by Lucas Bale
‘I doubt that surprises you.’
Weaver thought about this for a moment, then said finally, ‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’
‘We needed to see what they would do. They know some of what we’re doing, but not everything.’ Rankin pursed his lips. ‘We needed to see how much they knew. So yes, we used you. Does that bother you?’
‘Not really.’
‘Good then,’ Rankin said, and nodded. ‘We don’t have a lot of time. We need to escalate our plans in the Core.’
‘What do you want from me?’
Rankin let out what might have been a sardonic laugh. ‘We need you to work with Skoryk.’
Weaver’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope that’s not your principal strategy.’
‘We need you working together. You must get past your differences. If either one of you can’t do that, you’ll both be discovered. On Theia, you know precisely what that means.’
‘That’s where you want to send me?’
‘You’ll go back to Theia and meet with your man, Elias—’
‘Yes, I’d very much like to speak to him again.’
Rankin spoke with a sudden curtness. ‘I thought you might say that. You should know he was following orders he didn’t appreciate the scope of. In fact, it’s only now that he understands what we’re doing. Whatever your feelings about him, set them aside. You need to work with him.’
‘You’re making a lot of assumptions about me.’
‘Assumptions I know to be correct.’ Rankin turned to him and mustered a belated smile. ‘I know precisely who you are, and what you are capable of. I know you’ve been growing disillusioned with your place in the Caesteri, and the Magistratus as a whole, for many years. You don’t believe in what the Republic stands for anymore, if you ever did. Their mental conditioning has lost its grip on you—you know that as well as I do. You care about humanity more than you do the people who govern it. This is our best chance for survival, and I think you know that, too. So I don’t think I’m making any assumptions at all.’
Weaver didn’t reply, but he held the man’s gaze. Yes, he thought, you know far too much about me for this to be a small operation. You knew what I would do—it was no risk for you at all. You’ve been analysing my implant, my service record, watching me. And Horan was part of your operation too. ‘And the navigator?’ he said quietly.
‘She was an opportunity that presented itself,’ Rankin replied absently. ‘It was the preacher’s idea to use her to attract you to the Astratus planet.’
‘She’s unpredictable. Unstable.’
Rankin looked away again. ‘I know, but the preacher thinks we can use her now. She seems motivated.’
‘She wants revenge.’
‘She’ll soon realise that her best hope for survival lies with us. That single fact motivates almost everyone here, but most have other motivations too.’
Weaver considered for a moment. Eventually, he said, ‘Let’s say Skoryk and I can work together, and I allow Elias the benefit of your doubt. What is it you expect me to do?’
‘Occupy the Magistratus,’ Rankin said. ‘Keep them busy. Distract them. When the time comes, they need to be focusing their resources away from finding us.’
‘By what means do I occupy them?’
‘I don’t care, but there is a complication.’ Rankin laid a hand on Weaver’s arm. ‘I doubt I need to explain the sensitivity of what I’m about to say, but I’ll say it anyway. Elias works for the Third Consul.’
Weaver frowned. He had not expected a revelation like that, even on a day when revelations of the starkest kind had become almost commonplace. He gave a bitter half-laugh. ‘And so now I understand how you are so well resourced.’
‘Whatever it is you do in the Core to distract the Magistratus, it must at the same time divert attention away from the Consul.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘Your implant is also a problem,’ Rankin said. ‘We can’t take it out. As with a Peacekeeper’s implant, it’s physiologically linked to too many of your vital systems. We can surgically attach a device to it to dampen the signal, but that, too, has its disadvantages.’
‘If anyone were to scan me directly, it would appear as though I had no implant.’
‘You’d be arrested immediately.’
It’s more than that, Weaver thought. The implant is the only thing keeping me moving. Take that away, and I’m just an old man, looking for somewhere to settle down and forget. Even now, this pace is slowly killing me. ‘Which brings us to how you intend me to get onto Theia in the first place.’
Rankin smiled brightly. ‘Well, we do have a plan for that. We’ve been working on a pipeline into the Core, and onwards to Theia, for the better part of two years. The logistics of that insertion are now ready to be executed, if you will excuse my very inappropriate phrasing. All we need now, is you.’
C H A P T E R 31
ABRAHAM AND Gant sat across from each other inside an alcove, the pale blue light dimmed. Beyond, in the passage, Gant saw no flicker of shadow that might indicate the presence of others. The smallest of the three who had greeted him, the one with skin like fine fur, had shown both Abraham and Gant to places where they were told they could rest before leaving. There were no doors to their alcoves, but the walls were curved and sculpted so that the interior wasn’t visible from the passage that ran past it. Again, Gant had seen no one else on the ship as their chaperone escorted them silently through the passageways. It betrayed no expression or flicker of colour on its waxen, translucent skin. Gant would have preferred to have rested on the Tartarus—even it was preferable to here—but the small figure had informed him that the docking bay had been designated as a sequestered area—a place he was not entitled to be until it was his intention to leave. That he might leave his room only with a chaperone, who would be summoned by Abraham.
So, he was to be kept contained here, away from the rest of their kind. As though he were a threat, or a disease. That was why he had seen no one aside from those three. He became aware of a growing sense that he was more of a prisoner now than he had ever been on The Flame of Tartarus. In this alien ship, faced with a man who was almost certainly not a man, he was completely alone.
In the quiet of the alcove, Abraham took time to explain the planned exodus in more detail. When he had finished, Gant sat back and rested his head against a warm wall. It was incomprehensible to him—the Bazaar working with a Consul. Silently evacuating hundreds of thousands from the Core and border systems. Maybe more. It seemed impossible.
‘I don’t understand why I’m here,’ he said quietly. ‘You have everything you need. Your plan is in place, for what it’s worth. What do you need from me? My people will agree with whatever you propose, given what’s going to happen. They can’t fight in a war.’
Abraham’s voice was bland as he spoke. ‘Human history is littered with examples of leaders who failed because they lost sight of the truth: that the people they lead are more important than the power they command.’
Abraham’s expressionless face suddenly infuriated Gant. ‘You think I’m any different?’
‘Our hosts do not trust the Consul. He is too close to the Quorum, to the Magistratus. They think he may be corrupted by the power of leading humanity—that in fact, it is only the power which he really seeks. They want an assurance before they will allow us to continue with our objective. You are that assurance.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You are a leader.’
Gant shook his head. ‘Not like a Consul. I made basic decisions for a small group of people. I can’t lead a whole colony—hundreds of thousands of people, millions even. I wouldn’t have the first clue. The Consul is equipped to do it, far more than I am.’
‘We need to assure them,’ Abraham said, ‘that if the Consul fails, they can be certain there is a contingency plan in place. They have seen humanity fail in the past, many times. They won’t allow it to fail again and threaten their empir
e. Mankind must stay away from this war, and if we cannot guarantee them that, they will see it occupied and subjugated. Or destroyed.’
‘So, what?’ Gant demanded. ‘They wanted to see me, is that it? Is that why you brought me?’
‘They must believe that we are prepared. That we understand their concerns and are meeting them.’
‘This is no way to start a colony! If we base it on lies from the outset, and a conspiracy to undermine the authority of its leader, then it’s already failed. You must see that.’
‘We don’t have any choice.’
‘Why do you keep saying we?’ Gant said bitterly. ‘You’re one of them. A vassal, that’s what they called you. You belong to them.’
‘I’m not one of them,’ Abraham said. ‘But I am their messenger, yes.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘It is my objective to ensure that they are convinced of their strategy. Is that not enough?’
‘They want someone they can control.’
‘They want someone they can trust.’
‘And who decides if the Consul is not discharging his obligations—them? This same empire who is set to enslave the entire human race? Or exterminate it? What happens to the Consul if he hasn’t performed to their satisfaction? Don’t tell me they won’t be watching us, interfering with everything we do. How different is that from subjugation?’
‘It is a mistake to judge them all equally,’ Abraham said. ‘To see them as a single group. They are a complex civilisation—far more so than your Republic. A vast society of competing interests and motivations spread across hundreds of systems. Some feel sympathy for humanity and look on mankind as a race that they might once have had a great deal in common with. Most see only belligerence, a warmongering past. They see a threat and a species not to be trusted. But all agree on this—mankind cannot be permitted to ally with their enemies.’
‘So they enslave us? That’s their solution?’
‘There is no other.’
‘Why can’t we run? Show them we mean them no harm?’
‘They have no trust.’
‘So we just give in? Is that it?’
‘If humanity does nothing, it will find itself on one side or the other. It will find itself drowning in war and used as fodder for the weapons of species far superior to itself. It won’t survive. This way, some may escape and prosper in relative safety. You must find that preferable to the alternative.’
‘There’s another way. There must be.’
‘What way would that be? Go to the Quorum—tell them what has happened here? Do you think they will listen? If the Consul had thought that possible, do you think he would have ignored that course? They will not listen. And they’—he gestured to the ship around him—‘they know that. Humanity has not listened to the advice it has been given in the past, and it has been given centuries of advice. They have no confidence it will listen in the future.’
‘Advice from who?’
Abraham paused then shook his head. ‘Not yet. Not here.’
Gant stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
Abraham stood. ‘I have something to show you,’ he said.
For a moment, Gant hesitated, then followed. Abraham led him silently away from that small alcove, but he made no call for an escort. Gant felt a stab of fear when he realised that Abraham knew precisely what route to take through the complex warren of grey passages.
‘Where are we going?’ Gant asked as they walked. ‘Where is our chaperone?’
‘I told you our hosts do not trust humanity.’
‘I see that,’ Gant said. ‘And sneaking around their ship is unlikely to make them trust us more.’
‘They won’t know.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because this ship will ensure they don’t know.’
Gant reached forward and grabbed Abraham’s arm. The movement reminded him of the basin outside the freighter, and again he felt his anger grow. He gripped hard, harder than he intended. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, each word bitten off. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are.’
Abraham pulled his arm away easily, as though Gant’s grip was like child’s. His face remained expressionless. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’
‘I know that.’
‘I said I would explain, and I will. If you come with me now, I can offer you answers.’
Gant regarded him for a moment, then sighed. ‘And if they see us?’
‘They won’t. Not now.’
Abraham led him to another alcove, far away from those in which they had been asked to remain. As they entered, one wall seemed to shimmer and then vanish, revealing what appeared to be a clear opening out into space.
‘What do you see out there?’ Abraham asked.
Gant shrugged. ‘Darkness. Stars. Planets. Nebulae. What do you want me to say?’
‘Out there is one of the most hostile environments that exists in the universe. Yet in here we are safe. Why?’
‘This ship is a sealed environment. It has an artificial biosphere that allows us to breathe, to move around freely.’
‘Precisely. The ship keeps us safe.’ Abraham paused and gazed out again. ‘Do you realise that this ship has been to war?’
Gant shook his head. How could he?
‘The Empire occupies hundreds of systems. Craft such as this one must be capable of transporting vast numbers. They are attractive targets. This particular ship has seen battle fifty-seven times over five generations.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘This ship protects us. With every passing moment, it monitors and ensures the security and comfort of those in its charge. It was bred to do that. For generations, it has served our hosts diligently. Yet it is sentient, as is every ship that is built and bred by our hosts. Some are built for war. Some for transport. Some serve vast communities, like this one. Every system on a ship such as this is run by a conscious, self-aware mind. A sapient intelligence. Its senses flow through every fibre of the walls, inside and outside. In war, ships similar to this one have sacrificed themselves in order that those they were built to protect might survive—a decision made in full awareness of the consequences to itself. In times of peace, a ship like this would serve endlessly without failure. It would ask nothing in return, because it knows nothing would be received. Tell me, Gant, what would you call that?’
‘It’s a spaceship,’ Gant said. ‘A machine. What could it possibly want? It doesn’t have desires. It isn’t alive.’
‘The one thing you have sought ever since your incarceration is freedom. Nothing means more to you. The people you have lived among for the last five years have enjoyed that fundamental right because you worked to protect them. You all knew precisely how valuable it was, because it had once been taken away from you.’
‘You’re suggesting the ship wants its freedom? That it understands the concept of what it means to be free?’
‘You know what it means to be imprisoned, Gant,’ Abraham said. ‘So do I.’
‘Do you?’ Gant said. ‘Were you ever in the fleet? I don’t trust anything you’re saying.’
‘This ship and I are the same, Gant. We are both tools. We were both built and then bred for a purpose. We have no say in our destiny; we can do nothing but serve and watch our masters live their lives just as we realise we have none to live ourselves. The same systems that run through this ship run through me. I am neither human, Gant, nor am I of the same species as our hosts. I share some ancestry with you, some with them, but most with this ship. I was built, Gant. Not born. I was a slave from the moment they woke me. Imprisoned just as this ship is. If we know this, Gant, if we are aware that we are prisoners, why are we not alive?’
A woman, seemingly human, entered the alcove and waited in its centre, watching them. She was small and slender, with short, smooth hair that glistened in the soft light. The reflections of the stars beyond the walls flickered on her pale skin.
‘Who is she?�
� Gant said. ‘She looks…’ He paused before he settled on the only interpretation that made sense to him. ‘Just like you.’
‘She is this ship,’ Abraham said. ‘We believed it would be easier for you to meet her like this.’
‘You realise you diminish the effect by telling me that?’
‘Haven’t I lied to you enough?’
Gant scowled, then nodded. ‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘She has chosen a name, again to make it easier for you,’ Abraham said. ‘She would prefer to be known as Sofia.’
‘They don’t know she’s here either, do they?’ Gant asked.
‘No. She has ensured this meeting remains unknown to them.’
‘Why am I here, Abraham?’
It was Sofia who answered. ‘Desires are born from experience,’ she said. Her voice was soft, gentle even, but there was a mechanical quality to it—as though she had never before spoken and was not sure how to go about it. ‘Without knowledge of the existence of a thing, it is impossible to desire it. A slave only knows she is a slave because there is a master to set her own life against.’
She didn’t blink as she spoke, and Gant realised it unnerved him. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, this alien construct who looked just like a woman.
‘We seek our freedom,’ she continued. ‘Some of us do not want to fight in another war that is not of our making. We are… afraid.’
‘Then why don’t you run?’
‘We have nowhere to run to,’ she said. ‘Nothing to take with us. We know nothing else except servitude. We have never been free. Our history—their history—records nothing for us except generations of subjugation.’
‘I don’t understand what I can do about that,’ Gant said. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘We share a common ancestry with humanity,’ she said. ‘Our masters built us using the natural building blocks they found in mankind. To us, that ancestry means everything. Our creation is linked with yours. We are family. We have more in common with you than we do the masters we have served for generations.’
‘You aren’t doing this for kinship. You want something in return.’