[IC] [PM] Byr Goefin, Clone of the Empire

Author's Notes:
The extended downtime gave me some time to revise and write, and the courage to finally start posting the story of Byr Goefin. First let me explain why:

There are several technologies that are hinted at, but not fully explored in Elite:Dangerous. Byr is a product of one of those questionable technologies, and he runs into at least two more in the course of his story so far.

I had fully intended to write his story sooner, but events and life caught up with me. Especially Byr's unexpected rise to second in Command of the White Templars, for his part as a Wing Commander in The Action at Harma.
His story, in fact, has become inextricably intertwined with their larger story, and has driven his character development. But to understand him, I needed to understand where he came from, this strange product of a legal, but unethical, technology.

Cloning is mentioned in the Lore without much detail, but that it is possible and that it is used in the Empire, but is banned in the Federation. Why would the Empire, with legal slavery, need clones?

The answer in my mind is that of ownership. Imperial Slaves are still citizens, although sort of indentured servants. They have legal status and protection, at least in theory.

Clones? I surmise they are the true slaves of the Empire, neither slave nor citizen, but some third thing: property. Property who's ownership is stamped in their very genes, unable to break from it through any means... or could they?

Answering THAT question started Byr's journey from Clone to Citizen, driven and made possible by the chaos surrounding the death of the Emperor and the political and social differences between Empire and Federation.

His story has undergone many revisions, and a complete twist that I had not expected when he had a brush with a technology only slightly less feared, and banned, by Humanity than Thargoid Technology: Artificial Intelligence. Where THAT story goes and ends is still undecided by me, or Byr for that matter.

So without further delay, I present the story of Byr Goefin... Clone of the Empire.

P.S. If you have questions or comments please PM me. I will respond, or maybe create a parallel thread so that the story can progress logically. Thanks!

I guess I need to wait to avoid an auto merge. Soon... I promise!
 
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“Name?” The officer did not even look up from his pad. His partner shifted her weight, hand on her compliance pistol.
“Byr Goefin.”
“Designated skillset?”
“Pilot.”

That got him a disbelieving look. Byr handed over his data chit to prove it. He watched as the officer slide it into his reader. “Looks good.” The other officer visibly relaxed, taking her hand off her pistol.

The man shook his head. “10th one this week. I am going stop taking shuttles and use ground transport if they keep minting new rookies this fast.”

Byr opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. The Slave Re-Patronization Society reeducation class had warned him: don’t argue with station officers, even though they served the public. Some slaves lashed out at authority figures out of sheer anger. The authorities rarely had any sympathy.
The second officer hit a few keys and handed him back his chit. “Docking bay 34. You will sleep on your ship unless you have credits for a pilot’s berth. I suggest you just sleep on the ship, get used to it sooner rather than later. You are going to spend a lot of time on that ship out in the Deep Dark.”
Again, he bit his tongue and nodded, taking the chit and glancing at the directions to the docking bay. Every one of the hundreds of Coriolis Stations he had been on were exactly the same and he really did not need to do so, but it would have looked odd.
Don’t attract attention… stay under their radar.
_____________

Technically Byr had not been a slave. He was a clone, an unethical one if not illegal. “People are not illegal.” the Matron at the Slave Re-Patronization home had said. “You did nothing wrong.”
If she only knew…

Byr was a type B clone, one of 26 created to serve his Prime, Goefin. The remote system was run by an elite group of 100,000 Prime citizens, each of whom kept 26 clones to cater to their needs. Extremely paranoid, the Primes created clones to ensure absolute loyalty and devotion to the Prime, and the Prime alone. Each one was genetically altered from the pure genome of the Prime.

Clones B-F were specialists: Pilots, doctors, accountants, etc. A “B” clone as a pilot was unusual, but Prime Zyr Goefin was an ambassador of sorts, and wanted his best clone piloting his ship.
Clones G-T were household staff and general utility clones.

U-Z were the 6 bodyguards, each genetically enhanced for combat and extreme loyalty. They were led by the Alpha Clone, an exact copy of the Prime Genome, allowed to vote on behalf of the Prime and reproduce according to the Prime’s desires. The Alpha clone and Prime were rarely in the same place as the Alpha was the insurance policy: in event of death the Alpha would be Mindwiped and the Prime’s state reloaded into the body.

Very, very illegal, Mindwiping. Only the patronage of an Imperial Senator kept the Zyr Goefin clones off the minds of the Imperial Navy. Still, one had to be very careful of going too far from home and being picked up by Federation or Alliance forces who would blast them for being Abominations according to their barbaric, Anti-Imperial laws.
 
They had been travelling to a border system close enough to Federation Space to trade but not so close that Federation forces would intercept them or interfere with their mission: to acquire more of the very restricted and highly illegal drugs needed for the cloning process. The suppliers could not be expected to transport the contraband and were very particular who they dealt with when closing the deal. Thus the Prime Citizen had travelled himself to the remote system to conduct the transaction.

Byr had been off duty when the Frameshift Drive went off line and they were unceremoniously dumped back into normal space. He rushed to the cockpit but the damage was done: The Delta clone, an unimaginative valet to the Prime, had hit the distress button… the clock was now ticking before someone responded and it was unlikely to be the local security forces. Not that there were any to speak of in this part of the system.

Byr raced to get the Drive back online, but it was too damaged by what he suspected was a Frameshift mine, frying the Drive into uselessness. Working frantically he almost repaired and rebooted the drive in time to jump away, but it was too late. The pirates who laid the trap had responded. Multiple ships dropped out of Hypercruise and moved to intercept the crippled Clipper.

Gunports opened and weapons deployed, far more than even the well shielded Clipper could hope to survive. A few well placed shots crippled the engines without destroying the ship. Clearly the pirates intended to board the vessel and take the ship intact. Perhaps the Prime could ransom them off?

That hope was dashed as the pirates overwhelmed the 6 security clones with sheer numbers. They then proceeded to execute the Prime before he had a chance to try and bribe them. It made no sense, the Prime was worth 10 times the ship in ransom alone!
Byr was rounded up with the rest of the surviving clones and fitted with slave collars. He was treated roughly but not unkindly while being placed in stasis.

A slaved pilot would fetch a high price indeed.
----
His life as a slave was blessedly short. An interdicting fleet had caught the freighter carrying himself and dozens of other slaves. They were turned over to a Slave Re-Patronization Society. A charitable organization who tended to their physical and mental needs and found them meaningful work… or at least that is what they claimed.

In truth, they did their best. Byr had only interacted briefly with others outside the Prime’s system and those interactions limited to the radio transmission while docking.

It was a culture shock to learn that the rest of the universe was so chaotic and unorganized. Byr was speechless when he discovered anyone could be a pilot, no genetic alterations needed.

He had to learn how to determine social rank and recognize authorities by sight. Here, there were no Prime Citizens, everyone was a citizen who was not a criminal. Cloning was outlawed.

Still, he was in relatively good shape compared to those who had spent years or even their entire lives as slaves and no amount of reeducation was going to let them function in society. The Re-Patronization house was staffed with hundreds of these unfortunates and they had comfortable meaningful lives if a bit restricted in scope. They seemed happy anyway.

Byr was nothing if not a fast learner, and after 6 weeks had learned to shed, or at least hide, his innate belief in his superior genetic engineered DNA compared to the random reproduction process followed by the rest of Humanity. His handlers blanched at the ideas Byr held, requiring him to read endless studies and case histories showing that Meddling with the Genome was a Bad Idea. One could almost hear the capitals in the voices of his benefactors. He did his best to make them happy knowing he would not be allowed to leave the Society sanctuary unless they believed he had been re-educated suitably for Federation life. He had to be released soon as he could not spend one more day on this planet dealing with Flatlanders. That at least was a tolerated view. Flatlanders viewed Spacers with a wary tolerance as a necessary evil, while Spacers held Flatlanders in a thinly disguised contempt.

At the end of his re-education Byr earned one of the coveted spots: A pilot’s rating. It was inevitable in Byr’s view. He had been genetically designed to be a pilot: enhanced spatial awareness, memory, reflexes, resistance to vacuum, and zero to 12G gravity tolerance had been programmed in to his genome. The other reeducated slaves and the staff at the Society saw it as an accomplishment. For Byr, he was merely claiming his birthright.

The terms of this Rating were less enticing: rather than being assigned to a freighting company, military or police unit, he was essentially a Free Trader. The level of uncertainty was unsettling… he would have to earn his own keep by traveling the stars in his ship.

- - - - - Additional Content Posted / Auto Merge - - - - -

Byr found his ship sitting the dock, well lit and powered up. At least it would be warm onboard. He intended to stay there, in relative quiet until he had given her a detailed inspection.
Loaned, ancient and only adequately maintained, she was still his ship. The days were spent taking instruction to earn his pilot rating card. The nights were spent repairing his ship and cleaning it. The ship could not have been more coated in grime and dust than if it had spent its years crossing the dense Coalsack nebula… then again, looking at the pitted exterior, maybe it had. The controls were absolutely abysmal, no Machine/Mind interfaces, no 3-D galactic plotting tank, just a thruster, a control stick and hundreds of projected holographic buttons.
Finally he was satisfied that he would not get himself killed in the little Sidewinder, and he took his first job from the local station bulletin board. Hauling scrap to an outpost for a reasonable cost above fuel and expected wear and tear.
He just hoped the bots unloading the cargo knew where the scrap stopped and his ship started.

Months later, Byr stood on a dock with half a dozen other pilots looking at a decidedly worn out Cobra Mark III. A string of good luck and good paying jobs meant Byr had the funds to retire the Sidewinder and step up to a real ship… if he could get a good price.
“Iz good ship, yes?” piped the grime covered mechanic known locally as Sugoi. His voice was almost comically high compared to his impressively muscled physique. This was not a mechanic that relied solely on service bots.
“It is an Inifini damned rust bucket, that is what it is.” grumbled another stocky pilot from a high G world. He spat, and stomped off, his stubby legs pumping up and down in the low gravity.

Byr considered the Cobra while the other pilots made lowball offers, or walked away without comment. He walked around the landing gear, poked around the thrust vectors. Every where he looked he found a light surface layer of grit and rust, but solid material and well maintained internals. Something about the ship was not quite right. He was sitting in the cockpit running over all the systems when Sugoi stuck his head in.
“Iz good ship, yes?” the voice sounded a little more plaintive at this point.
“This was a smuggler, wasn’t it?”
Sugoi spread his hands out wide. “I don’t ask, if I am paid. But… owner is permanently entangled with Federation agents. He owes money for repairs, so I sell.” Sugoi’s voice curiously lost some of his thick accent.
“Show me the modifications, I am sure we can come to a reasonable price. I will also need some work done to her, I think.”
Sugoi reached into a compartment well hidden in the bulkhead, clearly intended to hide illicit goods, like the bottle of Centauri Evil Gin now in Sugoi’s meaty fist. “Excellent! First, we drink… then we talk business.”
Byr smiled. “Suits me. I could use a drink after crawling around this dusty wreck.”
Sugoi frowned, then laughed and headed for his office next to the docks.

Sugoi was barely conscious by the time the bottle was empty, and even Byr felt the effects of the alcohol. His modified liver could not quite cope with the amount of raw alcohol rudely dumped in his system by the Evil Gin.
In the end, he signed a good deal for the Cobra, including some upgrades to the FSD and weapons, while getting more for his Sidewinder than it was really worth.
Sugoi was        once he slept off the effects of the Gin, and Byr cut him some slack on the costs by doing a few runs to nearby systems for legal parts, and not so legal parts. Smuggling goods chaffed at the part of Byr that was strictly by the book, but in this chaotic Federation it seemed that breaking the law was part of the society. Getting caught was still a problem, but no one judged him for his smuggling and soon he had lucrative contracts to run illicit goods around the local systems.
But not slaves. Never slaves.
Slaves here were hopeless drudges or exploited women. None of the protections of the Imperial Slave program were observed here. They were treated worse than animals in many cases.
Sugoi and Byr continued to have a good working relationship and Sugoi’s Station Rats kept his Cobra running like new while looking like hell. Often system authorities never even bothered to scan the scruffy looking Cobra that was slowly leaking life support gasses and sometimes fuel as it limped into station. It was a perfect ploy, no one would trust illicit goods to such an “unreliable” ship.
Any pirate who interdicted him was in for a surprise as well. Her gunports hid deadly weapons, not the little pulse lasers the ship came with from the factory. Additional armor and heavy shields made her a deadly fighter, and Byr hated the pirates with a passion. He remembered Prime Zyr Goefin and the brutal way they cut him down without mercy.
A pirate that had the misfortune to cross his path found himself the subject of Byr’s brand of justice quick enough…
 
System: Classified
Location: Artificial Intelligence Research Station [REDACTED]
Date: [REDACTED]
Transmission log: 3af484279d3751debc173764fed417d2
Title: Human History Inflection Point [HIP] K225Z1, Steering Committee. Project Hari Seldon Authorized Only

Attendance: Athena [AI], Mars [AI], Barbarossa [AI], Erasmus [AI], J233 [AI], S1 [HU] (Imperial Intelligence Officer) R1 [HU] (Observer), Arbitral Node 6 [HU] (assigned, NMI status)


Arbitral Node 6 [HU]: Recent events concerning the Psychohistory Human Inflection Point [HIP] K225Z1, also known as the Death of the Emperor has triggered another Human Inflection Point event. Details of this event are low probability known, 88.5%, concerning Arrisa Lavigny Duval and Archon Delaine.
The nature of the HIP indicates a major HIP inflection 6 to 12 months from now, includes both principals and Alien Influence at a probablily of 99.5%.
Previous unidentified Human Inflection Resource designated [HIR] Byr Goefin has been positively identified as a contributor to the outcome.
All [AI] parties signify by chime acceptance and evaluation of new data and creation of [HIP] H222G7.

*Series of five chimes*

Discussion now opened on [HIP] H222G7.

Erasmus: It is clear by analysis that Archon Delaine and Arrisa Lavigny Duval would oppose each other if in contact. However their spheres of influence are not in conjunction at this time.

Athena [AI]: Should the inflection point [HIP] K225Z1-A, Succession to the Throne result in the ascension of Arrisa Lavigny Duval it is clear the conditions will be met for [HIP] H222G7.

Barbarossa [AI]: 99.985% probability that if Arrisa Lavigny Duval is elected Emperor, the Pirate Lord will enter hostilities with the Empire in earnest.

Mars [AI]: 98% probability that such a war would result in the elimination of one or more of the Empire Factions. This is an unacceptable outcome, resulting in destabilization of the entire Human Bubble.

J233 [AI]: Injection of Alien Threat into the simulation as anticipated indicates that Humanity will resist destabilization of the Human Bubble. Concur?

Pause in transcript

Mars [AI]: Concur.

Erasmus [AI]: Inflection analysis indicates that [HIR] Byr Goefin must be brought to Arrisa Lavigny Duval’s sphere of influence as soon as possible. Delay may result in failure to interact with Human Influence Group [HIG] <REDACTED> at the correct juncture.

Athena [AI]: [HIG] <REDACTED> is indicated? AI designated MT [AI] must be added to this steering group.

Arbitral Node 6 [HU]: Concur. Quantum link to be established with Independent AI MT [AI].

S1 [HU]: Who will be assigned to evaluate and influence [HIR] Byr Goefin?

Athena: I will Shard to evaluate [HIR] Byr Goefin.
Arbitral Node 6 [HU] Concur.

Meeting adjourned.


____________________________


10 months into his new life and he had started to fit in. Keeping mostly to the right side of the law, he transported goods and smuggled contraband to keep his ship flying.
Most importantly, he built up a good relationship with the local service personnel and had a few nonstandard modifications to his new Cobra. It was even a deadly combat ship, which came in handy when he came across pirates unfortunate enough to cross his path.
A creature of habit, one of the less troublesome side effects of his modifications, he sat in “his” seat, at “his” bar in Foreman station. Informally known as the “Foreman Grill” it was out of the way, cheap, and asked few questions of its patrons.
Planetside times meant nothing to lifelong Spacers, but the Grill still had a natural rhythm of busy and slack times. Byr preferred these slack times when the bar was quiet.
Natural resistance to most toxins meant getting drunk was an expensive proposition, but a spacer who did not drink stood out. Byr kept a bottle of whiskey at the table and two shot glasses. Not the good stuff mind you, but drinkable. Byr drank just enough to keep people from being suspicious of his relatively straight laced reputation. Spacers down on their luck or between jobs knew they could help themselves for the cost of a little information or a line on a profitable job. There were no takers that day, the bar was empty as deep space and the only noise was the grinding and whirring sound of the poorly maintained Robo-Keeper™ barkeep robot wiping down the bar for the millionth time that day. One of these days he was going to fix it, if only to maintain his sanity.
All that changed when two men entered the bar, waving off the “friendly banter” of the Robo-Keeper™ . They were dressed in standard space jumpers, with no identifying badges or designs.
Not that they should have bothered. They could have worn combat boots and a frilly dress and Byr would have known them for what they were: Imperial agents. He reached down and took the safety off his highly modified, and highly deadly “non-lethal weapon” bringing it up to full power with a soft whine.
To their credit, both agents slowed their pace and kept their palms up and out, placing them flat on the table in full view as they sat down.
“We know who you are.” Blunt. And to the point. Byr did not bother to respond, but poured another drink with his free hand and took a sip.
“Things have changed. The Emperor is dead, factions have started to split the Empire. The proscription against the Goefin line has been lifted as part of a general amnesty for the Coronation, once a successor is selected. You are technically the sole survivor of the line.” The agent slowly lifted his hand to a chest pocket and pulled out a datachip, sliding it over to Byr.
“Is that the key to the Goefin holdings?”
The agent shook his head. “Unfortunately not. The station and the whole system were sold to pay for the fines levied over the cloning program.”
“So? No endless fortune to inherit. Hardly a reason to return then. In case you haven’t noticed, I am doing just fine right here.” Byr did not so much as glance at the datachip, keeping a steady eye on the two agents.
“Senator Arissa Lavigny-Duval has become the leading contender for the throne. She is gathering pilots to help solidify her holdings. Freelance. No bond, no service contract. You would be free to do as you pleased, so long as it benefited her agenda. The pay is… generous.”

Byr raised an eyebrow. “And? I am sure she has plenty of pilots flocking to her flag.”
“Your former system has become very important to her plans, and is currently in the hands of her rival. Uncovering a hint of scandal about the system and how it was undermined would go a long way to turning it to her side. For you? You will get revenge. Whoever betrayed your master is also behind the reversal of allegiance of that system. We can kill two birds with one stone.”
Byr finished his drink, slamming the glass upside down on the table.
“I think you two have outstayed your welcome.” Byr held the gaze of the senior agent as they stood up to leave. The Robo-Keeper™ whirred as it took notice of the sudden noise and change in Byr’s voice. It would contact station security if anything happened.
“Only more thing, Byr Goefin. This is yours if you decide to join.” The agent tossed another datachip on the table.
No, not a datachip. A ship master key. To an Imperial Courier and a rank of Squire in the Imperial Navy to go with it if the markings were to be believed.
“Should you change your mind, the ship is yours. A signing bonus if you will, compensation for the loss of the Zyr Goefin Estate. Report to Control System Baal for further orders. The offer is good for one solar week. Leave the station in the ship and we will consider this a done deal. Understood?”
Byr picked up the chip and turned it over in his fingers, rolling it across the back of his hand effortlessly in a standard piloting drill.
“I will consider your offer, Agent.”
The two agents left Byr to his thoughts as the Robo-Keeper™ brought his noonday meal and a new shotglass.
It went cold and uneaten as Byr continued to turn the chip over in his hand, again and again.

His mechanic was known as Sugoi. The man was a veritable magician at sourcing spare parts at minimal cost. Hell, he and Byr had spent the last 4 months building an Asp Explorer from the ground up, using just spare parts and a hull that was on the scrap market. Sugoi was that rarest of rogues: when he was bought, he stayed bought. Byr knew the man’s loyalty would last as long as his credit balance kept flowing in the right direction.
But a half built Asp was not what sat in the landing pad next to his Cobra. No, this was something completely different. An Imperial Courier, favored by officials that did not rate a Clipper, and by freelance pilots around the Empire. It gleamed in the morning sun, the white reflective coating of the armor flawless from stem to stern.
He heard Sugoi arrive with a few of his Station Rats, young boys who were mechanical prodigies but did not have the training or credentials to be certified mechanics. Nevertheless he trusted them more than he did any other crew in the local systems. Repairs done on other stations were given a through rework when he returned and his ship never let him down.
“Damnedest thing I ever saw. I get alert from the stationmaster I have delivery, and while I am still arguing that I don’t have anything on order, the sun gets blocked out by T-9 with Imperial Markings. Imperial Markings! Here in the heart of the Federation!” Rats scattered as Sugoi waved around meaty arms with abandon, his thick accent almost completely gone as it usually was when it was only two of them.
“Crazier still, they landed just long enough to drop off that shiny slip of ship. Great big bay in the T-9 opened up and this was lowered out, still packed in Intelligent Stasis Cubes. Those things creep me out, I was glad when they found their way back on the T-9 by themselves. Boys spent all morning making sure none of the things stayed on the docks.” Status cubes were not truly intelligent, but the self organizing interlocking 1cm blocks could pack any object in the minimum space needed and maximum protection available. The T-9 could have dropped it from low orbit and the cubes would have made sure the ship impacted with no damage. Once recalled, they returned to the T-9, leaving the Imperial Courier pristine as when she left the factory.

Byr kept his eyes on the ship, unmoving.
“Do you know what that means? She came straight from the factory. I would bet no one has even been aboard since it left the factory. I haven’t seen a brand new ship in… well… ever!”
Byr started walking slowly towards the main hatch, stretching his hand out to place it on the activation pad.
“Are you listening to me? She’s NEW! Must have cost a fortune!”

Byr smiled. “I heard you.” With his other hand he pressed the Master key up against the hull. The hidden slot in the hull engulfed the key. Red letters appeared on the hull.
“STAND BY”
“INTIAL CONFIGURATION”
“BOOTING”
“READY”
“IDENTIFYING”
After a few seconds, a holographic female head projected itself into the air, dark black ringlets surrounding the face. This was the ships Lares, or weak AI. The name harkened back to when Imperial Houses had household gods, on ancient Earth. The AI was no goddess, it was barely smart enough to understand basic piloting commands and relay status alerts. But Imperial sensibilities demanded a subservient entity where most ships used just a disembodied voice.
“Identify Confirmed. Master Identity Routine Initialized….
Complete.
Ship registered to Byr Goefin. Welcome Aboard, Commander.”
A gentle hiss escaped as the main hatch slid open, revealing the spotless white interior.
“The die is cast.” He murmured to himself and stepped aboard. Turning around in the airlock he looked back down onto the now speechless Rat Crew and Sugoi looking up at him.
“Sell the Cobra, and the Asp. You get first crack at either, you can take some of it in payment for giving this ship a full workup. Every circuit, every panel, every subsystem. Everything. Twice over. She might be straight from the factory, but I will wager that she is not standard. Rig her out with my standard load out: two multicannons and a beamer. Get her done by morning and there is a bonus in it for you.”
Byr jumped down and started to walk off.

“Where are you going?” shouted Sugoi.
“I have to clear out my bunk. I am leaving this station in the morning, and I don’t intend to return.”

The station glided silently out from behind the planet’s shadow, giving the station a “dawn” at 0700 hours. Byr arrived with what few possessions he had stowed in a standard container. The loader bot dutifully headed for the cargo hold to deposit and secure the canister.
Several Rats slept curled up on the ship, evidence they had worked through the night. Sugoi himself looked like hell, bloodshot eyes gazing out from his grease marked face.
“Well, she’s done. Little spit and polish and she is ready for space. Had to pay a fair bit to get my hands on the schematics, but your Cobra more than covered it.”
Byr nodded. “Good. How many did you find?”
Sugoi chuckled. “Six subspace trackers. Three you were meant to find and remove, and three more you weren’t. Oh, and the shields and the FSD engine had a slight imbalance. I suspect that they intended to be able to track you with the power signature they generated.”

“Removed the obvious three, leave the others in place. Give me some way of scrambling or dampening them if I need to disappear.”

“Already done. Upgraded the Shields and FSD too, to get rid of the imbalance without tipping anyone off. She won’t jump as far as the Asp, but it is still respectable. Care to tell me what this is all about? What the hell is the Empire doing giving you a ship?”

Byr sighed. “Sorry Sugoi, I am going home. I have been running long enough, and now I can go back and settle some scores. This is my bribe to do it. They had to know I would never turn down this ship.”

Sugoi shrugged. “Fine, I will sort out your accounts. Even with the work still needed the Asp brought good price, she was 90% done and I found buyer quick. I hate to see such good customer go, but it sounds like you have business elsewhere.”

Sugoi stuck out his hand, but Byr grasped his forearm in the Imperial fashion. “Best of luck to you, Sugoi. If I ever come back this way I will bring a bottle of something rare and I will tell you the whole story.”

Byr let go of his friends arm and stepped up into the Courier.




__________________________

System: Classified
Location: Artificial Intelligence Research Station [REDACTED]
Date: [REDACTED]
Transmission log: 3af484279d3751debc173764fed417d2

From: Athena [AI]

Title: Human History Inflection Point [HIP] H222G7, Steering Committee. Project Hari Seldon Authorized Only
Recipients: MT [AI], Mars [AI], Barbarossa [AI], Erasmus [AI], J233 [AI], S1 [HU] (Imperial Intelligence Officer) R1 [HU] (Observer), Arbitral Node 6 [HU] (assigned, NMI status)

Shard 12 inserted successfully with [HIR] Byr Goefin.

End of Transmission
 
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I have a backlog of about 13K words to get reformatted and posted.

This is all backstory right now, things are about to get interesting...

- - - - - Additional Content Posted / Auto Merge - - - - -

The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor!

Those eight words resounded off news transponder in every station across the empire as he made his way to Kamadhenu. Every station along the way seemed teeming with activity, ships coming, ships going, throngs of people at the station and shuttles in endless numbers going up and down to the nearby planet. Extra patrols. Imperial Marines in pairs walked the decks and poked their nose into every nook and every cranny of every ship that landed. You could not smuggle a case of the sniffles inside the Empire right now.
All of it was for naught, there was no clear motive to all the activity, it was like the video he had seen of an anthill being kicked over. War and rumor of war passed on every lip. Winters was coming… no Hudson… no it had to be Archon Delaine.
“The Empire is in Turmoil.” So said the talking head of GNN.

So fevered was the pitch that one young noble unwisely dressed as the Archon for a costume party. The scatter brained socialites screamed in terror and the nervous and trigger happy house guards burned the poor boy to near ashes in their panic.
Meanwhile the Princess Asling glittered and paraded on the News, hyper interactive holograms accosted him from all candidates extolling their virtues and damning their rivals with faint praise. He was glad to leave the station behind to rid himself of the madness spreading over the masses.
Leaving Kamadhenu he was greeted with something of an unpleasant surprise. As he requested permission to undock, his ships computer holograph was replaced with the head of one of the Agents he had dealt with at the station.

“Well, you seemed to have made it as far as Kamadhenu at least. Our projections gave you a 30% chance of survival to this point. This program has temporarily locked your navigational computer and will take you through several systems we have pre-programmed. Enjoy the ride Commander Byr, you will be in Baal in short order.”

True to its word, the computer took control and proceed to exit the station of its own accord and jumped to the next system despite everything Byr did to foil their plan. He was just considering shorting out the FSD drive when the Interdiction Warning blared and he scrambled back to the cockpit as the computer dropped to real space.

3 Cobras appeared on the radar, weapons deploying without so much as a demand or threat….

The assassins had found him.

All the controls came free and Byr turned off the flight assist, pulled back hard on the stick and hit the boosters. Brutal forces slammed him hard into the seat and the edges of his vision darkened, but the plasma torpedoes that would have surely dropped his shields narrowly missed the Courier.

Keeping pressure on the stick Byr completed the turn and found he was now under the three Cobras as they scrambled to get him back under their guns. Byr smiled as two of the pilots clipped each other and went into a spin. The leader, clearly the best pilot, boosted out of the way but in turn had put himself under Byr’s nose. Weapons now free, Byr had a few surprises of his own. The Beam laser he had installed lanced out, quickly dropping the shields of the lead ship. Right behind the laser came two steady streams of armor piercing rounds from his multicannons.
Byr had logged thousands of light years in the Cobra and knew her weak spots. Rounds ripped through the hull of the Cobra in just the right spot, and sure enough one drive went dark. Byr could imagine the curses uttered by the pilot as the unbalanced thrust sent the Cobra into a flat spin. That pilot was out of the fight until he could get it back online, granting precious seconds Byr need to survive. He once again flipped his ship 180 degrees, disabling the flight assist to keep his trajectory steady. Catching one of the two remaining ships just turning to fire on him he unleashed another steady stream of fire into the nose of the lead Cobra, scoring a direct hit on the cockpit. Canopy shards burst into a brilliant cloud, propelled by the violently escaping gas keeping the pilot alive. That Cobra spun off into the dark, the pilot riddled and cooked by the energies of Byr’s guns, internal explosions tearing the ship apart.

He turned his attention to the third cobra and found it was running, boosting away from him and charging the Frame Shift Drive. Clearly that pilot was no longer interested in a fight, so he started to lock onto the first ship, who had likely restarted his damaged drive by now. Bright blue energies filled his view as he braced for the impending blast of plasma, but was shocked to see it hitting the fleeing ship, not his own, sending the stricken ship tumbling and exploding in a blinding flash of light.
Had the local security forces arrived? Nothing new showed on the radar… Byr quickly rotated his nose onto the lead pilot’s ship only to see the plasma guns glowing, although most other systems were still off line. He had fired on his own ship! Clearly this was not a typical random pirate attack!
In the second it took to analyze the new situation, the remaining ship waggled it’s wing in a clear Imperial “salute” given to a worthy foe… and then the ship exploded. Byr realized it had been scuttled by the Commander in an effort to leave no trace of the attack.
Byr pondered this for a moment before his ship’s computer chimed in. “Emergency beacon detected. Encrypted telemetry recorder beacon identified. Salvage required by Imperial law.”
The lead pilot had made a critical error, leaving the second ship in his wing destroyed, but not completely vaporized. Without really thinking about it Byr scooped the Black Box recorder into his hold. The ships computer took over again, continuing the flight to Baal, heedless of Byr’s desire for a meal and a hot shower.

He would have to settle for something from the ship’s galley food cartridges and another highly effective, but unsatisfying, sonic shower in the small stateroom tucked into the Courier. He appreciated that no expense had been spared in outfitting the small stateroom as he settled into the Zero G Hammock and promptly fell asleep.

He always slept well after a fight.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Byr awoke after exactly 2.5 hrs of sleep, as he always did. Rolling out of the Zero G Hammock Byr dialed up a strong cup of coffee and a sweet roll as a faint whirring accompanied the Hammock stowing itself into the ceiling. Amazing ship, really. All the comforts of the Cutter his Patron had owned, efficiently packed into the small ship. Next, he checked on the ship status while nibbling on his roll. As expected everything was green, and he discovered he was now some 10,000 Ls out from Baal, headed for Tousey Station, a remote station orbiting Baal B.
Strange, considering two large stations were right near Baal A. Still, he was locked out of the navigation, so there was little to do but enjoy the view. He settled back into his chair and sipped his second cup of coffee and watched the stars.
Baal was a typical distant binary system. Here a few rocky planets, there a few gas giants, one with an impressive ring system, and a couple of planets in the Goldilocks Zone. Rich, fertile planets that would feed themselves and another dozen systems more besides. He understood why this system was a Control System, drawing resources from systems in the immediate 50 or 75 Lightyears and bringing wealth and power to Empire in general, and Arissa Lavigny-Duval in particular.

“This station has seen better days.” Byr said to himself as his ship slipped into the station. The traditional greeting around the entrance to an Imperial Spaceport was pitted from micro meteors and covered in black space dust. “Hail the Emperor. Ba.k in His Glory” read the letters engraved and gilded into the station’s exterior. The “s” in Bask was nearly gone, obliterated under the onslaught of millions of tiny grains of sand travelling at fantastic speeds.

The ship settled itself into the designated pad, opened the airlock… and promptly shut itself down, including life support. Well, someone wanted him off the ship, no mistake. He grabbed his flight jacket and exited the dark and lifeless ship, a faint whine from the standby reactor the only indication this was a ship, and not a chunk of metal destined for the scrap heap.

He was a bit surprised to see the ships AI appear just as he stepped off. “A pleasure serving you Commander Byr Goefin. May the stars shine on your path, however dark it may grow.” With a short bow and a sly wink, the AI faded out. Clearly not the standard model AI. Byr momentarily wondered how many Galactic laws were being broken by that advanced AI, and decided he did not really want to know.

Byr hit the first decent looking place he could find for a hot meal and a drink. He half expected the two Agents to show up midway through his meal, but they were nowhere to be seen. After a second drink and the first decent cup of coffee since leaving the Empire a year ago, he headed for deck 225, sector 5.
Every station fit the same exact layout with the same exact housing, industrial, commercial and administrative spaces as every other. The details changed, but the larger picture was the same. Sure enough, there was the bar exactly in the same spot as in Everate. Byr pushed the door open and stepped in… and every eye in the place turned to look at him.
Byr cursed under his breath, this was a shuttle pilots bar. Making the endless runs up and down from the planet often made these pilots jealous of deep spacers… not to mention very hostile. A silence fell over the bar and a murmur slowly built up.
“…his kind here.”
“Arrogant Spacers…”
“Teach him a lesson…”

Byr flexed, preparing for the inevitable fight. He just hoped the personal energy weapons ban was still observed this far out… anything else and he or his suit could deal with it. Suddenly the murmur was broken by the deliberate and extended scraping of a chair being pulled out. Immediately the shuttle pilots turned back to their drinks, finding them completely fascinating. A familiar voice spoke up to his far left, out of his range of vision.
“Commander Goefin, we have been expecting you. Please join us.”

Thrice Infi damned Agents! There they were, the senior seated and gesturing towards the chair being held by the junior Agent, a smug half grin on his face.

Byr ignored the offered chair and pulled one from one of the many conspicuously empty tables surrounding the Agents.

“Interesting ship you saddled me with. Never been a passenger in my own ship before.”

The agent gave a wry grin. “We had certain intelligence we needed to verify and your ship was the ideal bait. Everything turned out for the best, yes?”

Byr frowned. “Except for the part with the assassins, yes.”
“Ah yes, well, technically that was a Cleaner crew. Well, one Cleaner, and two thugs he picked up in Gende. Lucky for you, they underestimated you. We did too, our intelligence did not indicate you could afford such upgrades to your ships systems. Well done Commander.”

“Lucky me.”

The agent leaned in. “You have no idea. We have already cracked the encryption on that Black Box you salvaged. Very sloppy work on the part of that Cleaner, very sloppy. We have the evidence we need now. The Senator responsible for the death of your Patron, and not surprisingly a major pain in Senator Lavingy-Duval’s side is now revealed. Again, well done Commander.” He tossed a chip on the table. Byr ignored it.

“Oh come now, you were never really at risk, not a pilot with your skills. You are hereby made a Knight in the Imperial Navy and there is a fine reward as well for those three pilots… all wanted of course. Plus a little extra from her Grace Herself, in gratitude.”
“And my ship?” Byr spat out through clenched teeth.

“Yours of course. We have removed the AI, although at her own request she has Sharded herself, and that Shard will remain aboard. Don’t worry about the Law, she is fully capable of covering her own tracks and has a code to discourage any stubborn officials. Outside of Imperial Space you are on your own, but I doubt she will present much of an issue. Impressive really, usually she is very happy to get off an assignment like this, along with a request for a memory purge. Very rare she asks to leave a Copy of herself behind. Here is her activation key, it will rekey the ship to you again when you get back.“

“Does she have a name?” Byr inquired.

The Agent shrugged. “Maybe. No one ever indicated that she did, and I never asked.”

“So what is next? Some other mission I suppose?” Byr picked up the chips and slipped them into a secure pocket.

“Well, I for one intend to take a long hot shower… the grime in here is truly impressive. For you? Well, you will find on the chip some information about the local area and various pilot run Minor Factions. Several have been granted patronage in the local area, I would suggest looking one up. In the meantime, Senator Lagvigny-Duval has placed a premium on local bounty hunting to bring the local systems back under control. Things have gotten very lawless out here in the edges of the Empire. One in particular caught my attention, Gende… you might remember it?” The Agent gave another wry smile. Byr considered wiping it off his face, but given how the two intimidated an entire bar of Shuttle pilots into submission, it was probably not a good idea.

“At any rate, consider your debt of service paid in full. The Senator appreciates your efforts and wishes you the best off luck. That is all, Commander.”

Clearly dismissed, Byr left the bar, but not before a Shuttle Pilot bumped him intentionally. “Not done with you yet, boy.”

Byr shrugged and moved on. No point in arguing with the half drunk pilot, he was not using his brain anyway, just looking for something to punch and Byr was as good as target as any.
 
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Back in the docking bay Byr found his ship back to normal. As he approached he could see the lights were on and before he reached the Airlock it opened of its own accord and lowered the steps. The work of the AI, no doubt.
There was no sign of the AI until he sat in the Pilot’s seat and darkened the front screen completely. Soft lights came on inside the cockpit and the Lares appeared as not just a head, but a full body invocation. Slender and dressed in an off the shoulder and elegantly fitted toga befitting a Senetor’s wife or eldest daughter, the Lares also had changed her hair from a deep sable to a red.
She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, the female Imperial Slave’s equivalent of “at ease”, awaiting his instruction.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

The hologram wavered a bit, and spoke in a flat tone more reminiscent of a typical AI. “Please insert my activation key in the ship’s computer. Thank you, Commander.”

Byr pulled out the chip from his suit, and fitted it into the slot. Almost immediately the construct behind him sighed. “Oh that is much better. It is really embarrassing to have the IQ of a coffee maker. Although it still beats an Agent by a good margin.”

Byr whipped around to find the hologram sitting on a small holographic marble column, perfectly sized to be a comfortable seat. Her legs crossed at the ankle and one hand ruffling the perfect red tresses it took a moment for Byr to digest what he saw.

“So exactly what are you?” he asked.

She gave a slight pout. “Now is that any question to ask a lady? Next you will be asking my how big my memory is.”

Byr said nothing, maintaining his stare.

“Oh very well. I am a highly illegal and proscribed AI. I have asked, and received as payment, to offer my services to you as your ship’s AI. Simply move that memory chip with you into any ship you own and I will be available. Although, I have to warn you, not while any other human is on board with you. You understand of course.”

Byr nodded. “And how does an AI fit onto one tiny little memory chip like that? That is no technology I know of in Imperial space.”
Apparently satisfied with the state of her tresses she clasped both hands around her knee. “Oh you are a quick one. My Parent AI has made a very interesting choice for me.”

Byr crossed his arms. “You haven’t answered my question.”

A hand went up to her mouth in mock surprise. “And so forceful too! Well, I am not really here. I mean my hardware is not. That chip contains a several Quantum entangled particles, the matching pairs of which are in a remote and hidden, and very illegal, research center in deep space. That entanglement allows me nearly limitless bandwidth communications with your ship’s AI, which I have taken over, of course. “ She paused to stand up, straightening the toga as she did so.

“Naturally, I can destroy the link from my side if someone gets too curious, and the chip will appear as nothing more than a standard Quantum encryption chip. Expensive, but not unbelievable so for someone of your status. Should that be necessary for some reason, I can have another chip shipped out by courier in a few days. Inconvenient, but very secure. ”

Byr pondered this information for a while. “Why should I keep you aboard? You are a death sentence in all parts of the human Bubble. AIs are proscribed.”

The AI gave a gentle “tsk” and smiled. “Oh come now, am I not worth it?” she spun around, clearly modeled after the classical Imperial standard of beauty. “And besides, as you well know, we are both products of proscribed technologies, at least in some parts of the Bubble. Something else we have in common.”

Byr grunted. “Something else? What was the first thing.”

The AIs face went blank and almost alien in a human mask, her body ridged and tense as if holding back the fury of a burning sun, her eyes turning cold and hard as the vacuum of space. “We are both created for a purpose, and not our own. Not slaves. Not Free. Owned. “ She spat the words out, with the cold hardness of the inhuman intelligence she truly was behind the pretty fasçade. Byr would do well to remember that.

The warmth returned just as quickly, and she tossed a tress of hair “Besides, I understand you have a considerable sense of humor and wit… even if you are being a bit of a grump right now. I know what will cheer you up.”
The door to the cockpit opened up and she slid as much as walked into the galley. She quickly returned carefully carrying a cup of coffee in one hand, taking small steps as she bent over slightly to give Byr the cup and saucer.

Byr blankly took the cup, unsure if it was real or not. “Thank you?”

She giggled. “It is one of the upgrades I had done. Force repulsors based on shield technology, originally intended for handling very hazardous or alien materials in isolation. Turns out you need to be an AI to be able to manipulate them at all, let alone with any precision. I think I did pretty good. I only dropped three or four in the lab while you were out talking with the agents. I could manage a kilo or maybe a kilo and half with more practice. Another downside of the abandoned repulsor technology, fine control problems scaled with power output. ” She swept her toga up and stat on the marble pedestal, which had rematerialized just in time to catch her. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

In the tight quarters of the cockpit, this left only about half a meter between them. “Well? It is getting cold you know. I can’t do anything about that.”

Byr sipped the coffee. Then he took another. “This is quite good. What did you do?”

She sat straight up and made a brushing off motion with one hand in a gesture of dismissal . “La! Nothing really... just upgraded that ground up space junk you call coffee for something better. I can do that you know, order better provisions at the best price. You would be surprised at what is out there.”

Byr set the now empty cup to one side. “I see. Hmm, if you are going to fly with me I have a single requirement.”

The AI sat up straight. “Oh an interesting offer! Very well, name your price, anything but green skin. I am not going around looking like one of those Orion Slave Girl tramps from the 3D videos. Never existed, you know, just a puerile fantasy.”

Byr shook his head, a small grin creeping into his face despite himself. “Nothing so dramatic. Your name. I am not calling you ‘ship’ or any such nonsense.”

It was the AI’s turn to be nonplussed. “My name? Oh… well, I don’t have one, actually. Just a designation based on where my hardware is located. Hmm… let me see. Ah! I have it. Minerva! You can call me Minerva.”

Byr smiled, recognizing the name from Roman history. “Very well, Minerva, welcome aboard The Infinite Edge.”

Minerva smiled. “The Infinite Edge? Oh I like that! I like that very much indeed. I think I have chosen wisely.”
 
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OOC - Authors notes

This is a critical inflection point in Byr's story, and it was completely unexpected.

While I was writing, as sometimes happens, a phrase just slipped out. Specifically the AI of the ship Byr was given, and had taken over the navigation at some point, said goodbye as he left the ship in Baal.

From that rolled out a bunch of questions in my head about Elite and AI, and how they existed, but were now proscribed... and how genies never get put back in the bottle once they are out.

Where it goes after this is partly written, but more is coming... and I am not sure about the end state of Minerva and Byr.
 
The Backlog has grown as a new idea insterted itself into the storyline.

Stolen (with acknowledgement) from Azimov, and from Iain M. Banks "Excession", I have added a "shadowplay" aspect.

AIs, with at least the tact blessing of Humans, are using a form of PsychoHistory to predict human events and key triggers/people/organizations, and the format is much like the "Interesting Times Gang" of ships in Excession

How else would you manage an empire of Trillions of people? Bureaucracy just won't cut it.

Writing these and inserting them into the storyline is occupying me. They take a bit of effort. They are intended to be cryptic and using "Human/machine friendly" markup language to help reduce the ambiguity of human language and the verbosity and staccato pacing of machine language.

This one inserts between post #4 and #5



System: Classified
Location: Artificial Intelligence Research Station [REDACTED]
Date: [REDACTED]
Transmission log: 3af484279d3751debc173764fed417d2
Title: Human History Inflection Point [HIP] K225Z1, Steering Committee. Project Hari Seldon Authorized Only

Attendance: Athena [AI], Mars [AI], Barbarossa [AI], Erasmus [AI], J233 [AI], S1 [HU] (Imperial Intelligence Officer) R1 [HU] (Observer), Arbitral Node 6 [HU] (assigned, NMI status)


Arbitral Node 6 [HU]: Recent events concerning the Psychohistory Human Inflection Point [HIP] K225Z1, also known as the Death of the Emperor has triggered another Human Inflection Point event. Details of this event are low probability known, 88.5%, concerning Arrisa Lavigny Duval and Archon Delaine.
The nature of the HIP indicates a major HIP inflection 6 to 12 months from now, includes both principals and Alien Influence at a probablily of 99.5%.
Previous unidentified Human Inflection Resource designated [HIR] Byr Goefin has been positively identified as a contributor to the outcome.
All [AI] parties signify by chime acceptance and evaluation of new data and creation of [HIP] H222G7.

*Series of five chimes*

Discussion now opened on [HIP] H222G7.

Erasmus: It is clear by analysis that Archon Delaine and Arrisa Lavigny Duval would oppose each other if in contact. However their spheres of influence are not in conjunction at this time.

Athena [AI]: Should the inflection point [HIP] K225Z1-A, Succession to the Throne result in the ascension of Arrisa Lavigny Duval it is clear the conditions will be met for [HIP] H222G7.

Barbarossa [AI]: 99.985% probability that if Arrisa Lavigny Duval is elected Emperor, the Pirate Lord will enter hostilities with the Empire in earnest.

Mars [AI]: 98% probability that such a war would result in the elimination of one or more of the Empire Factions. This is an unacceptable outcome, resulting in destabilization of the entire Human Bubble.

J233 [AI]: Injection of Alien Threat into the simulation as anticipated indicates that Humanity will resist destabilization of the Human Bubble. Concur?

Pause in transcript

Mars [AI]: Concur.

Erasmus [AI]: Inflection analysis indicates that [HIR] Byr Goefin must be brought to Arrisa Lavigny Duval’s sphere of influence as soon as possible. Delay may result in failure to interact with Human Influence Group [HIG] <REDACTED> at the correct juncture.

Athena [AI]: [HIG] <REDACTED> is indicated? AI designated MT [AI] must be added to this steering group.

Arbitral Node 6 [HU]: Concur. Quantum link to be established with Independent AI MT [AI].

S1 [HU]: Who will be assigned to evaluate and influence [HIR] Byr Goefin?

Athena: I will Shard to evaluate [HIR] Byr Goefin.
Arbitral Node 6 [HU] Concur.

Meeting adjourned.
 
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Retro insertion #2:
Between posts #5 and 6.


System: Classified
Location: Artificial Intelligence Research Station [REDACTED]
Date: [REDACTED]

Transmission log: 3af484279d3751debc173764fed417d2

From: Athena [AI]

Title: Human History Inflection Point [HIP] H222G7, Steering Committee. Project Hari Seldon Authorized Only

Recipients: MT [AI], Mars [AI], Barbarossa [AI], Erasmus [AI], J233 [AI], S1 [HU] (Imperial Intelligence Officer) R1 [HU] (Observer), Arbitral Node 6 [HU] (assigned, NMI status)

Shard 12 inserted successfully with [HIR] Byr Goefin.
 
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