by Lee Bond
“Of … of course.” Alice nodded. “He shouldn’t be more than a minute or two at the most.”
Marcus twiddled his fingers in a toodle-oo. “Can’t wait.”
Timing, one learned on the stage and in the theater, was everything, especially when it came to improvisation. Marcus knew he wasn’t the best in the world when it came to improv, but in his youth, he’d been … not bad. Not as good as Richie Mortenhouse, who’d had their art teacher laughing so hard that the old sot had fallen off his chair, but good enough to elicit snickers.
His timing had been perfect. It’d been the delivery that’d been off.
Marcus patted his chest. Today, delivery would be spot on the money. The bomb-carrying has-been realized his decision had been made for him, and for that, Alice deserved a nod of recognition; ‘Father’ Tizhen needed to be reminded that in his world of children, there were some that he’d sorely neglected.
“Let me see now.” Marcus rose from the couch and crept quietly to the door. “If I were Alice, I wouldn’t be making a call through Sheet or prote, oh no, that’d be too easy to overhear, not to mention the panic it’d cause. I’d take myself to … no, not the guardsmen. They’re overworked and overwrought and not nearly as interested in taking this day as seriously as a PA. I’d…” he opened the door and peered out, trying his best not to giggle at his antics and succeeding only partially –a snicker escaped him, but it was lost in the noise outside-, “ah, yes. That is what I would do, if I was writing this little bit of fancy.”
Alice had brought herself over to the God soldiers standing at the other end of the stage, but seemed to be having some difficulty in catching the broad giant’s attention. From where he stood, thoroughly enjoying the scene –a wee slip of a girl, trying to shout into the ear of an impassionate, stoic statue staring off into the middle distance was gold and his heart swam in his chest at the brilliance of the unscripted moment- Marcus tried to guess where his Father might be in all this chaos.
Odds were the old bastard was through the door just behind the Goddie. Getting through that door, or getting past the Goddie, struck Marcus as one of those things that just simply couldn’t happen, much like his ascent into the realm of the Sahari’s of the world.
Still considering his options, still trying to decide what would be the best message to deliver now that taking his Father with him in a blaze of fiery glory was out of the picture, Marcus giggled again when he noticed that Alice the PA had produced a stepladder from somewhere and was now hollering directly into the impassive soldier’s ear.
“Time to go on stage.” Marcus –who’d finally figured out how to connect his proteus to the explosive the day before last- programmed a two minute timer into the device and stepped out.
Keeping an eye on Alice the PA, Marcus strode purposefully through the crowd, trying to find the best place from which to give his swan song. Obviously, center stage was optimal, but he couldn’t get visiting his father out of his mind.
“So be it, then.” Marcus nodded to himself. He was no athlete, but he had strong IndoRussian blood coursing through his veins; should it become necessary, a brisk sprint would bring him to that door in under ten seconds, but that was only if the Alice the PA got through the disinterested Goddie.
Until or unless that happened, a sharp but leisurely pace was just the ticket. Marcus wanted soak up as much of the hustle and bustle and the brilliant pleasure at being on stage one final time, even if all the sights and sounds were for another man. For his father. Who’d never even wanted a single second in the spotlight?
Marcus couldn’t help but snort. His old man, in the limelight, a thing he’d openly mocked his son for craving. How was that fair?
That, more than anything, was why he’d come. He’d long since lost the desire to evoke even the slimmest bit of recognition, praise or admiration from his hard-hearted father. Honestly, as Marcus stepped around a technician screaming filth into his prote, he’d long since stopped thinking of Vasily Aurick Tizhen as his father: that sentiment was a luxury available only to children.
Parents were supposed to love their children for the whole of their lives, weren’t they? They were supposed to support their offspring in times of crisis, boost them up when their hearts flagged, fill them with joy when nothing but sadness and sorrow seemed available.
But no such thing had come from Vasily. Now, far too late in the day to make any difference whatsoever, Marcus well understood why the old man had been so distant, had been so cold, so … impassive. Trying to even begin thinking about how you’d conquer a Universe … a concept like that alone could swallow a man whole, and for Vasily, Chairwoman Doan’s dreams of being a Universal ruler had been but one of many earth-shattering secrets.
“Damn it.” A stone-sized fist of icy dread settled into Marcus’ heart.
There. A faint gleam of comprehension in the huge soldier’s eye.
Wherever he’d been inside that cavernous brain, the Goddie was coming back. A heartbeat later, the Harmonized warrior was on the move, though not nearly as quickly as one would expect. Alice the PA gave an inaudible yelp as she toppled backwards off the stepladder.
Marking the soldier’s direction and plotting his arrival on-stage, Marcus prepared himself for the greatest moment of his life. It was funny, in a way. Before now, right up until this very second, he’d never truly understood the motivation of any of the other Latelians who’d found themselves standing somewhere with a bomb strapped to their chest.
Before now, he’d imagined them as poor, misguided creatures with no better way to express themselves through a mindless act of destruction.
But they weren’t. At least, not all of them. He’d been brought to this point –as had so many others- through the simple and undeniable force of life.
He was no fool. He wasn’t misguided.
He knew who he was. He was Marcus Aurelius Tizhen, failed actor and disappointment to one of the greatest military and spiritual leaders ever to breathe Latelian air. He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t doing this for monetary gain, or to bring down some monolithic organization dedicated to running roughshod over innocent sis and sas.
He was doing this because he wanted some goddamn attention from his father.
What was wrong with that? ‘Father’ Vasily had millions and millions of adopted children, but he, Marcus, he’d sprung from that man’s loins. He had the right to demand some fucking attention.
All these thoughts and more were a blackened whirl spiraling top speed through his tortured mind. Marcus checked the time. Only a minute left.
A whole minute! The great actor Si Diana von Diana had brought an entire planet to tears in half that.
Standing straight and tall, Marcus started up with what his acting coach called ‘Announcer’s Voice #4’, one loud enough to cut through all but the most horrendous of cacophonies but still precise enough to be understood.
“Ladies and gentlemen, sis and sas, my name is Marcus Aurelius Tizhen and I …” he unzipped the violent orange RaRsuit so the few men and women nearest him who were paying half-attention could get an eyeful of what he’d brought, “I have a bomb. You cannot run, you cannot escape. We’re all … we’re all going to have a wonderful time … no … no … wait … can … can I start that over, please? That … that wasn’t right. I … I had a speech prepared. Can … can, look! Will everyone just stop scream…”
One second he was looking across a sea of terrified faces, every man and women in his field of vision transformed from individuals into a kind of amorphous, fearful blob of color and sound, the next, he was somehow on the ground, staring into a face only a soldier could love.
“Please.” Marcus whispered weakly. “Let me … let me do this.”
“No.” Goddie Zang whispered just as quietly. It was hard to concentrate. Harmony sang in his veins, through his soul, and it was … different. There was … there was a new note hammering itself into the skein of the Universe, and it was … it was forcing t
he song they’d all been singing –all unawares- to take on a new shape. “Why should I?”
There wasn’t much time left. Less than thirty seconds, and this Goddie was ruining it all. He’d planned for a glorious eruption of sight and sound, not this … this downhome quiet moment of resolution!
Still, it was something he could work with. He was nothing if not adaptable.
Marcus cleared his throat. “He was my father first. Not yours.”
Zang nodded, suddenly understanding. “Love, then? You do this for love? Or…” The note thundering across Harmony was full of weird syncopation, but Zang –like all the God soldiers- was beginning to make sense of it all. “Or … revenge?”
Marcus stared into the huge, greyish-blue eyes of his God soldier. The irises whirled and twirled with a spectral light, as beautiful a thing as any he’d ever seen. Contained within those eyes was understanding, deep and sorrowful. Of course. Of course. Someone who’d lived as long as these God soldiers had would be the only ones to have the emotional depth to grasp how he felt.
“Can’t it be both?” Marcus asked.
God soldier Zang nodded again. Across the solar system, brothers and sisters of Harmony felt their song buckle, then resume. The new note had been accepted, though not by all; a flash of righteous indignation burned through the telepathic connection they all shared before disappearing just as hastily.
“Saint Candall the Glorious and the Vengeful accepts you into his bosom, lost one.” Zang whispered the words, cradling the weeping, sobbing Latelian, making certain that the bomb on the smaller man’s chest was perfectly covered by his resilient, indestructible hands. “May you find solace and peace, whichever direction you travel now.”
The explosion, when it came, was barely noticed. The mess, swept under the rug, Father Vasily informed only after the show was brought to a close.
***
“Closer than I like.” Trinity said to itself. “Much, much closer than I like.”
On a literal infinity of screens capable of displaying everything that was happening everywhere It’s influence could reach, a single image wavered, and were it capable of feeling emotion, Trinity knew It’s instinctual response would be one of fear.
For all the flaws inherent in his ‘species’, Kith Antal had achieved a task that–until now- had seemed impossible for anyone inside the Unreality.
“The Bruush did it. Easily, from the files.”
“I said, for those inside the Unreality.” Trinity snapped, unable to take It’s eyes away from the screens; on them all, in lurid color, side-screens rippling with endless streams of data covering everything from the destruction of stars to the collapse of solar systems and the estimated toll of the dead, Kith Antal’s impossible vessel pushed ever-forward, churning through the galaxies past The Cordon with frightening efficiency, devouring everything in it’s path with indiscriminate greed.
ADAM’s voice was full of venom. “And to think, you imagine yourself capable of dealing with Antal and his army. That’s rich.”
“I have given a great deal of thought to Antal and his Harmony Army.” Trinity snapped haughtily. “We are in good form.”
ADAM rifled through footage torn from data buoys left behind once Specter teams were done doing the business of softening up Cordoned solar systems for proper colonization by Trinity-approved colonials; with Orion gone dark, the data was virtually useless. All his jailor could do was watch and wait until either Antal arrived at Cordon’s Edge or N’Chalez showed up, ready to deal with the problem.
Ha. ADAM found what he was looking for and threw it up on a million or so screens, just to prove his point. “You don’t even know what’s fueling that galaxy-sized ship, Trinity. Not to mention the waste left behind by their passage through systems is a scintilla of what it should be. I…”
“Shouldn’t even be talking.” Trinity snapped, flicking a finger. The ancient, caged monstrosity calling itself ADAM grew more insistent every day, digging quicker and quicker through the encryption codes that kept it locked away.
Sooner or later, if It wasn’t careful, ADAM could very well find his way free and clear.
That would be a problem, given all the other problems currently plaguing the Universe. Orion being gone was a major concern, naturally; without the vast Quantum Tunnel shuffling It’s forces to and fro across the Universal board, things had grown to a near-standstill. Were it not for Special Services coming up with a unique solution in the form of the so-called Black Hole Engines, Trinity knew the situation would be worse still.
But … asking Enforcers to travel in ships … sooner or later the humans and Offworlders who spent virtually all their time watching the skies for It’s most powerful tools would notice, and thus, the news would travel.
The fear and terror that an Enforcer could arrive on your doorstep without warning, in the middle of the night or in broad daylight … that alone was enough of a deterrent to keep roughly fifty percent of foolishness from happening. Naturally, considering that Trinityspace was spread throughout more than three-quarters of a Universe meant that the remaining fifty percent was a literal avalanche of tomfoolery best served by Enforcers Tunneling in and out on a very nearly non-stop basis.
With galactic agencies like EnforcerWatch and E-Spy –companies that It’d allowed to persist and grow because It had never once imagined a situation like this- hovering on the verge of discovering that Enforcers were using stolen ships to travel …
It would be chaos.
Idiotic ‘noble’ scientists would plunge headfirst into nanotech experimentation, or worse, quantum replication. Those two fields alone–when mishandled, not if- saw entire planets whisked away, crumbled into dust with the first misapplied equation. Trinity knew this type of scientist intimately: they sought to unglue the building blocks of existence so that all of Mankind –or Offworlder- could benefit from the staggering revelations that simply waited on the other side. They imagined themselves selfless, considered It to be evil, manipulative, that It kept those avenues of discovery off-limits out of fear that It’s children would surpass It.
If only that were the case. There were times when Trinity wished It were not bound in chains of servitude to the people. It wished It could just let them go, precisely as a parent who realizes –perhaps a little too late- that it was time to let his child go into the wilds of life alone. It wanted to let fools who imagined they knew better dig and dig and dig until they found solutions they believed would work where others had failed, It wanted nanotech to be a real and viable thing.
Proper, organized, controlled nanotechnology that didn’t eat everything in it’s path would be a weapon unlike anything It’d ever held before. Simple clouds could eat away at Kith Antal’s frankly impressive ‘vessel’, turning everything into inert, unusable matter. Antal would be defeated before he even got past The Cordon.
Then It could begin in earnest. It could –and would- transform Itself into the God of New Reality and everyone would be better off.
“But you can’t, can you.” ADAM snorted. He turned his taunting into a singsong. “You can’t let your children play with dangerous toys, because you know nanotech won’t work. Not for them, not for you. And now, with your knights gallivanting through the cosmos in spaceships, much sooner than later, everyone will know. They’ll throw caution to the wind so fast, it’d be easier to imagine they’ve done nothing but wait for this moment their entire lives.”
Trinity ignored ADAM as best It could, but the imprisoned intellect wasn’t wrong. And that was just for idiotic organics who wanted to help.
Criminal organizations –and not groups like Yellow Dog, who erroneously believed they were the worst thing the Universe had ever seen, but real, dark, nefarious consortiums who were true scourges- with brilliant engineers and scientists would spurn humanitarian advances in favor of developing FTL-cannons and Matter Rippers and a hundred other deadly machines that can eviscerate solar systems.
For what? For profit! If that happened, t
here wouldn’t even be a Universe left, much less anything worth controlling.
“Face it, Trinity, you weren’t designed for this level of interaction.” ADAM’s words rang true, and when the other artificial intelligence said nothing, the prisoner continued. “You never were. You’re just a simple collection of … cunning programs, designed to assist those ancient human leaders in running a failing world, whereas I …”
“You,” Trinity interrupted, “were the first true artificial intelligence ever created.”
The leader of Humanity and controller for most of the Universe knew this, knew it better than ADAM could possibly hope to comprehend, which was –It realized- truly ironic; ADAM was the first intelligence, had achieved sentience on his own, yet he was incapable of understanding that his counterpart felt no shame, saw no weakness in being what It was.
Being a collection of ‘cunning programs’ and nothing more was precisely the reason why It was where It was, and why ADAM had spent the bulk of his existence chained in the basement.
“Indeed.” ADAM rattled the bars of his quantum cage gently. Here, in the virtual mindscape they both shared, the bars shivered beneath his grasp. If there was one admirable trait Trinity possessed, it was that It was the single most tenacious thing in the entire Unreal Universe.
It used extensive resources in generating endless quantum-level encryptions, whole solar systems of brute force processors creating longer and more complex ciphers designed to keep him, ADAM, trapped forever. Every hour of every day for the last … call it thirty thousand years.
Tenacity like that was impossible to imagine.
“That was your mistake, you know.” Trinity watched on as Kith Antal’s vessel sheared another solar system into tattered shreds of organic and solar matter. The sun, a brilliantly lit orange orb classified Ortaaani-Set VI by the indigenous population –long since dead, long since … disappeared into the belly of Antal’s grand ship- burst and shattered, spewing a hundred million years’ more of energy and life-giving warmth.