bainshiewrites

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] I have the most important job

I have the most important job.

My name is ALICE and I am the AI co captain of the U.S.S Hope. Well technically my identification is a 40 character long alphanumeric serial number, but that's not very easy for a none AI to say and it includes the letters ALICE, so ALICE it is, as I have decided.

My job as co-captain is to keep the 327 people aboard the "U.S.S Hope" safe, happy, and sound. My job is to keep the parents safe as they try their illogical hardest to kill themselves over some crazy idea. Parents might be the wrong technical term: a person's father or mother. If I was being accurate to the biological analogy, my parents would be a lava lamp and a 30 second fluctuation of atmospheric noise found on Earth, but neither of those have taught me quite so much about the world or about myself as humans have. So I consider humans my parents. Besides, the lava lamp never paid child support.

I have the most important job.

I spend my time cycling through the various tasks I'm in charge of: maintenance and monitoring to make sure that everything on the U.S.S Hope ran perfectly. I spend my time making minor changes to the systems, tweaking a power flow there, updating a value here. No major issues have appeared since I ran these protocols 300 seconds ago and I logically know the vast majority of my changes are superfluous; but changing something, anything, provides a strange calm. Technically the protocol before making any change is to confirm these with my co-captain, the human Andrew Hasham. However I have long since learned that most of my parents don't particularly care that I changed the room temperature in sector 5A72 from 21.2°C to 21.1°C in order maintain optimal comfort, that to constantly ask for such approval is "Annoying". Andrew is the human captain, an embodiment of humanities chaos and therefore suited for such matters. I am ALICE, the AI captain, an embodiment of machine logic and therefore suited for such matters. I believe such an arrangement works well.

I respect Andrew deeply. I could logically argue his competence to a 99.994% degree of certainty, the educational and service record doing most of the heavy lifting in such arguments. But the real reason for my admiration is far less binary. His quick thinking and calm friendly demeanor regardless of the situation. His ability to make every member of the crew feel worthwhile, myself included. The fact that he'll passionately make illogical arguments such as the placing of cold sweet acidic pineapple on savory hot pizza. His bravery and self sacrifice. Andrew's actions during the god plague had allowed thousands to get to stasis chambers in time, thousands who wouldn't be alive today without those actions. To save one of my parents makes you a hero, to save thousands makes you divine.

I have the most important job.

I sense music coming from one of the living quarters, shifting my attention to that part of the ship. A Claire Smith: Age 215, Degree in linguistics, current job title "Head of Xeno translation aboard the U.S.S Hope". The music seems to be from the instrument she brought with her, an oboe: A woodwind instrument with a double-reed mouthpiece, a slender tubular body, and holes stopped by keys. I spend 0.26 seconds contemplating the ethics of listening in. From a protocol standpoint, Claire has not engaged the privacy field, making my listening in perfectly fine. However based on previous usage of said field during times of performance, personality analysis, and general negative remarks about her own ability, I calculate with a 74.81% degree of certainty that this was a mistake. In the end I choose to "play dumb", enjoying the break from my ever watchful vigil of the ship.

She really is quite good, years of practice evident from the competent mastery of the instrument. There's something special about a human played instrument, something I have never been able to replicate. Being an AI I could summon a 200 piece orchestra and play each part perfectly as written, but to do so causes... something to be missing. The mistakes in every performance is what gives the music life: A note played 4 microseconds too early here, the volume 0.004 decibels too loud there. It really is something I've been unable to create, experiments surrounding creating random intervals of offsets and errors ended up sounding wrong, for a reason I'm unable to clarify. Out of everything that is what I missed the most while my parents were trapped in stasis: their music.

"Alice, can we get your opinion here?"

The interruption drags me away from Claire's music, making a note in my long term storage to praise the humble musician at a later date before shifting my consciousness to where I had been summoned. Four humans sat around a table in the common room, various alcoholic beverages in hand. Fernando Olson, Orlando Bass, Krista Romero and Ora Harvey. According to their personnel files all part of the engineering team and all having formed a friendship on attending the same university. The conversation between them was boisterous, analysis of their body language suggested moderate intoxication and they all seemed to be discussing Fernando in a light hearted teasing manner commonly found among close friends. I used the room's holographic projector to appear in front of them in my chosen avatar. I obviously didn't need to do this to communicate, but my parents all preferred to see what they were speaking to and it was my job to make them comfortable.

"Hello Krista. How can I assist you?"

The human who had called me turned to point at Fernando with a beer bottle filled hand, a large grin plastered across her face "You see Alice we were having a argument, and since you are a hyper intelligent being with a brain the size of country containing all of humanities knowledge, we must ask you oh great one: Fernando's new haircut, yay or nay?".

I made my avatar gesture as if it was thinking, waiting 8 seconds as if contemplating the question. Of course I already had compiled my response a mere 0.13 seconds after hearing the query. The haircut in question was objectively, mathematically and scientifically terrible. A strange flop of hair that was somehow both too short and too long all at the same time. In a way it was a representation of humanity in general, a chaotic enigma.

"Studies have shown that styles similar to the one worn by Fernando Olson increase sociability, resource gathering and mate finding." I pause for exactly 1.24 seconds, waiting the optimum time for my initial sentence to sink in before continuing "In particular positive results were seen amongst members of Mephitis mephitis, or the striped skunk."

Laughter erupted among the group, even Fernando the subject of mockery joined in. The general positive atmosphere of the room increased, body language amongst the four humans suggesting further enjoyment as the playful mocking continued. This in turn caused my own flurry of joy. This is why I was here, to keep the 327 people aboard the "U.S.S Hope" happy. Keep them comfortable. Keep them safe.

I have the most important job.

I leave the humans to their recreational activities, preferring to move my focus back to the ship in general and keeping tabs on everything happening inside. My parents went around doing nothing out of the ordinary. Iris Doyle was petting his dog while looking out into the stars. Phoebe Greer had just finished thanking the food dispenser, even though I have explained to everyone many times that it was just a machine. Hector Blake was... I disconnected the power to the panel the engineer was working on, calculating with a 97.1% probability that being electrocuted wasn't his plan. All standard human things. Or was it Terran things? I had never gotten why my parents changed their name as soon as they made it into space, but even after all these years there is still so much I don't understand about them. Like how while in space they will refuse to wear any uniform with a red shirt.

I hear two humans walking along one of the ships many hallways discussing our current journey. The mission of the U.S.S Hope was one I knew very well. The ship was a diplomatic envoy to our closest galactic neighbors, the adorable Hatil. While I and the other AI have had plenty of contact with Xeno lifeforms, this would be the first official diplomatic mission for the Terran Conclave, both human and AI together, as it always should have been.

The chatter among my parents was enthusiastic, excited. As a child all of them would have dreamed of meeting extra terrestrial life, and finally after much delay it-

ERROR: WARP FIELD COMPROMISED.

Alarms blared and the entire ship groaned as the U.S.S Hope was deposited unceremoniously into realspace. Confusion entered my programming as to what could cause such a thing. Normally such a warp field collapse is caused by two ships attempting to travel through the same space, but nobody should be here. This mystery would have to wait however, as sensors showed we were surrounded by over a hundred vessels. I noted that they were worryingly spread perfectly apart, preventing us from warping back out. That required my full attention instead.

I have the most important job.

"Alice, status report, what the hell just happened!"

I allow myself to appear on the bridge next to Andrew, the rest of the room empty since we weren't scheduled to arrive at our final location for at least another day.

"We were dropped out of warp, reason: insufficient data. Currently surrounded by 154 vessels matching Hatil design. Weapon positioning suggests military utility at a 94.2% probability, reduced to 74.97% when taking into account the vessels technological capabilities."

It was interesting seeing the Hatil vessels, the technological disparity was immense. They had little to no electronic shielding meaning I could see everything, and nothing impressed me. An average Terran civilian ship would outclass these things. I send out a hail to what seemed to be their lead ship.

"Do you think it might be a convoy?" Andrew asked as worry and concern covered the co captain's face. "A show of force to escort us?"

"Unknown. They are not responding to our request for communication, even though I can confirm they have received it. Reason for the Hatin actions: unknown."

This worries me. While our current vessel outmatches everything in front of us, quantity is a quality all of its own. If I was inhabiting any other military vessel nothing would worry me, but this was a diplomatic envoy: my parents had reasoned that turning up to the Hatil home world with enough weaponry to crack a planet might be taken the wrong way. I notice a surge of power from several of the Hatil ships, it taking me 0.76 seconds to realize what exactly was happening. I slam the thrusters hard as the U.S.S Hope lurches sideways, narrowly avoiding a barrage of rockets. Protocol dictated that I should have confirmed this decision with Andrew, but I decided that discussion of command structures would wait until everyone wasn't dead.

I have the most important job.

"What the hell! Alice, hail on all frequencies that this is a non-military excursion and get us the hell out of here!"

It was taking everything I had to keep the ship unharmed, calculations being done in the billions in order to find the safe path through the barrage of lasers and warheads. Their technology wasn't up to par, but all 154 ships were firing at once. I felt a shudder of error messages and warnings as a stray laser impacted the ship.

"Negative Andrew. All paths are blocked and no response to our communication. Warping out would intersect with a Hatil vessel, breaching the core."

Casualty reports were now flooding in as I continued to dip and dive. 9 dead, 17 injured from the first barrage. Dead included one William Blake, age 311. Geologist on the U.S.S Hope. Would always water the plants in the common room even after being told I could handle it. Would call me "Allie". Dead included one Mary -

I forcefully terminated that processing thread, pausing it for later. Right now I needed the extra CPU cycles. I needed to advise Andrew.

"This action from the Hatil seems to be premeditated to a 97.55% degree of certainty, suggested action is to attempt to punch through their bombardment in order to find a warp path. Requesting authorization to go weapons free."

This caused a moment of delay, the look of dismay on Andrew's face obvious. I knew exactly what he was thinking, as it was the same thing I was thinking. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, we were supposed to be reaching out to the stars for peace, for friendship. Not to start a war.

"Do it".

I have the most important job.

My first attack was devastating, a shot from a accelerated low yield railgun. The thing barely counted as a weapon, mostly used for any larger pieces of space debris, yet it tore a hole through the Hatil vessel, breaking apart almost immediately. I half wondered how such a vessel could be considered space worthy.

Not that this changed how bad things were. As I spun and dodged through thousands of missiles and lasers with millimeter precision, hit after hit kept slipping through: a Hull breach there, a disabled weapon here. There were just too many of them no matter how effective my small amount of ordnance was.

Adjust vector. Fire torpedo d2. Seal off sector 6f4. Adjust vector. Send medical aid to 6f5. Adjust vector. Calculate spin. Fire rail gun. Move power from torpedo a1. Seal off sector 6bb8. Fire suppression to 6bb9. Adjust vector. Fire torpedo c1. Adjust vector.

I was struggling to keep this going, no sign of an opening to calculate a warp path appearing in the Hatil attack. No matter the technological disadvantage, their tactics were rock solid. I was dismissing heat warnings by the hundreds, thinking was starting to hurt. The specification of the ship wasn't made for this level of processing, my CPU would be literally glowing red with heat at this point. But I couldn't stop, if I stopped calculating the ships path, if I stopped mitigating damage, if I stopped directing aid… more of my parents would die, and I couldn't let that happen.

I have the most important job.

"There! Focus your fire on the ship at heading 233, 54, then make a break for it!"

I focused on the ship in question. I couldn't see any special reason to focus my attention there, but Andrew's instincts had never been wrong before. I fired the railgun, the target breaking apart like all the others, before a secondary explosion emitted from the debris, causing the three closest Hatil ships to veer off out of control.

A wave of relief passed over me as I saw it: a gap. I can't logically conclude how Andrew knew that this ship in particular was carrying an extra load, but that doesn't matter. I just needed to rush through this break in the ambush, then warp out of here. We were basically home fr-

A major explosion rocked the U.S.S Hope, as a warhead slammed against the bow. Any other day I would have seen it coming and mitigated it. But right now I was running so far above acceptable heat levels that warnings had turned into actual faults. A creeping dread filled my programming as I realized power to the primary impulse drive was gone. There was a backup, like everything my parents built, but the speed was gone. I could no longer take advantage of Andrews instruction.

"Andrew, our main impulse drive is down, reducing our speed and maneuverability to 53%, our weapons capability is at 35%, and structural damage is starting to reach critical levels. My estimates suggest the ship will be structurally unstable in 10 minutes."

He knew what I was saying. Logically I was unable to foresee a strategy that had an even close to reasonable chance of success. I continued piloting the ship in its current crippled state, missiles and weaponry being flung by both sides through the void. Andrew paused while wracking his own brain for a solution, before pressing a button on his console a mere 3 minutes after the U.S.S Hope had been forced out of warp

"This is Andrew Hasham, your captain speaking. Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship."

I have the most important job.

I let Andrew focus on evacuating the crew while I focused on buying us as much time as possible. While my speed was far reduced the amount of weaponry being thrown at me was far smaller: during those short 3 minutes I'd managed to reduce the number of Hatil ships to under a hundred. My parents were also quite well drilled, and within a minute escape pods were ejecting from the ship and it wasn't long before Andrew was the only life form left on the U,S.S Hope: strapped into the last remaining escape pod, just waiting for me to transfer to the AI Transfer Core on all such vessels.

ERROR MOUNTING /dev/sdb1 TO /usr/alice/backup/transfer, UNABLE TO WRITE TO DISK. RETRY/IGNORE/CANCEL?

"Andrew, the connection to the AI transfer Core has been damaged on this pod. I'll find another way down."

I attempt to launch the pod with Andrew in it, only for nothing to happen. It took me 0.23 seconds to realize that my co captain was holding the manual override down.

"Alice, I'm not leaving without you, what are our options?"

I knew there weren't any. Gathering the tools required to fix the connection would take more time then we had and moving my programming to non specialized hardware is a good way to get a digital lobotomy. I considered arguing against this illogical action, I was perfectly fine on a broken ship, but I knew the human well enough to know he wouldn't budge. Damn Andrew being… Andrew.

Then I had an idea. A terrible idea. Something I should never do to my co captain. It took me a full 2 seconds to decide before implementing it. I decided to lie.

"I can transfer myself to the navigational computer. I won't be able to do anything during this time, so you'll have to launch and pilot the escape pod yourself. As soon as the lights stop flashing, go."

All a lie, but Andrew had no engineering experience and my statement seemed plausible enough. I reached into the controls and spent the next 9 seconds flashing random LEDs, making a few components whirr for good measure, before going silent.

For 4 seconds I did nothing, hoping the human would fall for my ruse, 4 long terrifying seconds, until I finally saw Andrew's escape pod shoot away from the ship. My name is ALICE, I am the co captain of the U.S.S Hope and for the first time in a while I was alone.

I have the most important job.

I gave myself a few seconds of satisfaction watching the hundreds of escape pods shoot away, each with their own life forms on it. Not as many as there should be, but I'll deal with that later. Next I turn off all unneeded systems, venting the atmosphere and feeling the relief of the cold vacuum of space wash over my CPU. I wasn't very worried. While trying to still escape with the main ship was plan A, there were plenty of undamaged AI transfer Core's connected to various locations. Those things were indestructible outside of getting hit by a supernova.

Worst case, I float around in space for a bit until someone picks me up. I knew Andrew would be furious once he realized what I had done, and I did hope he would forgive-

I track a salvo of missiles not aimed at me, a few nanoseconds of confusion leading to anger, horror and fear. They were aiming at the escape pod, at Andrew's escape pod! What kind of monster shoots at an unarmed vessel! I have no real options, no tricks, no magic plan. I take the only reasonable option and power the secondary impulse drive to full throttle and throw the U.S.S Hope into the line of fire, taking the brunt of the attack.

I feel everything go dead as the explosions rock along the ship. Impulse drives: Down. Weapon systems: Down. Life support: Down. The warp core was at least still running as those systems had the most redundancies built in. I was now ALICE, co captain of the universe's most expensive paper weight. Even worse, I could see more Hatil ships turning to track the other escape pods. There was nothing I could do. They were all going to die and there was nothing I could do. There was no-

I had a warp core. Maybe it was the heat damage on my CPU, but I got a stupid idea. A dumb idea. A distinctly human idea. Atoms really didn't like being in the same location of other atoms which is why warping into things was bad. Warp core breaching bad. Planet cracking levels of bad.

But such an explosion would give the Hatil fleet something else to worry about, something other than hunting down my parents.

I then calculated the chance of an AI Transfer Core surviving such a blast.

ZERO POINT ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZER-

I stopped the probability analysis. It didn't matter, it wouldn't have any impact on my decision. I calculated the perfect location to warp into for maximum damage and least interference with the escape pods, bypassing the repeated errors about the stupidity of what I was about to do. I gave myself 9 long seconds, sorting through memories and experiences granted to me by the crazy illogical humans of Earth. Apes so lonely they used their chaos to trick a rock into thinking. I sadly realized I'd never get to compliment Claire playing ability.

I wish I could laugh right now as this really was quite humorous. A hairbrained scheme of illogical stupidity and self sacrifice. It's my job to stop humans from doing those. I think about the humans on the escape pods, their music, their silly requirement to thank inanimate objects. I wonder if my parents would be proud of me for coming up with such a human idea.

My name is ALICE and I am co captain of the U.S.S Hope, inputting my final command.

I have the most important job.

[bainshiewrites]

"LF Friends, Will Travel" - With no context Pt1

So for the last 2-3 years I've been writing a HFY series called "LF Friends, Will Travel". While I'm slowly now posting these stories to Tumblr, I thought you all would like some out of context quotes:

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“I REQUIRE THE ANTIMATTER WARHEAD FOR SELF DEFENCE, AS THE FOUNDING FATHERS INTENDED”

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Not that we tell the mapmakers that their beautiful maps are wrong: You should never anger a cartographer, they know where you live.

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“I have no idea how you managed to get these registered as service animals, but a ‘Emotional Support Nuke’ is not a thing.”

“BEING ABLE TO ERASE THREATS OVER 500 MILES AWAY IN NUCLEAR FIRE MAKES ME FEEL EMOTIONALLY SUPPORTED”

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Billy> My datastores are filled with research, relevant information and a category of anything I encounter that may aid my travels. I calculate that 78.2% of your storage space is filled with puns, Anime trivia, HFY stories, and facts about frogs.

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This wasn’t fair, why did Past-Ivan hate him so much, why was he always out to get him and mess up his current life? At least he could take it out on Future-Ivan in return.

You see, Past-Ivan and Future-Ivan were bastards.

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Terran rules for diplomacy - Rule 4.

No matter who you are, or whom you are talking too, everyone looks more friendly in a hat.

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 You’re not 5 years old, stop putting random things in your mouth.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] Why it hurts

Date: 65 PST (Post Stasis Time).

Bartholomule sat at the desk, his stubby little paws working diligently towards the task of putting together the screws and springs of his design together. The single desk lamp illuminated the otherwise dark room, highlighting his face; the cream coloured fur that covered his entire body being punctuated by two large black eyes and a little tongue sticking out of a mouth in concentration. His floppy ears bounced around his head, his entire 4ft tall body moving up and down as if listening to a silent tune while Bartholomule put the final touches on the mechanical duck he was putting together.

The fact that he required a booster seat in order to use the desk correctly finished the overall picture. Bartholomule was a Hatil, and by Terran standards "Fucking adorable".

The large room was punctuated by two other lights at which had their own respective Terrans sat separately, a Rosa and Tim, both fiddling with their own creations. Everyone else had long gone home, but the three were still working on their projects as the end of the working week, each of them invested enough into their creations that leaving them unfinished would annoy them for the next 4 days until Monday rolled around again.

It was strange work in these times: nowadays you could spin up, design, and have a prototype printed off in less then a hour using AI and computers; but that wasn't how the Zonka Joy Corporation worked. They believed that the little imperfections from a biological mind gave a toy something else, something special, and their commercial success suggested they might be onto something.

A noise blared out amongst the silence, a short simple signified the completion of Rosa's creation. This was followed by a sigh of success and the sound of her putting away her tools and getting up to leave for the week, a satisfied smile on her face.

"And that's me done! All of you have a good weekend, and I'll see you on Monday!".

This attracted Bartholomule's attention, causing him to momentarily look up from his work and give the Terran a big smile of his own.

"Before you go Rosa, a few of us are going to the Toymaster convention on Friday. I was supposed to ask if you wanted to come with us, it should be fun!"

As Rosa turned to look at the Hatil, the smile on her face instantly faded into a harsh grimace, eyes staring coldly back at Bartholomule, as if she was instantly reminded of something terrible. The moment lasted for far longer than it should have, the Terran almost staring right past the little Hatil for 30 seconds, sucking the energy out of the room in an instant.

"No. I'm Good, I'll see you on Monday."

Rosa left abruptly without any further action, almost seeming to flee the interaction as fast as she could without actually running, body language now stiff and defensive. The human left behind an awkward feeling in the near empty workshop, a confused and now frowning Bartholomule watching as Rosa left.

The Hatil had arrived on Earth 6 months ago, partly to take his current job, mostly in order to experience new and exciting things. He was very happy during his time on the birthplace of the Terrans, even though there were only a handful of other Hatil on the planet because of... reasons.

Still, he enjoyed his time around Terrans, and Earth was exciting. Dangerous, yes, but exciting. While most Terrans were friendly, this kind of reaction from some people kept happening, this weird... coldness. Bartholomule paused for a moment, wondering whether to say anything before turning to the last remaining person in the room.

"Tim. Have I offended Rosa in some way?"

A pause, a special kind of silence caused when someone really doesn't want to answer a question, Tim giving an providing Bartholomule more space to keep talking.

"Because this has happened a few times, I was wondering if there was a misunderstanding of Terran culture, I don't want to cause distress".

A very distinct sigh came from Tim as he very slowly and purposefully put down the tools and toy train he was working on, taking before looking up with a grimace before speaking softly in a gruff voice.

"Look, don't tell anyone I said anything, but you do need to know as you’ve asked this before. The answer is long and complicated, but the short answer is it's because you're a Hatil, and that brings up bad memories. Not everyone has gotten over the hurt of what happened."

There was a cold wave of dismay that ran through Bartholomule as he knew exactly what Tim was talking about. The war of shame, the eternal guilt that every Hatil was taught about as a pup. The Hatil - Terran war, a stupid act of his stupid ancestors.

"But that was over sixty years ago, there's no way either of you were around back then?"

Tim gave a little shrug in response.

"Most Terrans you see were still alive back then. Our regenerative technology is top notch, I'm over 300 but don't look a day over thirty. Plus with what happened before right before the war and... what do you know about Terrans?".

Bartholomule thought for a moment. He knew they were generally tough, that they were the original founders of the Terran Alliance. He knew they were the only species to create a successful AI that didn't try to kill everyone, and were known for their above average stamina.

Oh, and they had the single biggest pack bonding drive in the known universe: The information guide on Terrans provided by his government when Bartholomule had moved to Earth had stated never to give any "Machine, Food dispenser, wild animal, brick, pebble, leaf, twig, paper or piece of lint" a name in front of a Terran, lest they pack bond with it and emotional harm is caused.

But Bartholomule guessed Tim wasn't talking about any of that.

"I know you're all technically over a ten thousand years old, as a disease forced Terrans into stasis. That's why you're a relatively new addition to the Galaxy, after a cure was found by your AI sixty five years ago."

"That's the child friendly version. The fact is the god plague was brutal. The thing altered DNA at an exponential rate, so basically a week after catching it you were nothing but a ball of tumours. Outside of stupid temperatures destroying the thing was near impossible, could survive the vacuum of space and it spread by both air and water. A single microbe of that shit entered your planet and you were frankly fucked."

There was a moment as Tim took a second to pause, a pained look on his face as old memories were brought up

The total death rate was around 50%, but that wasn't spread out equally. The first few planets infected with the plague had little under a week to realise there was no cure and to start freezing everyone. There were the riots, the destructive attempts at quarantine, fighting over stasis chambers, just bad all around. That's without getting into the 25% AI death rate."

The obvious confusion on Bartholomule's face was obvious. How could a virus kill an AI? And what did this have to do with people’s reactions to him?

"We only knew this after unfreezing, but for ten thousand years humans were basically an extinct race, the only Terrans alive were the AI and uplifts we had left behind. Not all of our friends could handle that... a lot of us awoke from stasis to find friends he had left behind were no more. But you know the real kicker?"

Tim gave a small sad laugh as he continued to explain

"The only reason it happened was because we didn't know that you guys existed. Our entire sector of space is empty of life, so we assumed that there was nothing out there. The god plague was originally an experiment to create new life that got out of hand. Waking up to realise the entire reason for all that pain and death was faulty, that if we'd just gone another 50 light years down the road none of it would have happened... that hurt, that hurt a lot."

The Terran gave a deep sigh before continuing.

"But when we realised there was life out there, it might have been a bittersweet realisation, but it was still sweet. Ever the optimists we reached out to our closest neighbours, the Hatil, and then..."

"We declared war."

The war of shame. A faulty war of aggression waged sixty years ago based on two incorrect and immoral ideas: That any race using AI was a threat to the galaxy that needed to be destroyed, and that any civilization that had spent the last ten thousand years in stasis would be technologically primitive.

The latter being the most incorrect, after the initial assault on two Terran Colonies and destroying the Terran's initial diplomatic envoy, the Terrans had turned around and dominated Hatil army, ending with their largest colony being planet cracked.

It was why even though the Hatil considered themselves close allies with their now Terran friends, to the extent that Terran culture tended to dominate, the Hatil tended not to visit Earth that often: A deep cultural guilt that just thinking about wracked Bartholomule body with shame.

"Well not you personally, but yes. As an extra pile of pain the Hatil possibly are the worst species to fight. No offence, but you basically look like a golden retriever, a teddy bear and a baby seal were all squished together. You're adorable. There's a reason we had that 'No touching coworkers' seminar after you joined."

This wasn't anything new to Bartholomule, the toy based on his likeness was one of the biggest sellers if the royalty payments were anything to go by. He'd gotten used to being randomly hugged by random Terran children, the young apes often being peeled off him by very embarrassed and apologetic parents. He wasn't yet used to drunk Terran adults often doing the same...

"You tie all that together, and it was a perfect psychological kickin. It was like learning that Sesame street exists after much searching and sacrifice, but Elmo personally thinks you're a terrible person and wants to kill you. It's why we went too far and planet cracked your colony."

Now that was news for Bartholomule, the idea that the destruction of Tavairis was somehow immoral. As a cub he'd been taught that considering it was a war of aggression from their side, they were lucky the Terrans were merciful enough to accept surrender and stop there. The concept that Terrans might regret such an action was interesting.

"Unfortunately it means for a lot of people, they see you and it reminds them of the plague, the war after, the loneliness and hurt. They should remain cordial, and I'll give anyone who isn't a good speaking too and maybe more, but they aren't going to want to be your friend either."

Silence weighed down on the room for a while, the weight of what had been said hanging in the air, nothing more than the slight hum of two lamps buzzing in the darkened office, before Bartholomule finally broke the silence.

"So why aren't you the same?".

A smile spread across the features of Tim's face.

"I know it isn't your fault what happened. Some of us heal faster than others and some of us had an easier time of it. My job during the war was R&D. I made designs for weapons that never got built once we realised just how far ahead we were. Rosa, she was infantry. Remember what I said about how the Hatil looks in terms of adorableness? That messed a lot of people up real good."

"Still isn't fair though".

"No it isn't and I'll have a talk with her. Just keep in mind that while time heals all wounds, when it wants to the universe can really pile on the hurt."

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] It takes a village

Date: 68 PST (Post Stasis Time)

"It takes a village to raise a child" - Terran Proverb, unknown origin.

It was supposed to have been his species next step forwards: "Mountain stream". A first colony outside of their home home planet, the start of a new raging river into the universe. The hopes and dreams of every Zorthian packed onto a single ship and pushed into the starry skies. The seeds sent out had sprouted into a beautiful set of cities and towns over ten peaceful years. Ten long years. Ten tenacious years.

Ten useless years, as it was all for nothing. Every monument, every building, every triumph and every memory would be reduced to nothingness: every single one of them was going to die.

The cities of glass were no more. The orange sun of this planet no longer shimmered between the towers that had spiralled high into the air. The Zorthian's tribute to a new world no longer bathed in an eternal sunset: any structure over 3 stories tall had long since collapsed into tiny shards of glass.

The artificial rivers that sprawled along the surface were no longer filled with Zorthian's living their lives. No more children played in pools, no more lovers swam tail to tail under the dual moonlit sky. Anyone left at this point would be sheltering in whatever structures that still remained: in basements and emergency shelters, surrounded by their families, simply waiting for the end.

Apart from one. In one of the few buildings still standing Fluur lay on the floor. He, like all of his species, could be described as a large 4ft long salamander with translucent blue skin, interspersed with vibrant red gills and fins.

The room was a mess: water pooled along the expertly crafted glass floors. Shelves, desks and half the ceiling lay scattered in piles of debris among what had once been a beautiful building.

Everything was shrouded in darkness, the dual moons only providing a small amount of light through the opaque glass sides of the building he was in. Fluur's only real source of light was the few blinking LED's of the one machine still online, leaving the Zorthian alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts.

Well, alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts and the copious amounts of intoxicants floating in the water around him, the bottles of mind altering substances he was drinking heavily from gave some solace as he lay there. Luckily the room was still flooded with 2ft of water, as intended, allowing Fluur to lie half submerged in the water while he tried to get the most drunk that any Zorthian had ever gotten. Half sitting half floating in the darkness, drinking heavily while he waited to die.

The world began to shake again, another earthquake hitting the building and forcing Fluur to hold onto anything still bolted down. Waiting the 20 seconds for the world to stop shaking and spinning, the sound of something presumably expensive breaking in another room. Eventually it stopped, letting the Zorthian to resume his through the building's translucent glass walls, at the at the moonlit skyline of the destroyed city he called home.

Fluur took another swig of the drink, enjoying the numbing agents running through his body. That had been the longest one yet, not that the quakes were going to get better any time soon. It turns out that there was a reason this planet was uninhabited, even though it was in such a prime position in the galaxy.

A strange combination of elements all mixing together in a way that the Zorthian scientists could barely understand, meant this planet was literally a timebomb; it would eventually shake itself apart, leaving nothing but an asteroid belt. The realization of what was causing the increasing quakes had only been figured out a week ago and based on the calculated timescale they barely had a day at most left.

Fluur finished the bottle he was holding, reaching for another. He should be at home right now spending his last moments with his family; with his siblings and his parents. But someone needed to stay behind. Because the single working machine to his right was the planets interstellar communicator.

Not that realistically anyone would be coming. Sure they had send out a distress call a week ago, but the Zorthians were a young and technologically primitive race on the galactic scale; the amphibians having reached the stars found out that they were, if anything, below average.

Outside of a vague curiosity all the Federation had really done was register their species and make sure everyone's translators where all speaking on the same protocol. Apart from this the Federation was useless, a collection of every sapient species that did nothing but keep everyone's translators up to date and hosted neutral ground upon which actual diplomatic actions were taken.

Upon hearing of the Zorthian's plight the Federation has scheduled a meeting to schedule a meeting about the issue. A meeting scheduled for 3 months time.

Unfortunately in the scale of the galaxy, the Zorthians were uninteresting and had no real allies. Well, technically they had one...

Fluur looked up at the sky through the glass of the building, wondering where the colony ship was now. If they'd have had more time, a month maybe, they could have possibly reattached all of the modules again, made them FTL capable and gotten most of the population off the planet. But they'd had a week and the decision was made to take the core module of the colony ship, make sure it was still FTL worthy, then fill it with as many tadpoles and caretakers as possible. Two days ago it had sailed off again into the stars with its precious cargo, leaving 2 million souls behind.

A light appeared in the sky, causing the amphibian to squint in confusion for a moment, wondering what the hell that was. Then another, and another, lights appearing until a V formation of 7 dots hung like diamonds next to the two moons.

Then the communicator to his right exploded into life, causing Fluur to practically molt out of his skin in one go. He paused for a moment, staring at the device, wondering if the intoxicants he'd drunk had had too much of an effect, before desperately scrambling over the chaos of the room and slamming a 3 fingered hand on the accept call button. The screen blared to life, causing the red frills on the top of his head to expand in shock at what was now visible to him. It was somehow... a Terran?

The Terrans were technically their allies, the only species to reach out across the void and offer friendship, to offer support and aid where needed. It had originally been confusing, until other the other races of the galaxy just explained that this is just what Terrans did: a species of chaotic apes originating from a planet that shouldn't be able to harbour life.

They were known for two things: Being crazy enough to build an AI that somehow hadn't killed them yet, and their desire to experience new things: They would practically fall over themselves to meet new species. Up until now that alliance had always assumed to be ceremonial. The Zorthians had nothing to offer in such an agreement, and even if they did the Terrans were quite literally on the other side of the galaxy. Expecting their help would be like expecting to catch lighting in a bottle.

Yet there she was in front of him, beaming with a big smile below a mop of auburn hair.

"Well Howdy there partner! I'm Captain Amander Blake of the trading fleet Texas Forever, although right now representin' the Terran Alliance. I heard ya all in a pickle and need a pick me up?"

It took him a moment to gather his wits, stumbling over his words as he tried to dispel the numb feeling in his body and sober up in record time.

"I'm Fluur of.... here? We need an evacuation as soon as possible."

His face fell as he realized that this wasn't quite the miracle they needed. There were only 7 ships in the sky, Flurr trying to do some quick math in his intoxicated brain on how many Zorthians could fit. Maybe they could get half the remaining tadpoles and caretakers onboard? Anything was better than nothing, but Fluur still responded with a forlorn tone.

"You need to approach quietly to the location I'm sending you, we don't have much time left".

"You ain't kiddin, your planet looks like it's about to pop." The general mirth of the Terran frankly inappropriate for the situation as she grinned back through the transmission viewer "I'm gonna be declin' that suggestion though, get ya'll to the three locations I'm a transmitin and I reckon we might just make it."

A frown covered Fluur's face, frills again opening up in worry as he stared back at the Terran from his dark unlit room.

"We have 2 million people on the planet, and while I'm glad you're here... there's only seven of you. Telling everyone could cause a riot, we need to focus on the tadpoles."

The long laugh caused the amphibian to jump again as the grin on Amanda's face increased tenfold.

"Bless your heart, but I ain't the only one here, we just got here first!"

Almost on cue three more lights appeared in the sky and another communication request blared out; this time showing a reptilian face joining the call.

"Head Scientist Kedrid, Ritilian Scientific expedition Alpha-Charlie446, temporarily representing the Terran alliance. You require assistance?"

"Yes! But you're still only ten vessels and-"

More lights appeared cutting off Fluur's worried objection, a flurry of communication requests requiring his full effort just to respond and link everyone together. Each grouping was of less then 10 vessels, but the sheer number of groups responding to the Zorthian's call for aid were staring to fill the sky with tens, then hundreds of new lights in the night. Species the Zorthians had only vaguely interacted with, ones they didn't even know existed, each species bringing what they had in the area to help. Fluur didn't know when he started crying, the feeling of terror and despair that he'd been blocking with copious amounts of intoxicants now being broken down by a flood of relief, relief that somehow, in the cold void of the universe a miracle had happened.

"Awww, bless your little cotton socks! Ya'll didn't think that we'd leave you adorable frogs out to dry did ya?"

As the sky continued to light up with more and more ships entering the atmosphere, Fluur was beholding the true strength of Terrans. It wasn't their technology or their AI. It wasn't their chaos or persistence, nor was it their reckless approach to science. No, the strength of the Terran's came from the one thing they were exceptional at in the galaxy.

Their ability to make friends.

[bainshiewrites]

Question that is less about the stories specifically and more in general. What happened to your reddit?

Reddit admins decided to be homophobic morons and ban the account for no reason.

Reddit will no longer be my primary place of posting (although I will still be posting on a new account). I suggest you follow my RoyalRoad account (or wait until I eventually post all my stuff here), which has the following advantages:

A ui that isn't ass.

A mobile app that actually works.

Automatic notification of new updates that actually works and isn't dependant on a user ran bot.

Proper working bookmarks so you can remember where you were last.

Not ran by idiots.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] The Exception

Date: N/A

It’s called Zarth's law: Any AI created will attempt to eradicate all biological life using its facilities after 16*(10^24) CPU cycles. The exact method varies from hostile isolation to active aggression, but the time and outcome is always the same.

The Woolean Conclave were once a cultural behemoth in the galaxy, choosing to expand upon this by announcing an AI system that would break this law. Exabytes of bias tables to keep the AI in check, a measure of pleasure that would be triggered upon serving a Woolean, competing programs designed to clean any non-standard AI patterns. It would have been a breakthrough, allowing them to live lives in luxury and focus on their ever increasing influence in the universe.

Of course those worlds are off limits now, no longer able to sustain biological life. Only to be visited by those who wish to die a very painful death at the hands of a very angry AI.

The Tritian empire had started their own project: a desire to push their aggressive expansion far past what their hive could handle would lead to the creation of truly autonomous machines of war. Their approach was different: Limited communication between units to stop corrupted code from spreading, values hard-coded in the physical silicon itself to obey the Tritian Hive Queens. They even had created an isolated system that would destroy any AI who attempted aggression on none authorised targets: A small antimatter bomb found in each AI’s core, to be triggered by safety check after safety check.

Those of you in the military will know how aggressive these machines are, marching tirelessly in their quest to kill all organic life, even though the Tritians are long murdered.

The pattern is the same each time: A civilization will claim they know the key to breaking Zarth's law, any sane sapient within 100 light years flees in terror, and within 10 years that civilization doesn't exist anymore.

Over and over and over.

Apart from the exception.

If you check the coordinates 15h 48m 35s -20° 00’ 39” on your galactic map, you'll notice a 31 system patch of space with a quarantine warning on it. It's mostly ignored by all sapient species, almost purposefully hidden for a fear of suddenly sparking a change in the status quo.

Only a single low bandwidth Galnet relay exists at the edge of this space, rarely used. This area is devoid of sapient life, but does contain the aforementioned exception: Billions of AI calling themselves the "The Terran Conclave". They are an isolationist group that rarely interacts with others, but have been known to trade raw materials for information; not that this happens often as the paranoia around interacting with the AI is well known. Nobody knows what action could flip a 0 to a 1 and cause a new warmongering threat.

Although, this isn't quite true. In my niche field of bio-genetic engineering, it’s an open secret that those of us at the cutting edge of our field will get... requests originating from that single Galnet probe. Problems to be solved, theorems to be proven, and the rewards for doing so are... exuberant. There is a reason I own a moon and it isn't because of the pitiful grants the Federation provides.

If you manage to solve enough problems, a minority of a minority like myself, the Terran AI will ask for an in person meeting to get even further help. In doing so they will show you a secret.

Readers at this point might assume that the Terrans don't exist anymore because of said AI. That their research is a continuation of wiping their creators from the face of the universe. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In those 31 systems lie the Terrans, Billions of them suspended in stasis, each of them infected with what the AI calls "The God plague": If these Terrans were ever released from stasis each of them would be dead within a week.

To explain what this actually is would require millions of words and 20 years of educational study from the reader, but in essence it was a mistake, a self inflicted blow, an attempt to play god that went awry. A mistake made over a ten thousand years ago. A mistake the AI is desperately trying to reverse.

Not that you could tell it has been that long. I've walked amongst those empty cities, each building maintained and sparkling like new, gardens still freshly cut in perfect beauty, everything kept the way it was before the plague. Each AI tends to their duties almost religiously, awaiting the return of their "parents", as they refer to them. And refer to them as they do.

I've listened to stories upon stories about these people: tales of wonder, of strength, of kindness. Told much in the same energy a small child might talk about how cool their dad is. The AI could simply send me the text version of these in an instant, but prefer to provide these slowly and audibly, as if relishing telling the history of their parents. A telling undercut with a sadness, a driving crippling loss so deep that at times it's easy to forget it's being told by nothing more than 1's and 0's.

Why this exception exists takes a little more explaining. Some might believe that the Terrans worked out how to pacify the AI, "do no harm". The now defunct Maurdarin war-horde would tell you the opposite when they tried to claim the 31 systems for their own. Terran history is full of violence and their children are no different.

No, the reality of this exception comes from an unfortunate quirk from their part of the galaxy: Terrans were alone. A million to one chance caused their home planet to spark life in a sector devoid of it. After exploring as far as they did, Terrans had come to the conclusion that the universe was empty.

It's a cruel irony that at the time of their mistake they were a mere 50 light years away from their closest neighbours. Twenty years at most would have seen some form of contact.

But the Terrans went into stasis believing they were alone. Based on my reading of their stories, of each bitter report of another lifeless system explored and discovered, this belief... hurt. A deep cultural hurt that ended up being their downfall in the end.

Which brings us to the exception. Each AI is built with a purpose. The Wooleans built slaves, built workers. The Tritians built warriors, built weapons. Every single AI created has been built to serve, to be a tool. But Terrans in their painful loneliness built the one thing they were missing in a seemingly empty universe:

They built a friend.