Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  The two guys in front of her passed through the doorway. Green flashes for them. Now it was her turn.

  Nonchalant, she told herself. You belong here.

  She passed through the doorway.

  Green flash. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  A moment later, she was walking along a bland, corporate corridor lined with white panels, passing the occasional screen or obsessively manicured potted plant along the way. The noise of the lobby behind died away, and eventually, Tyresa could hear only the conversation of the two guys in front of her.

  "I got the new MX-9 med-implant yesterday," said the left guy, pointing at the black box on his neck. "You still have the MX-8, correct?"

  "Affirmative," replied the guy on the right.

  "Dude," said the guy on the left. "The MX-9 is plus-plus-awesome. You have to get it.

  "I don't wish to," said the right guy.

  "Why? It has GPS built-in."

  "I'm familiar with its specifications. I have no need of GPS."

  "But it can record and share your location. Why wouldn't you upgrade?"

  "Because it is more expensive and offers no features that I require. The MX-8 suits my own requirements."

  "But the MX-9 allows me to upload my daily serotonin levels and comp it with the average," said the left guy. "You've got to get the MX-9."

  "I don't require that feat—"

  "And it can interface with my pneumatic implants and find out my daily step count."

  "But I don't even have pneumatic impla—"

  "Seriously, why do you still have the MX-8? The MX-9 is awesome, you've got to get it."

  The exchange went on like this a little longer until the right guy sighed and rubbed his brow. "Fine, you are correct. I have clearly erred in judging which model to obtain based on my own requirements. The logical thing to do would have been to base my decision on your requirements."

  This was presumably Transhacker sarcasm. It was always hard to tell. Still, the MX-9 enthusiast refused to shut up about his wondrous new toy that was the best thing in the world and would be until the even better MX-10 was released in a few weeks' time.

  As Tyresa walked along, the stream of people around her thinned out as they each disappeared into different doorways. The ocular implant stuck to her skin irritated her. She tried scratching around the edge, but it did no good. The damned thing felt like it was coming loose.

  Eventually, the two guys in front reached their own destinations, leaving Tyresa to navigate the corridors alone. She focused on Falco's directions, following the trail to Lowcuzt's private lab.

  The questions cycled through her mind as she went. Where was Colin right now? Was he all right? Was he suffering? She dreaded to think what the poor guy might be going through.

  35

  Colin fought to catch his breath. He had never laughed so hard in his life.

  This Crzethnuk fellow, for whatever reason, believed that tickling was a way to inflict unbearable pain. Colin was in no rush to dissuade him, so had done his best to make the howls of laughter sound like agony. The only pain he actually felt came from his now cramped stomach muscles.

  Crzethnuk had dished out his ‘torture' with relish. He'd begun at the neck, then moved to the armpits, before going for that really sensitive bit just above the knee. Finally, the shoes and socks had come off, and the soles of Colin's feet were shown no mercy. All the time, Colin's captor had demanded he confess the ‘secret of possession.'

  Now, Crzethnuk was getting out of breath too.

  "You're made of stern stuff, Klablath," he growled, breaking off his efforts. He peered at Colin for a moment. "Although, to be honest, I'm not convinced this is actually causing you much pain at all."

  He rummaged around on the nearby table and fished out a hand-held machine that resembled Tyresa's scope.

  "Let's try this again…" began Crzethnuk.

  "Oh, no," quaked Colin, still fighting for breath. "Please, mercy, no more."

  "…only this time, I'm going to scan the pain centres of your brain to see how much it's actually hurting."

  Crzethnuk held the scope-like machine to Colin's head for a few moments and tapped its buttons.

  "Wait a moment," he said curiously, suddenly fixated on the screen. A small grin appeared on his face. "Well, what have we here? A residue of the interdimensional transmission energy. It's snagged on that little flaw in your brain. Fascinating." He tapped a few more buttons. "Hmm, but that doesn't seem right. It's far too small, insufficient for possession. But perhaps…perhaps an intermittent communication channel across the dimensions. Yes, that might be it." He scrutinised Colin's face. "Perhaps you were telling the truth after all. Maybe Klablath really isn't there. It could be that I am, in fact, talking to Colin Douglass."

  "That's what I've been telling you," said Colin. "I'm not possessed."

  "But you have been in communication with Klablath?"

  "Yes, a few times."

  "Did he explain how the communication works?"

  "No," protested Colin. "I don't know anything about this. Look, if you and Klablath have business why don't you get together and talk in your own damned dimension over a cup of ethereal tea and a spectral biscuit?"

  "Impossible," replied Crzethnuk. "My followers and I have been forced into hiding from Klablath and the rest. We are enemies of the majority because we seek to return to the corporeal realm. If Klablath could reach me, I would find myself inside the Prison of Eternal Oblivion within a microsecond. Ironically, I find myself in a different sort of prison: this room—which is actually only a slight improvement on the Prison of Eternal Oblivion. I cannot leave so long as I am dependent on the beacon's proximity." He pointed at the nearby obelisk, by appearance an exact copy of the one on Mars. "Yet Klablath can reach you even when you are far from a beacon. But how? That is the question that torments me."

  The Predecessor resumed pacing the room. Over in the corner, the man known as Forn still cowered in his seat.

  Crzethnuk stopped. "Perhaps…" he breathed. "Perhaps. Let's analyse that energy once more."

  Again he held the scope to Colin's head, tapping buttons furiously. Whatever he saw on the screen this time seemed to satisfy him immensely, because a smile like a Cheshire cat's grew across his face.

  "Incredible!" he said. "So that's it. I would never have even thought of that. An entanglement of the dimensitrons via pandimensional superpositon!"

  "Huh?" said Colin.

  "I think I finally have it! A means of opening a channel across dimensions so that I can exist in the corporeal realm without the need of the beacon."

  Crzethnuk began feverishly working on the insides of the weird chair that Colin was tied to, half MRI machine, half dentist's chair from hell. Cables and components went flying; sounds of clicks and clanks and drilling rang out. A short while later, Crzethnuk turned his attention to the artifact and began fiddling with the bundle of spaghettified wires that ran between it and the chair.

  "What are you doing now?" asked Colin.

  "I'm reconfiguring my creation, making it work on the same principles as that little wisp of interdimensional energy in your brain. If my calculations are correct, the nexus chair now functions as a portal from the ethereal realm. That means I can transfer the mind of a Predecessor into the body of a human subject."

  Crzethnuk stared into Colin's eyes.

  "Of course," he said, "I will have to test it first."

  Over in the corner of the room, Forn's head sunk. "Oh no, not again," he whimpered.

  "You will make an excellent test subject," Crzethnuk said, beginning to chuckle. "And do you know the best thing about it? I'm going to use the channel that's already inside your head. You see, there's an unwitting Predecessor at the other end of it. I'm going to reach out and pull him through like I'm drawing poison from a wound."

  "You mean Klablath?" asked Colin.

  "Yes," beamed Crzethnuk. "Before Klablath knows what's happening, he'll be in the corporeal realm and
inside your head with no way back!"

  He lowered some kind of helmet like a vintage hairdryer onto Colin's skull and fixed a strap around his chin. Something told Colin he probably wasn't about to get a blow-dry.

  A moment later, the machine whirred into action.

  "Wait a minute," said Colin. "What's going on?"

  But Crzethnuk ignored him.

  The sounds grew louder and louder. An electric wailing grew until Colin's head rattled with the noise.

  "Crzethnuk please, let's talk abou—"

  Then, a flash. Colin could see nothing but white. A spinning feeling like riding a roller coaster coursed through him, strange, unpleasant, and sickening.

  Finally, the noises died away, the light faded, and he could see once more. Everything looked as it had a moment ago.

  Crzethnuk was standing over him, gaping excitedly. "Well?" he said. "Do we have success?"

  Although the room seemed unchanged, in some imperceptible way, Colin felt different. Things felt off, as though the universe had moved a couple of inches to the left without telling him. He had the distinct impression someone new had entered the room and was nearby. He went to turn his head and look around for the visitor.

  But he couldn't move.

  He tried to lift his arm. Nothing happened. He frantically tried to make any part of his body move—hands, legs, lips—but nothing responded.

  I can't move! he cried out.

  Except he didn't cry that out. Not outwardly at least. The words hadn't echoed around the room as they should have. But he'd distinctly ‘heard' them in his own head.

  Crzethnuk still peered at him expectantly, as though Colin hadn't spoken.

  I said, I can't move, repeated Colin. Help me!

  He can't hear you, came a voice with a familiar nasal timbre.

  Klablath?

  Yes.

  What's happening?

  It would appear Crzethnuk has ripped me from the ethereal realm and forced me into possession of your body. Sorry about that.

  36

  Footsteps.

  Tyresa dove into the nearest doorway. The noise of the footsteps rattled from around the corner and along the empty corridor.

  She held her breath as they approached.

  A red-uniformed SAP came into view, walking casually, gun at his hip. Tyresa's eyes never left him as he passed. He had his back towards her. If she wanted, she could step out, sneak up behind him and…

  No. She had one goal: locate Colin and raise the alarm. No heroics. No knocking heads together. Just find him and call in the cavalry.

  The SAP didn't see her. He just kept going along the corridor and disappeared from sight. Tyresa breathed again and got her bearings. If Falco was right, the entrance to Lowcuzt's private room was just around that corner up ahead.

  She stepped out from the doorway, moved along the wall, and took a sly glance around the edge. The door stood at the end of the corridor, just where Falco had said. It looked designed to be threatening, covered in black and yellow stripes as though a designated danger area.

  Checking again that she was alone, Tyresa approached it. Soon, the red-lettered sign on its surface became visible: ‘PROJECT ÜBERDIGITALITY - NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL.' She drew a deep breath and kept going. If the implant worked, the door to the elevator would open.

  She stepped forward, and a light beside the doorway turned green. The door opened.

  She stepped through.

  Wait. This was no elevator. It appeared to be some kind of anteroom. Falco had said nothing about this. Maybe it was a later addition, built after he'd left the company. Another door stood at the opposite wall, maybe that was the elevator.

  But now wasn't quite the right time to check, because an alarmed-looking SAP was staring at her from behind a desk.

  He jumped to his feet, exposing the proton pistol at his hip. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "Oh, sorry," replied Tyresa. "I must have taken the wrong turning."

  Decision time. Stay and try to bluff her way through that door, or bail out immediately?

  "Wait there," the SAP barked before Tyresa could make up her mind. He came around the desk towards her. "How did you open that door? You're not authorised to open it."

  "Oh, gosh," she said innocently. "You're right. I guess it must be an oversight in the system."

  "What's your designation?"

  She recalled the fake identity that Falco had given her, in case anyone asked. "Komma Dorr One-Two-Eight," she said.

  "Of which team are you a member?"

  "Team?" Falco hadn't mentioned anything about a team. Knowing the Transhackers' preference for nice, efficient numbering systems, she dreamed one up. "Team Seven," she replied as naturally as possible.

  The SAP didn't look impressed. "Team seven? There is no team seven. We don't number teams here."

  Shit. Trust a company like Lowcuzt's to Think Different.

  "Really? That can't be right." She feigned a look of surprise, raising her eyebrows. As she did, the floundering, fake ocular implant finally gave up and peeled away from her skin. It fell to the floor with a soft little clunk, the loudest soft little clunk Tyresa had ever heard in her life.

  The SAP looked at it. Then he looked back at her. His hand inched towards his holster.

  "You'd better come with me," he said, reaching out and grabbing her wrist.

  Dammit. If this SAP reported her, and Lowcuzt-stroke-Crzethnuk got wind of an intruder, it could pose as much risk to Colin as storming the place would. Tyresa tried to think through her options rationally, but adrenaline and impulse got the better of her.

  She yanked her arm from the SAP's restraint, grabbed his wrist, and gave it a twist. He shrieked and buckled to one side. She squeezed her free hand into a fist and swung at his chin, but her punch didn't connect properly. The SAP wasn't knocked out as she'd intended, he just stumbled back against the desk.

  He pulled his gun, but Tyresa was already on him before he could take aim. She grabbed his arms, thinking only of getting the weapon off him. He jerked around, desperately trying to shake her off, but Tyresa's grip was like a vice. She twisted the wrist of his gun-toting arm, and the SAP yelped. His grip on the weapon slackened. She slammed his hand against the tabletop, sending the pistol skidding away across its surface and somewhere onto the floor.

  Before she could pursue it, Tyresa felt a knee thump into her stomach, sending the wind rushing from her lungs. The guard shoulder barged her, sending them both careening into a wall. He grabbed her wrists, and a second struggle broke out as Tyresa fought to free herself.

  As his hands pressed into her flesh, one of his fingers pushed against her wrist computer and the signal button.

  The computer beeped. It was transmitting too soon!

  Back in the tunnel, an alert appeared in Robbi's vision. Tyresa's signal. She must have found Colin.

  It was time.

  She turned to her team, who were pacing around and splashing impatiently in the puddles. "We have our signal," she told them. "Get ready to move!"

  She tekapted the map that was tracking Tyresa's position. Doctor Jak was approximately where expected: just outside Lowcuzt's secret project room.

  "All weapons to stun," Robbi instructed the others, placing her foot on the lowest rung. "I repeat, all weapons to stun. And don't forget to turn off your notifications!"

  She began leading her comrades up the ladder. Things appeared to be going to plan.

  37

  Finally! cried Crzethnuk. Things are going to plan.

  Makes a change, snapped Lowcuzt. Colin Douglass was slumped over in the nexus chair. What's happened to him?

  I dare say there's a conversation going on in his head right now. Klablath and Colin Douglass are probably coming to terms with their new situation.

  Crzethnuk stepped closer to Colin and leaned over him. The poor man's face was set into a blank expression.

  Are you sure? Or have you fried another one?

  I
'm sure. I'll show you.

  "Oh, Klablath," Crzethnuk called out playfully. "Are you there?"

  Colin blinked. Life appeared in his eyes. There seemed to be an actual consciousness in there once more. The question was, whose?

  He looked up. "Crzethnuk!" he growled. "What have you done?" His arms wrenched up and the cables around his wrists snapped taut.

  "Welcome to physical reality, Klablath," Crzethnuk chuckled as he pointed to the bonds. "It's not quite so boundless down here, I can tell you."

  "Enough of this! Return to this human control over his own body."

  "Sorry," said Crzethnuk. "Too late. That's your body now. And, if you're very nice to me, I might consider not destroying it and letting you keep it."

  "But the human's consciousness remains. Colin Douglass is still in here with me."

  "Don't worry about that. I think I've worked out a way to erase the old occupier's consciousness for good. Of course, I haven't tested it yet, but we'll get around to that." Crzethnuk paused a moment, giving Colin, or rather Klablath, a lingering look. "It's ironic isn't it, old man. You tried so hard to stop me coming back to the corporeal realm. You lectured us all endlessly about never returning. And now look what's happened. You're the first Predecessor to properly do it. You're a pioneer, Klablath, leading the way, providing an example to all the others who want to return."

  "They can't!" protested Klablath.

  "Oh yes they can," countered Crzethnuk. "You've just demonstrated that. Not only that, but I have a means to transport all my followers into human bodies of their very own."

  "Impossible!"

  "We'll see."

  "Lowcuzt, you cuh-cuh-can't do this!"

  "‘Cuh-cuh-can't do this'?" Crzethnuk mocked. "How wonderful! The flaw in the human's brain must be causing a problem in the interface between human and Predecessor. Looks like you ended up with a faulty human. Sorry, no refunds. Now, really, you must excuse me."

  Crzethnuk went to the main unit of the nexus chair, where dozens of cables spilled out from an open panel in the machine and snaked off to the nearby beacon. Incredibly, he began rapidly plucking and wrenching the wiring from the chair.