by Paul Collins
‘I have been hired to terminate you.’
‘Well, I guess you reached the head of the queue. I take it,’ he eyed the bodies, ‘that you don’t work for Myoto.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Just collecting the bounty, huh?’
‘I’m not interested in the bounty. Just in you.’
‘So what’d I ever do to you? I vaporise your mother by accident or something?’
‘You watched me die.’
‘Huh? Come again.’
‘I do not wish to kill you, Mr Black.’ The creature came forward. Maximus forced himself to hold steady.
Then a bizarre thing happened. The Envoy lookalike dropped to one knee, offering Maximus his weapon. ‘I offer you my allegiance.’
For once, Maximus was speechless. ‘You’re not here to kill me?’
‘I said so, did I not?’
‘Yeah, right. You did. Pardon me.’ Maximus cautiously took the weapon. Immediately he aimed it at the creature’s head. ‘All right, who are you?’
‘I am the Envoy.’
‘The Envoy is dead. I saw him die.’
‘You saw one of my hatchlings die. I am Many. Hundreds. I cannot die, unless a cataclysm wipes out my entire nest, spread through several star sectors.’
Maximus stared at the Envoy, trying to digest this. ‘You said something about allegiance …’
‘My people do not make war. We do not “mass” as humans do. But we can sense the tides of war, the pathways that produce the future. We believe you are the changer, the storm bringer. We received coded information of your activities, information we could not doubt. Anonymous information, but trustworthy. At first we were cautious, but the information synchronised with what we already knew of you. You have a full history for a stripling.’
‘You’ve seen all this?’ Maximus asked. There was fervour to his voice he could not suppress. ‘You trust some unknown informant?’
‘We have. And whatever the source, we are good at managing information, picking the location of the wave, then riding it.’
‘And what part do you play in tonight’s events? What part do you play in my destiny?’
‘We are the instruments of your destiny.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Only an alien would ask that.’
‘I want an answer.’
I have given you an answer. Is it not my fault that you are an alien, and that your brain cannot recognise it.’
Having managed to survive, Maximus didn’t waste any time. He stayed only long enough to effect the official transfer of power within Quesada by notifying each Clan head of his survival, then got off Reema’s End. As befits an instrument of destiny, the Envoy had a sleek, fast ship waiting for him.
Within an hour they were on board the Orbital Engineering Platform, heading for the Hub. Some of its crew were still alive, but his THMEs had done their job well enough. The place was in chaos and the crew was now dispensable. The Envoy killed crew members they came across with cold efficiency and no trace of emotion.
At the Hub, Maximus hit his first snag. As he had expected, the AI was reluctant to give up its secrets to the first human who asked for them, even though few knew that this AI contained the first part of the lost coordinates.
Maximus ran a scan of the AI logs, trying to identify where the coordinates might reside. He did not expect success at this attempt. The coordinates could be anywhere. They could even be built into the hardware design pattern. In that case no retrieval software was going to work. Likewise, the coordinates could be compressed and encoded within a pattern of the countless trillions of pathways that went to make up the Old Empire AI computer’s neural structure. After all, the coordinates were only kilobytes of information. Like a particular grain of sand on a beach, they could be in plain sight – yet beyond recognition – a needle in a haystack where they could be anything or anywhere.
The Envoy, while maintaining sensor readings of their surroundings, viewed Maximus’s efforts impassively. After an hour of searching, Maximus threw up his hands in frustration.
‘Dammit, where are the coordinates?’
‘Who comes here?’ boomed a voice.
Maximus reached for his weapon, then realised the computer had spoken.
‘I do,’ he said.
A panel in the wall he thought was a screen became translucent. Inside was a holographic display of a poor family in a crude hut. Outside their window, snow fell, and a timid fire guttered in a grate. The woman, weary and thin, was breastfeeding a toddler as a six-year-old boy looked on. The man, emaciated and grey-haired, climbed slowly to his feet, pulling on a light coat. He gave his wife a resigned look, ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, and then went out into the cold night.
Maximus knew he had gone to find food and wood to keep his family safe. In his absence, the mother finished breastfeeding the little girl then huddled closer to the fire, sitting both children in her lap. When the girl started to cry she sang songs to soothe her. Then the boy asked for his favourite story, the one about the poor boy who became a prince. As the mother told the story for the hundredth time, a great and abiding love filled the little room with light and warmth. The toddler giggled, tugging at her brother’s tunic.
Having lost track of time completely, Maximus suddenly shook his head to clear it and stepped back from the display. He felt badly shaken.
‘What is this?’ he demanded, his voice ragged.
‘I do not know,’ replied the AI. ‘I had thought you might. It was provided to me by broadcast some years ago. Facial structure analysis can provide probability matches, despite deep alterations.’
‘Turn it off. Turn it off now!’
‘Do you not wish to ask me anything?’
‘NO!’ Maximus shouted. ‘Turn it off!’ He fought back panic and did not know why, the image in the hut frightened him, threatening to undermine his existence. He pulled out a gun, aimed it at the screen.
‘Turn it off, I say!’
The Envoy stepped quickly forward to snatch the gun away, leaving Maximus stunned. The Envoy stared at the screen. ‘Is the boy in the screen the human who stands beside me?’
‘It is highly probable.’
Outside the window of the hut a great roaring could be heard. Flashes of light filled the sky and screaming commenced. It was a vision of the night Maximus became a slave.
‘Please, turn it off,’ he said in a voice so small no one could hear it.
‘Who will find the lost coordinates?’ the Envoy asked.
‘He who faces the core fear of his life.’
The Envoy glanced at Maximus, who was looking away, shivering. ‘I seek the coordinates,’ said the Envoy. Instantly, the image in the screen changed, became as formless as smoke.
‘Curious,’ said the AI. ‘You do not know fear. You are unlike the other seekers, all of whom failed.’
‘Why did they fail?’
‘They could not heal the wounds that made them seekers in the first place.’
‘I have no wounds. Where are the coordinates?’
‘The coordinates you seek are in the floating garden. In the eye of the Buddha …’
‘It was all rubbish,’ said Maximus as he savagely slammed the ship through its paces. He did not look at the Envoy, feeling shamed by what had happened on the OEP.
‘The entity spoke the truth.’
Maximus laughed. ‘An ancient riddling truth perhaps, a smoke screen to deflect the weak and woolly-minded.’
‘It deflected you.’
Maximus flushed, feeling a burning anger towards the Envoy, who stared back, impassive.
‘You wish to kill me? Then do so. It makes little difference, but it may slow down your acquisition of the coordinates.’
The dry impersonal quality of this response brought Maximus to his senses. He laughed.
‘Okay. So as a species we’re pretty damned flawed. Okay? I’ve said it.’
‘It is your strength
and your weakness.’
Maximus had a sudden insight. ‘You study us, don’t you?’
‘We find you interesting.’
Maximus snorted. ‘So humanity is one big Petri dish to you?’
‘Something happened that night in the hut.’
Maximus swallowed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
The Envoy swivelled its eyes, studying him. ‘The entity was right. You will not seek healing or redemption, for then you would have no quest. You are complex creatures.’
The trip to Arcadia took several days, even at the faster-than-light speeds the Envoy’s hyperdrive ship travelled. They didn’t try to traverse the entire distance by ship. Instead, they headed for the Bourjel system, whose fourth planet was part of the galaxy-spanning teleportation network of Dyson jump-gates. From there they reached Arcadia in a matter of hours. Red tape delayed their arrival, though in that regard Maximus’s RIM identity turned out to be of help.
They reached Arcadia six days after departing the OEP.
Maximus immediately went to Quesada’s headquarters in the Block and made himself known. Lotang had not yet returned from Reema’s End, but the Quesadans were aware of the transfer. After establishing Nathaniel Brown’s identity, he was shown into the CEO’s luxury apartment. Other quarters were found for the Envoy who had reverted to the use of his cowl and robe. The Arcadians treated him with a mixture of fear and loathing. It was the universal fate of ethnic minorities.
Maximus did not get long to rest.
He had arrived in the middle of a war between Quesada and Myoto that he had instigated, having ordered the expulsion. Some other Clans and Companies were offering lukewarm support, though Imperial Standard was creating many legal obstructions without actually opposing Quesada outright. Maximus made a note to deal with Imperial Standard later. They would make good target practice.
The war was an annoying complication. Maximus needed to find the Buddha referred to by the Old Empire AI. Then he had to decipher the riddle, if it was in fact a riddle.
And there were formalities to observe. Maximus could not afford to ignore them. The rank and file Quesadans had received a serious shock. Their CEO had apparently stood down and named a successor, one who had immediately plunged them into a blood feud with another Company. They knew Lotang, but Maximus was unknown and commanded no loyalty as yet. There were rites to observe, transitions to honour.
The formalities took the best part of two days during which Myoto struck several times, destroying important holdings and killing dozens of Quesadans. Maximus would have to hit back as his hold on Quesada was still tenuous. If he were seen to be weak then he would not last another forty-eight hours. Quesadans were not above assassination.
With this in mind he sent the Envoy on a mission.
When the formalities had been dispensed with, he had his first meeting with the board of Quesada. He immediately established his own style. Out went another of Lotang’s beloved thrones and the schoolroom set up of tables and chairs facing the throne. Instead, he brought in a huge oval table, made of real Earth oak, an overt sign of wealth and power. But it also made the board members, the eight powerful and deadly men and women who had fought their way to the top, like his equals. Of course, this equality was an illusion, but it made them feel important. Good government was about making people feel important without giving anything away.
The first meeting did not go well.
Hedi Ramiz kept bringing the discussion back to the war with Myoto. Her view was that the expulsion had been rash, at this time. After all, they were trying to cement the Majoris Corporata, not create divisions within the Cartel.
Finally, Maximus slapped the table hard. Silence fell. He eyed Hedi balefully. To her credit, she did not back down. He liked that.
‘So what would you have me do, Hedi?’
‘Does the new CEO need my advice?’
‘Hardly,’ said Maximus. ‘But it would be nice to know that members of my board are as capable of constructive suggestions as they are of complaining. Were I to drop dead, what would you do? Start complaining about my death? Can you do anything but complain?
Hedi looked hurt, and hunted. ‘My advice is you take out their top man here. Jarvid. With him gone, the local branch of Myoto will be disorganised. Ripe for a putsch.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said another woman at the table.
‘Yes,’ said a man by the name of Viren. ‘Right now, Jarvid’s the most highly protected man on Arcadia, probably within several light years. You’d never get to him.’
There were murmurs of agreement around the table. The door at the back of the room opened and the Envoy entered. Several board members turned uneasily in their chairs and watched him whisper in Maximus’s ear before taking up position behind the new CEO.
‘Well, it seems Jarvid wasn’t so highly protected after all,’ Maximus announced.
Hedi was first to speak. ‘You mean –?’
Nodding, Maximus stood up. ‘Jarvid is dead, along with three of his inner circle. I think that concludes the meeting for today. I have some work to do, so we will not reconvene until Friday. Thank you.’
An awed hush filled the room.
Maximus left by a side door, followed by the Envoy. Once they were out of hearing he demanded the details of the assassination, smacking a fist into his palm with satisfaction. ‘That’ll show the bastards. Okay. Now we get back to business.’
Maximus had not been idle. He had searches arranged for the Buddha, though so far to no avail. No one on the floating city knew anything of the Buddha. Many had never heard the term, though Maximus’s research had revealed that Buddha had lived on Earth long ago, and had given rise to a belief system. The Buddha, typically, was represented by an idol of a bald, fat, man. Maximus had copies made of the figurine and kept one, of pure gold, on his desk. The implacable good-naturedness of the statue intrigued him.
It especially intrigued him that the Buddha had two eyes.
Several days of frustration passed, during which Myoto had been alarmingly quiet. Everyone had expected immediate retaliation, but it seemed that their enemy was either too disorganised and demoralised to hit back, or taking their time, planning a hit of such magnitude and barbarity Myoto stock would jump several points. Indeed, the other Clans and Companies might rally to Myoto, demanding they be reinstated. Maximus could not allow that, but right now his mind was on other matters.
Finally, a week after arriving on Arcadia, he discovered the Buddha. He was out on his roof garden one night, drinking a sublimely pungent beverage, staring silently out into space. The Envoy stood nearby in the shadows, a motionless statue.
Whilst staring at the sky, Maximus started, spilling his drink. He jumped to his feet, beckoning the Envoy to follow him, and ran down to his control room. Here he had a technician project astrogation charts onto a screen, flicking through them with manic speed.
‘Stop! That one. Go back!’
The technician operating the chart projector quickly reversed the machine’s progress. Maximus grinned, staring at a constellation of stars in the exact shape of a sitting Buddha … except that it had only one eye!
‘What’s the name of that star?’ he demanded.
The technician consulted his screen. ‘Constantine, sir.’
‘Does that name mean anything to you?’
‘Why, yes, sir. General Constantine was one of the Old Empire commanders. He built Arcadia. It was his personal palace.’
Maximus punched the air. ‘Yes!’
The Envoy hissed, ‘Are there any representations of the general?’
‘Representations? Oh, you mean statues? Yes. Just one.’
Twenty minutes later, Maximus and the Envoy stood in Constantine Park, a recreational area in a rundown section of Arcadia. In the middle stood a huge statue of the general, some twenty metres high. He was standing stiffly, hat on head, in battle breeches and tunic, peering at a sheaf of papers in his hand. Everything had been fashioned from i
ndestructible neutronium. Cubicles in the base had historical 3D footage running continuously, celebrating the general’s achievements.
‘Get a crew out here,’ Maximus said to the Envoy. ‘I want this thing taken apart molecule by molecule.’ The Envoy turned to go. ‘No, wait a minute!’
He had had a sudden dizzying idea. Switching on his sticky field attractors, he climbed up to the statue’s chest, and then clambered along the arm holding the papers.
He peered at these for a moment then started to laugh.
There before him, in plain sight for anyone to see, was the first part of the lost coordinates, etched into the document that General Constantine had been staring at for nearly a thousand years.
ANNEKE fled into a side passage, and paused to get her breath. Her wounds were taking a toll on her vitality. The creatures had successfully blocked her route to the docked ship and she had had to circle back to escape their enclosing tactic. Even then she had run into another one of them but this time she had wounded it, blasting off one of its arms.
She checked her scanner, and then checked it again. She could have sworn she had seen three other blips appear like ghosts, then wink out again. She wiped the sweat from her eyes, ran a diagnostic on the device, and breathed a sigh when she saw that it was scanning correctly. Only the original three blips were present. Just as well. Any more of those things and she would be in big trouble.
Correction. Bigger trouble.
Right now she had to plot a course back to the docked scooter. Unfortunately, the guard creatures knew where she needed to go. One of the blips had taken up position in the sole approach to the kitchen dump.
Okay. That meant she might have to do a little spacewalking. Fortunately, she had come equipped with a disposable field suit, so all she needed was a way outside the ship. The best place for that was the main dock.
Anneke located the dock on her screen then set off at a loping run. Once again her Normanskian muscles came to her aid, offsetting the effects of injuries. But she had some distance to go, and she did not know how well these creatures knew this territory. She suspected they were a recent introduction to the OEP, probably by the mole as a way to gain unopposed entry to the Hub and the AI computer. It was clear that the human crew on board the OEP had been there for several months without encountering any mishap, so this pointed the finger of blame at the mole yet again. Had they callously disposed of them once they had completed their task of readying the OEP?