Arkship Alliance

by Niel Bushnell

  A blinding light filled the pod. At first, she thought it was another explosion, but she saw it was a spotlight from a small ship outside. She tried to reach the com, but she couldn’t move. As the light shifted over the pod, her eyes closed. The faint crackle of the com caught her ears, then nothing. Just darkness and silence.

  THE FOOL

  The funeral was a private affair, just Wynn and a handful of close friends, as Bara would have wanted it. Reader Aditsan gave a fine eulogy, surprising Wynn with his insight into her character. He spoke as if he had known her for years instead of months. By contrast, Wynn struggled to find the words to sum up his relationship with his wife and, when he stumbled through his speech, he was glad the ceremony was not being broadcast to the rest of the arkship.

  Afterwards, he sat in the chapel, not wanting to leave. The others gave their condolences, filing out until just Wynn and the Reader remained.

  ‘Thank you,’ Wynn said to Aditsan as he approached.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your eulogy. You have a rare insight into people.’

  Reader Aditsan thought about this for a moment, his eyes finding the structure of The Infinite that hung at the end of the chapel. ‘Not really. People are simple.’

  ‘Simple?’

  The Reader nodded. ‘Needs, wants, desires, goals, duty, expectations. Input, output, that’s all.’

  Wynn stared at the Reader’s old face, glad of the distraction. His wiry beard obscured the lower part of his face, emphasizing his heavy eyes. The skin about them had become wrinkled, pulling at his features. Only his jutting nose seemed unaffected by the years. His hair was receding, but what remained was long, and often unruly.

  ‘Are we so obvious to you?’ Wynn asked.

  Reader Aditsan smiled. ‘I’m an old man. After a while you see the same patterns, the same people with different faces.’

  ‘What do you see in me?’ Wynn asked.

  The Reader tensed, becoming more formal. ‘We should get going, they’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘Let them wait. I’m interested, Reader. You can speak freely. Don’t be afraid.’

  Reader Aditsan pulled his gaze away from the effigy of The Infinite and locked eyes with Wynn. He was unblinking, intent to the point of intimidation. ‘You are young . . . impulsive and self-assured, as all young people are. But you are arrogant as well. You assume that your lineage and title give you an insight and understanding that others lack. That arrogance has led you into battle. You have made bad decisions, and people have died because of those choices. You seek out advice from those around you, and then you ignore that advice. You think this makes you a strong leader, someone who knows their mind. It does not. It makes you insecure and weak. You are eroding the loyalty of those closest to you. Eventually, you will stand alone, which is probably what you want.’

  Wynn listened, stunned by the Reader’s candor. His first impulse was to chastise him, to walk away and dismiss his comments. But he remained seated.

  ‘It is your sense of duty that is your true driver,’ Reader Aditsan continued, his voice low. ‘You do not want to be leader. You do not feel worthy. Your biggest fear is that you will destroy that which your ancestors created, so you seek to defend it at all costs. You fight battles in the name of history. The loss of the Obsidian – and your father – still weigh heavily on your shoulders. Someone must pay for it! That is your undoing, Prince Halstead. You cannot let go of the past, of tradition. Your intentions are just, but your actions are not. You lead your people into war after war, eroding your powerbase while you alienate those around you, like your late wife.’

  ‘Bara?’

  The Reader nodded sadly. ‘The rot was there to see. You no longer treated her as an equal. She was the Duchess, a statue to worship. Her free spirit, her humor, her curiosity, all the things that you fell in love with, were incompatible with the role you wanted her to play. She gave up so much for you; her job on the Engine Deck, her independence, her identity, all for love. And what did you give in return? Nothing! You were the prince, after all. If she had survived, your time together would have been limited, unless you had changed.’

  Wynn listened, feeling as if he had been pierced with a knife. He couldn’t stand, thinking about the Reader’s words, feeling pressure grow in his head. The pain was all the more acute because Wynn knew he was right.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know what to do,’ Wynn confessed.

  ‘That is a start. Admitting our weaknesses is the only way we can grow beyond them. You are a child in the body of a prince. You are Wynn, wanting to be Prince Halstead. You have to let go of the expectations of the past and allow yourself the space to grow. You have been a fool, Prince Halstead.’

  Wynn broke down, overwhelmed by his regrets.

  ‘I do not say this to upset you,’ Reader Aditsan continued. ‘You asked, I told. And if I cannot be honest with you then there is little point me being here. If you wish me to leave, I can return to Icarus and find you a replacement.’

  Wynn shook his head, unable to speak.

  ‘Very well. Today is a day for mourning, not only for Bara, but also for the man you thought you should be. You must let him go.’

  Wynn crumpled into the Reader’s arms as the grief consumed him.

  THE SECRET

  Even before she opened her eyes, Bara knew she was safe. She could hear the reassuring sounds of voices coming and going, her fingers sensed the soft embrace of a bed, and she could smell the rich perfume of flowers. Her body ached all over, her eyes stung from the bright lights, but it didn’t matter. Against the odds, she had survived the isolation of her escape pod and she was . . .

  Where exactly was she?

  Bara opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the brutal lights. The room was small, stark in decoration, just the bed and a small table next to it. Resting on top of the table was a vase of freshly-cut flowers. She hadn’t seen real flowers since Melchior, and the thought of her lost home brought a sting of sorrow to her eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch them, but she still felt weak. She smiled to herself, inhaling their rare scent. Feeling rested, she turned her head to look at the other side of the room, and she jumped at the sight of a man sitting there.

  He grinned with relief, leaning closer to check on her. ‘How do you feel?’

  His deep voice made her feel safe. Those eyes, playful, yet with an edge of sadness to them. She knew him, she was certain, but his name refused to come to her.

  ‘Where . . . where am I?’ she asked, her mouth dry.

  ‘You’re on board the Benwick, Bara. We found you just in time.’

  ‘The Benwick . . .’ A memory returned to her. ‘You’re . . . you’re Faron Dulac.’

  He smiled, nodding. What do you remember?’

  ‘We were trying to escape from the shipyard . . . I was on board Lexica . . .’ She pictured her beloved ship, breaking apart.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Faron said, his hand finding hers. ‘You’re safe now. We found you adrift in your escape pod.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘The Caerleon managed to get away. Prince Halstead is fine, although he doesn’t know about you yet.’

  She tried to lift her head off the pillow, but everything ached. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re a casualty of war, Bara.’

  ‘He thinks I’m dead?’

  Faron nodded solemnly.

  Bara pictured her husband, knowing how grief-stricken he would be. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she was safe and end his suffering. But even as she thought of him, there was another part of her that felt free. She was dead, she could do whatever she liked now. She could–

  No, she told herself, those were dangerous thoughts. Selfish thoughts. A wave of guilt forced her to sit up.

  ‘Steady!’ Faron cautioned. ‘There’s no rush.’

  ‘I should contact Wynn,’ she said as she tried to get out of bed. It was such an effort.

&nbs
p; ‘There’s time for that. We’re out of com range, so there’s nothing you can do for the next few hours. We’re going to meet the Kenric fleet to discuss our next move. And I can’t wait to see the look on the prince’s face when you walk off my shuttle!’ Faron grinned, reassuring her.

  Bara gave in, returning to the comfort of the bed. She closed her eyes, feeling safe. As she began to drift towards sleep, she heard Faron stand. His lips touched her forehead, a secret kiss, then the noise of his feet drifted away, and the room became silent.

  INTERVENTION

  ‘We cannot simply disassemble him!’

  Reader Mori glared at the Scribe, his features tense, nothing moving except his fingers which he tapped together in front of him. ‘With respect, Scribe, you are wrong. It is within our power. It is for the greater good.’

  The Scribe threw down the pad and stood, turning her back on the table. Reader Mori was more and more willful, openly questioning her decisions in front of the rest of the Circle, her highest-ranking Readers and Librarians. She waited, calming herself, knowing that none of the others would speak until she turned around once more. When she did, they were all standing, awaiting her return to the seat.

  She sat, waiting until the table was still once more. ‘Readers . . . Librarians, forgive my temper, but I feel strongly on this point. Gofal is a unique individual, and we have to judge him on those terms, not as a bot.’

  ‘The rules on the rights of machines are clear,’ Reader Mori stated. ‘They are subservient. They are not conscious. They are not our equals.’

  ‘This one is,’ the Scribe insisted. ‘He has been chosen by the Infinite Gods. He has been given this information by them. We must respect their choice.’

  Reader Tremblay leaned into the table, catching her eye. ‘But why him? Why this bot rather than you, or one of the Church’s Readers? It makes no sense.’

  ‘They are the Infinite Gods, Reader. It is not our place to question their reasoning.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, I would not dare to,’ Reader Mori said, deliberately dragging his words out. The Scribe wondered if he did it on purpose. Perhaps he thought it made him sound more compelling. It was an annoying habit, and it seemed to be getting more extreme with age. He took a sharp breath in through his nose, then continued. ‘But the information stored in this bot’s cerebral matrix is highly valuable.’

  ‘Not to mention dangerous,’ a voice added from the far side of the circular table. It was Librarian Horst. Usually, she was loyal to the Scribe’s point-of-view, but not today. It seemed the table was against her.

  ‘I am aware of this,’ the Scribe said, keeping her voice measured. ‘Gofal’s information on the future could be invaluable to us, or spell disaster in the wrong hands.’

  ‘That is why disassembly is the safest option,’ Reader Mori asserted. ‘If we cannot decode the information in the bot’s brain then it is our duty to store it in our archive. At least then we can be assured it will not fall into the wrong hands. It is the safest option, Scribe. Shall we put it to the vote?’

  Mori was pushing her into a corner. She was losing this argument.

  ‘You are right, Reader Mori. Your argument is considered and wise,’ the Scribe replied. ‘Our safest option is to secure Gofal so that the data can never be accessed. That is the prudent choice. But if we do that, then why are we here? Why do we don these robes?’ She lifted the golden medallion of The Infinite that hung around her neck. ‘Why do we worship this?’

  She paused, impaling each of them with her icy stare.

  ‘For the first time in living memory, the Infinite Gods have reached out and made contact. They have touched the minds of Prince Halstead and Gofal. They have implanted information into their brains. In Halstead’s case, it seems to have been specific to his situation at the time, helping him to rescue the woman who is now his wife. By this act, this intervention, the Infinite Gods have changed the course of our future, have they not? They have given a gift of foresight to Prince Halstead; specific information for a specific purpose. We can see the results of their intervention, we understand it, therefore we do not fear it. Then there is the case of the bot, Gofal. His information is very different: precise and clear. He knows the future in all its detail. Yet we cannot imagine why this is so. We cannot see the reasoning. We do not understand, so we fear it. We wish to lock it up, to contain it and move on to things that we are certain of.’

  The Scribe rested, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘Both of these individuals have been touched by the very Gods you all proport to worship! Both of these people are instruments of the Infinite Gods. But why these two, over any of us? Why are they worthy, and we are not? And why a bot over a human? These are questions for which I have no answers. But are we to start to question the will of the Infinite Gods? Is it now our role to challenge them at every turn? If that is so, then the very foundations of our Church must crumble and fall. Is that what you want? Do you all defy the will of our Gods?’ She looked at Reader Mori alone now. ‘Does any one of you understand their intent? Are you so confident – so arrogant! – in your interpretation that you would stand in the way of their gift?’

  She leaned back in her chair, her heart beating.

  The eyes of the Readers and Librarians faced the table. No one would meet her gaze, except for Reader Mori.

  ‘What would you have us do?’ he asked.

  ‘Release him.’

  There was an audible gasp around the table, a mummer of hushed words.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Reader Mori said. ‘I do not understand–’

  ‘No, I can see that.’ the Scribe interrupted. ‘We were never meant to know about Gofal. Outside of this room, there’s just a handful of people who know about his gift. His purpose is still a mystery, but he cannot fulfill that purpose sat in our archive! It is not our place to interfere with his destiny. Therefore, we must free him. If we truly believe in the Infinite Gods then Gofal’s release it is our only option.’

  Librarian Horst nodded. ‘Yes, I concur. Forgive my short-sightedness, Scribe.’

  The Scribe smiled maternally. ‘Do not worry, we have all struggled to see the true path in this matter.’

  Mori shook his head, his cheeks flushed. ‘You are releasing an unknown variable into the plan.’

  ‘Very well! Run the simulations. Tell me what effect this will have on the plan.’ The Scribe waited, already knowing the outcome. She had gone over the plan in great detail, running various simulations for the last five hours.

  Reader Mori activated the table’s holograph, the lights faded, and the visual representation of the plan flickered into the air above them. The equations were like a fragile web, stretching out in three dimensions from a central point: today. At the other end, was the restoration of the sun and the solar system, a mathematical possibility that the Church worked towards.

  Somewhere in the dimmed room, Librarian Horst spoke. ‘This is the current approved equation state . . .’

  The holograph faded, then reformed. The equations shifted, cancelling each other out, new numbers and letters appearing, shifting positions, until the point of restoration slid closer to the starting point.

  ‘The shift is huge!’ someone said.

  One clump of equations continued to change, constantly solving then reforming. As they did the end point jolted back and forth between the old position and the new.

  ‘What does this mean?’ Horst asked.

  ‘Gofal is a vertex,’ Scribe Barrahaus said. ‘His part in the plan is critical. But the percentage point is too fine for us to be certain of his influence. The equation cannot be resolved.’

  ‘So, we do not know how this will affect the plan?’ Reader Mori asked.

  The Scribe said nothing. She had planted the seed of Gofal’s potential. It was up to the others to find the right conclusions.

  As the Circle stared at the shifting constellation of numbers and equations, Librarian Horst spoke. ‘It seems clear to me that there are greater minds
at play than ours. We must step aside and let the future unfold. Readers, Librarians, Scribe: I propose we vote to release Gofal.’

  A murmur of agreement spread through the room, and the Scribe allowed herself a tiny smile.

  RETURN

  Wynn pulled at his collar, fighting with his ceremonial tunic as Faron Dulac’s shuttle came to rest in the hanger bay of the Ark Royal Caerleon. He hadn’t worn this since his wedding and It was too tight around his chest now. He’d put weight on during their brief honeymoon, not much, but enough to make his tunic tighter than he’d like. He should have tried it on last night, there would have been time to have it adjusted. He cursed himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for her return. Bara was alive, and she was coming home to him. Wynn was going to make it right this time. No more arguments. He would show her how much he loved her.

  As the ramp to the shuttle opened, the two lines of trumpeters began their fanfare. The Kenric anthem echoed around the chamber as Faron Dulac appeared. He smiled, enjoying the cheers of the massed crowd, then he stepped aside and revealed Bara. The noise became deafening, a chorus of shouting, cheering and clapping.

  Bara hesitated, looking trapped, hiding in the half-shadow of the shuttle. Wynn walked to meet her, suppressing the urge to run and scoop her up in his arms. He fought with his grin, trying to keep a sense of nobility as the distance between them shortened.

  There she was, standing before him. Alive! He felt like he was dreaming. She grinned at him, reaching out to touch his hand. They embraced, but it was not as he had imagined it. Instead of passion and intimacy, the moment was full of self-conscious restraint. He should have kept this a private reunion, he realized.

  They turned to face the crowd and, at the sight of their prince and duchess reunited, the people shouted in joyous uproar.

  ‘They’re pleased to see you,’ Wynn said, trying to be heard above the noise. ‘As am I.’