Heirs of Earth

by Sean Williams

  “It seems logical,” he said, “although we still have no idea why they choose him. Why pick someone who can barely think straight to stand between you and the ones you’re trying to help? I know he was a generalist and might once have been the obvious choice, but now...” The robot paused thoughtfully. “It’s almost like they want to make things difficult for us.”

  “Maybe they do,” she agreed. And that did seem all too plausible. If the Spinners could learn the English language in barely a handful of seconds, then it didn’t strike her as likely that they’d make such a simple mistake when it came to choosing their spokesperson. “Maybe it’s a test: when we fixed Peter, they’d talk to us properly.”

  Eye stalks swiveled. “An interesting notion.”

  She thought so, too. It made a kind of sense, and it connected with other data that had been bothering her.

  If pi-1 Ursa Major really was a Spinner hideout, and had been for forty or more years, then why was she still alive? The Spinners had destroyed the colony founded by her fellow colonists there; they had responded to every attempt to explore the system since with extreme force; yet they had let her pass through the system unscathed, only interfering with her primitive camera in a way that was almost guaranteed to arouse suspicion. It didn’t seem likely to her.

  The trouble was, the alternative was even worse. A picture was building in her mind of a species toying with the junior races it found. She and Peter were united by complex webs of causality just as they were united by the urges of their originals. Was it a coincidence that she had survived both pi-1 Ursa Major and Rasmussen and emerged fused with Spinner technology? Was it also a coincidence that Peter had survived Adrasteia and Beid and been himself changed in the process? The Spinners knew both of them intimately: they had scanned her long before meeting Peter, and could have known about him well in advance. Was the lesson here not so much to survive as one was, but to give up everything one had once held dear?

  She and Peter were still linked by more than the strictures of her engram. He might think that he had slipped free of his noose, but she knew better. They were as entangled as ever, and would remain so until death—or the engram equivalent.

  She had tried using the new tools at her disposal to change the strictures of her engram. She had attempted to copy herself, intending to edit the copy and then set it running, ultimately erasing her original. But she hadn’t been successful. The copy hadn’t functioned properly, juddering to a halt within seconds.

  But that was okay, she told herself. In this brief window of time before the Starfish came, she still had options. She was sure she could work things out.

  Rob and her I-suit representation walked the corridors of Spindle Ten—corridors she had already explored in great detail, but which she’d wanted to show him anyway. As well as companionship, she wanted his perspective. As someone who was firmly convinced that the Spinners were hiding something, his take on things was slightly different than the others’. They tended to take their alien benefactors for granted. To them, once the gifts had been deposited, the Spinners were out of the picture. But Lucia was reluctant to make such assumptions. To do so could be dangerous, if not potentially fatal.

  They completed the tour without finding any new spaces or any ways into the spaces Lucia knew were hidden. Even from her privileged perspective, there were still things she couldn’t see or gain access to, but that she knew to be there.

  “Lucia?” The voice, speaking to her via conSense, belonged to Cleo Samson. “We’ve found Klotho. The Unfit commandeered it in the evacuation of Rasmussen and merged it into Mantissa B.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “Dry docked.”

  “I’ll be over right away.”

  “Can I come?” asked Rob, eavesdropping on the conversation with refreshing openness.

  She hesitated before answering, but only briefly. “Sure. Why not?”

  They retraced their steps to the door leading out of the Spindle. The Gifts around Sagarsee wouldn’t talk to her, but they had let her connect to the local instantaneous transfer network. Sagarsee’s Hub now had eleven doors, hers being a portal of dark frosted glass she remembered from UNESSPRO’s central admin building. They stepped easily across space to the Hub, and from there to the Dry Dock, via similar doors to the ones in Rasmussen. Here, as there, the doors had been plucked from the mind of Peter Alander, his engram in both colonies frozen in brainlocked hell.

  Klotho looked no different from any other hole ship. Its white, fat, spider egg-like main body dominated the chamber, lacking the slightest surface feature to tell whether it was rotating or not. The cockpit was just emerging from its side, sliding smoothly around the main body’s equator like an expanding black blister. It swelled into a hemisphere, then became more clearly a second sphere sliding out of the first. Its rotation slowed as it separated completely and came to a halt next to the ingress ramp. Lucia and Rob walked briskly to meet it, traversing the long distance around the enormous dock in silence.

  It was strange, she thought. To someone from Earth in 2050, when the UNESSPRO missions had left, the scene would have been utterly fantastical: a shimmering woman seemingly composed of water and a clumsy telepresence robot dwarfed by a machine that looked more like a giant chemistry model than a faster-than-light spacecraft. Yet to Lucia such scenes were becoming commonplace. She had to stop to remind herself that, despite their growing familiarity with such objects, neither the Yuhl nor the engrams actually knew how the machines at their command worked.

  The oval entrance was open when they arrived, so she walked straight in. The interior was similar to the other hole ships she’d been in before: the central cockpit with its couch and screens, and one small stateroom off to one side. She could easily have transferred her pov to its AI banks and explored from there, but that wouldn’t have enabled her to take what she wanted from within it. For that she needed a body.

  “Where are the personal effects of Peter Alander and Caryl Hatzis?” she asked the AI.

  “They are in storage,” it replied. “As per the instructions Peter—”

  “Release them to me,” she cut in impatiently.

  The machine obeyed without protest, as she’d expected it to. The gifts were lax on privacy and security, except when it came to their creators. Then their mouths were sealed and then- secret places locked tight.

  A closet opened in one wall, revealing a small amount of effects: some clothes, a replica book, and a sample from the Lab. As soon as she found the solid-state data storage unit Peter had once shown her, she picked it up and instructed the AI to put everything else away. The SSDS seemed ridiculously primitive compared to everything around it, but it had the advantage of being both tangible and private. It was something she could hold and keep to herself if necessary.

  “That’s it?” Rob asked, his robotic eyes peering up at the object in her hand. “That’s all you came here for?”

  She nodded. “That’s it.”

  “So what’s on it?”

  She clutched the SSDS to her chest as though it was a gift from a lover. In a very real sense, that was exactly what it was, and as such she was reluctant to explain even to Rob what she wanted it for.

  “Just some old records,” she said evasively. “I need to cross-reference something.”

  The robot’s anemone eyestalks wiggled at her as he followed her out of the hole ship. “You know, you’re starting to sound just like them.”

  She glanced down at the robot trundling along in time to her smooth and silent steps. “Starting to sound like who?”

  “The Gifts,” he said. There was a hint of amusement to his tone, but there was also an edge of seriousness, too.

  She couldn’t really object to the accusation, as it did hold a grain of truth. In a physical sense, she was more like a Gift than she was a human, running on alien processors and embodied within a bubble of energy. But she was still Lucia beneath all that. That was the very problem she was attempting to solve.
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br />   She was spared having to reply to Rob’s comment, though, by the electric tingle of an incoming ftl message registering in the distant Spindle Ten. How she knew the message was going to be different from the others that came from patrolling hole ships in far-off systems, she didn’t know, but she stopped to listen anyway.

  “This is Caryl Hatzis of the United Near-Earth Stellar Survey Program Mission 154, S. V. Krasnikov, to HD92719. I am the leader of a diplomatic mission to the race we refer to as the Starfish. We have tactical information for you regarding the people you’re following. They’re hiding in a system among the ones we have surveyed. If you are prepared to speak with us, we will give you this information. All we ask is that you stop killing our people! Please respond!”

  She felt everything in Sagarsee come to a halt around her. Engrams, Yuhl, androids, telebots: they all froze to hear what happened next. This was the first they’d heard of Thor since the team had left to try to contact the Starfish. No one had been certain if they’d even survived beyond stowing away in the cutter in Asellus Primus. That they had was a huge relief. For Thor to break ftl silence now, the mission had to be close to its goal. And if that was the case, then the next thing to come through could well be something from the Starfish themselves.

  As the seconds dragged into minutes and nothing came, Lucia felt the anticipation of all those around curdle into frustration. Then frustration became disappointment, disappointment became hopelessness, and hopelessness ultimately became despair.

  Hearing so little was somehow worse than if they’d heard nothing at all. What the fuck had happened? Had Thor been successful, or had she and the others been swatted out of the sky for exposing themselves so openly? There was simply no way of knowing. They couldn’t even trace the signal back to its source so they could at least locate the Starfish fleet; only the Starfish themselves had that technology. All they knew was that Thor had been within the effective range of the local ftl receiver when she’d sent the message. That put her somewhere in a bubble 200 light-years across, centered on Sagarsee.

  “Do you think—?” Rob began, breaking the silence with a hesitant whisper.

  “I’m trying not to think, actually,” she cut him off. Then, wheeling around and moving off in the direction of the Dry Dock’s door, she said, “Come on, Rob.”

  Rob’s robot rolled after her. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the Hub,” she said, walking with determined strides. “We have an ark to prepare.”

  2.2.4

  WHO ARE YOU?

  The voice spoke to her out of blinding pain and seemed to take on some of its characteristics. Teeth like broken glass cut the words into tiny fragments that stabbed her eardrums; the tongue that shaped them snapped like a whip, leaving her flayed and exposed; the breath that carried them dripped tiny droplets of acid that burned her skin.

  WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

  Then she felt the voice, and the associated pain, recede, and suddenly around her a familiar world formed. She smelled apples, felt wind on her cheeks, and saw slender, sinister branches overhead casting shadows across the sky. The promise of the voice’s return lingered in the air, giving it a dense, powerful sense of foreboding. When she looked down she saw grass beneath the bare, human feet that had once been hers.

  “Where am I?”

  A BETTER PLACE, returned the voice. This time there was no pain; the words came to her on a sweet cider-perfumed wind. A PLACE WHERE WE MIGHT TALK.

  The orchard was as familiar to her as home, compared to the things she had recently seen, but it didn’t soothe her: Memories of old betrayals and murder haunted her.

  “Who are you?”

  THAT IS UNIMPORTANT. YOU MAY CALL ME THE NEXUS. THAT IS AS GOOD A NAME AS ANY. I CHOSE THE NAME BECAUSE OF THE CONVERSATION YOU AND YOUR COMPANIONS WERE HAVING IMMEDIATELY BEFORE MY ARRIVAL.

  “You were listening to us?”

  YES.

  Her face felt rubbery, distant. “It is important who you are,” she insisted. “I want to know who I’m talking to.”

  THAT KNOWLEDGE WOULD NOT HELP MATTERS.

  “Why not?”

  IT IS A PROBLEM OF PRESENTATION. THE FACES WE WEAR REFLECT THE WAY WE WISH TO BE SEEN, AS WELL AS WHAT WE ARE. WE DEPICT OURSELVES, AND DO SO PROGRESSIVELY MORE SO THE MORE INTELLIGENT AND CAPABLE OUR CULTURE BECOMES. THE WAY I CHOOSE TO DEPICT MYSELF WOULD NOT BE COMPREHENSIBLE TO YOU, AND I WOULD NOT LIKE TO DEPICT MYSELF IN TERMS YOU COULD UNDERSTAND. IF YOU ARE ANYTHING TO GO BY, I WOULD NOT LIKE TO BE BOUND BY YOUR CULTURE’S DEMEANING NOTIONS OF IDENTITY.

  She bristled at that. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with us?”

  THIS IS THE POINT I WISH TO RAISE WITH YOU. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? WHY ARE YOU HERE?

  “You can read me my mind, access my memories. You tell me.”

  THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF THIS EXERCISE. I AM QUESTIONING YOUR MOTIVES. I DON’T THINK YOU TRULY KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING, WHY YOU ARE HERE.

  “I’m here because...” She hesitated. “I’m here to try to save the survivors. We have to stop the Starfish or they’ll kill everyone.”

  IS THAT SUCH A BAD THING?

  “Of course it is, if you’re one of the ones being killed.”

  SURVIVAL IS ALL, THEN.

  “Not all, obviously, but under these circumstances I think it’s a justifiable goal.”

  TELL ME YOUR NAME, the voice insisted.

  She looked around at the illusion of the orchard. The lines of trees seemed to stretch off to infinity, and she had no doubt whatsoever that she would not leave that illusion without the help from the owner of the voice—and that meant cooperating with it in its games.

  She sighed. “Very well. My name is Thor.”

  NO, IT’S NOT, said the Nexus. A strong wind blew through the orchard, bending all of the trees back and forth in a gentle fashion. ACCORDING TO YOUR MEMORIES, YOUR NAME IS CARYL HATZIS.

  “Yes, but I’m not the Caryl Hatzis. I’m an engram—a copy. There are lots of us, so we differentiate by naming ourselves after the colony we come from. That’s why I’m called Thor. The same with Gou Mang, Inari, Yu-qiang...”

  She trailed off, sensing that her answer was failing to satisfy the Nexus.

  “Only the real Caryl Hatzis can use that name,” she said.

  YES.

  Silence followed the simple affirmative. She waited uncomfortably for the Nexus to say something else, but there was only the wind through her hair and the sound of wood creaking.

  “Well?” she said. “So what? Whatever this means to you, it’s not exactly a great revelation to me. Sol is the template on which all her engrams were based; she had the name first. Big deal. That doesn’t mean she’s the best of us, or that she should automatically be in charge.”

  OR THAT SHE DESERVES THE NAME.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. FUCK YOU, she thought, I KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING.

  IF YOU KNOW WHERE I’M GOING, the Nexus asked, blatantly reading her mind, WHY DON’T YOU ACKNOWLEDGE IT TO YOURSELF?

  “Because it’s not important!” Her rubber cheeks felt hot and suffocating; she wished she could tear off the mask and be herself.

  AH, BUT IT IS IMPORTANT, the voice argued. COMMUNICATION DEPENDS CRITICALLY UPON INITIAL CONDITIONS. I CHOOSE TO KNOW WHAT THOSE CONDITIONS ARE BEFORE I BEGIN THE PROCESS OF SEEING WHERE THEY LEAD. IF YOU CHOOSE TO OBFUSCATE THEM, THEN I WILL TERMINATE THIS DISCUSSION NOW.

  Thor bit down on an angry retort, even though it didn’t matter anyway. The Nexus could read her every thought as it happened, so there was no hiding what she wanted to say. And somehow, realizing that, she was put at ease. There was nothing she could hide from the Nexus, and therefore there was no shame in admitting what it already knew.

  “My name is Caryl Hatzis,” she said. “And if truth be known, I wish I was the only one.”

  A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around her.

  THE DETERMINATION TO BE CARYL HATZIS IS VERY PROMINENT IN YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS THOUGHTS, sai
d the Nexus. WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS?

  Thor shrugged. “I guess I’m just programmed that way. The engrams were written with a strong sense of self, to counteract programming fudges. We believe we are who we’re told we are because to believe otherwise might tear us apart.” She thought of Alander and the identity breakdown all of his engrams had suffered. “Sometimes it causes problems.”

  THE ALGORITHM IS UNSUBTLE BUT EFFECTIVE IF YOU ARE NOT EXPOSED TO OTHERS OF YOUR OWN KIND, WHO ALSO SHARE THE SAME DELUSION. CONFLICT IS AMELIORATED BY THE EXISTENCE OF YOUR TEMPLATE PERSONALITY, BUT IT IS KEPT MERELY LATENT AND CONTINUES TO ERODE BENEATH THE SURFACE. IN TIMES OF STRESS, IT MAY RISE TO THE FORE. OR IT MAY RESULT IN UNPREDICTABLE BEHAVIOR. THE FACT THAT YOUR ORIGINAL HAS TAMPERED WITH YOUR PROGRAMMING DOES NOT HELP.

  A new anger abruptly washed through her. “She’s what?”

  THE ORIGINAL CARYL HATZIS HAS SUBTLY ALTERED A HANDFUL OF YOUR OPERATIONAL PARAMETERS, THE NEXUS CASUALLY EXPLAINED, THUS ALLOWING YOU SOME SMALL FREEDOM FROM PERSONALITY CONSTRAINTS. YOU ARE FLEXIBLE IN WAYS YOU WERE NOT DESIGNED TO BE. GIVEN THE RANDOM NATURE OF THESE ALTERATIONS, I SUGGEST THAT THEY WERE MADE HAPHAZARDLY, PERHAPS ONE OF MANY SUCH CHANGES ENACTED ON ALL YOUR FELLOW ENGRAMS. THE ORIGINAL CARYL HATZIS MAY BE SEEKING TO EXTEND YOUR WORKING LIFE BY INTRODUCING THE EQUIVALENT OF MUTATIONS AT THE MOST BASIC LEVEL.

  Most of what the Nexus had to say wasn’t even registering. “She’s changed me?”

  CHANGED THE WAY YOUR OVERSEER BALANCES YOUR IMPERATIVES. IN YOU, YOUR DESIRE TO BE CARYL HATZIS IS STRONGER THAN IT SHOULD BE. THIS RESULTS IN A POWERFUL DRIVE TO SUPPLANT THE OTHERS, WHICH MANIFESTS AS HOSTILITY AND AMBITION. THESE ARE ARGUABLY BENEFICIAL TRAITS IN TIMES OF CONFLICT, BUT THEY ARE NOT CONDUCIVE TO COMMUNICATION. THE NEXUS PAUSED SIGNIFICANTLY. I AM MERELY POINTING THIS OUT. I DO NOT THREATEN YOUR IDENTITY NOR YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR TEMPLATE PERSONALITY. I WISH TO CONVERSE WITH YOU IN A RATIONAL WAY, WITH NO CONFUSION OVER YOUR MOTIVES.

  She was unable to speak for some time. Thoughts swirled through her mind like storm clouds in fast motion. She felt as though the soft underbelly of her psyche had been laid bare and poked with electrodes. Yes, she resented Sol for being the one to whom everyone aspired, and for making her feel second-rate and inadequate—and she could live with that. But to find out that it was Sol herself who had made her feel that way—who had reached into her mind and fucked around with her operational parameters, the very processes that made her her—that made her sick to the stomach. What had Sol done to her other engrams? To everyone? Were they all just marionettes dancing for her amusement? Was Sol setting herself up to become like the Praxis, a supermind surrounded by slaves attendant to her every desire?