Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  Tyresa boiled with anger. She felt so humiliated by Robbi she wanted to hit her. She backed off a few more steps, in case her rage got the better of her.

  But Robbi had a point. Tyresa hadn't spent the hours in her cell, worrying about Colin. She'd spent them thinking about the artifact, speculating about its nature, anticipating what lay ahead on Alcentor, and planning a way to get there.

  Had she become a little obsessed? Preoccupied maybe, but Robbi hadn't been there to see the artifact in all its glory. If she had, she'd be able to grasp just how important this was.

  "You don't understand," implored Tyresa. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Its importance can't be overestimated, not just to me but to humanity. This discovery could change everything. I need Colin's help, just temporarily. Then, of course, I'll get him to a hospital."

  "Is it more important than the life of Colin Douglass? A cold-hearted mercenary may think so."

  Again, Robbi was kind of right, but she had to see things from Tyresa's perspective. Tyresa had to make it clear how she justified balancing the risk to Colin on one hand and the potential reward on the other.

  But the more she tried to put into words all the thoughts that had spent hours buzzing around in her head, the more they turned out to be muddled, inconsistent…unscrupulous even. It seemed less rational than it was rationalisation.

  When it became apparent Tyresa wasn't going to answer, Robbi shook her head sadly. "This is not how I remember you, Tyresa Jak. Granted, you can be headstrong, stubborn, impulsive, and you are capable of doing unsavoury things for what you believe is a good cause. But to treat your friend, your dependent, with such disregard? To put him at risk for the sake of some discovery? I never suspected you of that. And now I see it, honestly…I'm disappointed."

  There was no reason for Robbi's disapproval to have hurt one bit. But it did.

  It finally hit home how utterly impatient she was being. But why? Why was it so important to hurry in following the trail? Was it purely ambition, or was there something else? A disquieting thought came to mind. Perhaps she was hurrying because Colin's health was so precarious, and the odds of treating him successfully were still incalculable. He might not be long for this universe, yet he might have more useful information to give. Had she been trying to make use of Colin while she still could, avoiding the delay of medical treatment and the risk it posed to her own plans?

  That sounded like a pretty good summation of what Hanson and Gunga had done.

  She shuddered to imagine that she was no better than those crooks, that she'd been ready to sacrifice Colin for some ‘ultimate discovery,' ready to sacrifice her own humanity no less.

  And, of all people, it had taken a Transhumanist to point that out.

  "I suppose," Robbi went on, "that this makes my next task easier."

  "What task?" asked Tyresa.

  Despite looking poker-faced as always, Robbi seemed uneasy. She motioned towards the table. "Let's sit down."

  They each quietly took a seat. The metal furniture was even more uncomfortable than it looked.

  Robbi explained. "A short time ago, the Captain spoke with Admiral Woot. She is the Stellar Forces' Chief of Staff. He explained the situation to her—Colin Douglass, the artifact, the message pointing to Alcentor. In response, she gave the Captain explicit orders. This ship is to travel to the coordinates that Colin Douglass received in his message. Once there, we are to investigate and recover any discovered artifacts in the name of the Collective Stellar Forces."

  "Oh, really?" exclaimed Tyresa. She couldn't honestly complain about the Collective trying to steal her discovery, but it still pissed her off.

  "Of course, I advised the Captain that you would be unwilling to reveal the coordinates—"

  "Damned right!"

  "—to which he was surprisingly accommodating. He is prepared to let you participate in a shore party, lead it to the location, and oversee any excavation that might be required. After all, we have no trained archaeologists on board."

  Tyresa bit her lip. There was a glimpse of promise here. If she played this right—assuming it wasn't a trick—she might salvage the situation.

  "Why don't you send for some Collective archaeologists?" she asked.

  "The Admiral would prefer this operation carried out in the strictest secrecy. No personnel outside this vessel are to be involved. In return for your cooperation, the charges against you will be dropped, and you'll get the opportunity to study whatever discoveries are made. However, ownership and credit of the discoveries will belong exclusively to the Collective Stellar Forces."

  Tyresa had half an idea of what was going on here. The military had a bad rap around the Collective, what with their hierarchical way of doing things—they had resisted turning starships into egalitarian communes where a vote had to be taken before deciding whether to fire back at an attacking ship. They were actually a good force, but military service was still regarded contemptuously by most other Transhackers. Doubtless, that made people like Captain Kliez and Admiral Woot sore. Their angle was probably that if the military made some incredible discovery of Predecessor artifacts, that would give its reputation a sorely needed boost. Likely everything was being kept hush-hush for now so that nobody lost face in case it turned out there was nothing there to find. Smart.

  Robbi went on. "I also warned the Captain that you would likely insist on Colin Douglass getting his treatment first. But I see now that warning was unnecessary."

  It finally dawned on Tyresa. "That's why you were disappointed in me, isn't it? You expected me to prioritise Colin. Well, you were right. He comes first. I'll take your deal, but treatment now, excavation later."

  "Unfortunately, that is not up for debate." She sounded apologetic. "Colin must help with the excavation first. That is one of the Admiral's immutable conditions."

  "What?" exclaimed Tyresa. "How can you say that now, after you just helped me realise what an asshole I was being?"

  "The Admiral fears that, given Colin Douglass's condition, time is against us. I'm sorry."

  Tyresa sank into her chair, fuming quietly. Strictly speaking, she had no right to complain about their treatment of Colin. Up until two minutes ago, she was adamant about treating him the same way.

  There was no getting around it, she was in a bad spot. If she refused to play ball, the Collective would stop at nothing to get the information they wanted. They could tear apart her ship piece by piece, or dismantle Ade and scan his memory. If they couldn't find it there, they'd turn their attention to her. It didn't bear thinking about how they'd get her to talk. And Robbi—even if she wanted to—could do nothing to stop them.

  The Collective had her checkmated.

  "All right, I'll play along," she muttered. "But I want guarantees in writing, one for Colin's treatment, and another for the right to conduct my own studies of both sites, Solo and Alcentor."

  "Very well," said Robbi.

  "Can you clear that with the Admiral?"

  "Unnecessary," she replied. "I've been given power to authorise any requests you might have outside of the immutable conditions."

  "You have? They've certainly put a lot of trust in you." Tyresa turned up her nose. "Looks like it's been vindicated. You seem to have got them just what they wanted. Good work, Commander, you should be proud."

  The sneer masked a hint of sincerity. She at least had to respect Robbi for how she'd handled things.

  Robbi shook her head. "I take no pleasure in this—"

  "Yeah, I know," interrupted Tyresa, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't enjoy success; you just do it for the good of the Collective."

  "No, you misunderstand," said Robbi. "I generally take pleasure from performing my duty. I meant I took no pleasure in performing this particular duty. I did not wish to…" She fidgeted, then seemed to dismiss her last thought. "Anyway, I believe that covers everything. We're only a few hours from Alcentor, so we should begin making preparations. I'll tekapt the officers outside to take yo
u back to your cell. You can wait there until we reach orbit."

  With that, the meeting was over. Tyresa searched Robbi's face for a sign of some unspoken message or a feeling, but a lifetime of wearing masks made Commander Leet too good at hiding things. Tyresa had a dozen more questions, but few relating to work. It didn't seem a good time to ask them. Best to just accept this outcome as some sort of victory and quit while she was ahead.

  "Fine," she said.

  She stood and made for the door, then felt a cold hand grab hers. Had the mask slipped? Tyresa looked back at Robbi, but the Transhacker kept staring straight ahead as she spoke.

  "You'll understand if I keep you on a very short leash after we make planetfall," she said quietly. "Understand that, for all intents and purposes, I'm on probation after what happened between us, a probation that might last the rest of my life. The Captain and the Admiral asked for my opinion of your character, whether you can be trusted, whether you're someone to be believed, whether this was worth pursuing at all. I vouched for you. That means I'm putting a lot of trust in you. If I make a mistake where you're concerned, they'll…" Another thought she didn't finish. "You're under my custody now. That means if you try any tricks or attempt to escape, things could become very bad for me."

  It seemed the Commander was as much a puppet on a string as Tyresa.

  How had things ended up like this? They'd only wronged each other in the past because duty demanded it. If it weren't for this stupid cold war, all this mutual mistrust and hostility, Robbi and she could well be friends. Instead, they were trapped in this cycle of striking blows against each other.

  Maybe it was time to break the cycle. The Commander seemed to be putting out an olive branch. Perhaps Tyresa ought to reciprocate.

  She put her hand on Robbi's. "I promise you I won't. The way I see it: we're on the same side here. I guess we're both sticking our necks out."

  Robbi, still staring at the wall, nodded and snatched her hand back. "I'll signal the officers you're coming out now."

  Tyresa made it halfway to the door before Robbi spoke again.

  "And I'll tell them to take you back via a washroom. You stink like a racknobeast's armpit."

  27

  Lowcuzt watched his hand reach out across a desk crowded with equipment. It bumped into a metal tin, sending the container spinning to the floor. With a loud clatter, several dozen miniature power cells scattered across the ground like a dropped bowl of nuts.

  You're too tired, voiced Lowcuzt. Will you please get some rest?

  Quiet! growled Crzethnuk. I'm trying to concentrate.

  And I told you that humans can't work for so long without sleep, retorted Lowcuzt. You've worked through the night and all morning non-stop.

  I'm not human.

  I know, but you're occupying a human body. My body. It needs rest.

  It will be fine. Crzethnuk raised Lowcuzt's hand and rubbed his eyes. I'll figure out a solution.

  It's not some mysterious puzzle. It's perfectly simple. My body has been awake over thirty hours. It needs—

  Be quiet!

  Lowcuzt piped down. It was no use. As ancient, super-intelligent aliens went, Crzethnuk had turned out to be a bloody pig-headed one. He (because although Crzethnuk's sex remained unknown, labelling it a ‘he' seemed appropriate to the deep voice) kept insisting the tiredness wasn't affecting him. Lowcuzt wasn't so sure. Why or how the Predecessor might become tired wasn't clear. He got the feeling Crzethnuk didn't really understand either. Tiredness seemed to be yet another feature of the physical world that had slipped his mind after millennia in his ethereal dimension, along with others like smelling, colours, and that odd satisfaction that comes from cracking one's knuckles.

  In fairness, he'd spent little time indulging in physical pleasures. After forging their pact the previous day, Crzethnuk had got immediately down to work. He'd had a team of SAPs lug the beacon and place it beside the nexus chair before ushering everyone out, including the four engineers. He'd then proceeded to launch into a furious engineering all-nighter. The only other person allowed in the room was Forn, who was useful for retrieving needed equipment from around the compound seeing as Crzethnuk's range was limited to the lab.

  Forn appeared in Lowcuzt's vision, plucking up the little power cells from the floor.

  "Oopsie," he muttered. "Butterfingers."

  He dropped them back into the tin, handling them at arm's length with gloved hands. The cells were, after all, mildly radioactive. Crzethnuk took no such precautions himself, occasionally shoving his hand—more accurately Lowcuzt's hand—into the tin to grab a cell as needed.

  Look at Forn, voiced Lowcuzt. That's how you're supposed to handle those cells. With protective gloves.

  Stop fretting.

  That's easy for you to say. It's not your body. I can almost feel my DNA unspooling when you fiddle around with those things.

  Don't worry. It won't be your body for much longer.

  That, at least, was true. In theory anyway.

  Crzethnuk was working on two things. One was turning the artifact—now referred to as the beacon—into a portal that he could use to fully enter into the corporeal realm. The other was adding all the missing pieces to Project Überdigitality so Lowcuzt's consciousness could be uploaded to a computer. Whether either of these was really possible, Lowcuzt was in no position to say.

  He understood little of what Crzethnuk was actually doing, but it was incredible to watch. The room now resembled a disposal site for old electronics, with the nexus chair in the middle, looking like a throne for the king of the digital dump. The Predecessor had cannibalised all manner of equipment—computer banks, power generators, hand-held scopes, sensor arrays—and jury-rigged everything together in a tumultuous cascade of circuit boards, readouts, and panels. All these pieces covered both the beacon and the nexus chair, which were now both connected by a mesh of cables and wiring.

  He'd used equipment in ways Lowcuzt could never have imagined possible, utilising scientific and engineering knowledge far in excess of humanity's. Lowcuzt could have asked for explanations, but he was reticent. Partly that was because Crzethnuk demonstrated a vicious temper when interrupted, but mostly because Lowcuzt hated appearing ignorant in front of anyone, even a super-intelligent alien a million years higher up the evolutionary ladder.

  Meanwhile, Forn had finished clearing up. He perched the tin back on the overcrowded desk and peered carefully at Lowcuzt.

  It's staring at me again, grumbled Crzethnuk.

  Like everyone else in the outside world, Forn was seeing and hearing Lowcuzt. Since Forn knew his boss's habits so well, the worrying possibility existed that he might notice something amiss. Serving Lowcuzt was his whole life, and he remained constantly attentive, ready to pounce into service at the merest raising of a dissatisfied eyebrow. Discovering that his boss was possessed, even if willingly so, might lead Forn to raise the alarm or just flat out panic. Best that he remained in the dark.

  Yeah, that's normal, replied Lowcuzt. He does that.

  "You're looking very tired, sir," said Forn, peering at Lowcuzt's face. "Would you perhaps care to lie down for a while?"

  "Oh," groaned Crzethnuk in Lowcuzt's now scratchy, fatigued voice. "Not you as well. Leave me alone."

  Forn looked puzzled. "Me ‘as well,' sir?"

  Don't let him know! cried out Lowcuzt. Remember, as far as he's concerned, he's talking to me.

  "What? Oh… um…" Crzethnuk rambled. "What I mean is, I feel like there's a voice inside my head telling me I'm tired."

  There is.

  "Shut up!"

  I mean, shut up!

  Forn cowered a little. "Perhaps you ought to listen to that voice, sir? You've been working very hard."

  "I'm fine," insisted Crzethnuk. He picked up a utility knife from the desk. "Just let me—ow!"

  Crzethnuk held up Lowcuzt's hand. Blood oozed from a fingertip.

  I'm leaking. What happened?

  You cut my finger
on the knife, you fool. You know…cut? Do you remember that sharp objects hurt us fleshy life forms, or have you forgotten that too?

  Forn stepped forward to inspect the damage, but the Predecessor waved him away.

  If you're not careful, you'll end up electrocuting me or something, said Lowcuzt. Just take a rest.

  Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? insinuated Crzethnuk. Let me drift off to sleep, so you get control of your body back? Then you could go and destroy the beacon and get rid of me, eh? Not going to happen.

  Why would you think that? exclaimed Lowcuzt. We have a deal. What's wrong, don't you trust me?

  Crzethnuk walked Lowcuzt's body over to the nexus chair, taking with him some unfathomable cluster of wires, components, and a crystal.

  Trust a human? Ha!

  What do you mean, ‘ha!'

  Let me put it this way, Crzethnuk began as he wired the gizmo to the chair's cranial unit. Do you keep pets?

  Pets? Keeping animals was actually pretty rare among Transhumanists. However, he was aware of this strange concept of letting animals live with you in exchange for which you got the privilege of feeding them, cleaning them, and picking up their shit. Affirmative, some humans keep pets.

  And if you put a delicious meal in front of that lower animal life-form, order it not to eat the food and then leave the room, what do you expect to happen?

  Well, I…I suppose…

  Exactly. It is not in my nature to trust the creatures below me on the evolutionary ladder, just as it is not in yours.

  Lowcuzt pouted a moment, brooding over the alien's contempt. Meanwhile, Crzethnuk finished tightening the wires in place.