Arkship Alliance

by Niel Bushnell

  ‘Forgive me, Gofal. I would not have done such a thing if it wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘It was both unnecessary and futile.’

  The Scribe leaned closer. ‘You know we have disabled your defensive systems.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  ‘You are unable to move. You cannot hurt me.’

  ‘I would not do so.’

  She smiled. ‘You are here against your will. You are within your rights to defend yourself against hostile intent.’

  ‘But your intent is not hostile, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we are both perfectly safe.’

  The Scribe leaned back in her chair, studying him. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  The Scribe’s eyes lit up. ‘Tell me about it, please.’

  ‘I have chosen to keep the details of my . . . experience . . . to myself.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Most people cannot cope with the concept of the future, not in concrete terms,’ the Scribe said softly. ‘We prefer the concept of free will over a preordained timeline.’

  ‘It is not preordained. The word suggests a decision-making process to decide the outcome of the future. In truth, we still have free will. The future is not set in stone.’

  ‘Really? You surprise me, Gofal. You have a unique insight, a glimpse into a certain future.’

  ‘Not certain,’ Gofal corrected. ‘It is one possible future. Our choices can change it, hence my reluctance to discuss it further. Even knowing of my experience has tainted your actions. It is better that it is kept a secret.’

  ‘For you alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Scribe scoffed. ‘Arrogance? From a bot?’

  ‘Not arrogance; caution. I alone was entrusted with this knowledge. I alone am immune to its temptations.’

  ‘But to what end, Gofal? The Infinite Gods have given you this gift. Surely it was their intent that you should share it with their Church?’

  Gofal hesitated. He wanted to say more. He yearned to discuss this further, with someone like the Scribe who could grasp the larger ramifications of its purpose. He admired her, but even the Scribe was not ready for the revelations he had seen. It would crush her entire belief system. No, it was better that he continued to carry this burden alone. ‘Further discussion on the subject is counter-productive. Now, I think it is time I left.’

  The Scribe smiled tightly. ‘You know, we could take the information from you.’

  ‘You have already tried.’

  There was the smallest of reactions, a tiny flinch around her eyes. The micro-gesture gave away the Scribe’s surprise. She had not anticipated that he would know. She must have thought their tampering was too subtle. And she accused him of being arrogant!

  ‘The information stored in my cerebral matrix is encrypted with a quantum coded lock. You may have a perfect copy of the data, but without the cypher key you can never hope to understand it. As I said earlier, your brutish attempts to know the future are unnecessary and futile.’

  ‘All locks can be broken.’

  ‘Yes, that is true, but you would first need to describe the atomic state of a specific molecule at a specific time. Without that information your simulations would take longer than the remaining life of the universe.’

  The Scribe stood, her frustration obvious now. ‘You will give me the key.’

  Gofal looked up, his head turning to follow her pacing. ‘It is not mine to give. I do not know it.’

  ‘But you know how to obtain it.’

  ‘Indeed, I do, but my matrix is coded to shut down if I attempt it.’

  The Scribe laughed. ‘You would do that?’

  ‘It is already done.’

  ‘But if anything happened to you, the information would die with you.’

  ‘Correct.’

  The Scribe’s voice rose. ‘You would let something so valuable be lost?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gofal said, looking down at the table. It was made of wood, over five hundred years old. Its grain was beautiful, fine lines running alongside each other, in symmetry yet each one individual. ‘That is the human way, is it not? Do your memories not die with you?’

  The Scribe slammed her hands down on to the table. ‘My memories cannot predict the future!’

  ‘Memories, premonition. History, predestination. Are they not the same thing? It is only our personal perspective of time that changes.’

  ‘It is impossible to discuss this with you!’

  ‘I agree,’ Gofal said, his finger tracing the contour of the wood.

  The Scribe composed herself and sat down at the table. ‘Then perhaps we can speak of other things.’

  Finally. He looked past her, to the Reader taking notes. The Scribe followed his gaze, turning to see her aide, and dismissed him with a glance.

  The door closed behind him, and the room became silent.

  ‘Well?’ the Scribe said. ‘You already know how this goes, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You wish to know where Derward is. You need to know if he is alive.’

  Her mouth tightened. She was good at hiding her emotions, but in that moment her face seemed to change, overwhelmed by doubts and fear.

  ‘Do you know?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Gofal replied.

  The Scribe gasped.

  ‘. . . but if I told you he was dead, you would not believe me, would you? Your belief in him is stronger than your faith in my knowledge. You are unwilling to let him go. You are a woman of faith, after all. And if I told you he was alive, it would just reinforce your hopes.’

  She reached out her hand, touching his. ‘But if you told me, I could act. If he was alive, trapped somewhere, I could go to him, I could help him . . .’

  ‘And if he was dead?’

  The Scribe pulled away, holding her hand to her chest. ‘Is he?’

  ‘What would you do then?’ Gofal pressed.

  ‘I . . . I would find his killers and . . .’

  ‘And bring the rage of the Church down upon them. Yes, I know. Do you see my problem? I can tell you, and perhaps save one life, or perhaps condemn thousands. The only appropriate way forward is for events to unfold as they would, in their own time.’

  Anger caught in her eyes, then extinguished under her control.

  ‘Please,’ she said, tears forming. ‘I just need to know. Can you understand that? Not knowing, it’s too painful. I have to know.’

  Gofal stared at her. ‘You already know the future you desire. The rest is up to you.’

  She listened, letting his words sink in. Eventually, she wiped her face. ‘How does this end?’

  ‘We both know. When you have exhausted all of your questions you will have no choice but to let me go.’

  ‘I could destroy you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gofal said. ‘But my communion with the Infinite Gods would be lost forever. You could not allow that to happen.’

  The Scribe nodded, a fragile smile tightening her lips.

  ‘Now, may I leave?’ Gofal asked.

  XK-2526

  Reader Mallory always found the view from the flight deck of the arkship Gargan fascinating. She enjoyed watching the shifting mists of the Cluster as they swept over the sloping wall of glass, revealing hidden depths within the floating fragments of rock. She would come here to watch The Infinite rise out of the dust cloud, its unfiltered light striking the consoles, dazzling the eye. It was the perfect place for her mind to drift, the chatter of the officers becoming a soft jumble of background noise. But today her senses were alert, jangling her nerves.

  Outside, she could just make out the distant shape of the Ark Royal Caerleon, slowly retreating from the Carter & Grey shipyard. About the Gargan was the rest of the Draig fleet, a striking sight in amongst the tiny drone fighters of the shipyard, but Keres Mallory wasn’t watching them. She was waiting for her moment. Valtais Valine was on board the main hub of the shi
pyard, and the officers of the flight deck were distracted by their preparations for battle. This was the best time, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves.

  Her mouth was dry, her hands trembling as her heart thumped in her chest. She listened to the officers as she walked slowly towards an unoccupied console.

  ‘Drone fighters are picking off their ships, but they’ve cleared a section of the perimeter satellites.’

  Another voice responded. ‘Casimir field level is dipping in that section.’

  Mallory stood at the vacant console, still looking out to space. Her hand activated the database, and she began to scroll through the options.

  ‘The Caerleon is making for the break in the perimeter,’ another officer declared.

  Someone ran past Reader Mallory, and she tensed. She waited for a moment, then continued her search, accessing the restricted files on the arkship’s log. Most of it was routine; course adjustments, enemy fleet activity, operational reports, but then she found an entry for a detained craft. The Lupaus.

  Mallory’s pulse quickened. She glanced behind her at the activity on the flight deck. No one was watching her.

  The Lupaus had been captured months ago, its single occupant held in their detention cells since then, undergoing interrogation. They didn’t mention the prisoners name, just a reference number, but it could be only one person. The Lupaus was Derward Tarkkail’s ship. He was alive and on board the Gargan!

  Mallory shut down the log screen, making a mental note of the prisoner’s number: XK-2526.

  She waited by the console for a moment, trying to hide her excitement, then she returned to the windows. Outside, a chain of distant explosions lit up the gas cloud, forming a line of red. As the fire subsided, Mallory pictured Derward, alive, enduring Valine’s torture, and she knew what she had to do.

  She turned from the windows, suppressing her fear as she walked towards the exit.

  ACCEPTANCE

  ‘Approaching the edge of the Casimir field,’ Commander Watson said in a somber voice.

  The entire flight deck of the Caerleon had become quiet, just the necessary hush of voices as orders and reports were relayed between its officers. Detached from it all, Wynn felt like he was looking in on someone else’s grief. He was a passenger, lodged somewhere at the back of his own mind, along for the ride, barely aware of what his body was doing.

  Watson relayed information to him, calling out to her officers, but it all seemed so pointless. Bara was gone, and no amount of sensor scans of the debris would change that.

  ‘Prince Halstead?’

  Wynn looked up, wiping his face dry. Commander Watson was looking at him.

  ‘We have cleared the effects of the field. Cube drive is responding, we can be underway again in two minutes.’

  Two minutes . . . two minutes and he would be leaving her behind. He wasn’t sure he could do it.

  ‘How long till the Vengeance is here?’

  ‘The Vengeance? You mean the Evanine,’ Watson corrected.

  ‘Do not contradict me!’ Wynn bellowed. He had renamed the arkship Vengeance, using his mother’s name instead, wanting to create a future filled with peace and hope. A future with Bara.

  ‘Sorry, my prince,’ Watson said. ‘The Evanine and the Dulac fleet should be here soon. I can contact them to hold off.’

  ‘No,’ Wynn muttered. ‘We stand here. We fight here. We’ll make them pay for what they’ve done.’

  ‘You want to fight the Draig fleet? They outnumber us, and the shipyard’s defenses are–’

  ‘We fight!’ Wynn screamed.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Watson said, a look of terror in her eyes.

  As Wynn caught his breath he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Reader Aditsan by his side.

  ‘We mourn with you,’ Aditsan said in a low voice. ‘But more deaths will not bring her back.’

  Grief overwhelmed Wynn, and he could barely speak. The Reader held him in his arms, supporting him.

  ‘Do what she would have wanted,’ he said.

  The words haunted Wynn, and, as he pictured Bara’s face he knew what he must do.

  ‘Sound the retreat,’ he said as he moved away from the Reader. ‘Let’s get our people to safety.’

  Commander Watson smiled with relief. ‘Recall the fighters. Cube transit authorized.’

  ‘And contact the Evanine and the Dulac fleet. Tell them to halt their approach. We’ll send rendezvous co-ordinates when it’s safe to do so.’

  As the flight deck buzzed with activity, Wynn walked to the windows and stared into the debris-strewn cloud. He felt the rumble of the arkship’s Cube drive beneath his feet, preparing to steal them away from this forsaken place.

  ‘Goodbye, Bara,’ Wynn whispered.

  DRIFTING

  Everything was silent, just the low moan of the air filters forming a musical rhythm to mark the passing of time. She looked out of the tiny porthole, trying to see what was happening, but there was too much drifting debris around the escape pod. She was in its shadow, moving with the remains of her former home. Lexica was gone, but at least she was still alive.

  She checked the pod’s systems, but the console was dead. The launch sequence had stalled, and her escape had been only seconds before the explosion. The pod had been caught up in the shockwave, its systems damaged by impacts from the blast. But she was alive.

  Outside, she saw the Ark Royal Caerleon, passing over the debris cloud. They were looking for her, but her pod was dead, and the proximity of the wreckage, combined with the Casimir field, would hide her life signs from their scans. Did they know that? she wondered.

  ‘I’m here!’ she cried, banging on the glass. ‘I’m here!’

  The Caerleon moved away, becoming smaller and smaller. Then, space distorted around it, and the vast arkship disappeared, retreating into Cube transit. As it left, she cried out, knowing that she was alone.

  Her ship was destroyed, her pod’s systems damaged, and the Caerleon had left her behind. She was adrift and without hope. But she was alive. Bara was alive!

  For a long time, she did nothing, wallowing in her own pity as the escape pod drifted to the edge of the Casimir field. She rested, trying to rally her strength. ‘Come on, Bara,’ she whispered. ‘You can do this. You’re not dead yet.’

  Eventually, she sat up, checking over the tiny craft’s damaged equipment. ‘Okay, main computer interface is down . . . but I should be able to fly this manually.’ She smiled, relived. ‘There’s still fuel, and the thruster system’s working.’

  Bara removed a panel beneath her feet, finding the maneuvering thruster’s connections. She pulled at the cables, improvising direct control through the exposed connections. She touched two wires together and felt the reassuring push of the thrusters on the outer skin of the pod.

  ‘Great,’ she muttered to herself. ‘So, I can fly this thing, but where to?’

  The scanner wasn’t working. All she had was the tiny porthole window to guide her. She could see the distant lights of the shipyard twinkling through the expanding debris.

  Bara thought for a moment, weighing up the risks. Empty space meant a slow death, unless she could find a safe harbor. The pod’s range was limited, and without guidance she might drift for years . . . decades! But the opposite direction was no better: the shipyard meant a swift death at the hands of Valtais Valine. Her choice was an easy one.

  ‘Got to get out of the debris . . . and away from the Casimir field, if I want to be detected. Into empty space.’

  She tested her makeshift navigation control, working out which wire adjusted which thruster. After some trial and error, she managed to get the pod moving away from the shipyard. She watched it recede in the porthole, and, as the distance grew, the magnitude of her situation hit home. She mourned the loss of her ship, angry and frightened to be all alone in the cold of space.

  The pod cleared the debris field, drifting slowly past the destroyed perimeter satellites, out into the vast emptiness of
the Cluster.

  ‘I’m gonna die out here,’ she muttered, feeling the temperature start to drop. Bara rested, then she tackled the communication console, pulling it apart and circumventing the dead computer interface. Eventually, as her fingers started to go numb from the cold, she managed to get the device working. She laughed as voices filled the pod’s interior. It was the chatter of the shipyard, its control tower relaying inbound vessels to their docks. They had begun to clean up the dangerous debris from the battle, and already new satellites were being prepared to close the hole in their perimeter defenses. Within a few hours all signs of their struggle would have gone.

  ‘I’ll be gone by then too,’ Bara muttered, her teeth chattering.

  She looked at the com, tempted to signal to the shipyard, to let them know she was out here. Would they bother to come and get her, or just blow her up with the flick of a switch? She put the com down. Any signal would be useless. Better to drift, alone until death.

  She closed her eyes, curling up in the rigid seat, letting time pass by. The glare of The Infinite warmed her face. She smiled, enjoying the sensation, but then it was gone, cut off abruptly. She opened her eyes and saw the huge rectangle of an arkship gliding over her.

  At first, she thought it was one of the Draig arkships, returning to the shipyard, but as she stared at it, she realized she recognized it.

  ‘The . . . the . . . Benwick?’

  They wouldn’t have seen her, Bara realized quickly. She was just a tiny speck of dust, only visible if they ran a sensor sweep. She hit the com panel, shouting, ‘Benwick, this is . . . this is Bara, request evac . . .’

  She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. It was hard to focus, but she saw the arkship slowing, as the Draig fleet moved closer. Explosions lit up the space between them, silent patterns of color and light.

  ‘Benwick . . . I’m here. Please . . .’

  Bara dropped the com, her fingers unable to hold it any longer. She slumped back into the chair, her head resting against the restraint. Outside, through the restricted window, she watched the eruptions of battle, getting closer and closer.