by Gregg Vann
{So?}
“So? Surely you jest, Brother. Would you see us thus destroyed?”
{Ah, I see you’ve been reading Shakespeare again. Haven’t you, Augustus? I could always tell. The language seeps into your own}
Dyson sighed. “You know me far too well, Akira.”
{I do. So allow me to recite the entire quote to make a point. ‘Will you yield, and this avoid? Or, guilty in defense, be thus destroyed?’ You have missed the point entirely, Brother. Impermanence is the nature of things, and chaos and order both have a rightful place in the universe. It is the Buddha's single most important lesson. Don't you see what you’ve done? You have refused to yield to the inevitable…the natural order of things. Your actions are the epitome of craving, the very antithesis of our way. Have you truly abandoned everything we believe in?}
“No, of course not.”
{Yet you've become so much like your namesake—Augustus—trying to consolidate power in yourself at the expense of others. But from what I’ve read, there’s been no Pax Romana during your rule. Instead, there has been widespread war and death—trillions killed and enslaved, and entire planets depopulated. It is a universe where the strong trod freely upon the weak, and where those who practice wholesale violence…bow down to you}
The truth of Miso’s words hit Brother Dyson hard, and with far greater force than he would have ever imagined possible. But Dyson wasn’t completely surprised. It’s always the lies we tell ourselves that cut the deepest. And it often takes someone else shining a light into the darkest corners of our mind to reveal the truth. Brother Dyson had gone beyond merely saving the monastery, and a tiny part of him did crave the power and influence he’d established for the Bodhi—that was the plain and undeniable truth of it. Because despite his unmatched wealth of knowledge and experience, accumulated over several lifetimes, Brother Dyson was still human. His struggle between worldly temptation and enlightenment was an ongoing battle, and one he knew he might never win.
The thoughts sobered Dyson’s mood and left him feeling morose, and the old monk’s face was etched with regret as he responded. “At one time, Brother, perhaps. But we don’t enjoy that same measure of influence now. If anything, our situation is as precarious as it ever was. We no longer have a monopoly on the transference technology; there are competitors in the field. We Bodhi are still the most adept at it, of course, and that gives us some leverage. But the others are gaining quickly. There will soon be a time where we are once again without powerful friends. Or more accurately, powerful enemies that we can control.”
{And that will be your moment of truth, Brother. The point at which you realize how completely and utterly powerless you are against the forces of the universe}
Dyson’s shoulders sagged. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
The interaction with Miso had become immensely tiring for Brother Dyson, and having to unexpectedly justify his actions over the last two hundred years was beginning to take a heavy toll on the already exhausted monk. Seeking a modicum of relief from the guilt he was feeling—the burden that always pulled at him, just below the surface—Dyson tried shifting the conversation in a new direction.
“Why did you leave us?” he asked Miso. Brother Dyson’s voice was bitter, and his question forceful and direct. The monk was feeling defensive now, and Dyson’s accusatory tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. “We would have benefited greatly from your presence, Brother Miso. And quite frankly, I could have done with some assistance when everything went horribly wrong. Why did you go, Akira?”
{You know why}
“I know only what you told us then, that you needed time to think, and to clear away all of the confusion. That the schism in our order had clouded your mind, and you wanted time to sort things out.”
{And that was the truth of it. When our brethren left the monastery because you wanted to pursue enlightenment through consciousness transfer, I had a crisis of conscience. Surely you can understand that, Brother. Just think of it. You proposed implanting a person’s mind into a newly cloned body at the end of their natural life—with all of their memories fully intact. And then repeating that process over and over again, no matter how many lifetimes it took, until they finally achieved Nirvana. You bypassed the Wheel of Life, Augustus. And that went against everything we believed in, calling all of our teachings into question. I became unmoored, Brother. And I needed time away to re-anchor myself in the new reality}
“But why Ulor XI? Of all places…”
{You could say that my ship chose the planet for me. I wasn’t headed in any purposeful direction, or even toward a particular destination. I was so deeply lost in my thoughts—questioning everything—that I didn’t realize how far I’d traveled, or for how long. In the end, it was a simple engine problem that forced me down to the surface of Ulor XI. And when I stepped outside to check the ship over, I fell into a hidden crevasse, becoming wedged down deep inside the mountain. That’s where I remained until those two miners found me. I imagine someone stole my ship or disassembled it for parts, long ago}
The reminder of Miso’s ordeal tempered Brother Dyson’s disappointment in his old friend, and the long-simmering resentment he’d harbored since Miso abandoned him two centuries earlier. It also bled away the anger that had been building during their conversation—as Miso detailed all of Dyson’s faults and mistakes.
The old monk’s voice softened. “So you never did find what you were seeking, Brother?”
{To the contrary. I found exactly what I was looking for on that lifeless planet. I discovered the truth}
“The truth?” Dyson repeated, confused. “The truth about what?”
{About everything, Brother}
Miso leaned forward and rested both arms on the table. Dyson saw his own visage looking back at him, reflected in the shiny metal surface of the android’s head. Miso pushed his face in so close that Brother Dyson saw vapor from his breath condensing on the metal. And when he spoke again, Miso’s voice seemed cold and detached—even more so filtered through the machine-speech.
{I have a confession to make: I’ve been lying to you, Augustus. Just telling you the things you wanted to hear. I needed to gauge your mind and understand how you think. It’s been so long that I didn’t know what to expect, but I’m not at all surprised. You desperately wanted me to confirm what your conscience has been telling you for centuries—that what you’re doing is somehow wrong, and controlling others and wielding power, real power, is a sin. But it's not, Brother Dyson. Two hundred years of death and introspection has taught me just the opposite. The truth is that you haven't gone far enough. Siddhartha was mistaken. Striving is life. Craving is existence. Without it, we die. If we ignore this truth, neglect or abuse life, it’s gone…forever. There is no rebirth. No Nirvana. There is nothing after death, but death. I have seen it, Augustus. And that is the truth of things}
“Surely you can’t be serious, Miso. This is the enlightenment you’ve achieved? You would have us ignore everything we’ve believed in for millennia? Throw away all of our teachings?”
{What else should you do with such rubbish?}
“You’re mad.” Dyson breathed.
{No! I am no longer deluded. But you are still a fool, Augustus. I see that now. And you’ve squandered an opportunity for the Bodhi to seize control of the entire galaxy. Your half measures were cowardly, and your restraint shortsighted. But then again, you’ve always been a disappointment. You’re right, Dyson, I should have stayed. And I should have assumed control of the monastery for myself}
Brother Ryll stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Miso’s shoulder. Even through the atonement robe, he noted the coolness of the android’s metal body. “You mustn’t speak to Brother Dyson like that. He is the Order’s rightful master. We understand that you’ve been through a lot, Broth—”
{You understand nothing!}
Miso reached up and grabbed Ryll’s hand, crushing it in his mechanical grip. The young monk scre
amed, and the android easily tossed him into the nearby wall. Ryll’s head collided with it and snapped back violently, and then he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Brother Dyson jumped up from his seat. “Miso!” he yelled. “What have you done? What is wrong wi—”
Miso reached across the table and seized Dyson by the throat, pulling him in closer. The old monk’s nose touched metal, and he felt the words reverberating through his skin.
{Tell me, Augustus. Why didn’t you come looking for me?}
Dyson struggled to answer. “We…did. Tried…couldn’t get a tracking signal…the ice—”
Miso squeezed tighter, strangling Dyson’s reply. {Don’t you dare tell me about the ice! I died in it, Dyson. And then I lived in it, for two hundred years. I lived in it! After my body died the machine wouldn’t let me go. I was trapped inside the soul chamber, caught in a playback loop, reliving my own death over and over and over again. I was all alone in the darkness, tortured by that horror, while you enjoyed yourself in luxury, using my absence as an excuse to seize sole control of the monastery}
Miso stood up and lifted Brother Dyson by his neck, pulling him around to the other side of the table where he stumbled over Ryll’s body. He pushed Dyson out of the room, and as they moved down the corridor Miso’s voice grew even more menacing, his tone, maniacal.
{I may be inside an atonement body, Augustus, but you’re the one about to pay for his sins. I have dreamt of this moment for centuries. And soon, you will know exactly what it’s like to be abandoned and alone, sealed inside a metal shell—alive, but lifeless}
Miso pushed Dyson into the room containing the transference equipment and slammed his back up against the workbench. As Brother Dyson frantically grabbed at the edge of it, fighting to remain standing, Miso clasped a hand around his neck again. The android used his other hand to pull a knife from the nearby tool kit.
“Stop!” Dyson shouted. There was real fear in his voice. As he realized what was happening—began to grasp that it actually was happening—a panicked veil of anticipation descended over the monk’s features. “You don’t have to do this, Miso. You don’t have to…”
{No, Augustus. I don’t have to. But I want to. I want you to feel what you did to me—to experience it, just as I did. You will atone for what you’ve done, and so will everyone else at the monastery. I won’t be satisfied until every last one of the Bodhi has paid for their callous betrayal}
Miso reached over and tapped a wall switch with the point of his blade, triggering the computer system.
{Identify and record Brother Dyson’s cerebral functions to create a complete neural map, one suitable for transference. And then run a continuous mental scan until the precise moment of his death. Use that information to construct an algorithm that triggers the memory of dying—so that it plays over and over again, at random intervals, in perpetuity}
“No, Brother…please.”
As Dyson watched through widening eyes, Miso slowly inched the blade into the old monk’s chest.
{Note the coldness of it, Brother. Does the blade feel like ice slowly seeping into your chest? Your life slipping away piece by piece as it slices deeper into your heart?}
Dyson fought out a response through the pain. “Miso…please, no…”
{This is how I felt, Brother. When the cold overcame me, robbing me of life. When you left me frozen to death for two centuries. After this machine records your passing, I’ll transfer your consciousness into my old soul chamber, where you can relive the experience over and over again—just as I did. Dying horribly, again and again, for two hundred years!}
“Brothe—”
{Brother? If I were truly your brother would you have left me on that planet? How many ships did you send to look for me, Augustus? How many monks did you dispatch, scouring the galaxy for your lost brother? How long did you wait before assuming control of the monastery for yourself?}
Miso gave the blade a final, sharp push, and he felt the body go slack. Dyson’s eyelids fluttered briefly but they remained open, his gaze now a distant and empty stare. Miso released his grip from the monk’s throat and heard a final exhalation of air, and then the lifeless body fell to the ground.
Brother Dyson was dead.
{Transfer Dyson’s consciousness into the waiting soul chamber, machine. And then program it exactly as I directed}
The antiquated device is unsuitable for transference. Please specify an alternative location.
{Override all safety protocols and proceed with the transfer}
On whose authority?
{Akira Miso}
{Buddhist Master of Bodhi Prime}
Chapter Nine
Once the bandages were removed Tien flexed his fingers, testing each of them separately. Then he carefully extended his arm out to its full length. It felt tight at the elbow—the flexion forced and painful. Tien could tell that the limb was weak, and still far from healed. But it was functional again.
It was whole.
“Thank you,” he said to Doctor Fenra. “It feels much better now.”
“Well,” the Obas physician replied, tossing Tien’s bloodstained bandages into a nearby waste receptacle, “that’s hardly surprising. Your arm was crushed and savagely ripped apart, resulting in catastrophic avulsions. And the bones were shattered into jagged pieces, leaving the lower part of the limb almost severed off completely. I would think anything would be an improvement over that, including a partial amputation.”
Tien caught himself smiling. “Luckily, Doctor Fenra, it didn’t come to that.”
“Maybe not,” he replied. “But it’s close as you’d ever want to come, that’s for certain.” Fenra’s voice turned cautious, worried about offending the dangerous Udek. “Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, Tien, especially considering what your job is, but you might want to refrain from using your bones as weapons in the future.”
“Agreed.”
“I only wish I knew more about Udek physiology,” Fenra added. “There may be shortcuts to help speed your recovery along. Though I have to admit, your constant injuries are providing me with a great deal of insight into the Udek body and how it functions.”
Tien hopped off the table and began pulling his shirt back on. A sharp pain shot through his arm, spreading all the way up to his shoulder. Tien grimaced. “You’re doing fine, Doctor. The nerve endings seem to be healing well enough.”
“Indeed. But it will be weeks, if not months, before you have full use of that arm again. Your internal injuries are also quite serious, and can’t be ignored. You’ve made significant progress, Tien, better than most in your situation, I’m sure. But you suffered a great deal of trauma, and a complete recovery is going to take time. There is no way around it.”
“Well, with any luck, Special Corp won’t send another assassin until I’m ready to welcome them properly.”
“To that point,” a familiar voice interrupted. It was Master Pilot Boe, entering the room alongside an Obas officer. Tien recognized the second man immediately; the post-war restructuring of the military had led to sweeping personnel changes, and Boe’s companion had risen to the very top of the new pecking order. “General Cilos here assures me that monitoring devices have been placed at all of the major air shafts leading into the city. They’re also making quick progress on the minor ones.”
“That’s correct,” Cilos said, in a tone clearly meant to be reassuring. “And thanks to your help infiltrating the computer system on the assassin’s ship, we’ve also managed to piece together how he evaded the extraplanetary surveillance stations we have spaced throughout our moons—and how he slipped past the orbital security ring encircling Obas. We know exactly how he got to the planet without anyone noticing, and those holes in our detection grid have now been sealed.”
Tien shrugged. “The Udek will just find another way in. There’s always a way, General. Always. I should know, because that was my specialty in the Corp. But even if the next operative can’t
find a hole, they’ll make one. I promise you that. The Obas defensive network is impressive, by anyone’s standards, but nothing is impenetrable.”
Tien paused for a moment to catch his breath. Doctor Fenra was right, the effects of the attack still lingered—particularly the damage to Tien’s lungs. It was difficult for him to inhale his specialized mixture of air without coughing. Tien tilted his head back slightly to open his airway more and then adjusted his mask, increasing the flow of methane. It eased some of the discomfort.
“All we can do is stay vigilant,” Tien said, and then he pulled a sling around his damaged arm. He hooked it behind his neck and looked at Doctor Fenra. “So there’s nothing more you can do for me, correct?”
“I’ve done everything I can. You should be dead, Tien. Remember that. And be grateful that time to heal is all you require.”
Tien’s current state of mind was driven by many things, Fenra knew, mostly rage, disappointment, and impatience—but certainly not gratitude. He found himself wondering if the feeling even existed within the Udek’s limited collection of emotions. But Tien had always thanked him after each and every treatment—without fail—so Doctor Fenra liked to imagine that it did.
“Come with me, Tien,” Master Pilot Boe said. “I’ll take you home.”
“I’m fine. And I don’t require an escort.”
“Either I go with you, or General Cilos will assign someone else to follow you. But either way, you will have an escort. This comes directly from Speaker Lews, and is non-negotiable.”
“Very well,” Tien relented, too tired to argue the point.
“Excellent,” Boe replied, relieved he didn’t have to press the issue further.
“If you’ll excuse me,” General Cilos said, “I have other matters to attend to. I believe I’ve come up with a few more ways to help lock things down and prevent unwanted visitors. I’ll let you know how it goes, Tien.”