The Hunt for Reduk Topa

by Barry J. Hutchison

  The Host became the Controller again. “I’m afraid not. We couldn’t possibly allow that. Imagine the outrage.”

  He gestured at a patch of nothing, and it immediately became an oblong of something. Cal watched in stunned silence as Splurt tore him apart, uncoiled all his internal organs, then popped his head off like a Champagne cork.

  “What the fonk is this?”

  “That? That’s what the sector is watching right now. The grisly, long-overdue death of the pirate, Reduk Topa. They’re loving every moment of it.”

  He tapped and swiped one of his devices and a little pie-chart appeared in the air beside the moving image. It was mostly just a bright green circle, with only the tiniest sliver of amber visible in it.

  “Audience satisfaction score,” the Controller explained. “They’re lapping it up.”

  “But… But it’s not real,” Cal said.

  “Of course it isn’t real! It’s television. None of it is real,” the Controller snorted. “We know you aren’t Reduk Topa. We know there was never any possibility of you winning, but the herds of imbecilic cattle watching at home don’t know that. Those idiots believe anything they see. And I’m the one who decides what to show them.”

  Cal’s head was spinning as he tried to figure out what all this meant.

  “So… I’m alive?” he asked. He was fairly confident he knew the answer to this one, but felt it best to start with the basics.

  “Technically, yes,” said the Controller. “For now.”

  “Right. OK, so… Wait. What do you mean ‘for now’?”

  “The sector saw Reduk Topa die,” explained the Controller. “And so, die he must. You will be disposed of. It shall be swift and painless. You have my word.”

  “Uh… thank you?” said Cal, feeling this was probably the response the Controller was looking for.

  “You are welcome. You have made the network a lot of money today, and earned some of the highest audience satisfaction ratings we’ve ever had,” the Controller said. “The least I can do is kill you quickly.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Cal said. “But, I have to know. What happened to the others? Mech…” He swallowed. “Loren?”

  “They are perfectly unharmed,” said the Controller.

  Cal sagged down, placing his hands on his knees to stop himself from falling all the way to the floor.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “They were never physically present. Not like you were. What you experienced, what those at home saw, was…” The Controller’s reflective brow furrowed a fraction. “How can I phrase this so that an intellect as limited as yours may understand?”

  “Hey, I can handle it. No need to dumb it down on my account, pal,” Cal told him.

  “It was a mesmofield sensory equivocation.”

  Cal blinked. “OK, maybe dumb it down just a tiny bit.”

  “It was a simulation,” the Controller explained. “Of sorts. You were physically present, but the Hunters were merely projections of themselves. An actualization of their consciousnesses, projected directly into the simulation, psychically manipulated so they would follow the script.”

  Cal blinked again. Twice, this time.

  “Like robots?”

  “No. Nothing like robots,” said the Controller.

  “Gotcha,” Cal lied. “But… they’re all alive?”

  “Alive and unharmed,” said the Controller.

  “Great!”

  “But they now belong to me.”

  “Oh.”

  “They are now my Hunters,” the silver figure continued. “There was some resistance to the psychically implanted commands, but this was through familiarity and affection for you, and will not prove to be a problem once you are dead. From here on in, their performances should be seamless.”

  Cal watched himself on screen. He was now essentially a grisly reddish putty, but Splurt was still hacking and slashing away at him.

  “You really think you’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” said Cal.

  “I do.”

  “But there’s one thing you haven’t factored into your calculations,” Cal said.

  The Controller’s thumbs all hesitated. “Oh. And what would that be?”

  “This!” said Cal. He swung with a right hook, putting all his strength and power behind it.

  The Controller leaned back a fraction. Cal missed, pirouetted on the spot, then stumbled to a stop, feeling equal parts embarrassed and dizzy.

  “You are correct. I had not factored that in,” said the Controller. “Fortunately, I can improvise.”

  His smooth silver face twisted into a smile. “Now, all that remains is to kill you, have your remains disposed of, and I think we can call this a wrap.”

  He placed the back of a hand beside his mouth and stage-whispered. “Between you and I, I think we’ll get an award for this one.”

  “We’ll stop you, you piece of shizz. Even if you kill me, the others will get out. They’ll stop you.”

  “I’m afraid not,” said the Controller. “How can they possibly stop me? How can they possibly do anything to me? I’m the most advanced artificial intelligence in the galaxy.”

  “Second most advanced, sir.”

  Cal and the Controller locked eyes for a moment, then both looked up.

  “Kevin?” said Cal.

  “Indeed, sir,” Kevin intoned. “I trust you are well?”

  “Uh, things are looking up,” said Cal.

  “What is this?” the Controller demanded. “Who are you?”

  “I am K-Seven-Zero-Dash-Nine-Three-Three-Zero-Seven-Dash-Zeta. But my friends call me ‘Kevin.’”

  “Kevin?” the Controller echoed.

  “I said my friends call me Kevin, sir. That does not extend to you.”

  The footage of Splurt murdering Cal became vapor, then the colors rearranged to show Cal and the Controller standing in a perfectly white room.

  “What is this?” the Controller demanded. The smaller image of him repeated his words with a half-second lag. “What? Why is…? How can…?”

  “This is what is actually being broadcast, sir,” Kevin explained. His own voice repeated, too. “Oh, that’s quite fun, isn’t it? Hello? Echo… Echo… Echo…”

  The Controller’s thumbs swiped and tapped madly. He shook his head. “No. Impossible. We’re showing the simulation.”

  “I’m afraid I simulated the simulation, sir,” Kevin replied. “I assure you, everyone in the sector has been watching you explaining things to Master Carver.”

  “But… the audience satisfaction!” the Controller said.

  “Also simulated, sir,” said Kevin.

  The mostly green circle became a mostly red one. “I’m afraid they’re not as impressed as you may have been led to believe,” Kevin said. “By me,” he added, quite proudly. “They really didn’t appreciate being referred to as ‘herds of imbecilic cattle.’ The green section took rather a large hit at that point.”

  The Controller’s thumbs all stopped tapping.

  “Of course, it didn’t help that I played them this,” Kevin said.

  “Well, the Camptown ladies sing this song doodah doodah,” sang a male voice. “Ah the Camptown race track's five miles long oh doo-dah—"

  “Wait, no. Not that,” Kevin said, cutting it off.

  There followed a series of chicken-clucks and a long, drawn-out mooo.

  “No. Hang on,” said Kevin. “I know it’s around here somewhere.”

  The next sound to emerge from the direction of the ceiling was the Controller’s voice.

  “You had to go mess everything up, didn’t you?” it said.

  “What is this?” the Controller demanded.

  “You had to go screw with the narrative. Killing the Hunters is one thing, but do you have any idea how much processing power I’ve dedicated to the story of Reduk Topa over the years?” his voice continued.

  “He recorded it,” Cal realized, a grin spreading across his face as
he realized he was listening to the Controller’s earlier rant. “He recorded it all.”

  “Do you have any idea how many people I had to have killed in order to build up his legend, so that those facile lumptards watching at home would finally have the villain they so desperately crave?” the Controller’s voice demanded.

  “Six?” guessed Cal, in perfect timing with his voice on the recording.

  “Thousands. Tens of thousands! Reduk Topa was nothing before I found him. No one. Just another vermin pirate in a galaxy infested with them. I made Reduk Topa. I am Reduk Topa! I built his legend from nothing so that The Hunt would have its greatest villain of all. And now you’ve ruined it!”

  The recording cut off. Kevin quietly cleared his non-existent throat.

  “Yes, they weren’t fans of that at all,” he said.

  The Controller shook his head. “No. No, it’s impossible. There’s no way you could’ve remotely breached my security. It can’t be done. You’d have to have someone inside the station.”

  “Yes, I would rather, wouldn’t I?” said Kevin. “Ideally, equipped with some sort of remote interface device that could be plugged into your systems.”

  A patch of empty whiteness exploded, creating a smoking hole in space. An armed guard came tumbling through it, bloody and unconscious.

  A moment later, Tyrra strode through, a blaster in each hand, a foot in her mouth. The guard on the floor had both feet, so Cal had no idea where this one had come from. He decided it was probably for the best that he didn’t.

  “Found him,” said Tyrra, after spitting the body part onto the floor.

  “So I see, miss,” said Kevin. “As do several trillion others watching at home. Say hello.”

  To Cal’s surprise, Tyrra blushed slightly, then gave a little wave at nothing and no one in particular.

  “Hello.”

  “Actually, I say several trillion, but that number appears to be dropping rather quickly,” said Kevin.

  The Controller stiffened. His thumbs all leaped into action. “What? What do you mean? What are you saying?”

  “It would seem that people are switching off, sir,” said Kevin. “In droves.”

  “No, no, no, no!” the Controller whimpered. Two new arms sprouted from inside him. Each hand grew more thumbs. They all frantically swiped at the screens he held, his eyes flitting from one to the other as he studied the incoming information. “It can’t… It isn’t…”

  “Well, well, well. Looks like this episode is tanking badly,” Cal gloated. He put a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered loudly. “Between you and me? I wouldn’t go clearing a space in the cabinet for that award just yet.”

  The Controller’s head spasmed. His reflective silver surface turned a base metal gray.

  “N-n-no. Cannot… Processing. Processing.”

  “What is happening to him?” Tyrra asked.

  “Nothing good,” Cal said. He put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “It was the voice’s idea,” Tyrra said.

  “My idea. Her execution,” said Kevin. “Isn’t it amazing how successful one can be if one occasionally does what they’re told?”

  Tyrra’s eyes flicked up. “Shut up.”

  “Very good, miss,” said Kevin. “Whatever you say.”

  The Controller jerked violently. His legs folded into his body and he hit the floor with a clank.

  “Damage limitation. Damage limitation. Cut to ad break. Cut to ad break!”

  “I’m afraid your advertisers are all pulling out, sir,” said Kevin. “Damage limitation, as you so rightly say, only on their part, not yours. You’ve just lost Ringfresh, and I fear the Shiteofast contract won’t last the day.”

  The Controller’s voice became a high-pitched electronic whine that quickly went ultrasonic. He slumped there on his legless torso, mouth wide open, countless thumbs checking and rechecking the data on his screens.

  “OK, that’s just sad,” Cal said.

  “Like, what the fonk is that noise?” barked a voice from beyond the hole. Miz ducked through, her ears folded flat against her head.

  “Miz! You’re OK!”

  “Of course she’s OK. I saved her,” said Tyrra. “I saved all of them.”

  She flicked her eyes to the ceiling. “We,” she corrected, a little begrudgingly. “We saved them.”

  Miz gestured to the motionless Controller. “Is he the one doing that?”

  “Doing what?” asked Cal.

  “That noise. That eeeeeee. Is that him?”

  Cal shrugged. “I guess so. I can’t hear anything.”

  Miz raised a foot and kicked the Controller on the side of the head. He toppled sideways and clanked onto the floor.

  “Did that help?” Cal asked.

  “Ugh. No. That totally made it worse,” Miz said. She beckoned to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This place is giving me a migraine.”

  “Yeah.” Cal looked around. “Can’t say it’s doing me any favors, either.”

  Miz stalked out through the hole. Tyrra moved to follow, but Cal placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said.

  He took one of the guns from her, then clasped her hand and turned her back toward the white void.

  “Take a bow,” he told her.

  “What? No. Why?”

  “What do you mean, ‘why?’” said Cal. “You stopped the bad guy and saved the day. And, you know, bit some guy’s foot off. You’re the star of the show, kid.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “Just take a damn bow,” Cal instructed.

  Tyrra hesitated. Then, she dipped her head a fraction and snapped it back up.

  “There. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” said Cal. “And I’m sure your adoring public is, too.”

  “Should I take a bow, too, sir?” Kevin asked.

  “Uh, sure. Go for it,” said Cal.

  There was a pause.

  “How was that, sir?”

  “Nailed it, Kevin,” said Cal. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  “Thank you, sir. Coming from someone as vain and narcissistic as yourself, that really means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Cal.

  And then, with a relaxed salute at the viewing audience, Cal turned on his heels, walked out through the hole and straight into the woman of his dreams.

  She immediately thumped him on the arm. Up on her shoulder, Splurt rippled.

  “Hey!” Cal protested. “What was that for?”

  “You dropped me,” Loren reminded him.

  “I dropped a simulation of you,” Cal corrected. “Totally different thing.”

  “Mostly the same,” said Loren.

  “But still different,” said Cal.

  “Well…” said Loren.

  “So… you were there?” Cal asked. “I mean, not there there, but… There? You heard—”

  “Every word you said,” Loren confirmed. Her mouth twitched into a smile. “And, for the record, you’re no fun either.”

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Cal blurted, the raw emotion in his voice catching him off guard. He took a second to compose himself.

  “Back there, I mean. In the thing. I thought I’d lost you.”

  Loren put a hand on his face. Splurt placed a gloopy green tendril to the other cheek. “But you didn’t. I’m right here.”

  Splurt wobbled.

  “And so’s he.”

  Cal clenched his jaw and nodded. It didn’t say much, but it said everything.

  “Oh, so you accidentally drop her and you’re all torn up about it,” said Mech from the corridor right behind Cal.

  “Jesus, where did you come from?” Cal asked, pulling himself together.

  “But I die right in front of you and you don’t shed a single motherfonking tear?”

  “I did shed a tear,” Cal said.

  “Bullshizz!”

  “Not an actual tear, obviously. A
n inside tear,” Cal said. “And they’re the most special tears of all, Mech.”

  Cal placed a hand on the cyborg’s chest and dropped his voice to a solemn whisper. “Those are the most special tears of all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, shut the fonk up,” Mech said. He whirred as he turned, then thought better of it. “Oh, and just so we’re clear, you did not beat me.”

  “I totally beat you.”

  “No. No, you didn’t,” Mech insisted.

  “Well, we were fighting, and I was the only one who wasn’t dead at the end, so…”

  “Don’t count. It didn’t even happen. It ain’t even a fonking thing,” Mech said.

  From along the corridor, Mizette sighed. “Ugh. Will you two just hurry up and kiss each other, already?” she said. “That silver guy is still making that fonking noise.”

  Cal and Mech both looked at her.

  “Us two?” said Cal.

  “What the fonk are you talking about?” Mech demanded.

  Loren cleared her throat. “Uh, I think she probably means us two,” she said.

  “Oh!” said Cal. “Oh, yeah, that totally makes much more sense.”

  He didn’t need to be told a third time. He wrapped his arms around Loren and pulled her close, until he could feel her breath against his skin. Their eyes met. Their lips locked. Splurt wobbled awkwardly on Loren’s shoulder.

  And all across the sector, thanks to Kevin gaining access to the station’s vast royalty-free audio and special effects library, the music swelled and a heart-shaped transition brought the worst ever rated episode of The Hunt to an oddly satisfying close.

  When they finally separated, Tyrra was standing a foot away, watching them intently.

  “Uh, hi,” said Cal. “Everything OK?”

  “Yes. Everything is OK,” she confirmed. “But…”

  She glanced down at her feet, snarled briefly, then raised her head again. “I would like to ask permission to do something.”

  “Permission?” said Cal.

  All along the corridor, the rest of the crew turned to look at her in surprise.

  “Yes. Permission.”

  Cal shot Miz a look. “Uh, OK. Sure. Shoot. What is it you want to do?”

  Tyrra twisted the power dial on the side of the blaster she was carrying. “I would like to go and kill those puppets.”

  Cal frowned and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Kill the puppets?”