by J. K. Norry
Nothing happened. Nothing had happened the first time he had pulled the trigger, and nothing happened this time either. Link swiveled again, back to the man he thought he had already shot, and squeezed the trigger one more time.
They were upon him before he could try again, and Link felt the pain as the body he inhabited was taken down onto the hard deck. He was pulled to his feet almost immediately, and he felt his hands being bound behind his back.
“Stop this!” he cried. “Let me loose! I’m The Admiral!”
The guard holding him chuckled, and called out to another.
“Hey, Rit!” he said. “Since when does The Admiral refer to himself in the third person, or go down so easy?”
Another man was attaching some kind of electronic leash to the robot Cervice was inhabiting. He looked up, and smiled.
“He doesn’t,” he said. “But don’t trust aberrant behavior to tip you off when he comes back. I’ve never seen The Admiral jump for joy before, but he’s likely to when he sees that his trap worked. Look who I’ve got here. I believe it’s Cervice himself, the turncoat who tried to kill us all.”
Link shook his head adamantly. He spoke at the same time as Cervice, emotion straining his voice while the robot spoke in a dull monotone.
“I told you it was a trap!” Link cried.
“You couldn’t pull the trigger, could you?” Cervice asked.
Struggling against restraints that gave up nothing, Link frowned down at the ungrateful hunk of metal.
“I pulled the trigger!” he shouted. “Nothing happened!”
The guards holding them exchanged a knowing look, and pulled them both toward the giant screen that showed the fleet more than it did space. Another sentry approached the screen, and tapped it lightly with one finger. A menu of options appeared, superimposed over the space scene, and he chose one with another tap of a single finger. A large square took shape before them, covering an even larger portion of the view. The Admiral appeared in the image within it. He was smiling humorlessly, frozen in a single moment until the guard tapped the screen again. Before he did, the man leaned in toward Link and spoke.
“The Admiral knew you were coming,” he said. “He has a message for both of you.”
He tapped the screen, and the picture came to two dimensional life.
“Link,” he said. “Hello. You still think you can defeat me?”
The Admiral paused, and seemed to look right at him.
“How adorable,” he said.
Most of the time Link had spent peering out through The Admiral’s eyes had not been time spent looking in a mirror. Link had watched through both the lenses of the other man’s eyes and his consciousness, without ever taking special note of how much he and the other man resembled each other. Watching The Admiral speak gave him a strange kind of deja vu; it was like watching himself in a mirror, with different mannerisms and thicker muscles. He even marveled at how the other man must have told the guards to position them after they were captured; when he turned, it seemed he was clearly addressing Cervice.
“And you,” he said. “You should have known better, old friend. You barely stood a chance against me one on one, in a battle of wits. Sending a moronic proxy was a mistake. It was also an insult to my intelligence.”
“Hey!” Link cried, forgetting it was a recording for a moment.
Hearing his voice come out of his own face to insult him was very disconcerting. Nonetheless, Link hushed when Cervice shushed him.
“You designed an EMF generator that inhabited a ship of its own,” The Admiral continued. “You clearly stated in your notes that you felt the proximity of the original generator to many of the ships was causing the memory difficulties, and that its location on the command ship was creating the most extreme problems in those on board. Instead of sharing this information you kept it to yourself, until you could use it to somehow gain complete control of the fleet. We took your plans, and built the new generator. You no longer have access to the EMF generator, even if you were free to roam this ship. It is difficult to determine your biggest betrayal, but these secret plans leave no question as to your motives.”
The Admiral looked back and forth between them, his eyes settling once more on the robot as he took up his recorded monologue.
“And yet,” he went on, “I am prepared to be generous to both of you. I have a special surprise for you in particular, Cervice. The main reason we knew you were on board was because we found your discarded body in a storeroom. I couldn’t believe you would have the audacity to create an artificial body that looked like your old natural one, or the vanity to leave it behind for me to find; but there it was. Rather than destroy it, I kept it for you. While these men wait for me to regain control of my body, they will download your consciousness back into the vessel that looks so much like you did when you were still an actual person.”
The Admiral leaned in, and seemed to glower at the robot.
“I can watch you,” he said, “while you watch me destroy them all. And then, I can tear you apart with my bare hands. And that will be the end of it, finally. That will be the end of you. All of you.”
Link felt his eyes going wide while he spoke; when The Admiral turned his way, he backed up instinctively. Rather than actually retreat, Link bumped into the man holding him and was pushed right back to where he had been standing.
“Link,” he said. “You never had it in you to beat me. I don’t blame you for not realizing that; Cervice should have given you that insight. The only surprise I have for you in this world is the pistol I swapped out for a dummy. When you get back to your world you will discover that I have been meddling in your life as surely as you have been meddling in mine, if you haven’t realized it already. Let me assure you that it could be much worse. If you come back here again, you will long for something so simple as an affair you can’t remember and a job you’re about to lose.”
Straining against whatever was clamped about his wrists, Link lunged at the guard holding him.
“Let me go!” he cried. “I’m The Admiral, dammit! Let me go!”
The man held him firm, and whispered fiercely in his ear.
“Is that Cervice, then?” he asked. “Have we captured our enemy at last, sir? Can we begin to savor the taste of victory?”
Link glanced down at the robot, realizing what an unlikely scene this was for these men. They may have lived alongside artificial life forms that looked nearly indistinguishable from them their whole lives, but one person’s mind inside another’s body was still new to them. He realized they were doubtful, under their bravado.
“That’s a cafeteria robot,” he scoffed. “And I’m The Admiral. Let me go immediately, and get this robot back to its station before mealtime.”
They exchanged another glance, this time a questioning one. The guard at the controlling end of Cervice’s electronic tether raised an eyebrow, and leaned in close to Link.
“Alright, Admiral,” he said. “What’s the passphrase?”
Link felt his eyes go to the robot, unbidden. He looked away immediately, and tried to stare down the guard doing the asking. Rather than wilt under his glare, the man began to visibly gain confidence. He squared his shoulders, cocked his head suspiciously to the side, and knitted his brows together. Link tried to keep from glancing at Cervice again, and failed.
“Cervice is in our midst,” he muttered.
Everything seemed to be happening all at once then. Cervice was doing the best version of shouting at Link that it could, asking him why he would say something like that. The guard holding Link began to handle him even more roughly, and hauled him to one side of the room while Cervice’s captor wheeled the robot toward the other. Link tried to explain, calling out that it had been the passcode a couple days ago; he wasn’t giving Cervice up to the enemy, he was trying to save the fleet.
With both of them sho
uting at the same time, neither of them heard what the other had to say. Link was taken through one opening while Cervice disappeared through another. He could do nothing but struggle and keep shouting, so he struggled and kept shouting.
THIRTY ONE
His heart pounding in his own chest, Link sat up in bed abruptly. He rubbed at his wrists, compulsively, and glanced at the bottle of pills on his nightstand. Next his eyes went to the digital display on his alarm clock, and he did sleepy math in his head as he unscrewed the lid from the bottle. He should have time to go back in, perhaps at just the right moment, and make one last attempt to help Cervice.
As the pills took hold he remembered The Admiral’s words, and his warning. Suddenly everything made sense, or was at least starting to. He wondered what the other man had done with his life and his job, until his consciousness wandered to another mind entirely.
Link was strapped to a chair, facing the giant screen filled with fleet ships. Cervice was beside him. The robot was in the body his students had fashioned for him, and he looked especially human as he gazed at the floating assemblage. The cords binding Cervice were different than the ones wrapped about Link; they glowed with a quiet electrical current, and seemed to keep him immobile from the neck down.
Guards were milling about, each of them bent to some task. Link couldn’t believe they were ignoring the two of them so completely; he leaned toward Cervice, and spoke in hushed tones.
“It’s me, Link,” he whispered. “What do you need me to do?”
Cervice continued gazing at the silent spectacle for so long Link suspected he might not have heard. He leaned closer, and opened his mouth once more to speak.
“Nice try, Admiral,” Cervice spat, cutting him off. “You know as well as I do that nothing can be done at this point. Link is not coming back, and I won’t survive the night. You can do away with the gloating, and leave me here alone to watch your madness cause consequences of epic proportions. Watch me watch it, if you want; but leave me to my own thoughts.”
Link shook his head.
“It’s really me, Cervice,” he said. “I came back.”
The robot turned slightly, and caught Link’s eye. He shook his head, and went back to gazing sadly at the screen.
“It’s of no consequence,” he said. “The last of your attack ships are moving into position, and they won’t have a very long window before my people figure out what they’re doing and move on. I don’t imagine you’ll let that window of opportunity slip by. Get out of your chair. Conduct your orchestra of murder. Leave me be.”
A soldier glanced their way, raised an eyebrow.
“Sir?” he called out. “Have we lost you again?”
Link shook his head, set his jaw.
“No,” he said. “These restraints are getting uncomfortable. Let me out of this seat.”
The man laughed.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “Your specific orders were to keep you restrained until the attack is over.”
Link glared at him.
“I have to use the restroom,” he said.
The soldier shrugged.
“You said you might say that, sir,” he said. “You instructed me on what to say, if you did.”
Straining against the cord that bound him as much as he could, Link continued to try to intimidate him with his fierce stare.
“Say it, then,” he spat.
Glancing around to see if anyone else was hearing the exchange, the soldier shrugged again.
“Go ahead and shit your pants,” he said. “Sir.”
Link almost wished he did have to go, just so he could stink up the command center and strike back somehow. Instead he sunk back into his chair, and sighed.
“Sorry, Cervice,” he muttered.
The robot turned his head, as much as he could, and frowned.
“Link?” he said. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”
Link sighed once more, this time in exasperation.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s me. Fat lot of good that does us.”
A low sound began to emanate from the robot’s throat. At first Link thought he was coughing on something, and trying to keep it quiet; then he realized Cervice was laughing, a low rolling chuckle that he wanted only Link to hear.
“It’s not over,” Cervice said, still chuckling. “When the attack ships are in firing positions, there will be a delay before the order is given. All of the ships must check in and verify readiness, and in the time it takes them to do so my people will strike.”
Link felt the blood drain out of his face as Cervice’s eyes narrowed. He held Link’s gaze, and went on.
“The field generated by this ship was not dangerous to anyone,” he said. “It was neither too powerful for those close to it nor too weak for those far away. It was also not powerful enough to cover the entire fleet. The notes The Admiral found were falsified, based on a problem I was forced to solve before we began this journey. At first, I thought we would need a giant unmanned EMF generator kept at a safe distance from the fleet. With a big enough field, the entire fleet could always remain easily within the ideal range. But this posed too many problems, and I hit upon another solution instead.”
Cervice was still watching his eyes, and Link was doing his best not to let them glass over while the robot spoke. He must have been doing a terrible job, because the robot laughed. This time, it was with humor.
“It really is you,” he said. “You couldn’t care less.”
Link opened his mouth, to protest; Cervice sighed, and went on.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll keep it simple. The notes The Admiral found were faked, as were the unmanned EMF generator plans he built.”
Now he was even more confused; rather than say so, Link looked at the robot helplessly.
“You drew up fake plans for a generator?” he said.
The robot shook his head.
“No,” he said. “The plans were real, but they’re really just duplicating the system we have now. It’s a generator that tunes into the frequency the other engines in the fleet run at, and bounces the signal off the hulls. No matter how big the fleet is, the signal stays consistent by using the other ships as repeaters. One unit generates the signal, but the fleet as a whole creates and sustains the field.”
Link raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sure it’s quite brilliant,” he said, dryly. “But what’s the point? How does making him build another generator do anything at all?”
Cervice was smiling again, and once more there was no humor in the expression. He let his eyes wander back to the screen.
“With no one on board,” he said, “my people can destroy it. We are unable to kill, due to our inherent programming; even the back door I opened only allows for defensive measures to be taken. However, we are not restricted from destroying inanimate objects.”
This time the chuckle sounded darker. If Link had been forced to put a name to the sound, he may have called it evil.
“They’re almost in position,” Cervice said, his eyes still on the screen. “You better get going. I can’t say with any certainty that you will not be affected by the field generator being destroyed.”
Link looked at the robot, and tried to keep from shouting.
“Are you kidding me?” he hissed. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Cervice frowned, his attention on the fleet.
“Could be anything, really,” he responded. “You might be wiped clean. Your consciousness might be set forever adrift, unable to find its way back to your body. Even I am at a loss to scientifically describe how you came here in the first place, or repeatedly thereafter. I can’t say what may happen to you. As I said, you should go. Let’s hope this plan works.”
Straining at the cords that bound him once more, Link saw a soldier approaching them. He whispered, in th
e moments he had.
“What plan?” he said. “Your plan to erase everyone?”
The man was standing in front of them before Cervice could respond, if he had meant to.
“Admiral,” the soldier said. “The ships are checking in. We will commence attacking when the last one has reported their position and is ready to fire. It should only be a few minutes more.”
Link strained against the cords until it hurt.
“Stop!” he cried. “Call them off! Tell them to retreat!”
Now Cervice turned to look at him; he ignored the soldier, who was also watching him carefully.
“You said you might say that as well, sir,” the uniformed man noted. “Our instructions are to proceed as planned.”
He began to turn away, and stopped.
“Whoever you are,” he added, “you don’t deserve to see this. The Admiral does. I hope you have a life of your own, and that you pay for this in that life a dozen times over.”
The sentry shot a disgusted look at Cervice, turned and walked away. The robot ignored him, his eyes still on Link.
“You didn’t tell him,” Cervice said.
Link shook his head, and stared out into space like the robot had done only a minute earlier. He saw something drifting toward them, a small irregular object that was slowly growing larger as it got closer. It also became easier to make out what it was. Naked and frozen, the pilot had obviously had more time floating in space alive than Link thought he might. His stance was that of a soldier, legs straight and shoulders back. One arm was frozen forever at his side, the other was held to his forehead in an eternal salute.
Once he realized what it was, Link tried to look away. He found that he couldn’t. He watched the stiffened corpse drift closer, until it collided silently with the ship. The saluting arm broke off with the impact, and the pieces floated away in two different directions.
The scene was filled with light suddenly, and colored lasers leapt into existence between a dozen ships and one oddly shaped craft in the center of them all. Link couldn’t tell where the lasers came from, they appeared so quickly. Only the resulting explosion gave away the source, as a giant bright light soundlessly covered the screen.