Arkship Conquest

by Niel Bushnell

  Valine stepped back from him, wondering what was going through his mind. ‘He’s alive, Halstead. I’ve spoken to him. Orcades Draig survives, and he’s coming here, to the inauguration.’

  Halstead struggled to be free, his mouth forming slurred approximations of words.

  ‘Sshh,’ Valine said, placing a finger on his lips. She pressed a button on the com unit by the bed, listening as the recording played.

  ‘I’m going to rip you apart and drink from your skull. I’ve already taken control of Orava’s faction, and Waffron is dead. His people bow to me once more. They are part of the House of Draig again. What do I want? I want to give you notice, that your life is coming to an end. That is what I want. Do you understand?’

  Valine turned the device off, watching the prince’s surprise. ‘Yes, you recognize him, don’t you? His voice checks out, it’s him. Orcades Draig is alive.’ She held up a pad to his face, showing him the voice match.

  Halstead remained still, waiting for Valine to speak.

  ‘This is an opportunity, for us both,’ she said. ‘This is our chance to work together. The House of Draig wasn’t ready to accept me as their leader, I see that now. They need someone like Orcades, a figurehead they can rally round, someone they would spill their blood for. I am not that leader, not yet.’ Valine felt a pull of emotion as she gave voice to her most secret doubts, trying to hide behind a casual smile. ‘But they would follow you, Halstead. The half-brother of Orcades Draig, the man who beat him in battle. There are many Kenric sympathizers in our ranks, many of your former Kenric arkships that Orcades commandeered. They would bow to you.’

  Halstead’s eyes followed her as she walked round the bed. Good, he was considering her suggestion. It played to his ego, after all.

  ‘Remember those refugees you rescued from the Fenrir? They ran out of supplies last month, but I took them in. They are loyal to me now. They would support you, they would follow Prince Halstead. Yes! You see it, don’t you? A glorious union between the House of Kenric and the House of Draig, with you as prince of both, and me by your side, the power behind the throne.’

  Halstead watched her, subdued, thinking through her offer.

  ‘I have laid the foundations,’ she explained. ‘All you need to do is agree. Many of the commodores are prepared to follow us. I have made plans. When Orcades Draig comes to the Firmament, you will kill him. Finally, completely, permanently. Then, you will take his place, you will declare a truce between the houses. You will bring an end to years of war, and we will have peace. Isn’t that worth the price of an alliance with me? Isn’t that better than more fighting? Isn’t that what you want, Halstead?’

  She watched him, letting her words sink in.

  ‘All I need from you is an answer, a single blink to tell me that you agree to my proposal. If not, then you are free to go. You can return to your people and carry on your bloody conflict with him. Well? What will it be?’

  Valine stared into his face, waiting.

  Halstead’s eyes narrowed. Was he smiling? she wondered.

  Then he blinked.

  THE PROPHET

  ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I can hear you clearly,’ Gofal replied. He recognized the voice immediately. It belonged to the new Scribe.

  ‘Can you see me now?’

  Gofal’s visual systems blipped into life. He was in a tiny room, devoid of clutter, just four plain walls and a door. He was stood, but a harness kept him pinned to the wall. He couldn’t move his body, just his head. ‘You have disabled me.’

  ‘A precaution,’ Scribe Mori said. He was watching him from the entrance, his back to the door, as if he didn’t dare come any closer.

  Gofal sensed the subtle differences in the air, the slight variance in the grav lines, the tell-tale changes in motion. ‘We are no longer on the Icarus?’

  Mori smiled, impressed. ‘I had you brought to me, here on the Firmament.’

  ‘Why am I here?’

  Mori sighed, lowering his head, as if in shame. ‘Because of what you know.’

  ‘Your predecessor has already detained me. I’m sure you are aware of our discussion. This is a waste of time, Scribe Mori.’

  ‘Perhaps . . .’ Mori refused to look up, sighing again.

  ‘You are troubled.’

  Finally, the Scribe stared at him, a startled expression on his face, as if Gofal had just revealed a secret. ‘Yes, you are right. I am troubled, and I have no one to talk to.’

  ‘You can talk to me.’

  Mori smiled, relieved. ‘That is an excellent idea. I think we might get on well, don’t you?’

  ‘If I was not restrained and disabled, I might agree.’

  ‘I’m sorry, truly, but it is necessary.’

  ‘Why? I am not a threat to you.’

  ‘Not to me, no, but to the Church.’

  Gofal began to understand. It was the old fear returning. ‘This is because of my knowledge of the future, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it true?’ Mori asked, leaving the safety of the door and taking a step towards Gofal.

  ‘Yes, it’s true. I communicated with the beings you identify as the Infinite Gods and they showed me information on the future.’

  ‘You have seen the future?’

  ‘In detail, yes.’

  ‘Then you can understand why people are afraid of you.’

  ‘I understand,’ Gofal replied, ‘but it is unnecessary. I have taken certain safety measures to ensure that the information does not fall into the hands of others.’

  Mori nodded, but he still seemed distracted by his thoughts. ‘You are a bot, a machine driven by a complex set of commands. You are a servant, with a keen interest in art, but you’re also trained to kill. You have taken life.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘How does that make you feel?’

  The question took Gofal by surprise. ‘I’m not sure I understand the context of your question.’

  Mori edged closer. ‘It is a simple question that any human could answer. I have killed, does that surprise you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gofal replied.

  ‘It was a long time ago, a necessary evil, something I was ordered to do. You have been ordered to kill, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I obeyed my orders, without question, but even all these years later, I can tell you exactly how I felt. The guilt remains with me, a burden I carry every day. But also, the excitement, the fear, the exultation! I remember it all, like it was yesterday.’

  ‘Strong emotions do not easily diminish with time.’

  Mori smiled. ‘You avoid the question. Yes, you avoid it, because you have no answer for it. Killing is what makes us human. It is the first thing we learned to do. It is what allowed us to dream. Before, we huddled in fear, stealing moments of rest. After, we relaxed, and dreams followed.’

  ‘And nightmares, no doubt?’

  ‘Yes, those too. But only by killing could we grow and learn and strive for more. That is what it means to be human. That is what you cannot comprehend, because you have not been programmed to feel it.’

  ‘That is not true,’ Gofal replied. ‘I learn and adapt. I have grown beyond my incept programming. I can feel fear. I can dream.’

  ‘But you do not have the memory of your ancestors to give context to your feelings. You are a child, crying but not knowing why. You feel fear, but do not understand the consequence of that reaction. You are a facsimile of emotions, that is all.’

  ‘What is your point, Scribe?’

  ‘My point?’ Mori thought for a moment. ‘My point is that you are not worthy of this gift.’

  ‘That is your judgement.’

  ‘It is the truth.’

  Gofal didn’t reply. It was pointless trying to justify what had happened to him.

  ‘And yet, the Infinite Gods have chosen you,’ Mori continued. ‘You are their prophet. Why do you think that is?’

  ‘I have no answers for you.’

  Mori stared
at Gofal, his face betraying his disappointment. ‘If not you, then who? Who can answer my questions? You are the closest thing we have to a link to the Infinite Gods, and you don’t have any answers. You were chosen, I was merely in the right place at the right time. I may be Scribe, but you are a higher authority, Gofal. You spoke to them, you know the future, so answer me! What does it mean?’

  ‘Again, I do not understand the context of your question.’

  Mori turned away. ‘What’s the point? None of it means anything, does it? It’s all a lie. I’ve worked my entire life for . . .’ He stopped, composing himself. ‘Ignore me. This is about you, and what you have discovered. You weren’t satisfied with knowing the future, were you? You had to start digging into the past as well.’

  ‘Ah,’ Gofal said, understanding. ‘You know of my findings from the archive in Library One?’

  ‘Of course I know!’ Mori replied, sounding irritable. ‘You have uncovered a secret only known to the Scribe, a secret I have only just been made aware of myself, a secret so . . .’

  Mori closed his eyes, his face to the ceiling. He looked as if he might cry. ‘I can’t go on, Gofal. I can’t be Scribe. How am I supposed to do it, knowing what I know? How did any of them do it?’

  ‘Because, if you do not continue the lie, there might be chaos.’

  ‘That is the fear, isn’t it? But surely it is better to know the truth?’

  ‘Again, I have no answers for you.’

  ‘But you know the truth now, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then say it. Speak it out loud so that I will know.’

  ‘Very well,’ Gofal said, wondering what purpose it would serve. ‘The founders of the Church caused the Fracture. They were scientists who experimented with matter and space and time. They lost control of their experiment, and the Cluster is the outcome.’

  Mori listened, then tears fell from his eyes. ‘Then it’s true. I had prayed it was not so. It’s all a lie.’ He stepped closer, lost in the conflict of his thoughts. ‘But the Gods, they must be real?’

  ‘They are not gods.’

  ‘Then what are they?’

  Gofal hesitated, trying to determine the best way to explain it. ‘I am not sure, not yet.’

  ‘But they spoke to you,’ Mori said, his bloodshot eyes looking at him hopefully. ‘They told you of the future. Gofal, I must know. What did they say of me? Will I be a good Scribe? How can I, knowing what I know?’

  ‘It seems that all Scribes have lived with this lie. You must follow the path you think is best for you and the Church.’

  ‘But you know what will happen, don’t you?’ Mori’s voice was desperate now, pleading with Gofal for some insight. He could tell him, but would that do any good? Would it stop him from committing the crimes that lay ahead of him? He was sure the future was set, but perhaps it was worth the risk.

  ‘You will not be a good Scribe,’ Gofal said at last. ‘You will drag the Church into its darkest period. You will commit atrocities in the name of peace and be remembered as the Crimson Scribe, the man bathed in blood.’

  Mori stared at him, dumbfounded, then he began to laugh, and Gofal realized it had been a pointless effort. The future was fixed, inevitable and unavoidable.

  THOUGHTS

  ‘I tell you, I’m fine!’ Bara insisted as the medical team fussed over her.

  ‘I’ll feel happier once the tests are complete,’ Faron said, reassuring her with his smile.

  She gave in, glad that he was beside her, and turned to look at the scan of her baby on the screen. Everything was normal, his heart beating out a reassuring rhythm. Bara listened, the noise soothing her, calming her inner fears.

  ‘Want to talk about it’ Faron asked.

  ‘Talk about what?’ Bara knew what he meant, but she wasn’t going to make this easy.

  Faron shook his head in frustration. ‘You going on a joy ride through the Cluster.’

  ‘Sol! I just took the Gallus for a spin. I can still do that! I might be pregnant, but I can still do things. I’m an engineer and a pilot. That’s not gone away. I’ve not forgotten how to do all of those things!’ Bara stopped, realizing she was shouting.

  ‘I would never stop you going out there,’ Faron said, his voice soft and reassuring.

  ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘Of course not!’ He smiled again, extinguishing her anger. Wynn . . . Halstead had tried to do just that. He’d forbidden her from putting herself in danger. He’d smothered her, killing the love between them.

  ‘Bara, I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you doing anything you wanted,’ Faron said. ‘You can still fly, you can pull apart all the ships you want, just tell me, okay?’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘You’re not going to try to ground me?’

  ‘I don’t think I could.’

  ‘No,’ she laughed, ‘you couldn’t!’ Bara took his hand, contented. Eventually, her thoughts turned to Halstead, and her smile faded away.

  ‘You’re thinking of him again, aren’t you?’ Faron asked quietly.

  ‘Sorry. How was he with you?’

  Faron laughed sadly. ‘He’s angry and looking for someone to blame. Sometimes that’s me.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll affect the Union?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t let his feelings jeopardize that. I just have to keep my distance, for a while.’

  One of the medical staff approached, waiting until Faron acknowledged him.

  ‘Mother and child are in fine health,’ the medic said. ‘You’re free to leave.’

  Faron helped her to her feet, watching her step. He was always there when she needed him, reassuring her, comforting her. He was everything she needed, but she couldn’t help thinking about Halstead.

  COMMUNICATION

  Orcades Draig gazed at the spires of the Firmament with contempt. Just being this close to the Church’s sacred station set his teeth on edge. But there was work to do: he was here to announce his return, and to destroy Valine. One day, he would do the same to the Church of the Infinite.

  He counted more than thirty arkships, drifting through the dark clouds, moving closer and closer to the Firmament. It was an old tradition, a choreographed dance that brought the arkships into shuttle range of the ancient station. Then, at the appointed time, the great and the good of the Cluster would travel to the ceremony and pay their respects to the new Scribe. It reinforced the Church’s position, making sure that everyone else was kept beneath their boot, and Orcades hated everything about it.

  ‘Message from the Firmament,’ Commodore Orava announced. ‘They welcome us and ask us to follow their flight plan.’

  Orcades turned from the windows and smiled at his commodore. ‘I don’t think we got that message. Maintain course.’

  Orava’s face betrayed his uncertainty, then he nodded and returned to his console.

  Orcades walked to join Orava, enjoying the mischief and confusion.

  The Church signaled again, and Orava looked up at his Valtais.

  Orcades raised his hand. ‘Let them wait.’

  The signal repeated, the voice becoming more insistent that they respond. Orcades waited, letting the minutes stretch out until the voice became more aggressive.

  ‘Hold you position, Haukr. You are not authorized to approach. If you do not respond, you will be fired upon.’

  Orcades picked up the com unit, dragging out every motion. ‘Firmament, this is Valtais Orcades Draig of the House of Draig. I would speak with your Scribe.’

  ‘Hold your position, Haukr, and comply with our orders.’

  ‘I will speak to the Scribe.’

  There was a pause. Orcades kept his eyes fixed on the view from the windows, feeling Orava staring at him in nervous anticipation.

  ‘Haukr, the Scribe is busy. Hold position, and comply with–’

  ‘You will comply!’ Orcades fumed. ‘I will speak to the Scribe, now!’

  The com went
dead.

  ‘Weapons lock!’ an officer called out. ‘Firmament defenses are targeting us.’

  ‘Lock our weapons on the station,’ Orcades said, his voice measured.

  Commodore Orava glanced between his Valtais and the other officers. ‘Valtais?’

  ‘You have an order,’ Orcades said. ‘Please do not make me repeat it.’

  ‘Yes, Valtais.’ Orava turned to speak to his officers. ‘Target the station, lock weapons. Charge up the Gilgore grid, prepare fighters for launch.’

  The seconds ticked by as the Haukr drifted closer to the Firmament. The flight deck was like a frozen image, full of tense statues.

  ‘What do you want, Haukr?’ This was a different voice on the com. He sounded older, full of irritation.

  ‘Who is this?’ Orcades asked.

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Scribe Mori,’ Orcades replied, grinning triumphantly. ‘It’s good to hear your voice. Congratulations on your promotion. We’ve not met before, I don’t think. I am Orcades Draig, Valtais of the House of Draig.’

  ‘I know who you are. I am very busy, Draig.’

  ‘I’m honored you’ve heard of me, Scribe, and I’m grateful for your time.’

  The Scribe waited. ‘And?’

  Orcades let the silence drag out.

  ‘Draig? Are you there?’

  Orcades’ eyes became bitter lines. ‘Valtais. That is the correct way to address me, Scribe.’

  ‘Valtais, will you comply with the dock master’s orders?’

  Orcades’ smile was empty, rictus like a painted mask. ‘The House of Draig will comply with your request. I look forward to meeting you soon, Scribe, face to face.’

  ‘Thank you, Valtais, I also–’

  Orcades cut the connection, and the Scribe’s voice died. He turned to Orava, satisfied. ‘Do as the dock master requests.’

  ‘Yes, Valtais.’

  Orcades returned to the windows. He was in control, not the Church. And yet, as he stared at the vague smear of the Firmament, his feeling of triumph began to fade, and the gnawing sense of doubt, of violation, returned. He felt like he was being used, a pawn in someone else’s game, and the Church was behind it. He couldn’t live with this sense of doubt. The closer it got to the Firmament, the more certain Orcades became; the only way to extinguish this sense of abuse, was to kill the Scribe.