The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing.

  … just like Tevka.

  Chapter 23

  On the bridge of the Khonsu, Falken and Weaver sat bent over the computer terminal. Overhead, sand and dirt covered the glass of the bridge’s forward viewport, darkening the small room, which was lit only by the screen’s bright light. Falken’s finger hovered over the keypad.

  “I’m ready,” Weaver said.

  Falken nodded and hit Enter, starting the search. A short list of newsnet articles appeared on the ship’s computer. The top result was an older news article detailing the family’s rescue. He opened it, and Weaver read it, his breath held.

  Falken saw tears well up in Weaver’s eyes. The bookkeeper took a deep breath, then let it out. “They’re safe.”

  “Yeah,” Falken said. He patted his friend on the back. “A little traumatized by the whole ordeal, but safe and sound.”

  Weaver reached out and scrolled back to the beginning of the article, then read through again. “This was only a few days after they sent us here,” he said. “They found them pretty soon after I was sentenced.”

  “That’s good, right?” Falken asked. “They weren’t being held by the kidnapper all that long.”

  “No, it’s good,” Weaver said. He shook his head. “I just drove myself crazy those first months we were here, trying to get back and make sure they were okay … but it’s still a relief to know.” He turned to face Falken and smiled. “Thank you for this.”

  “There’s more,” Falken told him. “There are some more recent articles, unless it’s too painful to read …?”

  “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional,” Weaver said, smiling through his tears.

  The next result was an official announcement – Weaver’s wife had won a local literary prize for a novel she had written.

  A tear rolled down Weaver’s cheek. “She had just started working on that novel a few months before the incident,” he said.

  They read through the rest of the articles – most were simple publicity items, describing the events happening at Weaver’s bookstore; his wife was quoted in several of them. The last article was just a short paragraph listing news snippets from local citizens. It contained a brief, offhand mention of Vina’s graduation from college.

  Weaver bit his lip and then stood up, turning away from Falken.

  “Are you okay?” Falken asked.

  Weaver shook his head, and when he turned back to face Falken, fresh tears were running down his face. “College?” he took a ragged breath. “Vina was still in high school when I came here. Now she’s a grown woman, a college graduate. I missed so much!”

  “I know,” Falken said soothingly. He shut the computer terminal off. “Weaver?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you tell me what happened?” Falken asked. “What really happened?”

  “To my family? Before Oz?” Weaver asked.

  Falken nodded. “And to you.”

  Weaver took a deep breath. “There was a man who used to work in our store – Tevka, his name was. He broke into our home, and took my wife and children away at gunpoint. He was an addict – that’s why we let him go, years before – and I think he was just hoping to get money for another fix. After he kidnapped them, he sent me a ransom note, and I took it to the police. I spent the next three days searching for them, trying to get the word out, just hoping they were still alive, and unharmed.”

  “That much you told me,” Falken said. “What happened after that? Why did they arrest you?”

  “Tevka sent me another message on the fourth day. This time he warned me that if I spoke with the police, he’d kill my son,” Weaver said. He sighed. “So I went to meet him, right where he asked. His car was parked along the side of the road. Out in the middle of nowhere. Have you been to Texas?”

  “Dallas, once, for a fight,” Falken said.

  “Well, it’s all pretty similar – big, open plains, mostly. Good cattle country, as they say. We don’t have many real forests, but there are plenty of scrub trees in Lawson County. His car was parked in this little patch of woods. I parked next to it, and got out, but … there was no sign of him. I started to walk around, thinking maybe he was nearby. And then I found his body.”

  “He was dead when you got there?” Falken asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Weaver said. “I stood there in shock for a minute, and then I flipped open my wristpad to call the sheriff. But when I looked up, there he was already, lights flashing.”

  “He just happened to show up right then?” Falken asked.

  “Yes. I never found out why he was there. I was glad to see him, at first.”

  “Then what? You told him you found the body?” Falken asked.

  “I walked him over to it,” Weaver said, nodding. “He asked to search my car, and I said ‘yes.’ That’s when he found the shovel and bleach in the trunk, with some trash bags.”

  “Why did you have all of that stuff in the trunk?” Falken asked.

  “I don’t know!” Weaver said. “I didn’t put them there. I don’t think I did, at least … I don’t know why I would have.”

  “Is it possible you put them in there, you just don’t remember doing it?” Falken asked.

  “Is it possible? I suppose,” Weaver said. “My mind was scattered at the time, I thought my family might be dead … I was a wreck.”

  “Is it possible that you killed the kidnapper – this Tevka guy – too?” Falken asked gently.

  Weaver met his eye. “No.”

  Falken studied his friend’s face. “Weaver, I know how easy it is to slip for a moment. To completely lose your cool, and make a mistake like that.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Weaver insisted. “That’s not a thing I could just forget about.”

  “Is it something your memory could suppress, though?” Falken asked. “In an effort to protect yourself, just to avoid facing the truth?”

  “No!” Weaver said, his voice rising.

  Falken stood up, and the captain’s chair rolled away from him, bumping into another of the bridge’s workstations. He pointed an angry finger at Weaver. “Weaver, I killed a man before I came here. It bothers me every day to have to remember that, to have to accept that part of me. I took away everything he had, everything he would ever have, because I was selfish, and I lost control of myself. But every time I face that fact, I get closer to coming to grips with it. Every time I admit it, I become a better person.”

  “Good,” Weaver said. “I’m glad you’re able to put that behind you.”

  “You need to do the same!” Falken exploded.

  Weaver stepped back, fear flitting across his face.

  “Why can’t you admit what you did?” Falken thundered.

  “B-because it’s not true,” Weaver said, shrinking away from him. “Why can’t you believe me?”

  Falken closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with one hand. “Weaver, I’m trying to help you. But I can’t help you if you can’t face reality.”

  “Reality?” Weaver asked quietly. “I told you that I don’t believe my reality anymore,” the bookkeeper said. He gestured at the dimly lit bridge around them. “I don’t know if any of this – the ship, the newsnet articles about my family, you – I don’t know if any of it is real. And now you’re asking me to question what I know happened before I came here, in the one reality I thought I could trust?” Weaver shook his head.

  “I’m asking you to take responsibility for what you did,” Falken said.

  Weaver bit his lip. “I think I’m done talking for a while.”

  “No, Weaver, wait,” Falken said, but the smaller man stepped past him, and disappeared into the lounge.

  Shit. Falken looked down at the dark computer terminal, frowning. He’s spent so long lying to himself … and he’s still not ready to admit what happened.

  He found Weaver back outside, sitting a few feet from the hatch, staring out at the ocean. New Australia’s sun was a bl
ood-red half-circle on the distant horizon, and as Falken watched, the sky darkened, and the sun disappeared below the far edge of world.

  Now I’ve only got four days left. And I may have just blown my only shot to get through to him.

  Chapter 24

  “I’m confused,” Ojibwe said, frowning at Peshai through the vidscreen. “I thought you were the one that called this meeting, Captain?”

  “Yes, I did,” Peshai said. He stood facing the screens in the conference room, his hands clasped behind his back. Something about sitting in his usual chair had felt wrong, given the occasion. Sitting would be too informal. Peshai cleared his throat. “I assumed that you would want to discuss the matter with me at once.”

  “But … you’re the one that put Falken back in Oz?” Ojibwe asked.

  “Yes,” Peshai said. “I called for this meeting because I felt it was pointless to hide my actions from you.”

  “… any longer,” Locandez said. “Now that your actions have been discovered, there’s no point in continuing to hide them. But you did hide them from us.”

  “True. I won’t deny it,” Peshai said.

  “Well, it’s your meeting, Captain,” Locandez said, aggravation creeping into her tone. “What do you have to say?”

  “I’d like to take full responsibility for placing Falken back in Oz. It was my idea, and I used my position and authority to disobey your orders. But I want to emphasize that none of my crew had anything to do with it. As far as they knew, I had your explicit permission to do so.”

  “Noted,” Locandez said, curtly. “We’ll see whether the investigation corroborates that story or not. In the meantime, perhaps you could do us the favor of explaining yourself.”

  Peshai took a deep breath. “I stand by my decision,” he said. “Falken has already made exceptional progress toward helping Weaver in the short time he’s been back in the simulator. He’s managed to reestablish a personal connection with him – and before Falken arrived, Weaver had been choosing to spend his time in complete social isolation, for six or seven years. Oz’s assessment is that Weaver stands a higher chance of rehabilitation now than at any point since his initial incarceration.”

  “Mr. Weaver’s reformation is not at issue here,” Locandez said. “He’s had the same shot at freedom as every other inmate in Oz; no more, no less. And in fact, you could argue that Mr. Falken’s involvement is unfair to all the other inmates in Oz, who do not have access to a personal friend reentering the system.”

  Peshai opened his mouth to object, but Locandez raised her hand for silence. “For the time being, I’m not concerned with Mr. Weaver. What I’m most concerned with, Captain, is your insubordination. You have been our longest-serving warden, with an unbroken record of excellence. Until now.”

  “I do apologize for disobeying you,” Peshai said. “But I believe it was the right thing to do. My role here is to save these inmates. As many of them as possible. We’re gaslighting them, subjecting them to privations, anguish, stress, all in an effort to better them. After all of that, we owe them the best possible shot at release that we can give them.”

  “Are we not already doing so?” Arkanian asked.

  Peshai faced her screen. “Ma’am, I’ve observed inmates in Oz for years, and talked to hundreds of graduates. As well-designed as the artificial intelligence engine is, invariably the graduates tell me that it was the human interactions they had in Oz that changed them the most. With real people, not virtual characters.”

  “Are you suggesting we treat your actions here as some sort of social experiment?” Arkanian asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Yes!” Peshai nodded. “It’s unorthodox, I know, but if it works, it could be a new approach that dramatically increases the program’s effectiveness.”

  “But the risks are many,” Ojibwe said. “AI can be controlled. Humans cannot. Falken’s presence in Oz could destroy the illusion for the other inmates.”

  “Falken gave me his word that he would abide by the rules,” Peshai said.

  “The word of a convict,” Huginot pointed out.

  “The word of an ex-convict,” Peshai shot back. “And a graduate of this program.”

  “Even if he keeps his word, I’m still not sold on this ‘experiment,’ ” Locandez said. “This committee needs to weigh the rights of the inmates here against the rights of human society more broadly. And society has a right to expect that we aren’t releasing dangerous criminals back into their midst, before they’ve fully reformed.”

  “What if Weaver needs Falken to complete his rehabilitation?” Peshai asked.

  “Then perhaps he’s not capable of reform, period,” Locandez said. “I have no wish to prosecute Mr. Weaver in five years’ time, when he’s become a repeat offender. I don’t want to have to face his victim’s family, and explain to them why we released him. Do you, Captain?”

  Peshai sighed. “You’re presuming he will offend again. Statistically, that’s very unlikely.”

  “But it’s not impossible,” Locandez said. “It has happened. Frankly, if it were up to me alone, I would argue for tougher hurdles in the program. A shorter timeframe to demonstrate rehabilitation, and more difficult ethical challenges along the way.”

  “I disagree,” Peshai said. “But I respect your opinion. And I realize the quandary my actions have put you in. I will resign my post, effective immediately, and submit to whatever punishment the committee decides.”

  Locandez nodded. “Thank you, Captain. Please call in the auditors.”

  Peshai turned and opened the door to the conference room, and the two auditors entered. “Officers, take Captain Peshai to his quarters, please. We need to discuss matters in private.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” one of the men replied.

  Peshai filed out with the two men in tow, leaving the conference room empty except for the committee members on their screens.

  *

  In her home office, Locandez rubbed two fingers against her temple, frowning. Through the windows behind her, the trees of a city park swayed gently in the breeze. A child’s ride-on hovercycle sat overturned on the office floor amidst a jumble of other toys. As she waited, Locandez picked at a food stain on the leg of her pant-suit.

  “They’re gone,” Huginot reported.

  Locandez straightened up. On her screen, she saw the conference room door on the UNCS Sydney close behind the two auditors. “I’ll arrange for a flight up there this afternoon,” she said, tiredly. “I’ll take over temporarily until a new warden can be found.”

  “Thank you,” Arkanian said. “I think we would all agree that you’re best suited to run things in the interim.”

  “Peshai has been a superb administrator,” Huginot said. “Must we lose him over this incident?”

  “We have no choice,” Ojibwe said. “We simply can’t keep him on. Not after directly contradicting our instructions.”

  “Agreed,” Locandez said. “My sense is Captain Peshai would turn us down, even if we offered to let him stay in the role. He knows we can’t employ a warden who flouts our commands.”

  “I can start the recruiting process,” Arkanian offered. “I’ll draw up a list of candidates and share them with you all as soon as I can.”

  “What should we do with Peshai, then?” Huginot asked. “I’m not eager to see a man who has served us so faithfully for so long back in jail for the rest of his life.”

  “Nor I,” Ojibwe said. “And his staff would likely riot if they found out.”

  Locandez sighed. “At minimum, I think we should accept his resignation, with loss of pension and all benefits.”

  “Do you want to arrest him, too? Revoke his parole and send him to the permanent facility?” Arkanian asked.

  Locandez frowned, thinking. “No,” she said, after a time. “I’m not sure his act was technically a criminal one. In recognition of his service, we won’t pursue any charges. We’ll simply ask him to step down.”

  “I concur,” Arkanian replied. “
That seems fair.”

  “Agreed,” Ojibwe said, while Huginot nodded.

  “I’ll inform him in person, when I arrive,” Locandez said. She pushed her chair back from her desk. “And with that … I need to pack, and inform my family.”

  “Sorry, we’re forgetting one thing,” Huginot said. “Mr. Falken’s disposition.”

  Locandez frowned. “You’re right,” she said. “Where is he now? Have they finished removing him from Oz?”

  “No,” Huginot said. “I just accessed the Oz database. He’s still in the simulation.”

  “Surely not?” Locandez said. “Why didn’t the auditors remove him the moment they found him?” She typed on her keypad, opening up the Oz program on her own computer.

  “I’m not sure …,” Huginot said, reading from his screen.

  “They probably went straight to Peshai to question him about Falken,” Arkanian guessed.

  “Granted, but why is he still in?” Locandez asked. “They’ve had over an hour to remove him now.”

  “Ah, here it is,” Huginot said. “They tried to, according to the program logs. But Oz denied the request.”

  “Denied?” Ojibwe frowned. “Oz can do that? The program can override human commands?”

  “Apparently,” Huginot said. “Oz told them that removing Mr. Falken suddenly and without explanation from the simulation would destroy the illusion for Mr. Weaver. Basically, the program had no way to rationally explain to Weaver why Falken would have suddenly disappeared.”

  “It makes sense,” Arkanian said. “Falken can’t just vanish into thin air in front of Weaver’s eyes. Not without making Weaver question the reality of the simulation.”

  “So how do we get Mr. Falken out?” Locandez asked.

  “Oz thinks there’s a high likelihood Weaver will become depressed and withdrawn, even with Falken’s intervention. His biometric readings indicate that he’s likely to stop talking to Falken and the virtual characters, and isolate himself again,” Huginot said, tracing text on his screen. “It recommends waiting until that happens, then removing Falken.”