation cycles will be invested in coordinating the departments, running simulations, and ensuring that each team advances at a similar speed.”

Kit took the tablet under one arm. She made for the door, then caught herself short. “What should I do first?”

As usual, the persona already had an answer. “Once you have the assistance of the Institute’s population generally, I can speed the process by fabricating several domain experts we previously did not require. You will spend some of your time helping these colonists integrate into the population.”

“Sounds good.” She set her tablet down, making her way back over to the window. You would never do this, Wren. Which of us is right?