Slow Lifeline

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-615-82790-3-1
Verlag: PublishDrive
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 4, 277 Seiten

Reihe: Just a story

Just a Story #4 - Lifeline

The fourth volume of the series brings a new tone to the world we thought we already knew-or perhaps reveals a deeper layer of what we had only sensed before. Space and time have always been malleable concepts, but now those who have already lost everything are given one final chance to save something-perhaps even themselves.

A man reconciled with his fate is offered one last opportunity, and fifty thousand years later a being struggling to define its own identity realizes:

This story is not loud.
It is not flamboyant.
But it lingers.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Slow, L. A.

Weitere Mitwirkende

Kovács, László

Leseproben

1. November 7, 2496

Planet Triumph

Charge level: 2%. Visual feed: 20%.

Mobility: 0%.

Within contact range: 1 individual.

Perceived threat: negative.

"Looks like your hearing is back online," said the figure sitting across from me, glancing several times at the device resting in his lap.

Audio connection: 100%.

"Good!" he continued cheerfully. "According to the control unit, you’re currently immobilized. That’s my good luck—really, you wouldn’t believe how much. Assuming you believe in anything… though it’s probably better if you don’t. Just to be safe, I’m going to ask you this: if you can hear and understand me, flash your left scanner."

I did.

"Thank you. Now, please accept the fact that I don’t intend to harm you. If I’d wanted to, I could have done it already—and I still could, with no risk to myself. The fact that I haven’t shows my intentions. In fact, I’m currently working on your upgrades with your best interest in mind. If you understand and accept that, signal me the same way."

I did.

"Thank you," he nodded. "So, let me introduce myself: my name is Cricket. When you’re able to communicate, you can identify me by that name. This thing in my lap is a diagnostic unit wired directly to your control system. Through it, I’m assessing your condition—that’s how I determined which malfunctions I’ve already fixed and which still need attention. Your recharging is happening through a wired connection as well. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to interrupt it several times—I can’t just draw an unrealistic amount of power without attracting attention. If that leads you to guess I don’t plan to share what’s going on between us with anyone, you’re on the right track. Even so, I hope to finish what I need to do in a few days. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them—though for that, we’ll need to get your communications back online. I’ve got everything I could find for that already!" He gestured around the room. "It wasn’t an easy task."

Cricket watched me—and his device—for a moment before continuing:

"Maybe you’re wondering why I’m sitting here explaining instead of just getting on with it. The simple reason is that your central unit is badly damaged. There’s a real chance I could trigger a defense protocol if I’m not careful. That’s the last thing I want—because in my condition," he said, tapping the arm of the wheelchair he sat in, "I’m hardly equipped to fight a droid. Ha-ha-ha!"

"Well, that was a good laugh," he added with a wry smile.

"So," he went on, "I’ve more or less introduced myself. Now let’s talk about you for a bit. This is important because while your control systems are only damaged, your memory is completely shot. That has its advantages—but we’ll get to that later. Anyway: your designation is IM 2492–5212–3300. The last four numbers identify your manufacturer. That was a company called Agribotics, headquartered in the Trilunnis system. Past tense—since they haven’t been on the registry of active corporations for a while.

"The middle four numbers are your serial number, and the first four represent your manufacturing year in the galactic standard calendar. It’s sort of interesting, actually—the available records suggest you were the last unit ever built in this model line. The ‘IM’ designation stands for Investment Model. That explains a lot, though I really had to dig to figure out what you were. In short, back then, there was all this financial chaos around a royal succession, and Agribotics tried to bridge the crisis by selling robots built from stable-value materials. There’s a certain logic to it. They were basically mobile treasure chests—self-directed, able to protect themselves and designated people according to their programming. The material they used to build you was called electrimium. It has excellent mechanical and other properties. And honestly, the design of your model was pretty impressive. Before or since, I’ve never seen kinetic systems like that—based on thermal expansion and electromagnetism. Of course, it has its limitations, nothing’s perfect. What really killed Agribotics was that electrimium started being produced synthetically, which tanked its value. That collapse took the company with it. They were bought out by a competitor, and production and sales of the IM models stopped for good. That said, you’re not exactly worthless even now. The raw material in your chassis could cover a family’s living expenses here on Triumph for a year—more than that if they’re from the frontier. Do you understand—and accept—what I’ve told you?"

I signaled that I did.

"So now let’s talk about how we ended up in contact. Let’s start with this: I don’t know who your official owner was. If we really dug into it, I’m sure we could find something, but for one thing, I don’t want to draw attention, and for another, I think it’s safe to assume your original buyer isn’t interested in you anymore. It’s also possible they’re not even alive. Of course, there are inheritance procedures, and if you insist later—or rather, if your programming makes it unavoidable—we can look into that. Our... relationship, you could say, started about a year ago. Back then I could still walk, and on one of my walks I noticed a few punks hauling something that looked like a statue. One of the guys was familiar to me, and when I asked, he told me they were planning to drop it off at a recycler. They’d dredged you up from the trash-covered bottom of an artificial lake. Luckily—or rather, for both our sakes—I recognized what you really were. I bought you off them for a big stash of synthetic marijuana, though even now I’m not sure it was a good deal. Ha-ha-ha… Anyway,"

He gave a dismissive wave and continued:

"Over time, I gathered everything I could about your series. That’s where this diagnostic unit came from," he said, holding up the device. "With its help, I attempted to extract data from your memory, but unfortunately, I didn’t get much—just gray, blurry images. Anyway, I’m going to have to stop your charging now for the reasons I mentioned earlier. We’ll continue tomorrow. Good night!" he said, and just before everything went completely dark, I saw him press a button on the panel resting in his lap.

With my next activation began the sixty-eight-day process during which a dying man tried to fulfill his hopes while IM-5212 transformed into an entity no one had planned for.

"Looks like," Cricket said, glancing at the unit in his lap, "your charge level and the capabilities tied to it are both improving. In theory, you shouldn’t have any trouble with speech generation now. Please confirm verbally if you can."

"Positive," I responded to the prompt.

"Not bad for a start—especially considering your brain is practically in my hands. Any questions about what we talked about yesterday?"

"Negative," I replied.

"Aha, let me just tweak the control settings a bit toward the human interaction profile," he said, making adjustments.

"Okay: any questions about what we talked about yesterday?"

"No," I answered.

"Very good, Cricket," he muttered quietly to himself.

"Very good, Cricket," I repeated in positive affirmation.

"Wow—do I have a friend now?" he exclaimed. "What else can this handsome EC processor do? But let’s not get too distracted. Let’s see where we are with you. Your vision has improved, and 5% mobility should let you move your neck. Task: Assess your environment using all available sensors, then report back."

"My visual processing allows me to scan and interpret data across a 180-degree field," I reported. "Head movement is only necessary if data needs to be gathered over a wider range. I can rotate my head a full 360 degrees, but my programming restricts non-human-like motions unless specifically authorized. Do you wish me to use those capabilities?"

"I’d rather you didn’t. Not that it would really bother me…" he hesitated, "but it’s a perfect example of human arrogance and narrow-mindedness. They make something that can do more than they can, then program it so it won’t. But," he lifted a finger, "there’s always the loophole: special authorization! If their miserable little lives depended on it, they’d definitely grant it."

"What does ‘chicken shit’ mean?" I asked, attempting to expand my database with extra information.

"Excuse me?" Cricket looked at me in surprise. "Well, I did say you could ask questions… It’s the excrement of a bird. Supposedly it was useful in the heat treatment of Damascus blades."

"Damascus blade?" I prompted.

"You know what? I’m revising my earlier statement. Until all your peripherals are at 100%, let’s limit questions to what’s needed for your restoration. Let’s get back to the main task: assess your environment with all available tools and report back. Head movement is fine. Honestly, this will be the first time I see a robot using electromagnetic bearing glide instead of servo motion. Please scan as slowly as possible." He rolled a little closer and leaned forward in his chair.

"Understood!"

As requested, I completed the assessment and reported the results:

"The room has a floor area of thirty-four square meters and a volume of sixty cubic meters. Furnishings occupy 22.5% of this space. If needed, I can list them item by item. Based on the...