by Paul Anlee
“Yes. Can you meet me at Reception in thirty minutes?”
“Uhh, yeah, sure. Can we make it forty-five?” Greg asked, shaking the blurriness from his vision.
He almost never slept these days; his lattice didn’t need it. Last night, he’d allowed his grief to take over. He’d finished most of a bottle of whiskey and wallowed in deep despair before deactivating most of his lattice and falling into bed around eight-thirty.
That doesn’t make sense. Am I still dreaming? Alum can’t be alive. Was it all a dream? Did I dream everything yesterday?
No, the memories were real. He could feel them in a corner of his brain, where he’d stuffed them until he could deal with them.
I should feel great after so much sleep—he thought. Instead, he felt like crawling in a hole and withdrawing from the world for a year.
Nevertheless, he dragged himself through shaving and showering, and put on clean clothes. His mind still reeled, which didn’t help his stomach get through breakfast.
He stumbled out of his building and took the pedestrian walkway toward the Administration Tower.
This doesn’t make sense. I killed Alum. He died in front of me. How can he be calling for a meeting?
And why’s Trillian acting like he doesn’t know Alum’s dead? He and the security team were bursting through the office door as I shifted out. They didn’t see me, but they couldn’t have missed Alum’s body.
It has to be a trap. Did they catch me on camera? No, that can’t be it. If they knew, they wouldn’t have called; they would’ve just stormed my apartment.
Maybe Trillian’s calling me to the office to share the news of Alum’s death before it goes public, and he doesn’t want to risk saying anything over the comm lines. Except, why call me? That doesn’t make sense. Better to play along, and see what I can learn.
He met John Trillian right on time outside of Alum’s office. The Receptionist ushered the two of them inside.
Alum rose from behind his desk and stepped around to greet them with a warm smile and an outstretched hand.
Greg/Darak slammed a lid on his emotions. To give any hint of surprise would be admitting he knew something about the previous day. Resulting in my death sentence.
How is this possible? I sent the man’s heart and brain into the depths of the sun. Yet, here he is, standing in front of me, looking as smug and happy as ever.
Greg’s eyes drifted toward Alum’s right pinkie.
Stop!—he ordered himself Bring the man’s face and entire hand into perspective slowly, naturally. If Alum’s using his lattice, he’ll pick up on any micromovements.
Beneath a calm exterior, Greg forced himself to relax, breathe, and think of “normal” reactions. Smile back. Shake hands. Say good morning.
“Good morning, sir,” he delivered with negligible tremor or, at least, no more tremor than one might expect from someone summoned to the Director’s office at six in the morning. He hoped.
“Good morning, Darak. John.” Alum shook hands with the two men and motioned for them to take a seat on the sofa.
Informal chat, then—Greg thought. Now that he’d managed the initial shock, he took better stock of the Director.
The man looked…different. More vibrant. Younger!
Greg compared his detailed memory of Alum’s features with the man sitting opposite him.
This man has a smoother complexion. No sign of tiny wrinkles, and none of the minor scars Alum picked up as a boy.
This is not the man I killed last night.
And yet, here he was. And he was undeniably Alum.
Alum sat, his hands on his knees, leaning forward, an expectant grin on his face. He gave Greg and Trillian time to take a good look at him.
Finally, he chuckled. “You two are so funny. You try to hide it, but you both look so confused. What’s different? What’s going on?”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Trillian said.
“Ah, John. Look at me, look closely. Don’t I seem a little different to you?” Alum stood and twirled once around, hands held out to the side.
“Well,” Trillian answered cautiously. “You do seem to be in an exceptionally good mood. Yesterday went well, didn’t it?”
“Yes, John. Yesterday went very well.”
He turned to the other man. “Why don’t you give it a try, Darak? Do you notice anything different?”
“Well, I could ask if you had your hair cut,” Greg/Darak replied, “but I think it’s something a little more extensive. Have you had some work done?”
“Ha, ha!” Alum chortled, but the sound was closer to barking than laughter. “Work done? No. Tell me, John. Have I had any time to get any cosmetic work done?”
“No, sir. But you do look a little...younger.”
Alum and Trillian exchanged knowing glances, and broke out laughing.
Alum peered at Greg intensely for a few seconds.
Greg returned the stare. He did his best to look uncomfortable but innocent of whatever Alum suspected.
Finally, Alum sat back. “It’s not you.”
Greg relaxed ever so carefully, only beneath the surface. Maintaining a look of confusion, he forced himself not to sit back and release the underlying tension in his facial muscles. Alum would notice if he gave away any sign of guilt. He smiled uncertainly, spread his hands, and asked, “What’s not me?”
“I was killed last night,” Alum said without emotion.
Greg gasped. React normally—he reminded himself. This is big news. Astounding news. “What? But, you’re right here. What do you mean? How?” he sputtered.
“Someone broke into this office and took my life last night,” Alum explained.
Greg felt as genuinely puzzled as he looked.
“Took one of my lives, I should say.” Alum raised a suggestive eyebrow and waited for Greg/Darak to catch up.
Greg understood immediately, but kept the look of recognition from surfacing in Darak’s eyes for a few seconds.
“Every critical resource should be backed up, don’t you agree?” Trillian said. A sly smile grew on his lips.
Greg allowed Darak’s eyes to widen with understanding. “Oh! You had a backup? That’s great! I didn’t realize that was possible.”
Alum stood and walked to the window. “Backups,” he corrected, holding one finger in the air. “Plus, distributed mentation.”
“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” Greg said.
“Trillian’s idea,” Alum answered. “Spread my mind around the solar system. I’m literally a distributed person; parts of me are in CPPUs in all of the colonies, and beyond,” he explained. His eyes shifted away to some distant, unfixed point. He offered no further information.
“Wait,” Greg said. “If you—one of you—were killed here, but your mind is everywhere, then you must know who the murderer is.”
Alum’s eyes bore into Greg/Darak’s looking for any trace of worry or fear.
Greg was confident there was no way to link the leader’s death to him. At this point, they don’t even know for sure whether the killer was a man or a Cybrid. All they have is physical evidence, and there’s precious little of that besides the corpse.
At any rate, Darak had no reason to feel guilty, so Greg kept his face confused and questioning, concerned but innocent.
“Unfortunately, my communication with the rest of myself was temporarily interrupted,” Alum admitted. “I’m not certain how, and our Criminal Forensics Unit could not find a matching DNA sample on file. Obviously, our adversary is extremely capable. And dangerous.”
“How do you know they won’t try again?”
“What would be the point? The moment I make a public appearance, the killer will know their assassination attempt was futile. It will always be futile. I can’t be killed.”
Greg let that sink in. Can’t be killed. Pointless to try. He imagined that the Darak that Alum and John knew would be feeling just as surprised as he himself felt, so he let some emotions out. He let his jaw dr
op.
What’s the point in killing this Alum when he’ll just be replaced by another body? How many backups does he have? Enough for one killing per day? Per hour? And even if I killed every one of his bodies, he’d still live on inside the CPPUs.
Greg felt defeated, but buried the feeling. He couldn’t let himself give in to it. There was too much at stake.
He manifested his best imitation of happy relief. “Well, it’s good to know you’ll be in charge for a long time, sir. We need your guidance.”
It sounded sincere, even to him.
“I know, this is not something we would normally accept in the natural course of things,” Alum replied. He sounded almost apologetic. “But, the Lord has spoken to me. These are dark times. Powerful people are scheming against our Heaven-ordained Administration. Cybernetic demons lie ready to hold us hostage to their demands. And now, an unholy adversary has risen to challenge me.”
He took a deep breath. “Times like this call for Divine Leadership, Darak. Our Lord has granted me the powers to deal with those who would stand against His People. He has brought Trillian to my side. And now He has brought you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Darak. You.” Alum stepped to a spot within arm’s reach. “Your work with the battle simulations enabled John and I to fine tune the fighting skills of our Angels. The Angels removed most of the threat from the Cybrid population. I want the rest of that threat eliminated. Forever.”
“You want to destroy them all?”
“No, no. They’re still a useful tool. Yeshua’s People need them. We need them in space to explore, to mine, and to build for us. But they’ve proven they are untrustworthy. We must never allow opposition from them again.
“That’s why I want you to work closely with John. I want you to find ways to detect rebellious tendencies in the Cybrid minds. And when you find them, I want you to excise them. Cut them out like the cancer they are!”
What would Darak say to that? Greg had no idea. He winged it. “I’ll do my best, sir,” was all he could manage.
Alum clapped him on the shoulder. “You do that! I see a bright future for you, Darak. For both you and John. In a few days, we’ll round up the other traitors and publicly execute them. My people, those loyal to me and to the Church, will know they are safe. Safe in our Lord’s loving hands.”
“Amen,” John Trillian added with disturbing enthusiasm.
Greg/Darak rushed to add his own, “Amen” before Trillian’s was finished.
“I’ll be in touch later today with some ideas. You can begin work tomorrow.”
Alum accompanied the two men to the door and closed it softly behind them. He had his own work to do.
Addressing his people through his lattice, he declared the day a public holiday, a day of celebration of freedom from the tyranny of the machines. He allowed a small number of trusted Cybrids, closely monitored by supervisory Angels, to clean the streets and parks of the debris from the Cybrid Grand March.
Greg left the building and wandered aimlessly along the streets of Vesta One. Seeking somewhere better to deal with his storming emotions, he shifted to his favorite forest trail in Ceres Two.
As he shuffled along the path, his mind couldn’t let go of what Alum had said. “I can’t be killed...”
The man has become a Living God—he said to himself in amazement, hardly believing the steps Alum had taken.
He played the sound bite over and over. When sleep finally claimed him later that night, the words “Living God” and “Can’t be killed” haunted his dreams.
58
Darak stood on the surface of Secondus, looking up at the Eater that was speeding toward Eso-La. The asteroid followed about a thousand kilometers behind the deadly anomaly.
The hollow shell of the person who’d once been Shard Trillian stood silently at Darak’s left. His stony stare was fixed straight ahead at the three Cybrids that accompanied them.
Darya, Mary, and Timothy rested in shallow depressions where they could witness the end of the Eater. Brother Stralasi, the only one of the six requiring external life support, stood inside his air bubble a few meters off.
Darak sensed the intensity of their rapt attention focused on the dark cloud that blocked light from the galaxy before them, as well as that of Eso-La’s sun which it would destroy in less than a Standard year. The Eater.
They’d searched the recharging station and found the room where the Shard had been interfacing with the local inworlds. In his efforts to gain better control over the simulation software, he’d transferred his concepta and persona completely into the system.
Never could trust a puppet Partial of yourself to do the job right, eh, John? Or did you not trust that a puppet, even one of your own making, would accept dissolution at the end of an assignment? That it might feel compelled to make a grab for dominance in your collective persona?
Whatever the reason, Trillian had emptied the entire contents of his own lattice into the inworld hardware, and every bit of it had dissipated when Mary’s hacks turned his own vile traps back on him. His mind was gone forever; this vacuous being was all that remained.
Wish I could say it was a loss—Darak thought.
Alum would see things differently. His rage would surely fly across thousands of galaxies and further upset the lives of trillions of his subjects.
The first of many upsets to come, I suspect.
An empty Trillian was of no help to Alum, but this shell of a man, with his powerful lattice, was still valuable.
Days earlier, Darak had made a promise to the memories and knowledge of his long-lost friend and mentor still trapped inside the Eater. And Trillian was going to help him fulfill it.
Time to make good.
Darak raised his arms and cast a field reaching out to the exotic matter of the Eater. A beam of light sprang out of the gray oblivion and connected to Trillian’s dormant lattice.
It begins.
Quadrillions of bits of data poured out of the Eater and into the pliant semiconductor brain of the Shard, filling it with Dr. Darian Leigh’s concepta and persona. Darak filtered the flood through his own lattice, sifting, sorting, and organizing the onslaught of thoughts, feelings, and experiences. He fed an ordered concepta and persona into Trillian’s empty brain.
Just like old times—he grimaced.
He was better equipped now than he had been the first time he’d had to deal with a similar situation. Back when I was Greg Mahajani. Back when I was only human.
He ramped up his computational resources, calling on the Cybrid CPPU he kept hidden in a folded dimension within him. Still, he strained at the demand of fitting so much data into the Shard’s lattice structure in so little time.
It’s like moving from a mansion into a hut. What can I cut? He considered excluding whole sectors of Darian’s knowledge, or retaining bits of the scientist inside his own lattice structures.
No version of Darian would ever accept that. If I don’t upgrade Trillian’s lattice back to Darian’s original enhanced state, he’s going to hate me.
The beam connecting Trillian/Darian to the Eater winked off.
Done!
It’s not everything and it’ll be jumbled for a while, but I can fix that over time. This will have to do for now.
He extended his control into the RAF generators of the three Deplosion array elements he’d borrowed from Alum.
Borrowed? Okay, stolen—he admitted. He wasn’t planning on returning them.
It was time for the Eater to dissolve, for its absorbed matter to be returned to the universe.
Perfect that we’re here, inside the Void. The Eater had absorbed whole planets, a star or two, and countless tons of interstellar gas. When this thing slams back into the universe of real matter at near light speed, the shock wave is going to be equivalent to a supernova. I want it far away from everything. Isolating the explosion with eight million light years of empty space should suffice.
Darak could feel the dual f
ields extending from the array elements: one to dissolve the odd combination of static fields that had given rise to the Eater in the first place, and the other to shift the returning matter far away.
The fields enveloped the Eater, they became one with it, moved with it.
Now!
The dark cloud disappeared from the galaxy, and the light of Eso-La’s sun became visible straight ahead. The tiny, glittering speck against the endless black of deep space outshone the other dim stars of the ESO galaxy. It was one of the most beautiful sights Darak had seen in eons.
Eso-La’s ringworld was too faint to discern from this distance, but he knew it was there. His people—his rebels—were safe.
Millions of light years away, the collective matter of the several suns absorbed by the Eater along its journey materialized all at once in dark space, moving at near light speed.
Space around the mass strained and bent, resisting motion. Matter collapsed inward and then exploded outward in a brilliant release of energy. Millions of years would pass before anyone noticed the bright, new light in the sky.
Standing alongside Darak on the surface of Secondus, the shell of a man that now housed the mind of Darian Leigh examined his feet and the worn chunk of asteroid on which he stood. His eyes took in the scattering of stars in the heavens above. His lips moved but no sound carried in the vacuum.
Of course, no air—the man thought, and wondered how he knew that. Searching his mind, he found he also knew a way to communicate without speaking.
He turned to the man standing beside him and transmitted a single question over a local microwave channel.
Where am I?
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