Arkship Conquest

by Niel Bushnell

  ‘What?’ the Scribe said impatiently.

  ‘But the restricting factor that keeps us from actually harnessing time travel is energy,’ Gofal said. ‘In order to manipulate time, you would need a tremendous amount of energy, perhaps even as much as the output of a star . . .’

  Scribe Mori glowered at him. ‘Will you tell me of the future?’

  ‘I cannot.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Mori asked, raising his voice.

  ‘Only that you accept my silence on this matter.’

  The Scribe edged closer. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Then we have reached an impasse.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mori nodded. ‘Perhaps we have. You know I could destroy you.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I have faith in your reasoning,’ Gofal replied.

  Mori chuckled sadly. ‘I become more unreasonable by the minute, Gofal. You will tell me what I need to know, or you will die.’

  ‘Then I choose death.’

  Mori stormed up to Gofal, his rage unleased. ‘Then death is what you will receive,’ he shouted, spittle falling onto Gofal’s face. ‘If I walk out of this door without your co-operation, we will not speak again, and your existence will be at an end.’

  ‘Then the gift of knowledge given to me by the beings you say you worship will be lost forever.’

  ‘Better that than it remains inside your head!’ Mori said, banging his fist against the bot’s metallic skull. ‘This is not what the Gods wanted.’

  ‘You speak for them now?’ Gofal asked calmly.

  ‘I am Scribe!’ Mori screamed. ‘I speak for the Infinite Gods, and I find you unworthy of their gift.’

  He waited, expecting a response, but Gofal gave none. Cursing he turned for the door, stopping to take one last look at his prisoner, then he left the room. The door remained open, and he could hear voices further along the corridor beyond. After a moment, two guards of the Inquisition appeared. They wore long robes, similar to the purple garb of a Reader, but theirs were an icy blue. Their heads were hidden behind faceless masks that hinted at the contours beneath. The pair stood over Gofal, his reflection caught in the smooth surface of their eerie masks. Each carried the ceremonial weapon of their rank, a long staff-like device called a partisan. One of the Inquisitor’s raised the weapon and pointed it at Gofal’s face.

  He tensed, wanting to pull at the restraints, but his body refused to work. This wasn’t how Gofal expected to meet his end. This was wrong! His memories of the future were different, and with that realization the ice-cold blade of fear took hold of him.

  The Inquisitor’s partisan filled his view. He could see the finger pressing down on the discrete button hidden on the shaft, and then–

  WITNESS

  Librarian Gina Horst watched the camera feed from Gofal’s interrogation room, surprised that she was crying. He was just a bot, a machine made to serve humans, his destruction shouldn’t affect her like this. After all, she’d witnessed far worse in her time as a Librarian.

  She wiped her face, unable to look away as the Inquisitor’s partisan fired. Gofal’s head tore in two, and his cerebral matrix disintegrated into thousands of burning pieces of polymer and metal. A dark shadow smeared the perfect white walls behind his useless body as his fractured skull fell away. One of the Inquisitors prodded at the ruined bot with his partisan, then they both turned to leave, and the room fell into a dispassionate silence.

  The only noise now was Gina’s soft sobs.

  ALONE

  Prince Halstead walked the consecrated corridors of the Firmament with Reader Aditsan by his side, sensing an uneasy tension coming from his friend and mentor. He’d said nothing since they had landed, keeping silent as they were herded from the hanger bay towards the main chamber.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Halstead asked eventually.

  Reader Aditsan didn’t respond.

  Halstead stopped him. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You will be late,’ Aditsan said.

  ‘This is because of Valine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is! What else would it be about?’ Aditsan responded angrily, continuing along the passage.

  Halstead followed, feeling isolated. The corridors were made of a dark orange stone, polished and adorned with intricate carvings, thousands of faces that seemed to watch their passing.

  ‘I don’t understand your objection,’ Halstead said. ‘This could end the conflict. We could have peace. Isn’t that worth it?’

  ‘Not if you’re dead. Why must you always rush in without thinking? You’re alone here, without a weapon, in the most secure station in the Cluster. All you’ll accomplish is a severe reduction in your lifespan!’

  ‘This is our chance,’ Halstead insisted.

  ‘You know, you’re a lot like him. I met him once, years ago.’

  ‘Orcades?’ Halstead checked, surprised by Aditsan’ s admission.

  ‘He was just a boy; hot headed, willful, so certain of his own opinion. Sound familiar?’

  The Reader’s words stung him. ‘I’m nothing like him!’

  Aditsan’s eyes widened, a wordless accusation. Halstead recoiled, feeling threatened.

  ‘You can’t see it, can you?’ Aditsan asked.

  ‘I am not like Orcades,’ Halstead attested. But this wasn’t the first time he’d heard this argument, and part of him feared it might be true.

  ‘I’ll go to the ceremony, but I’m not staying with you.’ Aditsan halted at the end of the corridor, lowering his voice to a sad whisper. ‘Halstead, you’re my prince and my friend. I can’t stand by and watch you do this. I’ll speak to the Scribe afterwards. If you’re still alive, he can arrange for a new Reader to be assigned to you.’

  ‘You’re resigning?’ Halstead asked, shocked.

  ‘You leave me no choice.’ Reader Aditsan rested his hand on Halstead’s shoulder, looking as if he might say more, then he turned his back on him and walked away.

  Prince Halstead watched him go. He wanted to run after him, to persuade him to stay, but he refused to relent. He was Prince Halstead, he wasn’t a child any more. Since his father’s death, he’d reached out to others for paternal support; Gofal, Tanis, Derward, then Aditsan. All of them had gone, and it was time for him to grow up.

  He had no one to turn to now. No friends, no wife, no one except Valine.

  CONSEQUENCES

  When he was a small boy, Faron Dulac had watched the inauguration of the previous Scribe from the comfort of his bedroom. It was late, past his bedtime, but his mother allowed him to stay up to watch the ceremony and see if he could spot his father amongst the massed guests. He remembered his father didn’t want to go – the House of Dulac preferred to stay detached from the Church’s influence – but he knew he had to be seen in attendance. It was a duty to be endured. Faron hadn’t understood the significance of the ceremony back then, and most of the ritual had passed him by, but what captured his youthful attention was the grandeur of it all. The robed Readers anointing the new Scribe, the faceless Inquisitors marching in formation, the rapturous music and the triumphant voices of the choir. The vibrancy played on his mind, and for a week or two he insisted he would be a Reader one day, much to his mother’s consternation. As time went by, his fascination with the Church waned, but, as he walked into the main chamber of the Firmament, he felt that same wonder as when he was a child. He no longer held the Church in high regard, but he had to concede that they knew how to put on a show.

  ‘Good to see you, Faron,’ Chief Kin Sinclair said, greeting him with a firm handshake as he approached their designated seating area.

  ‘And you, Kin,’ Faron replied, distracted by the taller man’s infectious grin.

  ‘You’re recovered from the graviton mine?’

  Faron nodded. ‘How is Lady Addington?’

  Sinclair stepped aside, pointing to one of the seats further away. Lady Addington was
there, her head bowed. ‘She’s awfully quiet,’ Sinclair explained. ‘It’s such a loss for them.’

  Faron walked towards her, kneeling so that his eyes were level with hers. ‘The House of Dulac stands with you.’

  Lady Addington smiled her gratitude, taking his hand. ‘So many people . . . gone. Children, families . . . What did they do to deserve that?’

  ‘You’ve read the report?’ he checked.

  She nodded. ‘Draig will pay for this.’

  ‘Let’s not do anything too hasty,’ Sinclair advised, joining them in a seat beside Addington. ‘We can use the ceremony as a chance to speak to the other leaders. We can get the entire Cluster on our side.’

  ‘Using a graviton mine, killing thousands of innocent people; this is a war crime,’ Faron said. ‘Even the Church will condemn it.’

  ‘The only question left to answer is which faction is responsible?’ Chief Sinclair said.

  ‘It must be Orcades Draig,’ Addington said bitterly. ‘Only he would do this.’

  ‘If he’s really alive,’ Faron noted.

  Sinclair’s brow tightened. ‘We may know soon. Rumor has it he’s coming here.’

  Lady Addington looked up, her face aged with shock. ‘He wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘He would,’ Sinclair replied. ‘But we can’t do anything here. We have to get the support of others before we act.’

  ‘What about Halstead?’ Faron asked. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sinclair replied. ‘He should be here soon. We can ask him then.’

  ‘I know what he’ll say,’ Addington said. ‘And I think I’ll agree with him.’

  UNEXPECTED GUESTS

  Valine smiled at the stony-faced Reader, realizing her charm offensive wasn’t going to work on her.

  ‘This is your designated seat,’ the Reader replied. ‘We have over a thousand delegates to deal with and we cannot accommodate any further changes. We do, however, have a standing area up on level thirteen. If you are unhappy with this location, I can have you and your friend moved there.’ She nodded to a waiting Inquisitor who came striding towards them.

  Valine held up her hands, placating the Reader. ‘This will be fine, thank you.’

  The Reader bowed, then turned to leave, taking the Inquisitor with her.

  Alone, Valine turned to take in the majesty of the chamber, marveling at the excess of its design. Every column was decorated to reinforce the Church’s authority. Even this seating area was constructed to keep the visitors at bay, isolating just a handful of people in each cell. The omnipresent Inquisitors were hardly necessary, but their sheer numbers were enough to quell any ideas of disorder. It was a bully of a room, she decided.

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  Valine glanced up from her seat, into the face of Prince Halstead. She smiled at him, like two old friends meeting, and offered him the seat next to hers.

  ‘Why are we together?’ Halstead asked, glancing around him anxiously.

  ‘I asked them to sit us together. A gesture of peace from the House of Draig to the House of Kenric. They were more than willing to oblige. The Church likes to see itself as a peacemaker,’ Valine said icily.

  Halstead remained standing. ‘I can’t be seen with you.’

  ‘Why not? If our plan is going to work, then we must be seen to be allies. As far as the rest of the Cluster is concerned, this will be the start of our truce.’

  Finally, Halstead sat down, his face red. ‘I should have told the others.’

  ‘Who? Your little union?’

  Halstead refused to answer, sinking into his seat.

  Below them, in front of the gilded stage, was a choir and an orchestra, preparing their instruments. Valine watched them, letting her mind wander as the chamber filled with guests.

  Beside her, Halstead stood as something caught his attention on one of the other levels.

  ‘It’s true,’ he gasped. ‘He’s alive. He’s here.’

  WATCHING

  The baby was restless, pushing against her stomach, forcing the bowl perched there to rise and fall.

  ‘You don’t like grapes?’ Bara asked her child. ‘You know how expensive they are? You’re honored to be getting them.’

  She took another one from the bowl, placing it in her mouth, reveling in the taste as the fruit popped against her teeth. The bowl tipped to one side and slid from her stomach. Bara caught it, laughing, and placed it on the table beside her bed. As she straightened, her eyes returned to the screen. Sol! The ceremony was dull, but she kept it on, hoping to see Faron in his formal uniform. It suited him, even if he didn’t like wearing it.

  The view cut to a wide shot of the chamber, of the guests cordoned in little clusters. A familiar face caught her attention; Valine. Bara felt the hairs on her neck bristle.

  ‘Some guest list,’ she said to her son. ‘The Church can make anyone look respectable.’

  She took the last grape from the bowl, wanting more. She craved something else, but she didn’t know what. The Dulac diet was different to what she was used to on Melchior and the Obsidian, and it was taking some getting used to. They preferred their vegetables raw and hard, while she liked them steamed. And they had garlic with everything! She would have given anything for some of her mother’s steamed broccoli with callaloo right about now.

  Bara watched Valine, trying to make up her mind if she should order something else from the kitchen, but then she saw someone sat next to Valine, and she forgot about food.

  Halstead. Prince Halstead was sat with Valine, and they were talking to each other.

  THE SMILING MAN

  The chamber was vast, a beautiful vaulted space that even Orcades Draig found impressive. He stood at the edge of his designated section, looking out across the rest of the assembled dignitaries. The tiered levels, descended from his vantage point, down to the circular stage. He would have preferred to have been closer, but he knew that all eyes would fall on him eventually. He would stand here and let them see his disfigured face, his burned skin, his broken body, and they would know he had returned. Their curiosity would turn to fear and – in time – respect. He smiled, looking above him as he held onto the velvet covered barrier at the edge of the tier. There were more than a dozen levels staggered towards the unreachable ceiling, each one filled with arkship captains, family leaders, respected traders, all staring at him.

  Orcades grinned, ignoring the stabbing pain in his jaw, turning slowly to look at them all.

  I’m Orcades Draig. I’m back.

  As he turned, a face caught his eye: Prince Halstead Kenric, his half-brother. Orcades fixed on him, seeing the look of disbelief on the other’s face. Orcades touched his head in a mocking salute, grinning at him. He was too far away, the security too tight, but Orcades would have him soon enough.

  Halstead smiled back, surprising Orcades. The prince took his seat, and Orcades saw past him to another face he recognized: Jacque Valine. His smile fell away, revealing his surprise. What the hell was she doing with Halstead? They were enemies. Slowly, he began to see. They had formed an alliance against him. He laughed out loud, a guttural bellow that echoed around the chamber, killing the polite conversations.

  A Reader approached him, speaking into his ear. ‘Sir, you will take your seat now, please.’

  Orcades glared at him, then he noticed the approaching Inquisitors, and he decided this was not the place to be defiant. He nodded, smiled, turned his back on the staring faces and sat down.

  CEREMONY

  The chorus of trumpets faded away, the last note echoing around the upper levels of the chamber, leaving behind an eager silence. Mori could only see a narrow slice of the room through the gap in the curtains, the lights bleaching out any detail. He listened for his cue; Librarian Okuda would call for him once the Circle was in place. There had been some last-minute changes as Librarian Horst was unable to attend due to a family emergency. He didn’t know the details, but he was sorry she would not be here to see his momen
t of ascension.

  ‘We call Akito Mori to show himself,’ Librarian Okuda’s voice boomed. This was the most theatrical part of the ceremony, a tradition that had to be observed. The curtains opened, and Mori felt the glare of the lights sting his eyes.

  He stepped into the middle of the stage, taking a moment to look about him, then he turned to Librarian Okuda who was standing at the pulpit. ‘I am Akito Mori,’ he proclaimed. ‘I stand before you, a humble servant of the Church of the Infinite. I have nothing to offer but my heart, my mind and my soul.’

  At the rehearsed moment, two members of the Circle came either side of him and removed his robes, leaving him in only a simple white gown that covered him to his ankles. This represented the modesty of the new Scribe, without ornament, wealth or pride.

  ‘Do you abide by the wisdom of the Infinite Gods?’ Okuda asked.

  ‘I do,’ Mori replied.

  ‘Do you renounce the old ways. The ways of commerce, of greed, of material gain at the expense of your fellow man?’

  ‘I do.’ With each proclamation, Mori took a step closer to the pulpit. Around him, the other members of the Circle approached, each one carrying an item of the Scribe’s attire: clothing, the ring of office, the pendant of the Infinite. They all had a part to play, an elaborate, choregraphed routine, that ended with Mori kneeling in front of the pulpit with the Circle surrounding him. The next part of the ceremony was hidden from view, behind a discreet screen. Mori dressed and was blessed by the members of the Circle, each speaking a sacred Gnosis, a secret of the divine, passed down from the Infinite Gods. In truth, they only wished him well. If there had ever been any secrets, they were no longer known to the Circle, but it helped to convey a sense of mystery to the onlookers. After all, he and the other members of the Church were the gatekeepers, they alone knew the will of the Infinite Gods.