by Hellfire
Mr. Dolby continued to explain things. “This planet actually has a very rich and colorful history. Until a century or so, ago, the dominant power was a continental nation called the Empire State. The other twenty or so countries were allied against it, not at war, but always looking to bring the… Empire Staticans … I guess that will do … down a peg. They never had much success until the Kariad came along. Do you know of the Kariad?” “The Kariad? What are they, some kind of aliens?” Atlantic asked.
“Some kind, indeed. They arrived at the planet, professed alarm that this world was so
‘divided,’ and that there was such a ‘disparity of power’ between the Empire State and the other nations. They proposed a solution; a new Global Government in which power was shared equally. As an incentive, they offered the world a new technology that would provide limitless power, and end this planet’s dependence on off-world sources of Tritium.
“Under considerable coercion, the Empire State’s leaders agreed to the new arrangement. To ensure cooperation, the Kariad gave part of the technology to each of the many nations on this planet, thinking it would force them to cooperate in order to build it.
“Unfortunately, after the Kariad left, several of the smaller nations and one of the larger ones held back on sharing their pieces of the technology. Some were holding out for more concessions, but a few had nursed so many resentments against the Empire State for so long, they were willing to bring down the entire planet in order to settle their scores.
“The tritium supplies depleted rapidly, and with no replacement technology, civilization collapsed rapidly. Sort of the Tower of Babel, in reverse. Well, suffice it to say that eventually the fanatics got their wish. Civilization collapsed to its current state.
“Except here,” Dolby continued. “The only technology, the only science left on the planet is on this island. Do you want to see it? It’s pretty amazing stuff, all things considered.” Atlantic shrugged.
Deep under the pyramid, they came to a chamber, perfectly square, lit by overhead light fixtures, and filled with an amazing variety of devices. A collection of video screens hung from a mass of tentacle-like attachments from above, showing pale static-flecked views of various parts of the island. There was a row of large, clear tubes on one side of the room that looked vaguely like stasis pods, some of which were filled with bubbling orange liquids. A large lamp-like device stood in the corner, containing thick globules of orange and blue fluid slowly flowing past each other describing odd shapes and giving off light. An ancient-looking computational device with what looked like a steering wheel occupied one alcove. There were dozens of similarly odd contraptions; one of which was a large sort of chair, like a dentist might use, but larger, and surrounded by a number of strange attachments and armatures. “What is that?” Atlantic asked.
“Ah, the Probulator,” Dolby told him, with an exaggeratedly disgusted expression.
“Nasty device, opens up your mind and let’s anyone else see inside it. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be strapped into it unless someone shot you in the face with a stun pistol at close range first. What would you like to eat?”
“Eat?” Atlantic asked. Somehow, he had briefly forgotten how famished he was.
Dolby indicated that Atlantic should sit at a table, in the middle of the mess. “Bearing in mind, if this is a delusion, you might as well delude yourself that whatever you’re eating is an amazing dish, prepared to perfection.” Atlantic sensed he was being mocked. “Some protein cakes and a syntho-turk sandwich will be fine.”
Dolby smiled to himself, and after briefly searching a compartment built into the side of the table presented Atlantic with a plate which held two protein cakes and the most perfect sandwich he would ever taste.
“Now, then, onto business,” Dolby said. He activated one of the old screens. It slowly flickered to life. It showed a crude image of the Aves Amy breaking up in mid-air. “First, why are you here? In a rude, temporal sense, you are here because your ship was caught up in an electromagnetic vortex generated by one of the experiments on this island. In the Days of the Empire State, this island was used for military research and development. Some of the experiments were left behind, and some were not easily controlled. The experiment that brought down your ship was part of research by the Empire State into teleportation.” “Teleportation?” Atlantic shook his head. “That’s impossible.” Mr. Dolby grimaced. “Changing matter into energy, transporting it through space, and reassembling it at the destination… that’s impossible. Well, so close to impossible it might as well be. On the other hand, moving an object from one point to another without passing through any point in-between… that’s merely incredibly unlikely.” “And that’s what happened to us?” Atlantic asked.
Dolby’s head bobbled. “In a manner of speaking, the Empire State had brilliant scientists, but they never quite understood Kariad technology, and they never managed to stabilize the transition field. The unstable electromagnetic vortex caused your ship to break-up in mid-air,” Dolby paused, and reluctantly continued. “The same thing happened to me when I was passing through this system many years ago. Fortunately for us both, it also reduced our terminal velocity to a level where we could withstand the impact when we reached the surface.
Imagine sliding down a giant swirly slide, all the way to the surface. That’s what you did…
pretty much.”
He moved some other levers and touched some buttons on one of the displays. This one showed Atlantic running through the jungle, pursued by a swarm of black dots in the shape of some kind of terrible carnivorous lizard. “Remember this?” “Aye,” Atlantic was sure he would have nightmares about it for the rest of his life.
“The Crichtons were another military research experiment; a system to protect military bases from intrusion,” Dolby explained. “Communities of nanobots arranged to take the forms of carnivorous sauropods …” “You’ve got to be kidding…”
“I didn’t invent them.” Dolby shrugged.
“What happened to the others?” Atlantic asked.
Dolby manipulated the controls. “Which others, the other four, or the other 22?”
“All of them.”
A new telescreen activated, seemingly independent of Dolby’s activities. It showed, in a badly resolved image, a collection of small houses, mostly faded white, topped with roofs made of palm thatch. It did not look altogether unpleasant.
Dolby explained. “The fuselage, I believe that is the correct word, fuselage, yes, of your ship, came to rest in a lagoon on our sister island, near The Village. Your people have found shelter, respite, and hospitality there. The Village was set up by the Empire State to hold political prisoners in comfort and isolation. It was abandoned before the Revolution, except for one eccentric prisoner it was simply too dangerous to release. After the Revolution, a few survivors knew about the Island, and retreated to it. They await the coming of ‘the Alternates.’
According to legend, the Alternates are refugees from another colony who will return and rebuild civilization on this planet.
As the camera zoomed in closer, Atlantic could make out a number of people relaxing on yellow-white sand while a purplish surf kissed the beach and then retreated back out to sea.
Atlantic recognized some of them. “That’s Specialist Skulljammer, and that’s Technician LightTower, and … I’m almost certain that girl with the birthmark on her right breast is Specialist Nightbreed.” “Yes, they’re all fine…” Dolby said. “Rather enjoying themselves, I should think.”
“What about the ones that were with me?”
The telescreen changed its view, and for a second, he saw Doc Skinner sitting on a rock, happily cradling his log and singing a Carpentarian sea-chanty. A moment later, he viewed another encampment, Herrald arranging seat cushions from Leo’s wreckage, while Savagewood provided water to Aramburuzabala, who was tied to a tree.
“Why hasn’t Pegasus rescued us yet?” Atlantic asked.
Dolby se
emed to hem and haw a bit. “Well, your ship was transported here from thousands of miles away. And, um, the thing about that is, the area around the island is … is …
well, it is extremely difficult to find if you don’t know exactly where it is.” Something Dolby had said earlier came back to Atlantic. “Did you say you weren’t from this planet?” “Did I say that?” Dolby asked.
“You said you were passing through the system…”
“I did?”
Atlantic tried to doggedly adhere to his point. “Where are you from?”
“Do you believe all human consciousness is connected?” Dolby asked.
“What?”
“Do you believe all human consciousness is connected?” Dolby repeated. “It’s a simple yes, no, or maybe question.”
“Not really,” Atlantic replied.
Dolby climbed over the table and sat in front of Atlantic. “All right, think of human consciousness as a network. Every human mind is a node on that network. This island is a kind of… server. Due to certain experiments conducted here, the island will bring out subconscious desires to the surface. Your pilot with the long name, she wanted to be a heroine, although subconsciously, she also wanted to be rescued herself. Women seem more often to balance contradictory desires than men. The other men in your party had much more straightforward urges. Savagewood wanted to hunt, Herrald wanted to get naked, Skinner wanted to go mad.” Dolby chuckled. “He’s been under a terrible amount of stress, but we did have a delightful conversation, the three of us.” “Three of you?”
“Yes, him, me, and the log.” Dolby squinted. “Somehow, you saw through the tricks the island plays on the rest. You have some… quality that protected your mind from giving in.” Dolby sounded impressed.
“I’m not sure about that,” Atlantic replied. “I am sitting under a pyramid, eating sandwiches with a stranger.”
“And there was the hallucinatory episode with the object of your adolescent infatuation,” Dolby reminded him. “But you recognized it as an hallucination, and you even used it to help resolve your unresolved questions, didn’t you?” He waited for an answer, and Atlantic said, “How do you know about all this?” Dolby pointed toward the monitor screens. Then he asked Atlantic, “Did you enjoy your sandwich?” “Aye, it was very good, thank you.”
Dolby nodded. “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed that. And, trust me, I’m very, very sorry that I have to do this now.” He pulled a stun pistol from under his long coat, aimed it Atlantic’s face, and fired.
And then, everything went gray, and that was the last thing Atlantic remembered before waking up screaming next to Warfighter Herrald.
“It’s very complicated,” Dr. Skinner was saying. “But the Randomer Series indicates you almost certainly have latent foresight ability.” The Randomer series was a fairly annoying set of exercises over three days, during which Atlantic had to wear a coin-like brain-monitor on his temple. Not just during the exercises, he had to wear the monitor all day and … especially… at night, since the tell-tale patterns of precognitive capability were strongest during the dream cycle. During the day, specialists asked him questions, some of which were straightforward, asking his recollection of childhood events. Other times, they would give him a series of words (e.g. “Occluded, Seminal, Barbarous, Potato, Predator, Camouflage, Starlight…) and ask him if he could connect them in any way. Sometimes, they showed him cards with abstract shapes and lights on them. It all seemed to him … tediously stupid.
And then, at the end, they somehow determined that he was a latent precognitive, and if he developed his ability, would be one of the few people capable of navigating a starship in hyperspace.
But he didn’t want that job.
“But I’ve never seen any future events,” he protested to the doctor.
Skinner huffed. “I said ‘latent,’ didn’t I? Now, only one human in 4,400 has this ability, and only a few of those ever develop it to its full potential. Those who do are not only valuable as navigators, but back on the homeworlds can command high rewards for their business insight.” “But we’re not on the homeworlds,” Atlantic grumbled.
“Commander Keeler has been zealously scanning the ship for precognitives,” Skinner told him, “He knows there are only a handful of stalwart capable navigators in his crew, and he knows we’re lost without them. You are the only one we’ve found, and statistically, we are unlikely to find another.” Atlantic did not like this at all. “So, I have an obligation to the ship to try and bring this … gift…
out.”
“I can understand why you don’t want it,” Skinner told him. “People with foresight are often out-of-phase with other people. They often deprive themselves of romantic relationships because they sense the conclusion of a relationship with someone when they first meet.” Atlantic had had nothing to say to this. Skinner had kept talking, but Atlantic was too much in his own thoughts to catch any of it until the doctor said, “I suggest you spend some time with Eliza Jane Change.” That sentence struck a note of pure terror. “Why?” Skinner enthusiastically pushed his point. “She has the strongest foresight ability on the ship. A person with such a strong gift of foresight is often capable of bringing a latent foresight gift to emergence. She can also teach you how to manage your gift.” As he left the consultation chamber, he passed Warfighter Herrald, sitting on a healing bed cradling his elbow. Their conversation faded behind him as Atlantic walked out of Hospital 4.
“And, oh, what calamity has befallen my stripling warrior?” Skinner had asked.
Herrald: “Some weird cable thing wrapped itself on my arm. I think my elbow’s cracked.” Skinner: “Well, let’s see what Mr. Bone-scanner says…” Herrald: “Shall I take off my clothes” Skinner: “Oh, I can’t see why that should be necessary…” Herrald: “Please…”
“Stop!” Cleolanta ordered. “Stop. Stop right now. Stop!” Atlantic’s eyes fluttered open, and he was back in Hospital Four with Lt. Commander Alkema and Mind Specialist Cleolanta. He felt dazed. He once again had the memories of the last four days, but they seemed like some kind of crazy dream.
“What happened?” Alkema asked. “I lost the data stream.”
“The boy was remembering things that hadn’t happened yet,” Cleolanta explained.
“That’s not for you to know. Anyone, you’ve got your data. I think we leave the boy alone, now.”
She stood and left. Alkema saved and archived the data from the memory scan. “I’m going to edit out any references to Specialist Brainiacsdaughter from the official record,” he said.
“Thank you,” Atlantic offered.
“You can retain them in your private log, if you keep one,” Alkema finished.
“What happens now?” Atlantic asked. “Can I go?”
“That’s up to Doctor Goodbar,” Alkema told him. “But, probably, za. There’s no point in keeping you here any longer.”
Pegasus Three Days Later – Commander Keeler was still in some pain, his lower leg had not healed from his own misadventure on the planet Fallon. The leg rested on an ottoman in the Commander’s Briefing Room, adjacent to Pegasus’s Main Bridge. The rest of Keeler’s body leaned back heavily in the chair positioned behind it.
Keeler sipped a glass of something pale brown. “I can’t believe they got to spend three days in a tropical paradise and we got stuck in a hole in the ground. Where is justice?” “I don’t know, sir, you had it last,” Lt. Cmdr Alkema smirked.
“Don’t try to be a smartass, you’re no good at it,” Keeler took a long drink of medicinal Borealan whisky. “So, let me see if I can get to the heart of this thing; the Kariad came here, screwed up the planet and left.” “That would be an adequate summary,” Alkema replied.
“So, what do you make of this?” Keeler waved the final report of Specialist Atlantic’s memory recovery session. Alkema took this to mean he had not reviewed it, and did not intend to.
Alkema summed it up for him. “Aves Leo broke up over 1,600 kilometers away
from the island where we found the survivors. The main fuselage landed in a lagoon near an inhabited island in the planet’s southern hemisphere. The command module separated and landed on a separate island eight kilometers away. Aside from Specialist Atlantic, no one from the command module has any recoverable memories from the three days they were on the island. The injuries Atlantic sustained are consistent with the memories Mind Specialist Cleolanta was able to recover. Overflights of the island detected the tiered pyramid structure he described, but ground parties report it predates human settlement on the planet and was abandoned millennia ago. And they did not find a tunnel into the interior.” “Great, what brought them down?” Keeler asked.
Alkema located that section of the memory trace. “Atlantic recalled ‘… a white flash …
no, more like a wave… some kind of energy wave. Charged particles, or something…’ He said
‘It hit the ship and rolled us over.’ ”
Alkema went to the cross-referenced Pegasus tracking logs on his datapad. “Pegasus Flight Operations monitored Leo’s descent and detected no atmospheric disturbances or unusual energy signatures of any kind.” “In other words, we don’t know. Why didn’t our sensors detect the island?” Keeler asked.
“Some kind of electromagnetic field shields the island from sensors,” Alkema explained. “If it was a research base for the former civilization of this planet, they might have put some kind of force field over it. It was only a fluke that we detected it at all.” Alkema activated a holo-screen and showed Keeler some aerial reconnaissance. “The pyramid is precisely at the center of these three metal towers. We don’t know what they were for, but they would be capable of channeling a huge amount of energy.” “Unh-huh,” Keeler sighed. Towers did not interest him. “So, what’s the deal with ‘The Village?’”
“Exactly as Atlantic described it,” Alkema reported. “Even though he was on a completely different island.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to assume that the memories your Mind Specialist recovered were accurate. And the guy he met, what was his name? Doubly?” “Dolby… there was no sign of any other humans living on that island,” Alkema shrugged. “It doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”