by Karl Beecher
There. Ready.
Ready? echoed Lowcuzt, suddenly forgetting the insult. Ready for what?
Crzethnuk turned to Forn. "We can begin testing. Bring in the subject now."
"Yes, sir," replied Forn. His eye began to twitch. He was tekapting, presumably summoning the subject.
We're testing already?
Correct. replied Crzethnuk, tapping some figures into a slate.
Testing what exactly?
The descent process.
Huh?
Crzethnuk sighed. We're going to see if my machine can fully transfer a life force from the ethereal realm via the beacon and into the subject.
We're testing your project? I thought you were working on Überdigitality.
Whatever gave you that impression?
Because you're working on the nexus chair. That chair is for taking things out of a brain, not putting stuff into it.
I have repurposed the chair. It is useful for my plans.
Okay, Lowcuzt voiced hesitantly. But you'll change it back, right?
Hmm?
You'll change it back…when you get around to working on Überdigitality so I can uplift into the computers?
What? Oh…yes, of course.
Lowcuzt didn't have long to nurse his nagging sense of doubt. The elevator door opened and into the room marched a SAP, dressed in the usual red uniform and black boots. He hesitated momentarily as he passed through the doorway, surveying the chaotic sight of the room. As he came closer, Lowcuzt saw it was SAP_16, the officer who'd been guarding the anteroom the previous day.
So what are you going to do now? asked Lowcuzt. Beam yourself into SAP Sixteen's body?
Not quite, replied Crzethnuk. A fellow Predecessor is currently waiting on the other side of the beacon. It is they whom I will be transferring into this human's mind.
Wait, you're bringing friends with you? You never said anything about that.
Didn't I? Must have slipped my mind. Nothing to worry about. There's only a tiny, tiny fraction of us.
These unspoken assumptions were beginning to pile up. Before Lowcuzt could voice his concern, SAP_16 stood to attention before him.
"Reporting as ordered, citizen!"
Crzethnuk stepped forward. "Welcome. Forn has already explained your purpose here?"
"A little," replied the SAP, sounding edgy. "He said you needed a volunteer for something important."
"Important?" boomed Crzethnuk. "This is more than important. It is momentous. Do you know why?"
SAP_16 shook his head.
"Today, I unveil my creation, the most stupendous invention in the history of your pitiful specie…excuse me, of our pitiful species: a cross-dimensional, hyper-transference gateway. Do you know what that means?"
Again, the SAP shook his head.
"Of course you don't," said Crzethnuk. He paternally threw an arm around the SAP's shoulder and led him towards the nexus chair. "You don't need to know. But that doesn't mean you can't play a part in history. When we look back on this day, we'll not only celebrate my own genius for creating this machine, but we'll celebrate your bravery in helping to demonstrate it. Years from now, we'll raise a glass and cheer that famous name…"
Crzethnuk eyed the name badge.
"…SAP Sixteen. ‘This was all possible thanks to SAP Sixteen,' we'll say. What do you think?"
The officer shrugged, looking a little bewildered. "Whatever you need. I'm happy to hel—"
"Excellent. Then do, please, take a seat," said Crzethnuk, pushing the man into the nexus chair.
The SAP landed with an oof!
Crzethnuk clicked his fingers at Forn. "Lower the cranial interface."
Forn shuffled over to the chair. The cranial unit, looking like half a chrome eggshell, hung above the SAP's head. Though it had once appeared smooth and elegant, it was now covered in several untidy grafts of cables and components. Forn lowered it onto the man's head. Lowcuzt shared the anxiety evident on SAP_16's face.
Meanwhile, Crzethnuk tapped more figures into the slate. The chair began to hum and beep. "Secure the interface!"
Forn complied, snapping the cranial unit's buckle around SAP_16's chin.
The machine grew louder. Fizzing and pulsing noises added themselves to the cacophony. The unit began to vibrate. Its various indicator lights illuminated and flashed frantically.
Crzethnuk, still pounding the buttons on his slate and presumably orchestrating this whole performance, took a few slow steps away from the machine. Forn, spotting this from the side of his eye, did likewise.
SAP_16 remained in his seat, his wide eyes flitting from side to side. The pandemonium of noise lurched to a climax. Forn covered his ears.
What's happening? cried Lowcuzt, barely able to hear his own subconscious voice.
But Crzethnuk didn't answer.
The array of buttons on the slate's screen disappeared, replaced by a single large, red button that pulsated ominously.
Here goes!
Lowcuzt's finger jabbed the button.
In an instant, the noises merged into an unbearable discord. SAP_16 seized up as though every muscle in his body had gone taut. His eyes snapped shut, and he ground his teeth madly.
A flash of white light exploded into the room. Everything went black as Lowcuzt's eyes reflexively closed.
And then, abruptly, the noises shut off.
Lowcuzt's eyes opened again.
Everything was quiet.
The machine had gone silent in a heartbeat, save for a few quiet fizzles and beeps. A smattering of smoke hung in the air around the chair. A smell like ozone drifted into Lowcuzt's nostrils.
He wanted to see what had happened to SAP_16, but Crzethnuk was still looking at the slate in his hand. The big button had disappeared. The screen now displayed line after line of red-coloured digits.
There were an awful lot of zeroes.
What happened?
Hmm. Not sure.
Crzethnuk looked back at the chair. The smoke lifted to reveal SAP_16, his head limp, eyes closed. Forn approached him gingerly, one hand wafting away the remains of mist. With his other hand, he reached out timidly and prodded the officer's arm.
"SAP Sixteen? Erm…SAP Sixteen?"
He gripped the SAP's wrist and then pressed his fingers to the man's neck. Forn's face dropped.
"He's…he's dead."
Dead?!
An ice-cold feeling came over Lowcuzt. His mind seemed to seize up.
Forn turned to him with eyes wide as dinner plates, seemingly in shock.
You know what, Crzethnuk said, sounding suddenly inspired. I think it's a signal problem. I set the interdimensional gain too high.
Interdimensional gain? blurted Lowcuzt. What are you talking about? This is a disaster!
Nah, no biggie, I'll just set it lower next time.
Not that. Didn't you just hear Forn? The man is dead!
Yes, I know.
Then do something.
What do you want me to do, sing him a death lament? I just fried his brain. He's gone.
Forn moved closer to Lowcuzt. "Didn't you hear me, sir? The man's dead."
"I'm aware of that," replied Crzethnuk. "I'm not as deaf as some people around here like to think."
Will you at least show some anguish? cried Lowcuzt. Some repentance, anything!
All right, very well, signed Crzethnuk, as though he'd been pestered into playing a toddler's silly game for the thirteenth time in a row.
He looked over to the dead man, then back at Forn. "Oh, dear, dear," he said. "What a…a pity."
"But don't you see, sir?" his assistant quavered. "This is murder."
"Murder? Oh, right, yes. Of course."
It seemed to dawn on Crzethnuk that, from Forn's perspective, he'd killed a fellow human. Doubtless, from the Predecessor's own perspective, he'd done nothing more just now than accidentally squash a bug.
Forn, with despair in his eyes, clutched at Lowcuzt's arm. "When they find out, you'll
spend the rest of your life in prison for this."
"Then the solution is obvious," Crzethnuk calmly replied. "Make sure nobody finds out."
"Sir?"
The Predecessor pointed an arm towards the door leading back to Lowcuzt's private rooms. "Stash him in the vault for now. We'll see to his disposal later."
What? exclaimed Lowcuzt.
"What?" exclaimed Forn. He slowly backed away. "I can't do that. I'd be an accessory."
"It's too late, Forn," replied Crzethnuk. "You're already an accessory."
"Me? But I…I…"
"And, unless you clear that body away, you'll be going to prison too."
Forn stopped and hugged his arms to his chest. "Prison? I can't go to prison. I had nothing to do with it. I'm not a killer. I'm too small for prison. I…"
As he rambled on, Crzethnuk asked Lowcuzt, What's the matter with him?
He's panicking, replied Lowcuzt, and he's not the only one. Do something.
"…and there are gangs in prison," Forn babbled on. "What if I go to prison and the bigger men…"
SLAP!
Lowcuzt's hand had clouted Forn across the cheek.
"Snap out of it!" cried Crzethnuk.
That certainly shut him up. The little man blinked silently, his jaw hanging loose and his hands pawing at his own pullover.
"Now, take this gentleman and secrete him in the vault."
Forn had spent years of his life living only for Lowcuzt, serving his every whim, obeying his every order, and clearing up after his every mess. Jumping when Lowcuzt said ‘jump' had become as natural as scratching when his body said ‘itch.'
But was this a command too far?
Apparently not. Drawing in a deep breath, Forn turned and crept over to the chair. He removed the helmet, then timidly tucked his hands under the dead man's armpits and heaved the body from the chair.
You can't do this, Crzethnuk.
Why not?
Because you can't just kill people, it's wrong. Utterly wrong.
That's not what you said earlier, when you suggested using the SAPs as test subjects.
I didn't know you were going to kill them!
But when I asked about them, you told me they were the rejects of society, useless idiots. ‘Would have been better to put the poor fools out of their misery while still in the test tube,' is what I believe you said. Did I misunderstand you? Is it not your opinion that the SAPs would have been better off euthanised?
Crzethnuk had him there. He did say that. He'd certainly thought that for a long time. But they were just idle words. Actually doing it was a lot different from pontificating in a chair.
Just… words, replied Lowcuzt pathetically.
Words mean something. Especially when words are all you have left.
Lowcuzt tried to respond, but his insides were being tied up in knots. This was really happening! He'd just had a hand in killing a man, and now they were covering it up. Waves of panic begin to wash over him irresistibly. Words spilled out uncontrollably.
No, I…I don't…it's…please…
As he babbled, his body began shuddering.
What's happening? Crzethnuk sounded alarmed. Stop this. I require you to be calm.
But Lowcuzt's body went into full-blown shakes.
…this is going too far, we…we…
I said be quiet!
…we have to stop right now, it's—
SLAP!
Lowcuzt froze. Crzethnuk had—somehow—struck him metaphorically across his metaphorical cheek. He dared not even try to figure out how that worked.
Whatever he'd done, Lowcuzt's body was still again.
Pretty handy, this slapping thing, remarked Crzethnuk. I shall have to do it more often. Now, listen to me before you lose your mind completely. It's too late, the deed is done. See.
Crzethnuk fixed his stare on the body being dragged along the floor by a huffing and puffing Forn. Lowcuzt wanted to close his eyes and look away, but he had no control over what he saw.
I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.
I know what went wrong. It won't happen again. The next test will work fine.
The next test? Surely, we must stop.
Nonsense! We're so close. I'm about to get for you your ultimate dream: digital immortality. Just a little further now. Don't worry, I'll take care of cleaning up the mess. I'll make the problems go away. You are not responsible. Do you hear me? You are not responsible.
Forn dragged the lifeless body of SAP_16 through the doorway and out of sight. The problem had, for now, gone away.
You're almost there? Lowcuzt asked sheepishly.
Yes.
And nobody else will die?
I promise.
Whatever Lowcuzt thought, he knew one thing for certain. He could offer only token resistance. In the end, he had little control over what would happen next.
All right, he whispered, barely able to form the words. Then keep going.
28
So far, most landings Colin had experienced were with Tyresa at the helm. He had no idea that landing on a planet could actually be a smooth process.
Brock Hanson's was the only other variety of landing he'd been through, but that was even worse. It had actually been more of a plummet, during which Colin had come within a gnat's whisker of converting to Hanson's god halfway through.
Now, in one of Cruiser_89's shuttles, he was being piloted towards Alcentor's surface by a military professional. The pilot had doubtless undergone months of flight training, unlike Tyresa or Hanson for whom piloting a spacecraft was like driving a car—just something they did to get around. Presumably, all they'd done to get their space pilot's licence was take a few lessons and then demonstrate they could fly in a straight line, park in orbit and correctly identify a constellation from a hundred light-years distance.
But the smoothness of the ride was the extent of the pleasure. Inside, the shuttle was yet more of the brute, mechanical sparsity Colin had seen on the ship. Two rows of hard seats were lined up against the bulkheads facing each other like the inside of a metro train. Opposite him sat four security officers kitted out in excursion gear: heavy jackets, utility belts, hefty boots and a rifle each. They quietly stared at the walls, their heads bobbing gently with the occasional turbulence, checking their equipment now and again.
Colin meanwhile was perched on the end of the row alongside Tyresa, Commander Leet and Ade. Tyresa and the Commander were both busy peering over a slate, deep in discussion with each other. That had given Colin an opportunity to catch up with Ade. Not that there was much to say. The android had apparently spent his time on Cruiser_89 stashed in the cargo bay on standby mode.
"It must have been awful," Colin sympathised.
"On the contrary, sir," replied Ade, "it gave me the opportunity to power down and catch up on some maintenance tasks: defragmenting my memory, deleting some unused files, things of that nature."
"So, it was like sleeping?"
"I believe that would be a comparable sensation, sir. Unable to move, neither deactivated entirely nor in a state of full consciousness. Rather like watching one's child in a school play, I'm led to believe."
Through the tiny viewport over his shoulder, the surface of the planet Alcentor flashed by once more as the shuttle made a turn. A single, elongated landmass ran from the southern pole up to the equator and went through every imaginable type of surface along the way, from snowy white tundra to dull yellow desert. Away from those extremes, several large, grey, artificial-looking blobs dotted the land. Enormous cities perhaps.
"Do you know anything about this place?" asked Colin.
Ade looked through the viewport too. He began explaining how Alcentor was a major planet of the Transhumanist Collective, but a rather barren and hostile world overall.
He had just launched into an explanation of how the Collective's origins on this harsh world had encouraged their culture of tight social cohesion and reliance on technology when a voice laden with sa
rcasm interrupted.
"Hey, prophet!" It belonged, of course, to Tyresa. She leaned over Ade towards Colin, brandishing the slate. "We've got a question about this divine wisdom you bestowed upon us."
Colin looked at the slate. It displayed a copy of the doodles he'd drawn on the Turtle while in his artifact-induced trance.
Tyresa pointed to a set of coordinates. "That digit there. Is that a one or a seven?"
He followed her finger towards the longitude part, specifically the number of longitudinal minutes. There was a ‘1' written there. Or it could possibly have been a ‘7'. Colin wasn't sure.
In fact, the handwriting was pretty shaky throughout. It didn't look much like his own, and there were odd spots where lines became very wobbly indeed, as though a faulty teletext TV had scrambled bits of the received data. Admittedly, what with his faulty brain and all, that sounded quite close to what might have actually happened.
He wanted to say, ‘I don't know,' but the impatient stare on Tyresa's face told him that would be about as welcome as saying, ‘you look ugly.'
So, he looked again at the digit. It resembled a stick with a sort of serif at the top. Was that the proud, horizontal serif of a seven, or the limp, non-committal serif of a one? It must surely have been a seven. He didn't like to think of himself as someone who would include such a louche serif on his digits like some effete continental.
"A seven," he replied as firmly as he dared.
Tyresa turned back to Commander Leet. "See, I told you it was a seven."
"I still claim it resembles a one," the Commander replied in her typical monotone.
Tyresa jabbed a thumb in Colin's direction. "Well, the oracle there says it's a seven, and he wrote the damned thing. Kinda."
Robbi folded her arms. "Very well, but don't approach me tearfully if it transpires to be incorrect."
Colin cleared his throat. "Is it important?"
Robbi looked at him. "On Alcentor, one min of longitude translates into…" She paused a moment, her eye twitching. "…one thousand five hundred and four metres. Thus, if we have chosen the wrong digit, our excavation will be approx nine kilometres away from the correct location."
"Nine thousand and twenty-four metres to be more precise," Ade offered, although nobody seemed grateful for it.