by Kyte, Adrian
And then there was Torbin. A shiny black block a centimetre deep and about two long. His entire memory, his life in there, hooked up by cable to some maintenance electronics; his own functions represented in a similarly basic way. There had to be a more in-depth way to know what was going on with him.
As she watched and wondered, one of the lab technicians approached her. He greeted polite and warmly. And with formality, in B’tar: ‘Dr Kardoz, I am chief technical assistant Zoraka. We welcome your assistance.’ She was so used to not being addressed by that title; it was very Earth-centric, a result of her anthropology training.
‘How is he functioning?’ Zoraina enquired.
‘He has been hooked up to a virtual expansion program. It allows the recipient absolute freedom to explore any imagining of their choosing. Or they can merely opt for unconsciousness.’
‘What is his current state?’
‘That’s the problem. His readings are fluctuating between states, but mostly in V-REM – which is how we discovered him. We can normally get an image feed of his virtual experience but that’s not happening, since he is essentially in a sleep state.’
‘But he’s not bio, not alive. How can he be asleep?’
The tech look skywards and smiled. ‘Strange, isn’t it. It must be a learned behaviour, perhaps a defence mechanism following impact trauma.’
‘So. What can I do?’
‘The commander tells me you are uniquely qualified to interact with human culture, therefore it is recommended you link minds with Mr Lyndau.’ Link minds: that sounded way too intimate for comfort.
‘I’m not sure I am suited for this task.’
‘No one else is. The B’tari owes him a debt after such valour.’
Even though the thought of coaxing Torbin out of his torpor seemed supremely unappealing, she did feel sorry for him. ‘When do I begin?’
The chief tech smiled, most likely from relief. ‘Well, immediately if you feel ready.’
‘About as ready as I ever will be, I guess.’
The tech hurriedly brought a chair over. Clearly they were expecting her to need an hour or more of persuasion, whereas she just wanted to get it over and done with.
‘I feel obliged to warn you that there are risks inherent in neural coupling.’ Now he really was making it sound inappropriately intimate!
‘I’m used to taking risks,’ she said, in the way that a blasé male cadet might – one hoping for promotion.
‘Then if you are comfortable I’ll begin the procedure.’
He placed a headband over her scalp. ‘Please try to relax as much as possible,’ he advised.
Relaxed was the last thing she felt. He went over to a console panel. ‘You will lose all external awareness very quickly,’ he told her. Then gave a command. ‘Activate cortical immersion inducer.’
She was in a starship. It was similar to the lab in its spartan design, except before her was a recumbent couch, of the type used in old rockets. Torbin was laid upon it, seemingly unconscious, with some kind goggle device on a cantilevered arm pressed onto his eyes. She pulled the goggles away from his eyes. He woke with a start.
‘What. You? What are you doing here?’
She sighed. ‘I am here to bring you back.’
He looked perplexed. ‘Back where?’
‘To the real world.’
‘There is no real world,’ he told her. ‘There is only here.’
‘Where is here?’
‘We are approaching a quantum singularity. A black hole if you will.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because it’s the only way I can find true oblivion.’
‘I mean why do you want to end your life?’
‘Because I know the truth. That none of it was real, that I am alone.’
‘You are not alone, Torbin. We are here for you.’
‘Oh yes, you – the B’tari – need a lackey, someone to do the dirty work. Well, I know someone else who’d be better suited.’ He smiled bitterly.
‘If you mean Roidon, he has gone his own way. He doesn’t care about saving humanity.’
Torbin gave a subtle nod. ‘So you thought you’d appeal to the second best choice.’
“It doesn’t work like that. We totally value your insight.” That wasn’t enough, she realized
‘Sure you do.’
‘And we’re prepared to make a deal. If you work for us we will provide you with an organic body.’
‘What’s the point when I’ll be the only one?’
This was proving more difficult than she expected. ‘So you need a woman? We can provide one for you.’
‘No, not a woman.’
Now she’d resorted to making false promises, why not continue? Then she thought: he won’t be bought off with an obvious bribe, how tempting just to leave him to his self-pitying oblivion. Yet she persisted. ‘There is a way to get it all back. A way that you know – if your memory really has returned.’
‘You are almost tempting me back from the brink.’
‘Almost?’
* * *
31
Me, he thought. How delightful, and horrifying at the same time.
There was nothing else for it. Roidon went up to the heavy-duty metal door, knocked. He had the sense that his presence had already been acknowledged. And when opened by another Roidon, the reaction was not of surprise. “Ah, you must be Roidon.”
‘I must be. But must you be?’
His other self laughed but in a way he didn’t think was characteristic of himself. ‘I try to be, but it isn’t always easy.’ He also grinned in a way that seemed far more inane than he would. He made a wide sweeping gesture. “Do please come in. We have been expecting you after all.’
Inside was a complete contrast. Clean lines of grey console panels; holographic displays. There were two more ‘Roidons’ busying themselves with miscellaneous status readouts.
‘Firstly,’ Roidon asked as he surveyed the room. ‘Who are you really? I don’t believe you are merely clones.’
‘We won’t lie to you, Roidon. We are your old adversaries – commonly known as the Elusivers. We find your identity to be a useful one in many situations.’
Roidon wasn’t a man easily taken by shock, but this time he really felt the need to be seated; his legs felt like jelly. Forcing calm he said, ‘This is somewhat unexpected. Considering you were supposed to have been banished to some distant part of the galaxy.’
The other Roidon produced that grin again. ‘The combined effort of you, Mr Lyndau, the B’tari and our machine overlords did force us to regroup.’
Roidon nodded in acknowledgment ‘And you’re going to remind me how wrong we were in the choosing the Machines over yourselves.’
‘No, we wouldn’t put it so crudely. Anyway, let’s not dwell on the past. We have a common cause now. Why not start work on that?’
Roidon shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no. I think you have me mistaken for someone who gives a damn. I have no interest in working towards anything.’
Other Roidon gave a knowing nod. ‘I know what it’s like to become old and jaded. I am two hundred and twenty-five of your years. I went from idealistic to cynical, and then to resigned, over the course of two centuries. Now perhaps I am what you would call … philosophical.’
‘It’s not about being old, it’s about having seen so many good intentions lead to … well, hell. The mistaken belief that there can be a way to perfect humanity, find utopia, or even some lasting homeostasis of a comfortable existence – which in itself can become quite dull.’
‘And so you resign yourself to what? A life of selfish indulgence?’
Roidon smiled this time. ‘Ah, perhaps you do understand me.’
‘I know it does not lead to lasting happiness.’
‘Don’t underestimate the value of mere physical pleasure.’
‘But you can have that and still work to improve life for others.’
‘Others. I
t’s too late for them. Unless.’
‘Yes, we both know what needs to be done.’
‘I think I’m done with this discussion. I have more places to visit.’
The other Roidon shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. You have one last chance. Will you agree to work with us?’
‘No. I will not.’
‘Very well.’ He produced something from his pocket, and in that moment Roidon realized what he should have said. The device was so small as to be hardly visible. But it was of no surprise what happened next. It was over mercifully quickly, like switching off a light.
* * *
32
‘An organic body? Then---’
‘Yes, I should have mentioned. We need you to do one last mission.’
First thing Torbin saw upon waking in the B’tari lab: the monstrosity that had become his new body; very similar to the one the Machines had put him in. He said to the b’tari woman, ‘Really? The last one? Another spy mission?’
‘The only way to infiltrate---’
‘Just a second. Was anything you promised me genuine, or more bullshit to keep me putting my life on the line for your Central Council?’
‘You were prepared to die only ten hours ago.’
‘Yes, on my own terms rather than be dissected by a Kintra machine.’
‘Torbin, do you not realist we are currently at war?’
‘And I’m a soldier, is that it?’
‘Take a look.’ Zoraina made a sign gesture and there appeared a projection. It was the outside of the moon-base, being constantly bombarded by conventional explosives.
‘So is this the consequence of my previous mission?’
‘Their commander of assimilation operations is off-line. The virus you transmitted rewrote his – its – neural net. He cannot be restored.’
‘Right.’ Torbin got to his feet with a military precision. ‘I know just what might stop them.’
‘Yes they do want you, dead or alive. That is not the point.” She put a hand on his metal shoulder, with a tenderness that even this body felt, that was immediately disarming.
He turned to look at her.
‘Torbin. Please trust me.” This time he believed the sincerity in her voice. ‘You will have to go to the heart of their operations.’
He followed her to what appeared to be a lift shaft. She said to him, ‘This will take you to our alternative hanger. You will receive further instructions in due course. Good luck, Torbin.’
Luck!?
He got into the upright pod, standing as though it was a lift. It had bars on either side. The moment he grabbed them the pod started moving downwards at such a rate he had to stop himself from hitting the top; sections of shaft plating were almost a blur, even with his enhanced perception.
It slowed to a stop, not indicating where. A few seconds to wonder if there had been a malfunction. Then: a gentle acceleration forwards, a horizontal trajectory. The B’tari emergency escape route. Would the Machines still think he was in the B’tari base? He found it difficult to believe they’d be so easily outwitted; grunts they may be, but even without their commander there’d always be another to take command. No powerful fighting force could presume success without factoring in the worst case scenario; short term pessimists were often the best survivors.
No point fearing capture, but only to consider it a possibility. His greatest fear had already been lived. The fear of being truly alone in the world. Everything that mattered now gone. Even memories lost to him. Now, it felt like there could never be anyone special in his life, or any life resembling normality. The Torbin of old, of only a month ago, seemed like a different person. The memories of that person were no more real than a dream. At times seeming less real: generated from without, but like most dreams any verisimilitude evaporated when viewed through the frame of another reality. Recapture could even bring him mercy – in either the oblivion of death; or if they were feeling particularly merciful, a return to his former virtual life of a man with a wife and family, and the possibility of an illicit romance. And the erasure of any life outside. Funny how that now seemed like an indulgence too far, and now this ‘mission’ was to be his punishment.
The pod halted with a jolt. The doors parted, opening into a suddenly illuminated hanger. Then text came up on his HUD, instructing him which of the craft to approach. Of course it had to be the smallest, a dull silver elongated egg-shape; probably the most expendable.
Once the interior seat had moulded around him, effectively locking him in place, the craft shot out through what appeared to be moon rock but must have been a holographic projection concealing an opening. Here was a new level of sub light velocity he’d never before experienced; the craft was pulling thirty-four gees. He imagined that no amount of inertial damping would’ve prevented his flesh version from becoming a haemorrhaged mess. It seemed this vessel was tailored especially for him.
In only a few minutes he was beyond Mars, and then in some kind of hyperspace – the stars had merged into a tunnelled morass of white. Not typically like a wormhole but something he couldn’t explain. He’d given up trying to understand B’tari tech, wasn’t supposed to anyway, such was their strict code of non cultural interference. But since his diversion into the virtual world he had lost track of any relevant research; nothing truly on the cutting edge even though it had seemed just that – part of the illusion of leading a fulfilling life.
Until I stopped being fulfilled, until I broke the program.
The ship came out of hyperspace. Torbin had no idea of his whereabouts in the galaxy. Perhaps if he’d had enough knowledge of the stars; if he’d had a data-assistant... In any case, ignorance was probably for the best: knowledge a dangerous thing when the person possessing it is viewed simply as its vessel.
As the ship cruised along at about five percent of light a display appeared – a red blob, the identity of which he didn’t need to be informed.
Now slowing abruptly. The red blob had become a green wireframe vector. Growing to become a complex of interlinked sections, like, yes, he thought, a spider’s web. It reflected no light, just a delineated dark shape. Nearer and nearer.
Now it filled the forward viewscreen. His ship was passing underneath it. A central hub revealed itself, like a dark quasar. Then: a jolt. He’d stopped. The seat un-moulded itself. Text now appeared in his HUD: LOCATE MAGNAGRAPPLE BEHIND SEAT. LEAVE B’TARI VESSEL.
Torbin looked behind him to find a burnished grey trunk with large latches. The device within looked like a plunger with a cable attached, extruding slightly out from a ceramic cylinder, with an attached shoulder strap. He put it round his shoulder like a sling and did as instructed.
Leaving the B’tari ship, he felt what amounted to fear. A hypothalamus setting off adrenaline, but no arteries to channel it; a feeling that he should suffocate, but no lungs to breath. The vastness of space, the unfamiliar stars, could all be a simulation. And yet knowing it was real, knowing that ship was his only life-line---
‘Focus, Torbin. Focus,’ he told himself.
The ship was connected to an inner arm of the complex with a grapple and cable along which he shimmied. His HUD instructions told him how to fire the plunger. Once attached to the complex he let go of the ship’s cable and allowed himself to be reeled in. A fly being drawn into a spider’s web. The complex was still dark, as if space itself had been cut out – a negative form. For a reason, he thought; a hidden malevolence. IR readings were no different to background. He dared not use illumination, only faint ultrasonic echoes. He stopped at reaching distance from the shell. He imagined there was no laser cutter in existence that would cut through whatever exotic metal this may be. Of course, the B’tari appreciated the near impossibility, they had sent probes – all destroyed, naturally. So the only solution: a singularity generator. The device – a five centimetre cone – fixed to the invisible surface, clung on electromagnetically, activated by a voice code which helpfully appeared in his HUD. For what felt like at le
ast a minute nothing seemed to be happening. Then … his sonic imager displayed a curvature in the surrounding material. Spreading to over a metre. And with a suddenness that made him jump, the cone disappeared, presumably into its own singularity, revealing an aperture of dull red, just big enough for him to slip through. He expected a rush of air, then realized they would have no need for it. Always the expectation of being detected. His optics enhanced the light. He was in a tunnel so confined he had to crawl along.
What was he even looking for?
‘Instructions?’ he asked the silent AI.
Nothing. So he carried on crawling. Then: THERE IS A BIO-SIGNATURE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY METRES, TWO O’CLOCK FROM YOUR POSITION.
‘Great. All I can do is continue on.’
After about five minutes Torbin emerged into a taller corridor, extending in three directions: ahead and either side.
‘So?’
TURN RIGHT. CONTINUE ON. He could not see any detail. He imagined there would be doors. But then reassessed. He was thinking in human terms – and that was comforting.
STOP. He turned to face the side wall. Completely smooth metal.
PLACE SINGULARITY GENERATOR ON WALL. He complied. The device did its thing. He knew he had to step through immediately the hole had formed.
The same dull red lighting, but also a large fluid-filled tank; an array of connecting tubes leading to a silver box displaying floating symbols. But his attention was drawn swiftly back to the tank. The creature stood suspended a few centimetres from the base. It was taller than him, perhaps two and half metres. It was spindly of limbs. Its head: narrow, like a stretched caricature of a b’movie alien. But it looked familiar. Torbin was sure he had seen it before or at least one of its kind. He was transfixed. At first not even aware of the bold warning: LEAVE THIS ROOM IMMEDIATELY. ARTIFICIAL LIFEFORM APPROACHING. And then as if to illustrate the threat, a prominent red dot nearing his tag.
‘Okay!’ He ran back through the hole along a corridor. But the creature, the arachnid, was gaining on him despite running four times faster than a human.