by Rupert Segar
“Objection,” said the young Recorder. “Leading question.”
“Overruled,” said the Coroner. “How can one lead a machine? If you will indulge me, Recorder, we are at the heart of the matter. Well, ship?”
There was another muted whir and click.
“I am an experimental vessel, inception date 22-5 year 117 in the reign of the all-powerful Emperor Kargol. My purpose is to investigate the science of hyper-flight.”
“And your weapons, ship, your weapons?” demanded the Coroner becoming impatient.
“I have none,” stated the ship, simply but firmly.
The Coroner twisted the front of his gown with his bony gnarled hands. He looked scowling at the control console and then twisted his gaze to the three young people sat on the semi-circular sofa. He had been hoping for an open and shut case that would allow him to have the vessel sent back to the Empire.
Over the years, Coroner Stamford had received hundreds of thousands of credits from Kargol agents on Columbus. In return he had kept the Empire informed about political and legal affairs on his decadent home world. He had, in addition, sent back a few dissident defectors from the Empire. Not every refugee, that would have been too obvious, but enough dissidents were returned to send a clear message: in his view Columbus should not be a haven for revolutionary democrats and left-wing socialists.
Coroner Stamford did not regard himself as a traitor. He thought he was being a patriot by upholding his more authoritarian views. The money was useful too. Now, however, his Kargol friends were asking for payback, insisting this particular pair of escapees had to be returned along with the spaceship. His contact on Columbus, a Kargol banker, had been pleasant enough but had stressed the urgency and importance of their repatriation. Then the Coroner had received a call from the Ambassador on board the Penta-flotilla in orbit above Columbus. He was to ensure the return of the experimental craft even if he had to deliver it himself. If necessary, he would enjoy a comfortable retirement on one of the Empire’s holiday worlds. Failure was not an option.
“Recorder, Bhuna,” Coroner Stamford barked imperiously. “Do you not agree with me that this ship is a threat to Columbus and the Alliance and a threat to our interstellar relationship with the Kargol Empire and, as such, we have no option but to return the craft and its occupants forthwith?”
“No, Sir, I do not,” the voice of the Recorder was quiet but calm. He’s gone right over the top, thought Becky.
“Well, that’s a shame for you!” screamed the Coroner whose face had turned from pasty white to sweaty pink. “Now, you’re going to have to play my game the hard way. I think you’ll find it is in your interest to despatch this pair back to where they came from.”
Yelena saw the young Recorder slip her hand slowly into her bag. Art caught Yelena’s eye, he had seen the move too.
“I know a lot about you, Recorder Bhuna,” said the Coroner menacingly. “I took a particular interest in you when I saw your name on the rota today.”
“Earlier this evening, when you were in a dive bar waiting for that useless two-timing boyfriend of yours,” ranted the Coroner. “A Kargol banker put five thousand credits in your account. It will not register until tomorrow. But, this evening, you need to make the biggest decision in your pathetically short and ill spent life.
“Either you agree to accept the money and help me return this ship to its rightful owners; or, you take the blame for what is about to happen. You see, I have already put under seal, my opinion that you are a Kargol spy and you mean to steal this ship.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” said Recorder Bhuna. “You’re the spy. How long have you been working for the Kargols?”
“Long enough. The Empire pays well but they hardly needed to, I am not in favour of allowing anti-authoritarian revolutionaries into the Alliance.”
“But now your paymasters want payback,” said Art “They are telling you to jump, and you just ask how high.”
“I don’t know what you’re worth,” said the Coroner. “But my friends are prepared to pay a very high price for this tiny ship, enough for a very comfortable retirement in the Empire.”
“You traitor!” said the young recorder, now frantically rummaging in her bag. “I’ll stop you.”
“Looking for this?” asked the Coroner, calmly pulling a stun gun from under his gown. “You reporters always carry a weapon. I don’t know, is it a macho thing? Real court officials never carry weapons. We don’t have to. We have the law on our side. But you, Recorders, take your right to bear arms so seriously. I took your gun when you foolishly gave me your bag and pad, so we could have our little private pre-trial chat. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill all three of you.”
The stun gun was on the highest setting. Coroner Stamford pulled the trigger three times then pulled it again and again.
Chapter 9: In the court of the Emperor
The Kargol King stood looking out over the sunlit valley of the Euphrates River. The salt marshes and vast waterways on this world had led explorers to name it Persia. It was one of the Emperor’s favourite planets. The vista from his summer palace was unspoilt and vast. From his balcony, the ruler of a thousand worlds could see the shallow waters glinting between black reeds as giant red waders speared the lakes and tributaries for fish. In the late afternoon, the warm winds spread ripples across the reed beds as the birds began to call to one another.
The Emperor was not looking or listening to the warbling waders. Instead, he was viewing a disturbing report from his most trusted aide, Colonel Garth. He played the vid for a second time. The widgets in his skull replaced the vista before him, with the Colonel’s narrative accompanying a collage of images and diagrams about the mystery ship.
With a mental wave of his mind he terminated the correspondence. He took one last look at the view. He inhaled one large lungful of the salty, marshy air and turned back into the palace.
“Order the Imperial Fleet to ready for departure,” said the Kargol King to the courtiers standing at a distance. “We sail as soon as we board.”
“But your Highness,” said an elderly official scraping low, his capacious paunch almost on his knees. “The admiral is out system reconnoitring a comet.”
“You have no need of an admiral, I am your Emperor and will take command. When we are on board, we sail spinward.”
Chapter 10: Justice
In the control cabin of the small spaceship, four people stood still as if in a tableau. They were all in shock. Three of them shocked not to be dead but still twitching. The fourth, the attempted murderer, Coroner Miles Stamford, was shocked because he had repeatedly fired a stolen stun gun at the other three and nothing had happened. Sweat stood out on his brow.
“I am sorry, Coroner Stamford,” jingled the mechanical voice with a hint of laughter. “I cannot allow you to kill my friends. I de-activated the stun gun when you came on board. I am afraid, I do not allow weapons on board, … not unless I control them.”
The gun seemed to be enveloped in green flame. The Coroner fell backwards dropping the weapon and slumped to the floor.
“He will be fine in a few hours. Where would you like him, Captain King? Outside, I presume.”
The Coroner’s unconscious body was lifted limply from the floor by an unseen force and drifted lazily towards the airlock.
Art stood up and turned to face the legal recorder.
“Miss Bhuna, we have to thank you for your efforts this evening but now it is time for us to leave the planet. So, now, we have another big decision for you. Are you going to stay and try to clear your name?”
“I can always insert a recording of the Coroner’s confession in the main evening news,” offered the ship.
“You’ll excuse me but a machine hacking into a planets media web would get us all into even more trouble. Besides …” said the young Recorder, pausing.
Yelena stood “Do you want to come with us?”
“Hey, why not? Nothing ever happens
on Columbus. You guys are the biggest story in decades.”
Art and Yelena held out their arms as a smiling Becky Bhuna accepted their embrace.
“Time to escape,” said the ship.
Thirty minutes later, the Penta-flotilla of Kargol warships was sent fleeing and the ship jumped into hyper-flight. There was a squeal of delight from one of the cabins. Yelena had found her polka dot dress lying on her bunk.
Chapter 11: The Roads Less Travelled
Anton pulled the cloak firmly about him as the cold wind blew flakes of snow in his face. The moisture on his breath froze on his moustache and beard. The dual doorways on this planet were only several hours apart but usually the weather was kinder. Pierre, his apprentice, stooped down to pick up a piece of dead wood, his red face and trembling hands showed how cold and wretched he felt.
“Leave the faggot, Pierre,” said Anton putting his hand to the side of his head so he could see the young boy better. “We’ll have no fire here. We cannot stay. Walk! Vite, vite!”
The voyageur and apprentice half ran, half walked across the boulder strewn landscape. Whenever Anton had been here in the past, the trees which grew in the sparse soils of the planet had been laden with fruit. Now they were leafless skeletons standing out against a steel grey sky.
“Winter,” muttered Anton to himself. “Never seen winter here before.”
Normally, the older voyageur would stop and show his apprentice the landmarks, compare maps and compass readings so the boy could learn the Roads Less Travelled, the routes between the mysterious portals. No time thought the older man whose grey beard and grizzled face made him look much older than his thirty five summers. Anton spat and his spittle froze mid-air and rang like a tiny bell when it hit the iron hard ground. “Minus thirty,” said the voyageur to himself as the wind carried his voice away. He noticed the light was beginning to fade. It was impossible to see the position of the sun, but the day was nearing its end. Finding a doorway in the dark would be difficult by torchlight. They had to get to the cliff face and the portal before night. He stepped up the pace. Short of breath, the young apprentice started to falter. Anton circled back and supported the boy.
“No time to stop,” he shouted against the sleet and snow. “If we stop, we’re dead.” Anton looked ahead and for a moment the swirl of sleet and snow parted. “The doorway is just ahead. Come on, Pierre!” cried the voyageur.
Half stumbling, half walking the pair entered a clearing that Anton remembered. Here was a semi-circular flat area bordered by a hummock of land whose sides were sheer rock. Peering through the storm, he could see the familiar dark shape three or four meters up. An oval of impenetrable gloom nestled in a niche in the cliff. Flakes of snow whirled around and white flecks danced in front of the dark grey doorway.
Together with great difficulty they climbed up onto the slippery ledge. On the rock wall besides the portal was a long list of hand drawn symbols. The voyageur pulled a broad tipped laser pen out of his bag and added his own mark. Both master and apprentice held up their comm bands and took a picture, each checking the tableau of marks was visible on their mini vid screens behind the whirling snowflakes. Anton then produced a short rope with a cuff at either end. Pierre tied one cuff to his left wrist; Anton attached the other to his right. They steadied themselves.
“One, two, three,” counted Anton. They jumped side by side into the grey dark oval and disappeared.
Chapter 12: The Court comes to Columbus
About 120 million kilometres away from the planet Columbus the flagship destroyer Dreadnought, along with ten more destroyers and twenty five cruisers, all synchronously jumped back into normal space. Colonel Garth sat on the bridge of Dreadnought counting down the minutes before their unannounced presence caused a barrage of outrage and objections from the authorities in this Alliance system. As he waited, another set of ships erupted into normal space behind him. The Emperor had arrived.
The royal fleet was ten times bigger than the mere planetary fleet that Colonel Garth had appropriated from Nova Terra. Garth had two thoughts. His first was that the Kargol King had moved quickly. He calculated the Emperor must have set sail from his Summer Palace on Persia within an hour of receiving Garth’s message. The Colonel bowed his head in admiration at his royal master’s decisiveness. Garth’s second thought was that the Alliance government on Columbus would assume an invasion was underway.
“Comms officer,” said Garth quietly but firmly. “Broad spectrum messages to the entire system: His Royal Highness, the Kargol Emperor, comes in peace. He wishes to extend the royal hand of friendship to his esteemed Alliance neighbours. The Kargol King of ten thousand planets wishes to talk of improved relations and mutually profitable trade …. Fill in the details, Lieutenant.”
“Royal Warrant Commander,” said Garth turning to a short and overweight officer in a ridiculously over decorated uniform. “Please tell my liege I am surprised, honoured and delighted at his royal presence here. Please inform the King, with his permission, I shall attempt to discover the location of the alien craft and recover it for the Emperor’s disposal. As long as he is willing, we will gather all the information we need under the guise of peace and trade talks. Please send a coded communication now, Commander.”
The short stubby officer clanked and chinked as he stood up and made his way to the console dedicated to royal communications. Colonel Garth sat facing the bridge’s main view screen enjoying the last few minutes of relative quiet before the howl of protest from the Alliance began.
+
In orbit about Columbus, the Emperor, the Kargol King, ruler of a thousand planets sat on his throne in the cathedral sized assembly hall on board the Orion, the royal fleet flagship. “Get up Garth, off your knees, man!” the Emperor said to his Enforcer who had prostrated himself on steps in front of him. “There’s no need to do all that! Unless that is you’ve come to tell me I have to go down to the planet to talk to that republican rabble.”
“No, Sir,” replied Garth getting up and looking around to check that all of the rest of the court were standing out of earshot. “Your esteemed royal presence in orbit is more than enough to impress these Alliance liberals,” continued the Colonel almost spitting out the final two words.
“Good,” said the Emperor, also checking that no-one was eavesdropping on their conversation, “I have two dozen shuttles taking seemingly endless delegations of diplomats and technical advisors from here to down there and from down there to up here. And I will have to entertain the planetary President and his wife along with most of the Alliance federal officers when they get here later today. You have no idea, Garth of the protocol involved. Wouldn’t it have been easier just to invade the planet?”
“Possibly, Sir,” grinned Garth, “but the long term difficulties … wars and the like.”
“Enough diversions, Garth. What of my prize? You’ve already let that tiny alien ship slip through your fingers once. Where is it now?”
The Emperor’s enforcer grimaced saying, “My liege, we know the ship left here several days ago. We do not believe it is in the hands of the Alliance. I have already dispatched fifty mail shuttles to spy for us at likely destinations. They in turn will order all vessels carrying your flag to search for the vessel and the traitors.
“Sir, you may be pleased to know that the Coroner, our agent who was charged with bringing us the ship is here on board. He was one of the legal delegates and, somehow, got lost in the brig.”
“When you’ve squeezed every data of information from him,” said the Emperor coldly, “shove the incompetent ass out of an airlock.”
Chapter 13: Beginnings
The spinning globe hovered above the circular table making quiet humming and clicking noises. Stripes and circles rippled across its surface as the ship began to tell its story. Becky Bhuna, Art and Yelena sat attentively. Becky, the reporter and court recorder had been the one to ask the ship’s personality to explain its origins. Unlike Yelena, Becky had no prejudice abou
t machine intelligence. She was more curious than afraid.
“I was born in the asteroid field where you found me, Yelena,” said the ship in its slightly mechanical voice.
“I was formed inside what you might call a mother ship, literally.” The image of a bulky factory ship appeared next to the spinning globe. Gravity beams were breaking up rocky asteroids and pulling the rubble into huge chambers. “My mother could extract all the elements she needed from the crushed rock using nano-digesters. She sifted through millions of tonnes of rock to get the necessary materials to make my body. Deep inside my mother, there was a chamber where, using gravity fields and subspace generators, she wove my body. Engines, weapons, generators and controls, were all forged in the chamber. Every part of me was manufactured there, except my brain, or should I say brains. Yelena, only yesterday, you carried one of my brain pods.”
“Where did you get your pods?” asked Becky. “I take it that’s where your personality comes from.”
“I am not a computerised personality,” said the ship. “I am an entity. My intelligence and my identity grew with the ship. The origins of my existence, however, go back to the Creators.”
The ship explained the Creators were an ancient race of beings that guarded their identity jealously. The Creators travelled widely throughout the galaxy but lived mostly on one planet whose location was hidden behind veils of mystery. “Even I have no idea where the Creators home world lies,” said the ship somewhat indignantly. “That information was deliberately withheld from me, along with much about the Creators. I do not even know what they look like as a species.”
“However, one thing is clear. I was created because of a crisis in the galaxy. A crisis created by your species: what you call ‘The Great Plague.’ The Creators with all their superior technologies were not immune from that interstellar infection.”