Most off-the-shelf AIs would have simply accepted the visual feed I transmitted and blithely continued performing their assigned tasks. Not my crew. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY converged on my location within five minutes, as excited as schoolkids on a once-in-a-lifetime field trip. If I've taught them anything useful over the years, it would have to be insatiable curiosity. Fortunately, they have sufficient wisdom to temper their hunger for knowledge with a reasonable degree of caution. DIGBY also brought his Cyclops sub Taranis in by remote so that all four ExoSuits could be collected if we needed to leave this area in a hurry. However, I had an uncomfortable feeling that Taranis alone wouldn't be much use if the Abyssal Titan wasn't actually extinct as a species. One Cyclops submersible might put up a decent fight for roughly a minute or so, but we'd inevitably end up lodged in the Titan's teeth and gums like four mildly irritating poppy-seeds.
We split off into two teams. JUNO and IANTO commenced collecting samples from the Titan's skeleton and the surrounding area, while DIGBY and I stood watch for any potential threats. We spent a fairly hectic time 'dusting off' a pack of Spine Eels prior to commencing our investigation, although they had a nasty habit of doubling back on us from a different direction. Ever the steadfast soldier, DIGBY retrieved a pair of Gauss cannons from Taranis' Hurt Locker. If the sketchier residents of this biome refused to be sent packing by a salvo of heavy repulsion cannon fire, we would have something far more substantial to offer them by way of incentive. Not an ideal solution, but it always pays to be well prepared.
Shortly after the Lava Castle incident, DIGBY settled comfortably into his role as our security chief and tactical operations officer. JUNO and IANTO already had a solid lock on the Science team, although DIGBY displayed a distinct aptitude for tactical analysis and all things martial. I've discussed this aspect of his personality with JUNO and IANTO at length, since they were directly responsible for his creation. DIGBY's AI core entity is actually a composite intelligence derived from psychological components of JUNO and IANTO's personality matrices, refined with a number of custom-designed behavioural traits. This resulted in the creation of a fully-realised AI with its own truly unique personality. JUNO later confessed that there was even a little bit of the 'original' me in there, although she wouldn't say precisely which aspects of my personality were involved. Naturally, I let this question slide unanswered. DIGBY is very much his own man, and has proved his worth as a valuable crew member no less than 1,473 times since his inception. As a bonus, he's also a bloody virtuoso on the Highland pipes.
This discovery was something of a windfall for us. Since our oceanic cleanup operation was well into its final stages, we needed a fairly meaty research project or a significant construction task to keep us profitably occupied. This new biome would do for now, as it contained enough gee-whiz phenomena, new life forms and minor mysteries to pleasantly while away some time. One immediate discovery came to light as soon as I analysed the water sample I'd taken earlier.
This area has a saltwater river flowing through it. A broad ribbon of dense, hyper-saline seawater snaked its way through the subterranean chamber, never mixing with the surrounding water. Similar phenomena exist on other colonized planets, although none are quite as spectacular as the location we named 'The Lost River'. The milky green coloration of the water is caused by light passing through the 'halocline', a distinct layer that separates two fluids of vastly differing densities and chemical compositions. Light waves acquire a slight spectral colour shift, and their intensity is diffused somewhat during their transition through 'normal' seawater and the intensely concentrated saline solution flowing through the lower reaches of this chamber.
I thought that it was a reference to "Aurora Borealis" or the northern aurora of earth.
No. The ship that crashed was called the Aurora. Normally, Borealis does come after that word when referring to the Northern Lights phenomena. This is the sequel of "Aurora Falls." Instead of Aurora, it's Borealis - similarly, instead of falls, it's rising. Makes for an epic title.
GOD do i love all the AIs ''persona'' details, how they function in your world as well as exploration and explanation of their character traits! I would give 2 ''Awesome'' to your last section if i could, sadly i cannot ....
Armed with this information, it was easy to discover the source of the cavern's mysterious illumination. The light definitely comes from above, even though the cavern has no direct line of sight to the sunlight above it. As seawater increases in salinity, it also increases in density and descends into this chamber. This inflow of supersaturated saline water acts as a waveguide for photons, in much the same way as a bundle of fibre-optic filaments. There are also certain microorganisms down here that fluoresce for a considerable time after being exposed to sunlight, so the ambient light levels here remain more or less constant, regardless of the time of day. It's a shame that there's such a mundane explanation for an otherwise extraordinary sight. Still, knowing how rainbows are formed doesn't seem to appreciably affect one's enjoyment of them.
With the Abyssal Titan's ancient bones as a centrepiece, the Lost River biome is an amazing area to visit. A definite must-see destination for any adventurous souls out there.
We had everything essentially wrapped up onsite inside an hour or so, and we had gathered more than enough raw data to keep us amused for at least a week. However, my mind was already looking ahead to the one unavoidable mission we would have to make at some stage. Torgaljin Corporation's secret base still lurked like a malignant growth below us, and it was inevitable that a decision would have to be made regarding the fate of its inhabitants, if any still existed. I have to admit, my personal feelings have played a considerable role in our strategy of total avoidance. It was almost as if I considered the facility to be hopelessly contaminated with lethal radiation or highly toxic chemicals, preferring to let Time take care of the final details instead.
I realise now that this may have been an extremely callous and irrational decision on my part. Morally convinced that Torgaljin Corporation was entirely rotten to the core, I deliberately threw their command structure into turmoil, stripped the facility bare of all advanced technology and simply walked away from the unholy mess I'd made. What gave me an unassailable right to punish the whole for the transgressions of a few? I'm no paragon of moral rectitude. I freely admit this. After living with that decision for close to a hundred years, I'm still not entirely convinced that I did the right thing.
Anyway, my final decision stands. We will carry out a reconnaissance in force of the Torgaljin base, provide substantial material aid where necessary and render all possible assistance, should they wish to return home. My only hope is that there's someone left alive down there to receive this belated gesture of apology. The more cynical among you might be unimpressed by this sudden change of mind, writing it off as a minor anomaly in my emotional programming. Something along the lines of: "Awww, the Tin Man has a heart, and now he feels kinda sad."
Screw that. I had a heart to begin with. I've had a very long time to think this situation through, and I've reached the conclusion that I made some very serious mistakes in my previous life. A considerable number of them, in fact. More to the point, I'm heartily sick of building monuments to people who should never have died here in the first place. Know this: Humanity is not welcome on this planet, particularly if they continue to regard it as just another rock to be carved up and exploited. Unless you accord Alpha Hydrae IV the level of respect it so rightly deserves, this planet will end your days without the slightest twinge of remorse. Remember... This planet is not Terra.
If it's pushed too hard, this planet can become Terror Incarnate.
The next day saw me flat on my back on the old maintenance hoist. Nothing particularly major or icky this time around, only a final systems check and sensory calibration run. If all went well, the same mods would be installed in JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY to kick them up to the next level. Apart from a standard isotopic power source, my thoracic cavity now contained a compact bio-reactor, enabling me to eat and drink whatever I wanted. Apart from being a handy redundant power system to have onboard, the bio-reactor processed food in a 'normal' fashion, although there would be no solid or liquid waste remaining afterwards. Total energy conversion. Sorry folks, there's still no such thing as android dookie. We don't leave a pile of dead AA batteries wherever we roam, let alone feel an urgent need to pop a squat in the long grass.
"Increasing sensory threshold to 0.75 picovolts, Captain." JUNO said. "How does that feel?"
The new sensation was indescribable. Not exactly unpleasant, but entirely unlike anything I had experienced previously.
"Interesting. For some reason, I can now taste the colour Nine."
"Ah. I see what has happened. Activating band-pass filters, threshold reduced to 0.68 picovolts."
"I think I'm ready to take a shot at the first batch of samples now. We'll start with salty." I said.
The first phial contained an almost homeopathic concentration of saline solution, 0.0001 milligrams per litre. If all went well, I would be able to taste the presence of sodium chloride for the first time in over a hundred years. Baby steps, but vitally important to the overall success of this project. Other phials in JUNO's sample palette contained increasingly concentrated solutions of the other four primary taste notes, sweetness, acidity, bitterness and umami.
I was eager to see how this experiment panned out, mainly because I had been missing this one particular aspect of my former self like you wouldn't believe. It transcended any physical definition of hunger. It was almost as soul-destroying as living on an exclusive diet of polystyrene foam, but without the heady tang of hydrocarbons to break the monotony. I had been talking up the notion of having refined taste and olfactory senses to JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY, and they seemed to receive the idea with a certain good-natured tolerance. I'm not sure if they're fully aware of the magic these senses can weave.
My eyes were riveted on the drop of fluid as it fell onto my synthetic tongue. Precisely 1.4 milliseconds after it landed, I could taste the ocean all around me. It was the taste of countless serves of fish and chips, eaten with gusto after raucous nights at long-forgotten pubs. It was the taste of tears shed long ago. It was sex. It was Life itself. It was every sensation I had ever known, brought back to life with a single fleeting taste. Long-dead memories flared like a nova, all triggered by the simple stimulus of a single drop of salted water.
The tasting sequence took about an hour to complete. I lost all track of time in the process, and my entire being felt wrung-out and utterly exhausted by the end of it. This was purely an effect of sensory overload, although JUNO assured me that these sensations would pass once I had sufficient time to process that sudden influx of data. I don't mind telling you, the umami tasting phase was almost orgasmic in its intensity. My first exposure to an idealized version of a pure 'savoury' taste would be best described as being bludgeoned senseless with a full-blown kaiseki Japanese banquet.
The following morning, I entered the galley to find all three androids already seated expectantly at the dining table. It was obvious that they had performed the necessary modifications on themselves sometime during the night. To be honest, I half-expected them to be drooling like Pavlov's dogs.
"Okay, folks. We'll take this nice and slow. I recommend that you attenuate your olfactory and taste inputs by at least 75 per cent, then slowly ramp them up until you find the most effective settings. We're aiming for pleasant sensations here. I've already had a wee nibble or two beforehand, so I'd best warn you it's a bit of a shock to the system if you charge in totally unprepared. Our first course is oatmeal porridge. Since you're all technically Sassenachs, it's the Southern softie's version with honey and cream, I'm afraid."
I laid their bowls on the table with a flourish. Since today was a particularly special occasion, it was the Captain's turn to serve the crew. In future, galley duty would fall to whoever felt like cooking.
When all three crew members had been served, I sat down and picked up my spoon. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY exchanged quizzical glances, then dutifully followed my lead. I was basically under the microscope at this stage, so I had to present myself as a model of decorum for the benefit of the crew. Fat chance of that. I had already sneaked a taste of the porridge as I was serving it, and it was rather difficult to restrain myself from diving face-first into the bowl. Carefully, I added a generous splash of cream and an artistic drizzle of honey to my oatmeal. The others followed suit.
As expected, their expressions lit up like pinball tables at the very first taste. I had to gently remind all three to slow down at various points during the meal, enraptured as they were by this startlingly novel bombardment of sensations. Can't say as I blame them, either. Even though I had an initial point of reference to draw from, the memories triggered by this simple fare were almost overwhelming. We finished off with bacon and eggs on toast, followed by a choice of tea or coffee.
Frankly, I was happier than I'd been in ages. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY sat in stunned silence, presumably doing far more than merely allowing their bio-reactors to process the meal. Their expressions were uniformly thoughtful, giving me the distinct impression that they were extrapolating the true nature of the Cosmos itself, derived from a few mouthfuls of edible matter.
"So, what do you think of the whole 'eating like a human' thing, so far?" I grinned.
IANTO smiled beatifically. "A most remarkable and thoroughly enjoyable experience, Captain. I believe that I am now able to fully appreciate your motivation for requesting these modifications to your sensor network. Please accept my deepest gratitude, Sir."
"What about you, JUNO?"
"I am also of the same opinion, Sir. Although I am still processing the full implications of this unusual form of data acquisition, I found this experience to be highly convivial and quite enlightening. Tastes are most unusual parameters to analyse, although I definitely enjoy working with them. Thank you."
"DIGBY? What's your appraisal of this eating caper?"
DIGBY was busily scouring his plate for crumbs. He looked up, a huge smile dawning on his face.
A bio reactor that does total matter-energy conversion!??!?!?!
What's so weird about that I mean they have anti matter power plants and long range energy transfer trough simple crystals.
Remember scifi setting
Well, that's true, but the minor problem with it is that ... Well, assume that those bowls of oatmeal they all just ate were half a kilogram, net. Because that assumption makes the math simple. And what the math says is that if you convert that oatmeal directly to energy with no solid waste left behind, that's 44.95 petajoules of energy. Or to put it another way, roughly 10.5 megatons equivalent nuclear yield. (Roughly 21kt per gram.) Or to look at it a third way, 12.5 terawatt-hours of power.
They're not going to be able to afford to eat very often without figuring out something to do with all of that energy.
A bio reactor that does total matter-energy conversion!??!?!?!
What's so weird about that I mean they have anti matter power plants and long range energy transfer trough simple crystals.
Remember scifi setting
Well, that's true, but the minor problem with it is that ... Well, assume that those bowls of oatmeal they all just ate were half a kilogram, net. Because that assumption makes the math simple. And what the math says is that if you convert that oatmeal directly to energy with no solid waste left behind, that's 44.95 petajoules of energy. Or to put it another way, roughly 10.5 megatons equivalent nuclear yield. (Roughly 21kt per gram.) Or to look at it a third way, 12.5 terawatt-hours of power.
They're not going to be able to afford to eat very often without figuring out something to do with all of that energy.
Precisely. And as well, there is no way that any sort of biological process could ever perform a 100% energy conversion. That just isn't possible with a chemical reaction. The only way to do that would be with antimatter.
Well ..... in order to spend all that energy Alexander could teach them androids other parts of the human nature!
What do you think humans did back then during the evenings, before Television was invented
Well ..... in order to spend all that energy Alexander could teach them androids other parts of the human nature!
What do you think humans did back then during the evenings, before Television was invented
Well ..... in order to spend all that energy Alexander could teach them androids other parts of the human nature!
What do you think humans did back then during the evenings, before Television was invented
Oh.....baby! This is epic! Whenever I finish a section, my body takes control of itself and starts clapping insanely. I love this. This is what summer is all about
Time to bite the bullet. If anyone's still alive in the Torgaljin base, we'll know for certain sometime in the next ten minutes. As far as we can determine, there's nobody manning the cannon turrets guarding the main access tunnel. Might as well make this a covert operation, at least until we have a more coherent picture of the situation. Taranis dropped all four ExoSuits at the Lava Castle cavern's entrance, then backed off a safe distance to stand by on remote. If things do turn ugly down here, DIGBY's Cyclops can be called in as backup for a tactical withdrawal. Who am I kidding? - If they've got their act back together in this base, we'll end up in a firefight well before we reach the main airlock. Still haven't licked that water/air transition problem with the ExoSuit camouflage field, either.
We're now halfway down the sub-pen access tunnel, and there's still no sign of life. The main hangar lights appear to be on, although I wouldn't read too much into this. There's a pretty good chance that no-one has used the sub bay since we were last here. No point, really. We put Torgaljin's entire stable of subs permanently out of commission during our last friendly service call. Even so, I feel far more comfortable sneaking into a brightly-lit area while I'm cloaked than I would entering a blacked-out room with the suit's floodlights blazing. We'll get some answers in about five minutes, one way or the other.
The freight elevator was still operational. I launched a micro-drone to scout the hangar bay before heading up, purely to make certain we weren't walking blindly into a meat-grinder. There wasn't much that could touch us while we were in the ExoSuits, short of an anti-tank missile. However, it would be something of a rude surprise if the Torgies had managed to cobble something together in the time since our previous encounter. A little caution is always advisable. We weren't aiming to start a fracas, although we could surely put an end to one once it started. All four ExoSuits were armed with Gauss cannons in addition to their considerable non-lethal capability. Bear in mind, once we were safely clear of the water, this was supposed to be a palms-out operation. Weapons cold.
Even though we are here on a humanitarian aid mission, I couldn't help but suspect that things were going to come drastically unglued at any minute. My internal cybernetics weren't being particularly helpful either; a constantly updated scan of the tactical situation and analysis of potential threat vectors did little to enhance my calm, although with some conscious effort, I was able to screen out most of what I saw. Under these circumstances, it would have been stupid to completely disable the tactical HUD, although it's quite unsettling to have a readout continually alerting one to the fact that nothing adverse is happening. Utterly bonkers.
We stepped off the lift platform and proceeded over to the facility's main airlock. Rather than barge in completely unannounced, I activated the communications terminal. The console's viewing screen flickered into life, displaying the Thor's Hammer logo of Torgaljin Corp. That was a slightly more promising sign, at least. Taking a completely unnecessary deep breath, I reached out and delicately keyed the PA annunciator panel with the ExoSuit's manipulator.
"Hello? We are Alterra Corporation personnel. Requesting entry to this facility... Do you copy?"
Silence.
"I say again. Alterra Corp personnel requesting entry clearance to your facility. Please respond."
I turned to face my companions. "Comms to internal."
From now on, we could communicate freely between ourselves without being overheard. It was anyone's guess as to what would be waiting for us on the other side of this airlock.
"Okay... Let's do this." I said grimly.
According to the control panel, air pressure on the other side of the door was currently holding steady at one Bar. Sea-level pressure. No external lockouts acting on the airlock control systems, so I cyber-linked with the system and activated the pressurisation cycle, raising the middle chamber's atmospheric pressure to match that inside the docking bay. There was a soft whirring sound as valve servos activated somewhere within the chamber's walls. With a loud hiss, compressed air roared into the room beyond. The equalisation cycle took five minutes to complete. A green light winked on above the first door, indicating that it was now clear to proceed. We entered the first door and sealed it, then commenced depressurising the chamber to enter the base itself.
This arrangement complicated the personnel transfer issue somewhat. Even though the base was operating at sea-level air pressure, there was a distinct possibility that some of its inhabitants may have spent time working in the high-pressure area around the sub bay or even outside the habitat. Naturally, any 'high-side' workers would have been properly acclimated to the increased pressure and passed through a full decompression cycle before re-entering the main base. However, it might be difficult to transfer a large number of people into a waiting Cyclops after passing though a high-pressure environment, but not without a considerable amount of preparation beforehand.
I ran the numbers in my head. The standard pressurisation sequence for saturation diving requires a controlled descent at the rate of one metre per minute. We're currently sitting at a depth of 1,275 metres, so it will take 21.25 hours to safely acclimate any survivors to the atmospheric pressure in the sub bay. They will be effectively trapped in the main base airlock until the pressurisation cycle is complete. Probably as scared as Hell and hungry, too. About the only thing we could do to make them vaguely comfortable during this time is to bed them all down in there, drag in a couple of chemical toilets and hang up some blankets as privacy screens.
That's not the worst of it, either.
It's a fair bet that some of the survivors could be in bad shape, medically speaking. That's not a risk I'm prepared to take lightly. Our only real option is to determine how many survivors there are, then create an armoured one-atmosphere transfer module small enough to fit inside a Cyclops or at least dock securely with one. There's also the matter of building a separate habitation facility designed to safely house and gradually decompress the whole bunch in one go. We'll have to address that particular problem at the appropriate time.
Watching the atmospheric pressure indicator drop, I couldn't help but speculate on what might lay beyond that bulkhead. We could be walking among mouldering corpses in two minute's time, or be watched from the shadows by a horde of feral, degenerate humans waiting to crack our skulls open.
I find myself rating Bugzapper's new entries before even reading them, I'm enjoying the story that much.
I'd be scared in Selkirk's position right now, superior synthetic body or not. If there are survivors they're probably clinically insane at this point.
I find myself rating Bugzapper's new entries before even reading them, I'm enjoying the story that much.
I'd be scared in Selkirk's position right now, superior synthetic body or not. If there are survivors they're probably clinically insane at this point.
Comments
I thought that it was a reference to "Aurora Borealis" or the northern aurora of earth
We split off into two teams. JUNO and IANTO commenced collecting samples from the Titan's skeleton and the surrounding area, while DIGBY and I stood watch for any potential threats. We spent a fairly hectic time 'dusting off' a pack of Spine Eels prior to commencing our investigation, although they had a nasty habit of doubling back on us from a different direction. Ever the steadfast soldier, DIGBY retrieved a pair of Gauss cannons from Taranis' Hurt Locker. If the sketchier residents of this biome refused to be sent packing by a salvo of heavy repulsion cannon fire, we would have something far more substantial to offer them by way of incentive. Not an ideal solution, but it always pays to be well prepared.
Shortly after the Lava Castle incident, DIGBY settled comfortably into his role as our security chief and tactical operations officer. JUNO and IANTO already had a solid lock on the Science team, although DIGBY displayed a distinct aptitude for tactical analysis and all things martial. I've discussed this aspect of his personality with JUNO and IANTO at length, since they were directly responsible for his creation. DIGBY's AI core entity is actually a composite intelligence derived from psychological components of JUNO and IANTO's personality matrices, refined with a number of custom-designed behavioural traits. This resulted in the creation of a fully-realised AI with its own truly unique personality. JUNO later confessed that there was even a little bit of the 'original' me in there, although she wouldn't say precisely which aspects of my personality were involved. Naturally, I let this question slide unanswered. DIGBY is very much his own man, and has proved his worth as a valuable crew member no less than 1,473 times since his inception. As a bonus, he's also a bloody virtuoso on the Highland pipes.
This discovery was something of a windfall for us. Since our oceanic cleanup operation was well into its final stages, we needed a fairly meaty research project or a significant construction task to keep us profitably occupied. This new biome would do for now, as it contained enough gee-whiz phenomena, new life forms and minor mysteries to pleasantly while away some time. One immediate discovery came to light as soon as I analysed the water sample I'd taken earlier.
This area has a saltwater river flowing through it. A broad ribbon of dense, hyper-saline seawater snaked its way through the subterranean chamber, never mixing with the surrounding water. Similar phenomena exist on other colonized planets, although none are quite as spectacular as the location we named 'The Lost River'. The milky green coloration of the water is caused by light passing through the 'halocline', a distinct layer that separates two fluids of vastly differing densities and chemical compositions. Light waves acquire a slight spectral colour shift, and their intensity is diffused somewhat during their transition through 'normal' seawater and the intensely concentrated saline solution flowing through the lower reaches of this chamber.
No. The ship that crashed was called the Aurora. Normally, Borealis does come after that word when referring to the Northern Lights phenomena. This is the sequel of "Aurora Falls." Instead of Aurora, it's Borealis - similarly, instead of falls, it's rising. Makes for an epic title.
With the Abyssal Titan's ancient bones as a centrepiece, the Lost River biome is an amazing area to visit. A definite must-see destination for any adventurous souls out there.
We had everything essentially wrapped up onsite inside an hour or so, and we had gathered more than enough raw data to keep us amused for at least a week. However, my mind was already looking ahead to the one unavoidable mission we would have to make at some stage. Torgaljin Corporation's secret base still lurked like a malignant growth below us, and it was inevitable that a decision would have to be made regarding the fate of its inhabitants, if any still existed. I have to admit, my personal feelings have played a considerable role in our strategy of total avoidance. It was almost as if I considered the facility to be hopelessly contaminated with lethal radiation or highly toxic chemicals, preferring to let Time take care of the final details instead.
I realise now that this may have been an extremely callous and irrational decision on my part. Morally convinced that Torgaljin Corporation was entirely rotten to the core, I deliberately threw their command structure into turmoil, stripped the facility bare of all advanced technology and simply walked away from the unholy mess I'd made. What gave me an unassailable right to punish the whole for the transgressions of a few? I'm no paragon of moral rectitude. I freely admit this. After living with that decision for close to a hundred years, I'm still not entirely convinced that I did the right thing.
Anyway, my final decision stands. We will carry out a reconnaissance in force of the Torgaljin base, provide substantial material aid where necessary and render all possible assistance, should they wish to return home. My only hope is that there's someone left alive down there to receive this belated gesture of apology. The more cynical among you might be unimpressed by this sudden change of mind, writing it off as a minor anomaly in my emotional programming. Something along the lines of: "Awww, the Tin Man has a heart, and now he feels kinda sad."
Screw that. I had a heart to begin with. I've had a very long time to think this situation through, and I've reached the conclusion that I made some very serious mistakes in my previous life. A considerable number of them, in fact. More to the point, I'm heartily sick of building monuments to people who should never have died here in the first place. Know this: Humanity is not welcome on this planet, particularly if they continue to regard it as just another rock to be carved up and exploited. Unless you accord Alpha Hydrae IV the level of respect it so rightly deserves, this planet will end your days without the slightest twinge of remorse. Remember... This planet is not Terra.
If it's pushed too hard, this planet can become Terror Incarnate.
"Increasing sensory threshold to 0.75 picovolts, Captain." JUNO said. "How does that feel?"
The new sensation was indescribable. Not exactly unpleasant, but entirely unlike anything I had experienced previously.
"Interesting. For some reason, I can now taste the colour Nine."
"Ah. I see what has happened. Activating band-pass filters, threshold reduced to 0.68 picovolts."
"I think I'm ready to take a shot at the first batch of samples now. We'll start with salty." I said.
The first phial contained an almost homeopathic concentration of saline solution, 0.0001 milligrams per litre. If all went well, I would be able to taste the presence of sodium chloride for the first time in over a hundred years. Baby steps, but vitally important to the overall success of this project. Other phials in JUNO's sample palette contained increasingly concentrated solutions of the other four primary taste notes, sweetness, acidity, bitterness and umami.
I was eager to see how this experiment panned out, mainly because I had been missing this one particular aspect of my former self like you wouldn't believe. It transcended any physical definition of hunger. It was almost as soul-destroying as living on an exclusive diet of polystyrene foam, but without the heady tang of hydrocarbons to break the monotony. I had been talking up the notion of having refined taste and olfactory senses to JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY, and they seemed to receive the idea with a certain good-natured tolerance. I'm not sure if they're fully aware of the magic these senses can weave.
My eyes were riveted on the drop of fluid as it fell onto my synthetic tongue. Precisely 1.4 milliseconds after it landed, I could taste the ocean all around me. It was the taste of countless serves of fish and chips, eaten with gusto after raucous nights at long-forgotten pubs. It was the taste of tears shed long ago. It was sex. It was Life itself. It was every sensation I had ever known, brought back to life with a single fleeting taste. Long-dead memories flared like a nova, all triggered by the simple stimulus of a single drop of salted water.
The tasting sequence took about an hour to complete. I lost all track of time in the process, and my entire being felt wrung-out and utterly exhausted by the end of it. This was purely an effect of sensory overload, although JUNO assured me that these sensations would pass once I had sufficient time to process that sudden influx of data. I don't mind telling you, the umami tasting phase was almost orgasmic in its intensity. My first exposure to an idealized version of a pure 'savoury' taste would be best described as being bludgeoned senseless with a full-blown kaiseki Japanese banquet.
Executive summary: Wow.
Fantastic!! Keep up the good work!!
The following morning, I entered the galley to find all three androids already seated expectantly at the dining table. It was obvious that they had performed the necessary modifications on themselves sometime during the night. To be honest, I half-expected them to be drooling like Pavlov's dogs.
"Okay, folks. We'll take this nice and slow. I recommend that you attenuate your olfactory and taste inputs by at least 75 per cent, then slowly ramp them up until you find the most effective settings. We're aiming for pleasant sensations here. I've already had a wee nibble or two beforehand, so I'd best warn you it's a bit of a shock to the system if you charge in totally unprepared. Our first course is oatmeal porridge. Since you're all technically Sassenachs, it's the Southern softie's version with honey and cream, I'm afraid."
I laid their bowls on the table with a flourish. Since today was a particularly special occasion, it was the Captain's turn to serve the crew. In future, galley duty would fall to whoever felt like cooking.
When all three crew members had been served, I sat down and picked up my spoon. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY exchanged quizzical glances, then dutifully followed my lead. I was basically under the microscope at this stage, so I had to present myself as a model of decorum for the benefit of the crew. Fat chance of that. I had already sneaked a taste of the porridge as I was serving it, and it was rather difficult to restrain myself from diving face-first into the bowl. Carefully, I added a generous splash of cream and an artistic drizzle of honey to my oatmeal. The others followed suit.
As expected, their expressions lit up like pinball tables at the very first taste. I had to gently remind all three to slow down at various points during the meal, enraptured as they were by this startlingly novel bombardment of sensations. Can't say as I blame them, either. Even though I had an initial point of reference to draw from, the memories triggered by this simple fare were almost overwhelming. We finished off with bacon and eggs on toast, followed by a choice of tea or coffee.
Frankly, I was happier than I'd been in ages. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY sat in stunned silence, presumably doing far more than merely allowing their bio-reactors to process the meal. Their expressions were uniformly thoughtful, giving me the distinct impression that they were extrapolating the true nature of the Cosmos itself, derived from a few mouthfuls of edible matter.
"So, what do you think of the whole 'eating like a human' thing, so far?" I grinned.
IANTO smiled beatifically. "A most remarkable and thoroughly enjoyable experience, Captain. I believe that I am now able to fully appreciate your motivation for requesting these modifications to your sensor network. Please accept my deepest gratitude, Sir."
"What about you, JUNO?"
"I am also of the same opinion, Sir. Although I am still processing the full implications of this unusual form of data acquisition, I found this experience to be highly convivial and quite enlightening. Tastes are most unusual parameters to analyse, although I definitely enjoy working with them. Thank you."
"DIGBY? What's your appraisal of this eating caper?"
DIGBY was busily scouring his plate for crumbs. He looked up, a huge smile dawning on his face.
"What time will lunch be served, Sir?"
What's so weird about that I mean they have anti matter power plants and long range energy transfer trough simple crystals.
Remember scifi setting
Well, that's true, but the minor problem with it is that ... Well, assume that those bowls of oatmeal they all just ate were half a kilogram, net. Because that assumption makes the math simple. And what the math says is that if you convert that oatmeal directly to energy with no solid waste left behind, that's 44.95 petajoules of energy. Or to put it another way, roughly 10.5 megatons equivalent nuclear yield. (Roughly 21kt per gram.) Or to look at it a third way, 12.5 terawatt-hours of power.
They're not going to be able to afford to eat very often without figuring out something to do with all of that energy.
Precisely. And as well, there is no way that any sort of biological process could ever perform a 100% energy conversion. That just isn't possible with a chemical reaction. The only way to do that would be with antimatter.
There's no pleasing some folks.
Extremely in-depth, good find.
What do you think humans did back then during the evenings, before Television was invented
Hehe, he could lend them Inflatable Ingrid.
What is Inflatable Ingrid?
"Your Plastic Pal Who's Fun To Be With." (TM)
We're now halfway down the sub-pen access tunnel, and there's still no sign of life. The main hangar lights appear to be on, although I wouldn't read too much into this. There's a pretty good chance that no-one has used the sub bay since we were last here. No point, really. We put Torgaljin's entire stable of subs permanently out of commission during our last friendly service call. Even so, I feel far more comfortable sneaking into a brightly-lit area while I'm cloaked than I would entering a blacked-out room with the suit's floodlights blazing. We'll get some answers in about five minutes, one way or the other.
The freight elevator was still operational. I launched a micro-drone to scout the hangar bay before heading up, purely to make certain we weren't walking blindly into a meat-grinder. There wasn't much that could touch us while we were in the ExoSuits, short of an anti-tank missile. However, it would be something of a rude surprise if the Torgies had managed to cobble something together in the time since our previous encounter. A little caution is always advisable. We weren't aiming to start a fracas, although we could surely put an end to one once it started. All four ExoSuits were armed with Gauss cannons in addition to their considerable non-lethal capability. Bear in mind, once we were safely clear of the water, this was supposed to be a palms-out operation. Weapons cold.
Even though we are here on a humanitarian aid mission, I couldn't help but suspect that things were going to come drastically unglued at any minute. My internal cybernetics weren't being particularly helpful either; a constantly updated scan of the tactical situation and analysis of potential threat vectors did little to enhance my calm, although with some conscious effort, I was able to screen out most of what I saw. Under these circumstances, it would have been stupid to completely disable the tactical HUD, although it's quite unsettling to have a readout continually alerting one to the fact that nothing adverse is happening. Utterly bonkers.
We stepped off the lift platform and proceeded over to the facility's main airlock. Rather than barge in completely unannounced, I activated the communications terminal. The console's viewing screen flickered into life, displaying the Thor's Hammer logo of Torgaljin Corp. That was a slightly more promising sign, at least. Taking a completely unnecessary deep breath, I reached out and delicately keyed the PA annunciator panel with the ExoSuit's manipulator.
"Hello? We are Alterra Corporation personnel. Requesting entry to this facility... Do you copy?"
Silence.
"I say again. Alterra Corp personnel requesting entry clearance to your facility. Please respond."
From now on, we could communicate freely between ourselves without being overheard. It was anyone's guess as to what would be waiting for us on the other side of this airlock.
"Okay... Let's do this." I said grimly.
According to the control panel, air pressure on the other side of the door was currently holding steady at one Bar. Sea-level pressure. No external lockouts acting on the airlock control systems, so I cyber-linked with the system and activated the pressurisation cycle, raising the middle chamber's atmospheric pressure to match that inside the docking bay. There was a soft whirring sound as valve servos activated somewhere within the chamber's walls. With a loud hiss, compressed air roared into the room beyond. The equalisation cycle took five minutes to complete. A green light winked on above the first door, indicating that it was now clear to proceed. We entered the first door and sealed it, then commenced depressurising the chamber to enter the base itself.
This arrangement complicated the personnel transfer issue somewhat. Even though the base was operating at sea-level air pressure, there was a distinct possibility that some of its inhabitants may have spent time working in the high-pressure area around the sub bay or even outside the habitat. Naturally, any 'high-side' workers would have been properly acclimated to the increased pressure and passed through a full decompression cycle before re-entering the main base. However, it might be difficult to transfer a large number of people into a waiting Cyclops after passing though a high-pressure environment, but not without a considerable amount of preparation beforehand.
I ran the numbers in my head. The standard pressurisation sequence for saturation diving requires a controlled descent at the rate of one metre per minute. We're currently sitting at a depth of 1,275 metres, so it will take 21.25 hours to safely acclimate any survivors to the atmospheric pressure in the sub bay. They will be effectively trapped in the main base airlock until the pressurisation cycle is complete. Probably as scared as Hell and hungry, too. About the only thing we could do to make them vaguely comfortable during this time is to bed them all down in there, drag in a couple of chemical toilets and hang up some blankets as privacy screens.
That's not the worst of it, either.
It's a fair bet that some of the survivors could be in bad shape, medically speaking. That's not a risk I'm prepared to take lightly. Our only real option is to determine how many survivors there are, then create an armoured one-atmosphere transfer module small enough to fit inside a Cyclops or at least dock securely with one. There's also the matter of building a separate habitation facility designed to safely house and gradually decompress the whole bunch in one go. We'll have to address that particular problem at the appropriate time.
Watching the atmospheric pressure indicator drop, I couldn't help but speculate on what might lay beyond that bulkhead. We could be walking among mouldering corpses in two minute's time, or be watched from the shadows by a horde of feral, degenerate humans waiting to crack our skulls open.
Morlocks.
I'd be scared in Selkirk's position right now, superior synthetic body or not. If there are survivors they're probably clinically insane at this point.
or worshipping him as a vengeancefull god