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Project Valkyrie
Chapter 6 - Foreign Customs
Once Thyra had successfully logged in and added herself as an administrative user to the computer system, she disabled the old man's account. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. It was always possible that there would be some file or other that was restricted to his access, so she didn't delete it.
Upon a closer examination of the system, she discovered that she was going to be disappointed in the hope that there would be information about the old man's past here. There wasn't. It seemed that he'd been using this machine for design work on robotic systems.
As an android, she was, of course, interested in the subject, so she began digging into it to see if she could determine what he was working with and what he hoped to accomplish. The very first thing that appeared was the name of the only endeavor: Project Valkyrie.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that it probably revolved around her.
There were three iterations of the project, and she found it interesting to look at the general specifications of the initial robot that he built first. It was more in line with human-sized robots than she was. There was no information about what the robot's exterior appearance had been, but it did have a good bit about its systems and capabilities.
She had to admit that, compared with what she knew of Imperial robotics technology, the man knew how to develop a robot. It was more capable than what the Imperium could build and was definitely a prototype. In spite of his flaws, the old man had been an excellent roboticist.
The first model had been self-aware but not a conscious intelligence. It looked as if he had been developing a test bed to begin doing deeper work on the subject and had spent about six months working everything over until he was satisfied with what he'd achieved.
At that point, he moved on to stage 2 of the project. This version of her was the same size she was now, but the body was significantly more capable. That was surprising considering the previous iteration had already been pushing past the very boundaries of Imperial science. This new model was most likely classifiable as tech level 18, two full steps beyond Vincennes, the most advanced world inside the Imperium. It was conceivable that they could make an early prototype with that capability, but this didn't look like a prototype at all. It looked fully fleshed out.
And yet, there was a third iteration that, according to the file dates, had only been completed within the last week. The body had already been manufactured using the large fabricator in the robotics lab. She knew that because there was a file labeled as such.
When she started digging into the specifics of what was included in her current form, she had to back up and start over again because what she was reading didn't make any sense. According to the notes, her body was tech level 20. That was so far in advance of Imperial technology that it couldn't be right.
Nevertheless, when she started getting down into the details, she had to reassess that impression because, from what she understood of the capabilities of Imperial technology, her capabilities were significantly beyond what was even theoretically possible. Her body certainly met her expectations when it was labeled as a "superlative" android.
There was no way the old man was simply a rogue scientist. He had knowledge of technology that didn't exist, and yet he was able to implement it.
She would have to spend time going over the details in depth later, but she hit the high points of what she was capable of and made a list.
a tech level 20 body
an internal armor rating of eighty without a comparison of what that meant
Nine hundred and twenty-two hours (38.4 days) of endurance
a movement speed that was three times what the average human could manage
an internal grav unit capable of lifting and moving her at up to two hundred kilometers per hour
social improvement, body sculpting, and feature adjustment enhancements
a broad-spectrum audio sensor
a transceiver that could send and receive out to fifty thousand kilometers
a PRIS sensor
a broad-spectrum voder speaker
a wireless datalink
active camouflage
auditory, chemical, and olfactory camouflage
a dream module
an encryption module
a six-liter superlative fabrication chamber measuring 15 cm x 15 cm x 26.7 cm
an advanced gustatory sensor
an advanced olfactory sensor
a personal energy shield
a superior robotic drone and swarm controller
a satellite uplink
10 cm retractable arc-field monofilament claws
a superior self-maintenance package with nanorobots that would heal any damage to her in a matter of minutes
interior storage of six kilograms
vacuum protection
She now knew that the Fab Creator/6 program she had loaded was for the superlative fabricator, whatever that was.
All of that was almost mind-numbing, but then she got to the specifications for her robotic brain. It was labeled as a tech level 22 brain. The brain was hardened, ruggedized, and fully protected from any kind of energy discharge or ionic attack.
There were further notes that her body was also ruggedized and used Invisitech and false sensor returns to look completely and utterly human. The DNA she would give off had been modified to show that she had been genetically enhanced to increase her size prior to her birth.
The final note in her file made her laugh simply because there was no other option. The old man estimated her worth at almost 6 and a half billion Imperial credits. If true, she was far more valuable than the ship she was riding aboard.
Why in the universe would he--or anyone, for that matter--make something so ridiculously overpowered and valuable? What purpose had he intended her to serve? Obviously, it had been far more than a bed warmer, though the pervert hadn't let that stop him.
It was now clear that he had stolen this ship to have access to the resources it held. From there, he had used an unknown source of technology to bootstrap himself up to a higher level of capability and then spent years designing, refining, and building her. All for reasons that he hadn't felt like sharing with her when he inconveniently dropped dead.
Was any of this even true? The very first thing that she had to question was… everything. The old man wasn't a trustworthy source. Simply because he said something was so meant that it needed to be double checked and verified.
Digging into her specifications a bit further, she found that active camouflage utilized quantum waveguides embedded underneath her artificial dermis. What they supposedly did was cause light to curve around her so that she didn't appear to be there if anyone were looking. Or scanning. Only a densometer could sense her, and that wasn't a commonly used technology when looking for people. It was also slow.
There was no mirror here, but there was one in her quarters. She headed there at a determined walk and stopped in front of it. It was ridiculous to assume that she could simply disappear with a thought. First of all, what use was an ability like that? Was she meant to be a spy?
There was no telling what the old man had built her to do, and it was becoming clearer by the minute that whatever his secrets had been, they were more far-reaching than she'd anticipated.
She took a breath, though she didn't need to, and instructed her body to activate active camouflage. In an instant, her reflection vanished, and the room appeared to be empty. The light levels had fallen--though not enough to inconvenience her--so it seemed that while some light made it through, it wasn't nearly as much. Thankfully, her PRIS sensors were more than capable of compensating for the lost illumination.
Holy crap.
That kind of technology was within the capabilities of Imperial science--barely--so it wasn't a shock that it was included inside her, but it at least lent some weight to the rest of the listing about herself.
Thyra turned off active camouflage and reappeared. The list said that she had a personal energy shield. She activated that and felt almost numb when a lightly shimmering field appeared close around her body. Her brain registered an increased power draw, though not much more than normal, so she shut it back down again because she had no desire to spend energy that she didn't need to looking at something she now knew existed. Nine hundred and twenty-two hours of endurance was a long time, but waste not, want not.
She supposedly had a broad-spectrum voder speaker. One would assume that it was more capable than a normal voice, so she brought up the memory of the old man speaking and began repeating some of his phrases, attempting to mimic his voice.
What came out of her mouth was his voice speaking those words. If she closed her eyes, she would have no doubt that he was speaking to her from the grave.
Thyra could only come to one conclusion. She was complete and utter overkill. There was no need to build such a ludicrously expensive piece of equipment other than one's ego. Where had the old man even come up with the money? No matter how good a trader she was, she couldn't possibly earn six and a half billion credits in anything short of decades, could she?
She rubbed her face. It was impossible to say that she was tired, but she was overwhelmed. This was all so unexpected. At least now she had an idea of what the metallic dust down in the vault was for. It was for the fabricator to build robotic equipment of the highest caliber.
Was there enough down there to build another her? She wasn't going to find out because she wasn't reckless enough to do that. She had enough trouble imagining how she was going to get through life without becoming a target for everyone she met. Those who didn't hate her for what she was would covet her for what she could do. Keeping her secrets close had just become far more important than it had been an hour ago.
Thyra returned to the office and continued going through the files. There was nothing else revealing about her, though she didn't really expect to find anything. After all, everything there was to know about her was laid out right in front of her. All that was missing was context.
For the moment, she would have to play things by ear and figure out what needed to happen next based on the situation she was in. It didn't matter what the old man's plans had been because she was living her own life now and didn't have to dance to his tune.
She did return to her quarters and looked at the bed more closely. It had induction plates built into the mattress base, so even though she wasn't directly in contact with them, if she decided to sleep, she would recharge. The specifications said she could fully recharge in an hour, which seemed wasteful in a bed that looked so comfortable.
Of course, with more than thirty-eight days' worth of charge in her system--and she did check to see that she was in fact fully charged--she had the luxury of figuring out what she would do as slowly as she wanted.
As the ship was going to take a few more hours to get to the planet, she did take the time to go through everything in the quarters and remove the old man's belongings. Everything was bagged after being inspected carefully to make sure it wasn't important, and she would see about getting rid of it. These were her rooms now, and she didn't want the slightest reminder of him there. His presence in her space was most unwelcome.
By this time, she had accomplished that, there was less than an hour until they achieved orbit, so she returned to the bridge. The planet was significantly larger, and she felt a little anxiety at what she would find when they reached this world. It was a non-charismatic dictatorship and a police state. That meant that they would have watchers everywhere, and she had secrets that she could not reveal.
Thyra also had an illegal cargo that she needed to find. She hadn't spotted anything other than the four tons in the runabout during her initial search, but there were containers everywhere, so she might need to get rid of the freight she had to deliver first. It wasn't as if she had to dump everything and then run for orbit again. Everything that she'd read indicated that delivering cargo and picking up new cargo took roughly a week on each world. When she paid her berthing fees, they would cover that timeframe.
"We have been given instructions to proceed to the down port," Mimir said. "Everything sounds pro forma, so I do not believe that we have anything to worry about. We have been instructed to wait for a customs inspection and to have the necessary paperwork at hand."
"Then I suppose it's a good thing that I found it," she grumbled. "I have to tell you that this whole thing makes me nervous. What if there's a problem? I don't know the least bit about my past, and neither do you, so there is no telling if we're wanted here. What if we're criminals?"
"I don't believe that the old man would have been coming here if this were a dangerous port. Well, at least dangerous in the way that might have us arrested."
She had no choice but to hope for the best, so she leaned back in the seat and let her companion pilot the ship down into the atmosphere once they reached orbit and watched the world change from a marble in space to a planet that they were flying over. The ground was still an ugly puce green, so she doubted that she'd ever want to move here willingly.
When they came within sight of the down port, she saw that it was a sprawling affair with high fences and what looked like armed weapons emplacements all around it. They didn't look as if they were guarding the spaceport. They looked like they were making sure that nothing came out of the spaceport that didn't go through the normal channels. Somebody was very concerned about having items smuggled in or, perhaps, just keeping information from outside this world from getting too far into the public consciousness.
Hopefully, she wouldn't need to leave the down port. The best outcome would be delivering everything they needed inside the port and then getting the heck out of there.
The ship smoothly came across the fence and began moving along a painted line on the concrete, headed toward a parking area where a bunch of other ships had been settled. They ranged in size from a hundred displacement tons all the way up to a thousand. Among them, her ship wouldn't stand out at all.
Once Mimir had settled the ship down in its parking area and began shutting the systems off, she rose and walked to the airlock. The readout on this world said that one needed to wear a filter mask, so she searched the airlock supplies and found one. She didn't need it, of course, but no one else would know that.
The exterior conditions also mandated a bit more camouflage. It was cold, about 5 degrees C. That meant she needed a lined jacket or something like that. She found one in her closet--with gloves in the pocket--and a pullover hat to cover her head. That would make her fit it a lot better when she'd otherwise be shivering.
After she had the full face mask settled in place, Thyra opened the outer airlock door and looked out over the down port. It looked just as utilitarian and soulless as it had when they'd been approaching. The only change was that there was a small ground car on its way toward her.
Thyra looked at the controls and saw there was a small lift that could lower her to the ground, so she stepped on it and made her way down. There she waited for customs officers to appear.
Once she was away from the ship, she was able to tell the gravity was only a bit more than half of one G. 55% or so. This was a small world, and it had less pull on everything. In all, it seemed like an unpleasant place.
When the ground car pulled up, only a single person stepped out from its confines. It was a human woman who was roughly 1.7 meters tall, so not that short when it came to the average human woman. That meant that Thyra towered over her.
The customs officer was dressed smartly in a Spaceport Authority uniform with a stout jacket and hat, and her name tag read Sef. The woman stopped a couple of steps away, raised an eyebrow, and looked up at her. "You’re a big one."
"That's what they tell me," Thyra said, already tired of that joke. "I'm a little new to this, so could you run me through the process?"
"If you're new to this, why don't you send your captain down. I'm Customs Officer Rilla Sef. Who am I speaking with?"
"Thyra Thorsdóttir. I'm afraid that the captain was my husband, and he passed away during the jump. I've got him in cryo in an AutoDoc and will need to figure out everything that I need to do to appropriately report his passing and go through the legal wranglings of transferring ownership of the ship to myself."
The customs officer pursed her lips. "You don't seem to be that broken up about it."
"He wasn't that great of a husband."
Sef snorted. "I hear you. Well, seeing that you've got all of these things going on, I'm afraid that's going to mean a more stringent customs inspection because anytime there's a death, there needs to be a complete and thorough probe. Apologies in advance."
"I figured that would be the case. Honestly, I don't have anything to hide, and I'd rather just get it over with. Why don't you come on board, and we'll make the magic happen?"
"Let's wait for the medic I'm about to call to get here, and we'll hit it together. While we're waiting, I'll look over your ID and paperwork."
When the woman held out her hand, Thyra extracted all the recently recovered paperwork for the legal cargo and the ship in general and handed them over. She put on a bored expression, but she was actually interested in how this played out. Regardless of the risk to her and Mimir if things went sour, this was likely to be a staple of her life going forward, and she needed to learn the ins and outs of the process.