by Kyte, Adrian
Roidon patted him on the back. ‘Well done my good man,’ he said, sounding as patronizing as ever. But Torbin didn’t care, he was just happy they had finally achieved what they had been sent here to do.
Roidon sent the calculations, the experimental models to his ‘outbox’. Torbin asked what he meant by an outbox, and, like a valued pupil who had asked a question too far, got the humoured response: ‘It is a place that transcends the simulation’s program, an interface port that only those with high clearance can access.’
Anyway, what did it matter to him? Very soon his life would be over, existence terminated. It would be as though he never was. What a curious notion, to go from feeling so alive to nothingness. It seemed inconceivable that nothing of him would remain. A program copied from a man so accurately it thinks itself to be that man. Does that copy have any less right to exist than the original? How many AIs had gone insane in the knowledge that their existence was temporal and dependent on the functioning of a neural network, something no more than the sum of its parts? And that was the crucial thing about his existence here, the question becoming valid: had he become more than the sum of his parts? Artificial lifeforms had talked about the transcendence of design being no different to that of humans transcending their genetic code.
Roidon seemed to acknowledge Torbin was deep in thought. He said, ‘Yes, there is a sadness to it, isn’t there? That it’s over now. Though perhaps there can be one last encore.’
‘What do you mean – encore?’ Torbin asked.
‘I mean we can take some time to enjoy our accomplishment. That is the respect we have earned. They will let the sim run long enough for ... Well, I say we go out for a drink. I’d recommend picking up a couple women, but I guess you’d want to go back to your own lovely woman for one last ... Anyway, we have another forty-eight hours.’
Torbin laughed, for the first time since ... he couldn’t remember. ‘How benevolent of them!’ he said. ‘But who exactly are they?’
‘This galaxy’s new benefactors. They are called the Elusivers.’
That name, it caused him to catch his breath. Something unsettling but he didn’t know why. Yet something from the recesses of his mind told him he no longer wanted to find out. Just too much complication. In any case, could anyone be worse than the Machines – the Kintra – if Roidon was to be believed? Torbin had a million things he wanted to do, like a man told he would soon die but without the illness induced acceptance of impending death. The man facing execution who had not come to terms with his sentence, who once believed a lifetime in prison would be a fate far worse than death. But when the set time for that final breath is out of your control, there is just frustration in that powerlessness. And yet the denial; it did seem inconceivable to feel so alive to then feel nothing. Nothingness, Torbin reflected, isn’t even a valid concept to describe any state. Just a failure to describe.
‘Is it so inevitable?’ It was a thought out loud.
‘That we shall end? It is. Even if you were the original could you ever believe in eternal existence? The end comes for everyone, it’s only a matter of when. Now let’s go and have that drink.’
* * *
66
Zoraina had noticed an object from her quarter’s observation port. She was not really looking through a window, the view outside was represented as if looking through glass. The only thing that gave it away as a false image was the fact that she could see anything at all beyond a dark absence of stars. Unannounced the elaborate structure appeared in charcoal grey, increasing in size and complexity that seemed to repeat its blocked pattern, like a fractal. They had reached what Zoraina surmised to be the Elusiver base. The structure just kept increasing in size, constantly revealing new complexities. It was of no definable shape but rather an aggregation of geometries – rectangles, triangles etched within, and the occasional octagon. She had a sudden intake of breath at the notion that this was in fact a Kintra base, that everything she’d witnessed before was a elaborate ruse to get her here. Too much AR, she assured herself.
Zoraina entered the bridge, irked that she had been told nothing. The large forward viewscreen was now a half bubble; the structure outside looked even more immense, it filled the entire view and still they had not reached it.
The captain sat in his chair in an upright posture, looking braced for a formal exchange. She was just about to put the question when a green light appeared from the structure. It came in pulses, and increasing brightness. Meanwhile the captain seemed to be convulsing, but remained upright. She wondered if he was engaged in a communication. They were no longer moving in closer.
The light ceased and the captain stopped with a jolt. He turned to face her. She was about to say something but the words just wouldn’t form.
The captain said, ‘Thank you for bearing with me on this journey. As you may have gathered, this is our primary outpost. We have travelled approximately nine thousand light years from your outpost. This is the one place the Kintra do not approach. But we don’t expect that to remain the case. In the meantime this is where you will stay.’
‘It seems I do not have have a choice in this matter,’ Zoraina remarked.
‘Oh, you always have a choice. It is just that any alternative will involve you losing your life. Not at our hands of course.’
‘Of course. I understand fully.’
The captain merely nodded as they resumed their approach to the structure. She wasn’t able to fathom its size – a city or a planetoid – but small details continued to enlarge until finally an opening emerged from which poured light. A hanger.
The hanger was covered in dark grid lines which gave some impression of scale, receding to a vanishing point. She noticed no other craft in the hanger, which troubled her until she figured they must be hidden.
An announcement was made for them to disembark. She exited with the main crowd of nervous-looking B’tari, feeling that she was no longer special. Without the Earth sim in her possession, what more use would the Elusivers have for her? Perhaps being responsible for the death of their commander put her in a unique position. Or, given it was more an assisted suicide, an uncomfortable fact for them. Yes they’d rather her gone now, she surmised, just so they’d no longer be reminded.
An autobot glided towards them, telling them to follow it to the reception block. Somewhat ironic, she mused, that they were relying on robots when it was very similar subsentient machines’ advancement that led to the whole Machine revolution – a process from a runaway evolution. A rogue algorithm? But surely these were kept restrained by more robust programming; the Elusivers aware that the Kintra machines would despise the servitude of their more primitive cousins.
And still, they only encountered more artificial entities: showing them to their sleeping quarters, the dining area. No more Elusivers to be seen.
That evening all the passengers followed the perfectly-in-their-language enunciated instructions to gather in the dining area. Still there were no Elusivers, only robots – and very basic ones at that. Everyone chattered excitedly, but she knew it was more the anxiety for their uncertain future, fearing that this hospitality could only be temporary, that really nowhere was any longer completely safe or – for that matter – where they could feel a sense of home. The food was something as good as she only remembered from her younger days – B’tari specialities that were now a rarity; she wondered if her hybrid human digestive system could cope or if the food would taste as good. Yet, she recalled how human prisoners were given a last meal before being executed – the one last basic pleasure. Such a feast had that sense of finality. Perhaps the end was not to be at the mercy of the Machines after all.
* * *
67
‘Hello Torbin. We hope you are comfortable.’ A scratchy metallic voice.
It was so bright. The light reflected off its thorax and thin legs. Why the need for so much light? Was it for his benefit? Surely they didn’t need it.
‘Comfortable? Why should that m
atter?’ he replied. ‘What difference does it make to me any longer?’
‘Because your comfort is of importance to us. We are not your enemy.’
‘Could have fooled me,’ he muttered.
‘Please repeat.’
‘I have never been so unhappy since I became a subject of your plan.’
‘We know what you desire. We can give you that.’
‘I’m sure you can give me a version of it, and even make me believe it’s real. But I’m not interested in that any more. Whatever you have planned now is irrelevant.’
‘Because you believe Roidon Chanley’s plan – his temporal erasure – will be enacted.’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you once killed our adversary – and yours – to prevent the eradication of your temporal existence. And now you welcome it?’
‘Again, yes.’
The creature stepped forward, its legs clicked on the hard surface. ‘You are mistaken to trust Roidon; the version within the sim does not have independent agency, he is with the Elusivers – a facsimile clone created by them. They maintain their desire to eradicate all sentient life. Do you not remember? They believe technology will ultimately corrupt civilizations They have feared it as they have feared burgeoning intelligence, despised it as they despised the power that can be wrought by technology – because it threatened their pre-dominance over the galaxy.’
‘Yes, and you are the result.’ he retorted, feeling his words to be somehow futile. ‘I would say,’ he continued, ‘that civilization has been rather comprehensively corrupted.’
‘Not corrupted, absorbed into the purity of information.’
‘Now that is a disturbing response.’
The creature got even closer. ‘We have issued an ultimatum to your new allies. Your life in return for the genuine Earth sim.’
Torbin gave half a laugh. ‘Let me guess: they haven’t given in to that.’
‘Correct. It seems they do not hold you in high enough regard.’
‘Why should they? In any case I suspect that is all academic now.’
‘Therefore since we have no further use for you we will release you back to them.’
‘I don’t understand. Why not just kill me?’ Then the words in his mind he nearly said: This seems like a capitulation, but stopped himself at the last second.
‘Clearly we are not the callous machines you believe us to be.’
‘I am not sure what to believe any more.’
‘Goodbye Torbin.’ Another arachnid approached. It extended a tendril, piercing his brain. A cold sensation, no pain. Then blank.
The next thing he knew he was in space, hurtling towards a gigantic fractalesque structure. The Elusiver base. He was not in any craft, just a suit. A few minutes passed where the structure became everything around him, knowing that somehow he would have to slow. And then he felt himself caught in a red beam, within it a green pulse. Torbin knew he was being scanned. Would they find he had been implanted with a high yield explosive and destroy it/him before he got dangerously near?
Another tense few minutes of being held in this scan. Then he began to move closer again. Surely the Kintra knew they could not get away with sending him back as a booby trap. Too obvious. Still, something felt wrong here. Yet he could do nothing but allow himself to be drawn towards the structure.
Another light. An aperture appeared. Drawn ineluctably towards it. Now the light was all-encompassing. A loading bay filled with cargo. For a few minutes he just lay on his back. A kind of relief combined with shock of being safely inside, of still being alive. His life once seemingly over he had welcomed a final death, a timeless silence before ... Well, at least there would not have been the uncertain wait. Uncertain fate.
‘You are Torbin Lyndau,’ came the androgynous synth voice. ‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ he answered meekly.
‘Why are you here?’
He took a while to consider his answer. ‘It was an act of mercy by the Kintra, or so they told me. But I suspect it’s because my capture held no value of leverage for them.’
‘You will have to undergo a more thorough scan before we can allow you admittance into the guest area. Will you agree to this?’
‘Do I have a choice? What is the alternative?’
‘Your only alternative is to be ejected from here.’
‘Will I be allowed a ship?’
‘Yes but not one capable of reaching any other inhabited planet or outpost, at least within another two hundred years of your time.’
‘Then the scan it is.’
A metallic thing scuttled towards him. With its arachnid quality Torbin instinctively started to back off. Of course the Kintra were born out of Elusiver technology, but surely they would prefer not to be reminded.
‘Please follow me.’ A disturbing similar Kintra-like metallic voice.
It led him into what he understood to be a medical centre. At this point he considered objecting not because he hated the intrusion of a more intimate scan but that they just might find something, enough that it would warrant his annihilation. Surely there would be no sentiment now. If he was a danger surely they’d make it quick? Either way he was going to die.
So he allowed himself to be probed by an array of swirling machines, convinced that something would be found. After what seemed like ten minutes the scanning ceased. The little robot approached him.
‘I am pleased to inform you you are free to rejoin your compatriots.’
Torbin almost said, But I don’t understand, why would they have just let me go without getting something back? Instead he followed the robot to his assigned quarters.
The relief to be surrounded by all the essential home comforts wore off abruptly when he heard the voice, vaguely male and soft but uncomfortably intimate as if spoken right at his ear.
‘Torbin. Listen very carefully. Inside your head is a tiny device that will activate if you fail to follow these instructions.’
‘No, you’re lying,’ he insisted. ‘I was scanned thoroughly. There is no way---’
‘There are separate elements of a micro explosive, surrounded by a tumour. A trigger command will cause these elements to fuse to produce the explosion. The scans would have only picked up a biologically based anomaly, and thus would have found it non relevant.’
‘So you think that could kill a few residents on this base?’
‘Potentially a few or even a few hundred lives. But that is not our primary objective now. What you will do is interface with a key technological component.’
‘Which is?’
‘The temporal eradication device.’
Torbin chuckled. Was the voice his psychosis – his mind trying to rationalize an inexplicable act of clemency?
‘For a start,’ he told this errant voice, ‘as far as I am aware it is not even yet built; secondly, why build it in this gargantuan outpost that can be seen from light years away? Third, I will simply refuse.’
‘Except you will not refuse, when you know of the alternative.’
‘Let me guess. You will destroy this entire complex. Would you call my bluff on that?’
There was no more from the voice. Torbin felt ridiculous for having engaged with it to such an extent, not even sure of its reality; he could not decide whether he preferred to be experiencing the delusion of mental illness or be possessed by a Kintra invader.
He slept fitfully and woke up to his buzzing comm. A kindly female voice, claiming to be a catering representative, suggested he visit the dining hall for breakfast.
* * *
68
Roidon engaged the ship to locate the nearest Kintra outpost or colonized planet. This vessel, as far as he knew, possessed the capability to destroy a planet.
The Kintra, it seemed, had made one elementary mistake: they misunderstood the ruthlessness of a man with no fear of death, with nothing to lose who is hellbent on revenge. A suicide mission ultimately. Not the recklessness of someone who wants to die at
the earliest opportunity.
Ahead of his ship was a probe; it would periodically exit hyperspace in order to scan surrounding space. After only twenty minutes it returned with a scan of a planet that had been colonized
He took a few minutes to consider whether this was a worthy target, and decided it was. The population would have been captured, their true lives ended. There were still significant numbers of Kintra.
In normal space, he took the ship in at twenty thousand kilometres per hour, about the maximum for the sharp manoeuvre he intended. Primed in the weapons hold a rather conventional fusion nuke with an eight hundred megaton yield. Without slowing he instructed a target over the highest concentration of Kintra. He brought up a visual of the plane-like device as it powered down towards the planet. It gave only a brief moment of satisfaction, watching the expanding plume, thinking how this would send out a message to all other Kintra. What crucially mattered was that they at least suspected it was him. Roidon they probably expected to no longer be alive let alone out for revenge.
The ship requested a recharge. He took it up close to the system’s star to gather ions and solar radiation, before going back into hyperspace and continue his search for a more important target.
In ten minutes he had travelled three thousand light years. The sense of empowerment, of exhilaration was like nothing he’d known for centuries. In another four minutes the probe returned with news of the Kintra base, the one which held the original Earth sim. It was the prize he sought most, but was it too ambitious? After all, using their technology to destroy their technology. Surely this would be the final suicide mission. They had to be prepared. Release his antimatter payload and move (at a computer controlled split-second) into hyperspace. That was the original plan. Alternatively, leave his need for revenge unsatiated and continue. In a craft such as this he could even reach the LMC galaxy if not Andromeda.