Can’t Teach an Old Machine New Tricks

Portia entered the building with no problem. No one commented on her lateness or her dress. Baring a quick stop at her apartment, Portia arrived straight from Bea’s.
The windows to Viktor Ang’s office were mysteriously darkened as she walked by.
Her office was exactly she left it. The room recognized her Identity Signature so she must still have a job.
Portia took out her Data Pad and settled herself in front of the Hope’s terminal. The machine was large and lumbering but she was about to coax it into acrobatic tricks.
“You’re not going to like this at first, but trust me, it’ll make you feel better,” Portia said gently, brushing her hands over the keypad.
First, she downloaded all thirty years worth of messages from the Hope. The face of young woman who Portia recognized as the grown up Ofelia Clovelly, reported solemnly to the viewer. She was wearing a gray uniform that had the unpleasant jumpsuit look to it. Portia increased the speed of the download, the imagine racing as it spoke, flickering to be replaced with the same solemn eyes, jumpsuit wearing missing in action Clovelly cousin. Aunt, actually, now that Portia thought about it.
Portia routed the transmissions to play on the holo projection pad. Because they were not filmed for the holo, the images had a translucent, amber tinge. Portia watched Ofelia speak, searching for a family resemblance.
She didn’t know how many times it had to be repeated on the news feed before she realized that the Hope was sending transmissions, full of static, but continuing to broadcast. Wherever happened to the colony, they did not burn up in the atmosphere upon entry. They were still out there, somewhere, broadcasting, trying to get their message heard. Hopefully there was data in all static and she might be able to de-scramble it. At the very least, she could review all the records and look for clues. Colonies just don’t vanish.
Portia had only been working the Data Initiative for Corporate Colonialism for nearly a year. There was twenty years worth of transmissions from the Hope that she hadn’t viewed. Maybe there would be a clue there, also.
The Crosby terminal blinked, a new transmission was received.
A woman with brown hair coiled tightly on top of her head was speaking into the screen. She appeared to be wearing the same gray jumpsuit uniform. She said, “Second Officer Lewis speaking. It’s been twenty four hours and we believe we’ve located the Hope’s settlement.”
Portia sighed with relief. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
“It appears that the Hope landed twenty five miles to the east of the targeted destination. Despite evidence of housing, planting fruit trees, and even paving, the settlement is empty. There’s no trace of the Hope colonists. This, our science officer believes, is why we detected no signs of human life. It’s like they all vanished.
“It’s been a week since landfall and it’s hard to keep everyone calm. Some colonists did not want to dismantle the ship because they believe there’s safety in numbers. We’ve erected a force field until the xenobiologists have a chance to study the local fauna and determine the threat level. The force field is meant to be temporary but many of us want to make it a permanent defense mechanism. Currently we are looking for ways to extend the battery life on the force field generators. Our engineer is constructing a solar generator.
“The entire population is frightened…” The woman looked frustrated. “It seems we’re more concerned about keeping out whatever got the Hope, if there’s anything out there to get us, than we are about settling in. We have not constructed housing yet. We have not transplanted our orchards or planted gardens. We continue to live in the ship, as if we weren’t planet side, and it’s worse. The rumors and the tension. Old stories about the Gorm are circulating.”
Portia paused the transmission. The Gorm were creatures out of children’s stories, evil aliens out to destroy all human life, the unseen bogeyman. Fear of the Gorm heightened before the War Years where imaginary bogeymen vanished in the harsh light of real wartime horror. Humanity had not encountered a single intelligent alien life form in nearly a century of space faring. The chances that humans were alone in the universe were astronomical, but with every new solar system mapped, the odds kept improving. The Gorm weren’t real.
The woman continued to speak. “The good news is that the more we worry about what’s out there, the less we argue internally. The Captain has a plan to inhabit the existing Hope settlement but no of the crew think it’s a good idea. The settlement is…Actually, it’s completely empty and it doesn’t feel right. The location is superb. I can easily see why the Hope changed landing locations but I think for now, we’re going to stay on the ship. Second Officer Lewis out.”
Portia turned back to the Hope terminal. The figure of Ofelia was now standing on a holo pad, three dimensional and glowing with an amber light. Another figure joined her, a young girl, a teenager. They were speaking, often at the same time, and appeared to be arguing. The sound was muted. The unidentified girl reached for something outside of the holo projection and it stopped suddenly.
Ofelia and the girl flickered back immediately. She and Ofelia were still arguing. This time Ofelia terminated the transmission.
Portia debated the option of sending the new message or letting it collect dust in the terminal. While the people of Earth should hear the latest news, the knowledge that the Hope did not burn up in entry but founded a small village and then vanished was hardly comforting. Actually, it was more disturbing.
“Can you broadcast as well as receive,” Portia said, patting the terminal on the side. “Let’s crack you open and have a look.”
Portia removed the side paneling and revealed a mass of circuitry. None of the chips or processors was impressive technology but they were the cutting edge when the Crosby launched. What they were was stable. This machine had never crashed. None of the machines in the room ever crashed. Portia’s required occasionally changing out parts that wore out, never repairing a fired processor or cracked board.
“Look what you have there,” she said, sliding one circuit out. “You don’t really need this, but it’s okay. I’ve got something you’ll like.” From the powdery blue satchel she withdrew a small silver box. Portia opened it and withdrew a tiny chip. Its surface appeared to be quicksilver and changed in the light. With a swift motion, she applied it to the large circuit. There was a small spark.
The circuit inserted without a problem. After a quick reboot, Portia typed in a code, added layers no one would bother to search through, and programmed the machine to forward any new transmission to her data pad.
Portia gave a quick look around. Now that she had officially stolen Corporate intellectual property, she knew she was not coming back.
The pod chimed musically.
“Tell me you’ve done whatever it was you needed to do,” Benjamin said.
“I’m finished here. How about you?”
“I came through on my side of the bargain, if that’s what you mean. We’re all scheduled with Turkish but we need to be there in five days.”
“Turkish?”
“Long story. Actually, I think it’s the result of a dare.”
“How far is the Slingshot?”
“Not far. Laredo.”
“Laredo!” The station was, in fact, a distance that could be considered far.
“I was working under the idea that we were to be leaving as soon as possible.”
Portia sighed. She grabbed the Data Pad and typed in coordinates. “Fine. Meet me here at this time.”
“I just love this cloak and danger. It’s so exciting. Do we have code names? You can be Gizmo and I want to be Red Herring. No, no…The Annihilator. Can I have a gun? ”
“Just have the supplies ready, will you?”
“Gizmo, you really can suck the joy out most things.”
“Don’t be late or I’m leaving without you.”
“Check. Annihilator out.”