by Paul Anlee
“I agree,” said Alum. “That leaves us with two explanations. Either a singular genius has spontaneously arisen among the People and somehow remained in secret, or we are being probed by an unknown outside force. Neither is particularly pleasing to contemplate.”
He came to a decision. “The Alternus inworld permits anyone with a Standard interface to join the game. Trillian, I want you to enter the sim and see what intelligence you can collect from inside. Be careful. Exercise more caution than we did in Lysrandia. There are some indications that the system may be designed to influence mental states directly.”
“A concepta virus, my Lord?”
“Possibly, though its effects are subtle and difficult to assess. I am certain your own belief structures will be immune to its influence.”
“The level of programming needed for a concepta virus would require the technological sophistication of a Shard,” Trillian observed. “Is it possible one of our own is involved?”
“Unlikely. No Shards have been active among the Cybrid construction stations near Sagittarius A*. Still, it’s something to be aware of. I have full confidence in your ability to resist any subversion attempts while extracting valuable information from within the system.”
“My Lord.”
“What about the deplosion array, My Lord?” asked Mika. “Don’t we need to protect what’s left against future attacks?” He flexed his muscles impatiently. Angels preferred direct action over sneaking about.
“I don’t think that will be necessary. This inworld has been up and running for over a Standard decade. If it took them this long to find sufficient recruits, I think we have some time before their next action. No, this was just a warning shot, a test of our capabilities. We have some time to learn what’s going on there, and to figure out the instigator’s purpose. We need to take our time and be smart about this. At any rate, I have a different assignment for you.”
“Whatever assignment my Lord wishes for me, I am ready.”
“I have reviewed your memories of your encounter with the imposter Shard on the outpost Gargus 718.5. It was most revealing.”
This time, it was Trillian’s turn to suppress a smirk, something he accomplished with such skill that Mika perceived no change in the Shard’s expression. Nevertheless, the Angel knew the smirk was there.
“No more than a sophisticated trickster, my Lord.”
“Oh? I’m not so sure about that. Had he been fooling a few simpletons with his lattice projection tricks, it would've been one thing. But unless you think this Darak Legsu also subverted your own systems during your attempt to dispatch him, there must be more to him than meets the eye, and the sensor array, for that matter.”
Anger flared briefly in Mika’s eyes but he beat it down. “And yet he was eliminated without too much effort or collateral damage.”
Alum looked at Shard Trillian. “What did you think of the encounter?”
Mika turned his head toward Trillian, surprised that Alum had shared the Angel’s report of his scuffle with the false Shard.
“Most informative, my Lord,” Trillian replied. “A Shard impersonator with capabilities that match those of both Shard and Angel, if not Yourself.”
Mika winced. From under his brows, he watched to see if Alum had taken offense, but the Living God revealed no outward sign of feeling perturbed.
“Yes indeed,” Alum replied. “Darak Legsu’s response time, his strength, the rapid shifting, the collapse of the microverse power supplies in Lord Mika’s Securitors, these abilities are at least equivalent to an Angel’s capabilities, coupled with those of a Shard. His claims that he’s visited the Da’arkness and beyond the Edge of the universe are obviously untrue. But was he an advanced construct sent by this unknown external force we were contemplating earlier, or some kind of internal manifestation? I can’t tell.”
The Almighty hesitated. “His name is… somehow familiar,” he said. “No,” he said, more to himself than the two men, and he waved his hands as if dismissing some smoke or a distressing thought. “That would be impossible,” he muttered with a sour scowl.
Alum turned back to Mika. “I found it interesting that, within a few minutes of your dispensing this pest, some ancient reporting mechanisms detected an unusual presence on two of the Cybrid service asteroids of the same system. Don’t you find that interesting?”
This time, Trillian looked surprised. “Ancient reporting systems, my Lord?”
Alum smiled mischievously. “We employ many overlapping systems of varying complexity to monitor our security within the Realm. Less complex autonomous systems occasionally have some utility. Their simplicity leads those planning unpleasant actions to ignore them. From time to time this blind spot among those who oppose the People has been helpful. So, I leave the systems in place. These systems detected certain unauthorized and unexpected movements on two of the asteroids within the system at precisely the time that Legsu was supposedly dispatched.”
“Were there no challenges?” asked Mika.
“None whatsoever. An examination of the more complex systems including the station Supervisors shows no memories of encounters with anything unusual. Yet, the simpler systems detail movements that could not have gone unnoticed by several Cybrids on the stations.
“There is a recording of an introductory lecture in genetic engineering being delivered—according to all other accounts—to absolutely no one. The Cybrid tech in question has no memory of the lecture or of the audience, nor do the chamber monitors. Only the simpler, ancient systems detected entry into the chamber by someone or something that, subsequently, doesn’t appear to be there. Sounds similar to certain mind control tricks of an imposter Shard, does it not?”
Mika agreed the similarity seemed suspicious, but Trillian wasn’t giving in to the possibility easily. “Is it possible the older systems are unreliable, or that someone erased them?”
Alum scoffed. “Their design is ancient, true. But they are regularly maintained and tested; they were all functioning fine. No, I’m sure their reports are correct, and that the Cybrid memories have been tampered with.”
“I do not see how the Shard and monk could have escaped me,” said Mika. “The blast covered a radius larger than the Angel displacement range by a factor of four.”
“It seems that someone or something has improved upon Angel shifting,” suggested Trillian.
“Or perhaps there were others working with those two,” Alum proposed. “Subsequent intrusions into the asteroids may have been made by an accomplice or accomplices. At this point, we can’t really tell.”
He cocked his head slightly as if listening to music carried on a gentle breeze. “However, it appears the interlopers are moving inward, toward the Center. Similar intrusions have been detected on several Cybrid stations along a broad arc leading to our galaxy. Leading here.”
Alum waved his hand and a map of the Realm appeared over the coffee table between them. “Home Galaxy is here in gold,” He thrust His hand into the central region of the display, “and Gargus 718.5 is in this small globular galaxy along this string leading out from the Virgo supercluster.”
His hand moved to indicate an area near the edge of the display, then traced the arc toward the middle. “Detectors have been set off in fourteen systems within the galaxy designated Rafael, on the far edge of the Virgo supercluster. They seem to be making their way toward the Center, though not in a direct line.”
Turning to the Angel, He said, “I want you to take a Wing of Angels and spread them out along this path.”
A greenish cloud, encompassing thousands of star systems appeared inside the area where the intrusions had been detected. “You will take up positions within the Cybrid stations and be prepared to starstep at a moment’s notice. The instant we locate these intruders, I want to bring as many Angels as possible to bear upon their capture or destruction.”
Mika started to interrupt, but Alum disarmed his objections with a benevolent smile. “Yes, I’m aware that
Cybrid stations within the system are likely to take some heavy damage in any engagement. I hope you accept that as an indication of how serious I consider the situation.
“I also deeply respect and appreciate your concern for the Realm and its People. It saddens Me to lose even one grain of sand on the worlds We have brought into our Glory. So I will trust your discretion in this task. If you believe the intruders can be immobilized, neutralized, and captured, you have My approval to attempt this. But they must not be permitted free travel within the Realm any longer. If necessary, destroy them. If this requires the collateral destruction of Cybrid stations, worlds containing Humans, or entire systems, so be it. We have a new enemy in our Realm and it must be defeated.”
The fire in Alum’s eyes filled Trillian and Mika with dread. They rose and bowed deeply before their Lord, saying, “Thy will be done!”
Alum stood and embraced them. “You are My most trusted servants and my most ancient friends. I thank you, and the People thank you, for your sacrifices to the Realm. Go now, with My blessing.”
The audience with Alum was concluded, and they had their assignments. No further discussion was required. Suddenly, without ceremony or transport shuttle, Trillian and Mika found themselves back at Starstep One. Mika was returned to his Angelic magnificence.
Lord Mika’s lips parted but, before he could speak, Trillian placed a finger to his lips. “Would you dilute our Lord’s Word with your own?” he asked. The Angel held his thoughts for another time and place. Together, they stepped onto the transfer disc and were sent their separate ways.
20
“And how long will you be here in Casa DonTon, Mr. Trillian?” Lady Frieda, the oldest and most obviously available of five sisters, played with her dark curls.
The sumptuously appointed Family Dining Room bubbled with bravado and promise. The two dozen guests who had bagged some game in the afternoon hunt were the only people invited to join the family for this exclusive repast. Along with Mr. Trillian, of course. As the wealthy scion of a powerful industrialist of mysterious reputation, Mr. Trillian himself was an attractive catch.
The fact that he was also achingly handsome, athletic and, most importantly, wealthy garnered him an invitation to dine with the family, regardless of his obvious distaste for chasing small foxes with large horses, slathering hounds, and ridiculously oversized guns.
Trillian’s intentionally dismal performance in the hunt, bordering on outright refusal to participate, did nothing to dissuade Lady Frieda and her sisters from their lavish flirting.
The object of the young ladies’ attentions gently extracted himself from their clutches. “Sadly, ladies, I must take my leave before the evening wears too late. I have pressing business to attend to.”
Five predictably disappointed pouts appeared.
“However, I do hope you will permit me the honor of visiting again soon,” he added.
The bachelorettes brightened straight away.
“Well, we have you for now and we shan’t let you off without at least one dance each,” chirped Lady Mirabel, the youngest of the five.
Mr. Trillian bowed his head to her in polite acknowledgment.
“Miry, my precious, please let Mr. Trillian finish his meal in peace,” Lord Chattingbaron admonished. “He has far more important matters to attend to than some silly dancing, I’m sure.”
Mr. Trillian held up a hand to stem his host’s mock objection. “Nothing could be as important to me as spending the evening in the company of your lovely and charming family, my Lord. Unfortunately, my investors insist I elevate their mundane material priorities above my own pleasures. I must visit the office this evening.”
He smiled graciously at Lady Mirabel, setting her heart aflutter, and sampled the roasted mutton.
“I, for one, find discussing matters of business at the evening meal to be distasteful. It interferes with one’s digestion,” declared Lady Chattingbaron with a flick of her napkin. “Tell me, Mr. Trillian, Did you enjoy your ride today?”
“Very much. You have the most wonderful grounds, and the forest is magnificent.” Trillian speared a succulent piece of meat in evidence of the family’s bountiful estate. “Lady Adele gave me quite the competition jumping the brooks, I’m afraid.”
Lady Adele blushed to a shade befitting the dashing man’s compliment. Four sets of artfully shaped brows scowled discreetly at his appreciation of her riding skills.
Timothy, the family’s First Footman, removed the remains of the main course from in front of the young heiresses. Their figures would not tolerate the excessive ingestion of heavy meat and potatoes, not if they wished to draw the attention of the likes of Mr. Trillian. Timothy nodded to the Head Butler. It was time to light the peach flambé.
As desserts were offered, some of the young men took the opportunity to engage Lady Frieda and her sisters in small talk not relating to the dashing Mr. Trillian.
Timothy started dessert service with his Lordship at the head of the table and worked his way around until he’d completed nearly a full circle. He stopped in front of Mr. Trillian and presented the polished tray holding hot brandied peaches and ice cream.
The guest didn’t notice Timothy standing expectantly beside him; his attention was focused on a nondescript closet door on the opposite wall.
Timothy subtly cleared his throat to draw the man’s attention, but Mr. Trillian’s interest remained abnormally fixated on the closet. The Footman was about to cough discreetly when the room went fuzzy and he heard a dozen bees passing within inches of his ears.
Many years of training and discipline helped him maintain a firm grip on the dessert tray instead of frantically batting away at the loathsome insects, as he desperately wanted to do.
He strained to maintain his stooped serving position, but the disconcerting noise around his head became too much to bear. He twitched, just once. Three delicately cut-glass dessert bowls slid across the polished tray, bumped against the lip, and spilled a few syrupy drops of peach juice onto the table linen.
The unexpected clatter wrenched Mr. Trillian’s gaze from the closet and back to the table.
The buzzing in Timothy’s ears stopped at precisely the same moment, as did conversation among the startled diners. All eyes turned to Timothy, who stood in stunned silence.
“Whatever has gotten into you, Timothy?” Lady Chattingbaron demanded.
Timothy was as surprised as anyone. That is to say, as surprised as any Partial could be which, under normal circumstances, wasn’t all that much.
“One moment, my Lady. I shall inquire of the DonTon Supervisor.”
Initiate self-diagnostics—he sent to the local inworld supervisory program.
The diagnostic generally reported findings within milliseconds. This time, it dragged on, and on. Entire seconds passed. Most uncomfortably. Guests grew restless. They drummed their fingers, and they rolled their eyes. What was the holdup? This was most unusual! Completely unacceptable for a game such as DonTon.
* * *
The DonTon inworld simulation was about as proper as the classic conservative Victorian England society it portrayed.
It was not a demanding inworld, filled as it was with activities no more strenuous than dining, dancing, visiting, playing cards, flirting, and the occasional hunt. The main features hadn’t changed in millennia.
The local physics were realistic, if somewhat unsophisticated. Since nobody ever examined the buildings or the wildlife too closely, they didn’t need to be overly detailed.
Likewise, nobody paid much attention to the hundreds of thousands of servants, caretakers, town folk, and city folk who populated this inworld. They were only Partials—Partial personas—a simple backdrop for the real entertainment: the endless pursuit and seduction of marriageable partners, and the creation of new family ties that carried out into the real universe.
Many hopefuls had tried to work their way into some kind of relationship with The Family. Only a small percentage succeeded.
Mr. Trillian’s interest in this particular inworld had nothing to do with the Family, its eligible high-profile guests, or its valuable social connections.
Trillian, Shard of Alum, was engaged in an important mission: to break into the nearby unsanctioned inworld of Alternus. His idea to use Casa DonTon as his launching point had been inspired, if he did say so himself. He’d instantiated in DonTon as Mr. Trillian, setting aside his lofty title as one of Alum’s most trusted agents in order to blend in among the horde of eligible bachelors. Shard Trillian was known throughout the Realm. Mr. Trillian evoked nervous titters on conveying his audacious name choice. People could hardly believe Alum had permitted someone to name their inworld avatar after the famous Shard.
From the frivolous hub of Casa DonTon, Trillian hoped to launch a covert incursion into the Alternus inworld. His previous attempts to secretly enter Alternus by more conventional methods had failed. He was surprised, but also impressed.
Alternus might be the most cleverly protected inworld I’ve ever encountered. I must question its designer. It’s been eons since I’ve run into a worthy opponent.
He dug into the problem with glee. It had been easy enough to discover their passcode phrase, “There’s no place like home.” The early and nearly effortless success made him over-confident and careless. He dismissed Alum’s warning about the malicious thought-virus lurking at Alternus’ regular portal as unwarranted and needlessly patronizing. That is, until it caught him off guard and nearly overwhelmed his personal defenses.
Outwardly, the miniscule bit of code appeared innocuous. It did no more than instill a minimal level of open-mindedness, a willingness to simply consider criticisms of the Lord, in the minds of those who would normally view such ideas as the highest blasphemy. Compounding the slight openness was a gentle predisposition toward distrust of Alum’s rank as the universe’s Ultimate Authority. The virus’ influence was as delicate as it was insidiously treacherous.