The Captured

by Kyte, Adrian

  After a shared meal, they sat together on sofa; music of a type that at first had a disorientating effect, that his translator did not try to interpret. Perhaps it was the drink (their physiological similarities meant they could process alcohol in the same way) having this dizzying effect.

  Now Ebueliza seemed more beautiful and exotic than ever. But something was stopping him making that first move. Had he lost his confidence? It had been too long, he concluded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That I want you so bad but I can’t seem to---’

  ‘Make first contact?’

  ‘How about you leave that to me?’

  She moved over and they kissed, becoming more passionate. Roidon felt that he had broken a tension. And now, on an ineluctable journey, things could only move forward to one conclusion. As he entered her, Roidon felt a prickly sensation all over. He looked down to see hundreds fine tendrils like silver threads burst from his body at various points, arcing over to then penetrate her body. Then the hastened and unwanted moment of climax tainted by horror and disbelief. Ebueliza by this time was screaming. But they were locked together, as if she were his prey in some masquerade of mating.

  A dream, a nightmare, Roidon thought. The only explanation. He would soon wake up. But it only got worse. He felt her body beneath harden. Now he was the prey. Her screaming stopped, frozen in a wide-eyed shock, and then a death gasp before relaxing – letting go of life but not him. Her body continued to change; skin taking on a silver metallic quality.

  He tried with all his strength to pull himself free. He groaned in frustration, feeling as a trapped animal led into this helpless predicament by its instinct to mate. A victim of his own basic urges; a weakness kept in check, until now.

  She suddenly became animated, re-animated. Then, at last, the tendrils pulled away back into his own body. He immediately climbed off her, headed for the bathroom where he locked himself in, still with the hope that he might wake up from this nightmare. He could hear movement in the background. What could he do? He ran the shower, hoping the jets of water would bring him back to some sense of rationality. All it achieved was making him clean. He dried himself off.

  He knew the lock was unlikely to stop her had she wished to enter. But she didn’t. Instead, her muffled voice: ‘Amulator erandu. Mazondettae.’ Sounding like an incantation from some religiously inspired demon. Roidon was out of range of the translator.

  For the first time in his life Roidon had no idea what he should do; his thoughts spinning, but with no centre of gravity. No end to this nightmare. He sat against the wall. He listened to her random incomprehensible words. Her rummaging about the apartment.

  He waited.

  * * *

  63

  Hundreds if not thousands of spider ships surrounded their vessel. Pretty much larger versions of the individual arachnids, Zoraina noted. How could the Elusivers – or this one in particular – have miscalculated to such an extent?

  She headed for the bridge, her first thought was for the Earth sim – somewhere in the captain’s possession. The Elusiver was seated directly in front of Torbin who had a now familiar resigned look about him. A man who’d given up on life. The captain swivelled round to face Zoraina, a nod of acknowledgement at her presence.

  ‘This may appear to be a hopeless scenario,’ he said, ‘but I have what they want most. They will not try to destroy this ship while that is the case.’

  ‘I presume what you’re referring to is not our friend Torbin but the Earth sim.’

  ‘They have already tried to extract Torbin; however, this vessel has a counter shield that alters its frequency every time they adapt.’

  The image came into her mind of two elite jujitsu fighters matching each others moves. Eventually one would tire, allowing the other to penetrate his defence. ‘And they don’t dare use their weapons of mass destruction.’ she said.

  ‘You could call this a stalemate. That is why Torbin here has been acting as my negotiator. Given that he was in part responsible for their ascendancy, they should show some leniency if he requests it.’

  That seems rather optimistic, she thought of saying. But instead: ‘The Earth sim, where is it?’

  ‘It’s safe and fully functional. Torbin and the Roidon copy are getting near towards a solution as we speak.’

  ‘So you’re stalling them – the machines?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  Torbin turned to look at her. ‘I have offered myself,’ he said. ‘A sacrificial lamb for the interim.’ An odd smile on his face formed, like the beginnings of insanity, she thought.

  ‘We have put our terms,’ the captain said.

  One of the spiders was moving in closer. She hadn’t expected it to be so large. The vessel they were in, despite an Elusiver technology, now felt decidedly vulnerable. Then a green glow of myriad lasers, so bright she had to turn away.

  ‘They are trying to probe our databanks, hoping if they can find a picosecond gap in the shield oscillation the probe will break through.’

  Torbin stood up, he said, ‘How long can this game of brinkmanship go on? Minutes, hours, months?’ He did an upturned hand-gesture. ‘Just let me go.’

  ‘The moment I let you go,’ said the captain, ‘there will be a gap in the shield.’

  ‘We’ve sent them the terms,’ he retorted. ‘We just need their assurance.’

  The captain put his hand on his forward console. They started moving through the field of spiderships but on a juddery course, though it didn’t take long for the other craft to start moving in sync.

  The captain turned round to Torbin. ‘You want to go to them? Well now is your chance. Suit up and leave the ship.’

  ‘Well, I was probably going to die anyway.’ Not for the first time Zoraina detected more than a hint of self pity in his voice.

  ‘You will find a pressure suit in the secondary cargo bay.’

  Torbin left the bridge as if this were some routine mission.

  ‘Wait,’ Zoraina called out to him. ‘You know what will happen. Your life will be over not merely by dying---’

  ‘Miss, I know what I’m about to face. Whatever I do I have no future.’ A wry smile now. ‘But you never know, there may always be the past.’

  He then walked out.

  ‘You’re going to let him go?’ Zoraina said.

  ‘Correct.’

  Of course she saw the logic. Torbin seemed to no longer care for his life (or was that just the impression he liked to give; humans were still something of a mystery). She looked out the bridge’s forward view bubble. The space-suited figure of Torbin floated in the general direction of the surrounding spidercraft; his arms were out as if he were skydiving. She sighed. There was something comically sad about him: a helpless lonely figure who saw himself as doing the noble thing. How would Roidon have reacted in that situation? He would surely have calculated his options, have some plan, enacting some scheme, out of the fray.

  Torbin disappeared into the spidership, swallowed up like a hapless fly. Zoraina turned round to the captain. ‘I want to see the Earth sim,’ she demanded.

  ‘As you wish. But be aware there is nothing you can do now but observe.’

  A side door slid open into what looked liked a med lab. The sim – now a three by one and a half metre block box – was hooked up to an interface port: a large cable leading to a console panel projecting a floating display of the telemetry. Still running at fifteen times normal and within thermal limits even though the room was comfortably temperate. System info told her that the processor array had been modified. It had long been believed that the Elusivers were a spent force, rather than the technological giants, poised for galactic domination. But here was an example of something beyond even the B’tari. Complacency had been the problem for her kind for centuries; any threats to their population were dismissed, they had always been the superior power. Yet the very thing that drives innovation is adversity. And now perhaps it was too late for the B’tari; caught of
f guard and unprepared. Although at least in their outpost lab she could interface. Here she knew the thing was running smoothly if only on the level of program integrity. But what if Roidon and Torbin already had reached a result? How does that information get passed on to the Elusivers?

  Her thoughts disrupted. The room shook, almost knocking her off her feet. The shaking became louder. They were under attack. Now his assurance that the Earth sim was safe no longer convinced. Even though the Elusivers had been the sworn enemy of the B’tari, she’d allowed herself to have faith in this one.

  Then there was silence, stillness. She was about to turn to go back to the bridge when she heard a click, followed by a succession of quick taps. Closer. Yes, right up close now. She turned slowly, heart thumping, breath quickening; physiology telling her everything she needed to know. Peripheral vision providing enough for the final confirmation.

  Can’t run away now; have to face it. That foolish captain letting it on board.

  Zoraina tried not show how terrified she felt. There had to be some pride to protect in being a b’tari, some dignity with which to retain before---

  It was manoeuvring around her; the silver arachnid scuttled towards the Earth sim. She wanted to say something, tell it to stop. But the logic in that had no foundation. What difference could her words make? Or even any actions? For her own survival it seemed best to remain irrelevant.

  No, it was over. The creature extended a tendril into the sim’s interface port, clearly assimilating all the data. She idly speculated whether it would only gather the memories and simulated databases of Roidon and Torbin or try for everything.

  The process was over in only a few minutes. The arachnid took a few steps back. But just when she thought it was about to leave it lifted a leg and fired some kind of energy pulse. The box crumbled into ash. The creature then scuttled out of the room. Zoraina collapsed to the floor. She felt numb. All that work, all that research now in the possession of the Machines. There was nothing left to do. It was over.

  Eventually Zoraina made her way back to the bridge. She was surprised to see the captain there. It was as if nothing had happened. He seemed engaged in something at a control panel. The Machines had gone. She was also surprised they hadn’t destroyed the ship as an afterthought.

  ‘So that’s it then?’ she said to him flatly. ‘All over. We’ve lost.’

  He looked up at her and smiled. It was an odd thing. ‘Not quite,’ he said, ‘Their strategic thinking has let them down.’

  ‘They got the sim – all its data.’

  ‘They only think they have. What they got in reality is a copy – a surface fake or partial sim but one that contains a quantum encrypted virus. By the time that activates we should be long gone.’

  ‘What about the real sim?’

  ‘In a safe location with our people. And no, we will not reveal it. It is out of your hands now. But we thank you for your custodianship of it.’

  Zoraina sat in the nearest seat. She started to laugh wildly. Uncontrollably. Unselfconsciously.

  Now the ship was back in hyperspace. She was curious to know where they were headed, and considered asking – if only on behalf of the other fifty or so B’tari – but couldn’t bring herself to put the question. What difference did it make now anyway? Perhaps the captain had won the right to determine their fate.

  She returned to the observation room. There was nothing much to see, outside was a featureless grey tunnel. Destination: The Elusiver homeworld?

  * * *

  64

  He thought Ebueliza had gone, whatever remained of her, but wasn’t entirely sure.

  Roidon imagined the type of havoc she could reek; it brought to mind countless old zombie movies. A metal zombie questing around for any victim. A new low in the Kintras’ tactics but an effective way to spread their machine imperialism. Roidon surmised what would happen but he couldn’t avoid the stark monstrous fact that it had all depended on him – a new and advanced civilization succumbing to them, to be assimilated into their expanding data corpus leaving some travesty of life. The living dead.

  He exited the bathroom, his phase gun was still in his holdall but it was hardly enough to kill a biological being. If she was hiding in wait then let her go for him. He was sick of his fear, the weakest human survival emotion. What was left to be afraid of when the worst had already happened, when he had nothing left to lose? He could simply let her spread their infection, or... Or what? He had no contingency plan for this. He was only here to have fun; breaking the convention for someone of his advanced chronology, because the number of years no longer mattered – physically or intellectually. Fun was what humans tended to lack in their lives, at least beyond their third decade. A life of responsibility was not for him any longer. Life was about enjoyment, after all, more than duty. But the funny thing about responsibility is however much you avoid it it always finds you in the end, and it comes from the most unexpected places.

  But why should I care? he then thought. It’s all going to end eventually in any case.

  As far as he knew she didn’t have a car. He quickly scanned around, trying not to be conspicuous but feeling anything but. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  He started out towards the town centre. He soon heard screaming, shouting. Ebuliza was running towards a male and female couple. The male was shouting but then quietened as he realized what confronted them. After a glance at each other that communicated everything, they both ran. She was sure to catch them up. Roidon shouted at the metallic female, ran as fast as he could towards her. Then raised his gun. Fired without hesitation.

  It had some effect: it stopped her, made her turn towards him. It allowed enough time for the couple to run out of range. Now she set her sights on him. What was he to her now? Just another prey, or the man who bore responsibility for her predicament? As she approached him Roidon saw no recognition in her eyes. He was of no more significance than … than she was to you when you saw her as a sexual conquest, came the voice in his head.

  He fired again, this time on maximum setting. It wouldn’t be enough to kill a human, but it could certainly knock a man unconscious if not permanently debilitate.

  Ebueliza, about three metres from him, staggered to a halt. She regarded him with a sideways glance before continuing her advance although this time more slowly.

  There seemed no other option than to head back towards his shuttle, draw her away from the town. He ran at the limit of his capability – which was still a very human one – with her following at a seemingly fixed distance. He was sure she could easily catch him but maybe his weapon was the only thing stopping her.

  Once out of the city he called up his shuttle using a tiny subdermal comm chip, only telling it to maintain a fifty metre distance until ordering otherwise. For now, the jungle was too dense in any case for a landing. In the faint light of dawn his navigation depended on a feed from his implant. She was maintaining her set distance, it informed him. Not tactically sound, it seemed, for her to have left the city and be away from the population. Maybe she did, in some hidden recess, bare a sense of vengeance. Who could blame her? The thought even struck him that he should allow himself to be caught. After all, he had already in some way been converted; perhaps he could fight her.

  Now he was moving into a clearing. The window of time would be so narrow, he could not waste even half a second. He ordered the shuttle to land at safest close distance. It swooped down like an obedient pet hawk, landed only five metres from him. Its hatch opened obligingly. He ran with his last ounce of lung-burning effort, knowing that she’d be increasing her pace and that it would be her last opportunity to catch him.

  Roidon was sure he felt a hand brush his leg in some desperate lounge as he dived into the welcoming light of the craft. It took him up to a safe altitude. He ordered it to fire its laser defender at her. The AI questioned the validity of a sentient target, before – after a few seconds – complying. Though by any ship standard a puny defensive weapon agains
t most other craft, at this range it was enough to melt what metal and flesh combination remained to no more than a mound of mush.

  The shuttle shot up without him needing to tell it this was the best tactic to avoid whatever response, to avoid being seen; best he leave no trace of ever having been on this world. What remained of the female was no more than a collection of atoms. No one as far as he knew had been infected by her. The planet would continue as normal but for one sentient being. He could go down the road of thought wondering what loved ones she had: family, friends; he knew nothing about her other than an errant boyfriend. A brief intrusion: Then what have I been? Why should that have mattered? It was only ever a mutual arrangement for a night of pleasure. He was not one of those insecure men who hoped she wanted something deeper than he did.

  One monumental realization hadn’t hit him before, not the time to process it. Only now: there would be no more women, not in his current form. There should never be any.

  Back into the comfort of the main ship and the dark embrace of space. Just drifting now. He could think of no destination. The illusion of freedom gone, he was a liability to anyone he encountered. The most reasonable thing to do, he surmised, is to approach the nearest quantum singularity (the nearest black hole) and ensure total elimination.

  But Roidon wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable, he was gripped by something so basic no amount of logical thought could override it. Two things: the need for survival and the need for vengeance.

  Part Nine: Ineluctable Futures

  65

  Success at last. The culmination of the greatest work they had ever done. Torbin joined Roidon behind the lab isolation screen (as if that even mattered in this realm) and watched as a section of the lab, cordoned off by a transengenic field, disappeared to be replaced by just rock. The simulation – which to all intents and purposes was real, as everything here obeyed the laws of physics – had erased time in that area by fifty-seven years. It was enough to take them back to before the Kintra machines ever got a foothold.