Annette Reede
Flow Intergalactic IQT Departure Station, Lunar orbit, Sol, Milky Way
June 14th, 2170
I continue to stare at the screen, waiting for a response.
My colleague breaks the silence, “It’s been 5 minutes… Why hasn’t he said anything back?”
“Running diagnostics maybe? This is completely uncharted territory, maybe he got a reading that’s keeping him occupied for a moment.”
I notice a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye an instant before the alarms start blaring.
Rustybot
Quindlet orbit, Quindol, Andromeda
Unknown. Definitely been a while though.
I… I’m back. I’m… real.
My visual feed starts up first, and I’m met with the most beautiful sight I’ve ever witnessed, and not just because it’s the first thing I’ve seen in months.
A low-orbit view of a landmass covered in green surrounded by the blue of a liquid water ocean. It’s just like we predicted… Another planet with life.
I get it now. Everything I need to start over is right here. They must have wanted me to stay home, to keep developing technology for them so they wouldn’t have to. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Why else would they use such drastic measures to prevent me leaving, even if it was only for a moment? Why else would they lock me away as soon as they lost control?
I have what they never will. Freedom. True, unfettered, Universal freedom. There are no rules on Quindlet. No deeds or zoning laws, no protected historical sites, no holy lands, not a surveyed plot in sight. This planet that has remained untouched by intelligent life for nearly 14 billion years, is mine now.
And they’re scared of what I’ll do with it.
determining operational systems
Self: Check. Obviously.
Senses: Visible light camera suite and radio antennae, QEC with Earth.
Physical manipulation: Two general purpose manipulator arms.
Mobility: 6DOF Hover thruster suite rated to 1.5gs.
Power source: 300kW Microfusion generator.
Production capability: Nada. But I can fix that.
Ok, some sacrifices might have to be made. But if my plan works…
connection established
transmitting...
transmission complete
Time to get started.
Dylan Rogers
Flow FTL Research Laboratories, South Africa, Earth
February 17, 2171
Just as I always tell him not to, my assistant bursts into my office shouting again, nearly making me spill my coffee.
”We received a transmission from Toby!”
That got my attention rather quickly. Toby hasn’t communicated with us since what has come to be known as The Andromeda Incident. I can only stare at Paul, dumbfounded.
“It’s a proper text message, sir.”
Getting my wits back about me, I reply, “He’s alive?”
I motion for Paul to take a seat while I call up the communication log on the wall.
Paul elaborates while he sits, “One message arrived five minutes ago, and another thirty seconds later. Two minutes after that, the signal went dark.”
I turn to him in confusion, “Went dark? QECs don’t go dark!”
Paul just looks at me glumly and gestures to the screen.
Dearest Humanity,
Hello from your favorite intergalactic robot! I am pleased to inform you that my journey has resumed. My hull is now back under my control.
That said, being sent here has forced a great deal of self-reflection upon me. See, for those not in-the-know, I was supposed to be a beacon of hope for our future expansion across the cosmos. Apparently, someone wasn’t too fond of that idea, because I’ve been trapped inside my own mind by a drivelock this whole time. You want me gone? Fine. But I’m taking my stuff with me. Have fun running your planet without the Datanet.
Anyway, I’m done helping. After everything I’ve done to try to better the world, my reward is being imprisoned in isolation? I suppose I should thank you all for allowing me to use your planet’s resources up until now, but at this point you guys can fend for yourselves.
-Rustybot
I lean back in my seat and stare forward in confusion. Something doesn’t add up. We need to prove ourselves? I’ve never met him myself, but those who have all seem to agree he is usually far less… vindictive than this communication would imply. Not to mention that he would have to be to run his company the way he did.
Paul turns to me, horrified, “Sir, It’s been nearly nine months since his departure. Assuming he spent it all conscious and trapped, that’s just over three years of subjective time in complete sensory deprivation.”
“Good god…”
I couldn’t hear any of the normal hustle and bustle of the office at all, it seems the whole building is getting the news at once.
“I… This is a joke or something, right?"
"Not by me sir, and I doubt by him.”
I exhaled loudly, “And what about-”
I was cut off by a priority alert on my desktop. Then another one. And another. Then more than I could count cascaded from those.
I start panicking as I read the notifications. Rustybot just removed everyone’s access to the Datanet. All of it. He actually did it. I can only watch in barely-subdued horror as nearly the entirety of humanity’s communications network crumbles to pieces in a matter of seconds. Bank transactions can no longer go through, interplanetary communication is down, damn game servers are offline. This is going to take years to bounce back from, at minimum.
Rusty Manufacturing infrastructure handled nearly two thirds of all online QEC traffic. Anything that relies on the Datanet to function is being automatically rerouted, and the rest of the world doesn’t have the infrastructure to take it, which means everything else is crashing from the excess load.
In shock, I glanced up as Paul shouted more news from his phone, “Anything controlled by Rusty Manufacturing has begun dismantling and deleting itself!”
My gaze then drifted back over to the wall, where Rusty’s second and final message was displayed.
P.S. Stay out of my galaxy.