Adam's Offspring By Duncan Long In the future, the structure of the human body will change. Human beings will exist in many forms. A person may be formed of recombinant genes-- Or even molded from stainless steel and plastics. It's probably a trap, Drognir thought, his two yellow cat eyes glowing in the dim illumination. He stepped away from the controls of the stargate and entered the shimmering surface of its archway. There was a momentary flash of nausea, and resistance, as if he were frozen in a congealing wall of black amber, and then he broke through the energy field, striding across light years, his iridescent skin shimmering in the dim light. Within a minute he had traveled halfway across his galaxy, within the warped space inside the stargate. Drognir was a fixer, one of the rare human beings that was often called upon to help the artificial intelligence overlords ruling the 23rd Century. His job entailed unraveling puzzles the robotic problem solvers found too minor, or too messy, to handle. But today's task was different from the others he'd been called upon to solve. "All our reasoning says it should be impossible," Nishdare 2654, Drognir's overlord had told him during the hastily called audience in the being's sanctuary only an hour before. "Your acquaintance seems to have invented a readily transportable disassemblier that doesn't produce excess energy when breaking molecules. He has twice used the device to completely destroy the guard bots sent to take him. Now he has told us we have one last chance to obtain his secret--if we pay his price and send a courier to Yelreb III." Drognir said nothing, mulling over the ramifications of such a weapon if it really existed. "This device suggests a whole new line of physics," the overlord continued, his voice echoing in the dimly lit hall, which was totally devoid of furniture. His holographic image shimmered as he seemed to uncomfortably shift its position where it hung, seeming to sit in mid-air. "It would mark the first real human innovation since AI systems were initiated nearly two centuries ago." The fixer said nothing, trying to control his emotions so his anger wouldn't register on the monitors that lined the sanctuary. While he knew Nishdare was only stating the facts and meant no slight, the thought that humanity had invented nothing of value in two centuries stung Drognir deeply. Finally he spoke, his voice emotionless. "But Jackson is an immortal. How could he use such a weapon without his circuitry being affected?" "Another mystery that our physics says is impossible--unless it is remote controlled. Such a narrow band of energy, so focused... And his background suggests no talent in the area of physics--we have examined his records. Of course intelligence is cheap to purchase these days, there's almost no limit to the expansion that he might have snapped into his skull. But even so--it appears to be a total breakthrough in technology. "One faction of our projection banks thinks he must have stumbled onto some alien technology," the AI added. Drognir knew speculation was something the machines were good at and could do endlessly; so he decided to cut off his master before he reeled off any more theories. "And my job is to meet Jackson on Yelreb III and take the device?" "Correct," the machine answered, its unblinking eyes regarding its servant. "You may destroy Jackson if you wish and keep the gem, in addition to your wage. Or you may pay off his ransom demand in exchange for his secret. All we need is his secret or the device; the cost is paltry for such technology and we would be glad to obtain it either way. No doubt you would find the latter more agreeable than destroying an old friend." No doubt, Drognir thought. He knew that AIs never joked; they regarded humor as a human weakness. How out of touch with humanity the AI overlords are, he reflected. Of course Jackson wasn't really the friend the fixer once knew; the real Jackson had committed suicide. His personality continued on as an "immortal"--an android with an AI brain copied from the deceased human being's memories, rapidly removed from his dying brain. The immortal was a good copy, impossible to distinguish from the original. His skin felt warm and all his reactions and words were Jackson's; but Drognir had never been able to forget the body of the original Jackson, unceremoniously dumped into a disposal chute. So perhaps the AI isn't so wrong after all, the fixer had thought, turning and leaving the sanctuary, since it was obvious the meeting was over. Perhaps he would kill his old friend. Perhaps it would be easy to exterminate the bogus Jackson, knowing that he was only a machine that pretended to be a man. Or was there still too much of the ghost of the man in the machine that impersonated him? "That's a good question," Drognir muttered, nearing the end of the stargate's passage. He shoved through the syrupy force field and strode from the portal, shifting his vision into the infrared region for better coverage as he carefully studied his surroundings for any sign of danger. His scan revealed no warm-blooded creature nearby except for a small rat-like animal that scampered away at the man's approach. No other living thing in sight. Yelreb III, as always, was nearly deserted without even a sightseer about. Only an experimental station occupied by hobbyists lay some ninety kilometers to the south, near the rim of the shadows. He was alone with the ruins of the once-great civilization resting silently around him, painted in shades of gray and black. He glanced upward toward the giant black planet that eternally eclipsed the nearby star, shrouding Yelreb III with only the faint corona and light from a nearby gas nebula, keeping the outer planet from being plunged into total darkness. Drognir had visited Yelreb III's lone city before and had never had any desire to come back. His AI masters had ordered him to wipe out a coven of pukers engaged in more than the usual joy crimes, serious enough to spur the overlords to order the fixer's actions. Now he had returned to meet with Jackson, to steal or buy the immortal's secret, killing him if necessary. He strode out of the pool of electric light surrounding the stargate, the thick muscles of his genetically altered two-meter frame rippling as he crept along the terraced courtyard. The paved thoroughfare stretched into the distance like a narrow canyon in a mountain range of buildings, his footsteps echoing off the rough granite walls. A moaning wind sweeping through the spiraling towers high above him. As another of the tiny rodents scurried into the deeper shadows, Drognir realized he couldn't recall having seen any such animal during his previous visit. Probably sneaked through the stargate, he decided. Dandelions and rats seemed to inhabit the known universe, thanks to their abilities to smuggle themselves through the gates. There was no sign of Jackson. Had the rendezvous been a trick? It was very likely; the mechanicals had tried to ambush the immortal twice before and, both times, all twenty of the guards had disappeared without a trace. The burst messages Jackson had sent to the overlords boasted of the effects of his new invention. The bots had completely disappeared, but it seemed to Drognir that something didn't ring true. The fixer neared the Tower of Nothingness, a windowless building that stretched upward out of sight, the jewel of the Yelreb III civilization. Like mankind, the alien culture that had built the structure had been totally disrupted by their contact with the AI overlords following the arrival of the first human explorers reaching the planet's surface. Within a decade, the worm-like Yelrebs were dispersed across the galaxy, absorbed into the fabric of the Federation, seduced by the AI's promise of a long, carefree existence. And now Yelreb III was unoccupied. Drognir shifted his vision into the infrared and checked for the heat signature of living beings. He perceived nothing but more of the rodent like animals retreating into the shadows. Knowing he might have a long wait ahead of him, he lowered his metabolism to conserve energy. The overlords would expect him to linger if Jackson didn't show immediately and the fixer hadn't eaten or slept for several days. He hunkered down in the shadows and waited. The planet's radio bands were empty except for the telemetry from the research station. The fixer reviewed the mem-chip library in his head, but nothing really interested him. Boredom reigned; time ticked away: Ten minutes, half an hour, finally an hour, universal time. Then there was a fluttering to his left.... Continue to Part II Duncan's Short Stories and Articles Duncan's Digital Music Duncan's Digital Artwork "1st Encounters" Copyright © 1996 Duncan Long. All rights reserved. Copying of this material is prohibited.