Arkship Prophecy

by Niel Bushnell

  ‘No,’ Bara replied, her curiosity tempered with irritation.

  The man tapped the table and a jug and two cups formed.

  ‘Holograph technology?’ Bara asked, staring at the newly formed objects.

  ‘The seat is solid, as is the table. Holographs are tricks of light, nothing more. This is a trick of matter.’ He grinned then poured tea from the jug. The liquid was dark, steam rising from the cup, and she could already smell the fragrant aroma.

  ‘Merred technology is more advanced than you expected?’ he asked, a quizzical eyebrow raised. His face was slim with pronounced cheekbones and wide eyes. He might have been fifty, she guessed, but it was hard to know.

  He chuckled, sipping from the tea. ‘You’re trying to work me out, aren’t you? What exactly am I? You have so many questions.’

  ‘Will you answer them?’

  ‘Of course but try the tea first. It really is a delight.’

  ALPHA

  Gofal was nowhere. No data, no input of any kind. Just void.

  Then, after an unknowable age – it could have been seconds, it could have been centuries, there was no way to tell in the absence of data – the void began to fill with information. He was no longer on the flight deck of the Adventure, he was somewhere else, a room with a curved floor. He sat up, rapidly absorbing the new data, trying to make sense of it all. He was alone, no sign of Otto, or anyone else for that matter, but the room was designed for human life: breathable air, a clement temperature of nineteen degrees Celsius, adequate lighting in the narrow spectrum visible to the human eye. In fact, the space was almost certainly of human design and manufacture. It resembled some of the older arkships in its construction, but lacked grav lines, relying instead on centrifugal force to mimic the pull of gravity. He noted it was set at just under one G, a common trait in older ships.

  The floor curved upwards in both directions at an almost imperceptible rate, and he calculated that the angle meant the ship – or space station – would have a diameter of nine hundred meters. Small windows lined one side of the room, giving views out to space. He noted the familiar constellations of the stars, but the glow of the Infinite was absent. In its place was a giant ball of burning gas: the Sun.

  Gofal stood, exploring the room. It was a science laboratory, he decided, having assessed its contents, and all the technology matched a pre-Fracture date. Was he somehow in the past? The contradiction of logic and perception gave him an odd sensation deep inside his cerebral matrix. This experience was not part of the future knowledge that had been given to him by the Infinite Gods. This was something new and unexpected.

  He took a moment to look out of the windows, marveling at the view. The Sun drifted from right to left, dropping out of sight, and the stars seemed to dazzle in its absence. Against the glittering blanket of empty space, he could make out structures telescoping into the darkness; docking arms with ships linked to them. They rotated past the windows in line with the turning stars; the docking ring was obviously a separate section that did not benefit from the pseudo-gravity of centrifugal rotation. This was almost certainly a space station, Gofal decided, and if he was somehow in the past, he hypothesized that it might be the station that Captain Hannovan’s arkship Haven visited.

  He turned from the windows towards a door in the opposite wall, keen to explore the station, but he stopped suddenly, surprised to see he was no longer alone.

  ‘Hello, Gofal,’ said Bara Delaterre.

  She smiled at him, stepping closer to meet him in the middle of the room.

  ‘How is this possible?’ Gofal asked, scanning her with the full range of his sensors. She was real. She was human. She was Bara Delaterre, his friend, here on a space station in the past.

  ‘None of this is possible, not really,’ she laughed. ‘Sol! I don’t really understand it!’

  ‘Where are we?’ Gofal asked.

  She walked to the windows, stared at the turning stars, then faced him. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I believe we are in the past, before the Fracture, on a space station close to where the Fracture wave will begin.’

  ‘Not close . . . This is exactly where it begins, Gofal. Right here.’ She pointed to the floor. ‘In fact, it’s already begun.’

  Somewhere in the distance an alarm sounded. He could hear raised voices, people in panic, running in different directions.

  ‘This is Station Alpha,’ Bara said, a hint of sadness in her words. ‘It’s a research base looking into new forms of energy, new ways of spaceflight. This is where the Fracture starts.’

  ‘Then I was right: The Fracture was manmade?’

  Bara grinned, nodding slowly as the floor began to vibrate. ‘Can you feel that? That’s the Fracture wave expanding, just a few centimeters per second from our perspective. Y’see, it’s a Fracture of time as well.

  ‘Is that how I am I here?’

  She laughed, her hand touching his arm. ‘You’re not really here, Gofal. Well, you are, but you’re not. We’re in the past, but we’re apart from events . . . Separate. You’re just seeing what you need to see.’

  ‘And you?’ Gofal asked. ‘You’re not really Bara, are you?’

  She looked at him, tilting her head with maternal concern. ‘I’m Infinite.’

  The vibration grew, and Gofal’s vision began to rupture, breaking into a swarm of noise. Bara and the station seemed to crumble away, leaving behind a terrible void where nothing existed.

  WAITING

  Valine scrutinized the holograph from her seat on board the arkship Haukr, hoping for an update. Halstead had eluded her, for now. The Ark Royal Caerleon had made its first Cube transit. Usually, she would be able to access the Kenric-Draig inventory and pinpoint the location of any ship in the fleet, but Halstead’s flagship hadn’t logged its flight plan. They’d even taken the precaution of deactivating their transponder, which had only piqued Valine’s interest further.

  AS Valine scrolled through the details of the Kenric-Draig fleet, she marveled that this alliance had lasted for so long. Prince Halstead had managed to end years of hostilities and bring about a decade of prosperous tolerance, with her as his second-in-command. It was a remarkable feat, something Orcades Draig had tried and failed to do with force, but Halstead had managed it without conquest. She was the architect behind that union, it was her planning that had made it happen, and it was because of her that it had endured. But she had spent too long in the shadows, growing comfortable. It was time for change. The first step in her strategy was already underway. Soon, Prince Halstead would be a figure of hate and derision, weak and replaceable. She smiled to herself, imagining the fruition of her plans, picturing his stunned face as he realized what had happened.

  As she wallowed in her thoughts, the holograph flickered, updated, and Valine saw a new signal appear on the edge of their scanning range. It was too far away to identify, too faint to be certain if it was Halstead or not, but Valine was running out of options. The trail was going cold, but if she chose to follow this ghostly signal, she would be committed to that new route. If it turned out not to be the Caerleon, then the trail would be lost. She could wait, track this faint signal and hope that something else might appear on the holograph, but if it made another Cube transit it would be out of range. Coolly, she weighted up the options and decided to act now, while the opportunity was in front of her.

  Valine contacted the flight deck and relayed the new coordinates. Soon, the Haukr would be underway, hunting for the Caerleon. She felt happier now that she was in control again. The problem of Constable Fabien would soon be resolved (if Reader Aditsan had acted as she predicted), and she had the Scribe on her side. All she had to do now was turn the followers of the Church against Halstead, show him to be a Godless fraud, and they would see that she was their rightful leader. She had made a start already, suspiciously posting a trail of rumors in one of the Caerleon’s Church forums. Nothing too extreme, just questions that would fan the flames of doubt.

  She stabbe
d at the com device, opening a new link to the flight deck. ‘Berg?’

  ‘Yes, Admiral?’ a man replied quickly.

  ‘Immediate Cube transit to these coordinates,’ she said, transferring the data from her pad. ‘I’m on my way to the flight deck.’

  RUMORS

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ Reader Aditsan said as he entered Prince Halstead’s chambers.

  ‘So formal?’ Halstead asked with a jovial smile. He and Reader Elan Aditsan had grown close over the years, and his friend’s official manner was unlike him.

  Halstead beckoned Aditsan to join him on the long sofa under the chambers’ windows. Instead, the Reader stood, avoiding the prince’s gaze.

  ‘You were not at prayers again this morning,’ the old man said frostily.

  Halstead rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure your sermon was full of wisdom.’ He patted the sofa, demanding his friend to join him.

  Aditsan hesitated, then fell onto the cushions, his knees cracking.

  ‘People noticed you weren’t there today,’ Reader Aditsan said. ‘You’ve only been once in the last week.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Aditsan leaned forward and fixed Halstead with a dark stare. The lines in his face contorted into an angry frown. ‘Valine was there. You were not. People notice.’

  ‘Very well,’ Halstead said, placating him. ‘I’ll be there tomorrow.’

  Aditsan tutted. ‘You said that yesterday. Don’t go out of your way.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Halstead insisted.

  Aditsan scowled at him, then retreated into the sofa. ‘What did you want me for?’

  Halstead took a moment to compose himself. Aditsan’s behavior had put him off-kilter. ‘Elan, what the hell is up with you today?’

  Aditsan’s face reddened. ‘Did you order for the bomber to try to kill the Scribe?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  Halstead laughed, then realized his friend was deadly serious. ‘No, absolutely not! Why would I do that?’

  ‘To overthrow the Scribe! To excise the Church from Kenric arkships.’

  ‘Elan, I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ Halstead replied, his voice raised. He was losing patience with Aditsan.

  Reader Aditsan scrutinized him, his face full of doubts.

  Halstead’s anger erupted. ‘I can’t believe you would doubt me! How long have we known each other?’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’ Aditsan insisted.

  ‘Sol! No! Why would you think that?’

  ‘That’s what people are saying.’

  ‘People? What people?’

  Aditsan sighed, throwing his arms up. ‘It’s just what I hear. People have doubts, Halstead.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous, you must see that?’

  The Reader paused, just long enough for Halstead to see that Aditsan was not completely convinced by the prince’s rebuttal. ‘I’m just telling you what I hear,’ Aditsan said, sounding weary. ‘The Scribe was almost killed, and you don’t even bother to come to pray for him afterwards. The people notice things like that.’

  Halstead tasted rage in his mouth. ‘The people? Are they fools? Don’t they have eyes to see the truth? Why do they listen to false rumors?’

  ‘Do not underestimate them, Halstead.’

  ‘And what about you? Are you just voicing the people’s fears, Elan, or do you doubt me as well?’

  ‘I’m . . . it’s just . . . I’m sure it’s just rumors.’ Aditsan replied.

  Halstead tutted. ‘Hardly a ringing endorsement, is it, Reader?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Aditsan said, rubbing his eyes, ‘it’s been a difficult few weeks. I’m old and tired. I should know better at my age than to listen to gossip.’

  ‘Yes, you should . . .’

  Finally, a smile formed on Aditsan’s face. He grasped Halstead’s knee between his gnarled fingers. ‘Forgive me. It was a stupid accusation. Now, what is it you wanted to discuss? The assassination attempt?’

  ‘No, not that.’

  ‘Is there no news from Constable Fabien?’

  ‘He is unwell, off duty . . .’ The confrontation had thrown Halstead’s thoughts into disarray. The news that unfounded rumors were spreading disturbed him greatly. He made a mental note to investigate it further, then he focused on the Scribe’s demand. ‘I wanted to discuss the Act of Devotion,’ Halstead said gravely.

  Aditsan nodded, his face reflecting some of Halstead’s concern.

  ‘Has it begun yet?’ Halstead asked.

  ‘No, not yet. But it must be soon. The Scribe insists upon it.’

  ‘But you have doubts?’

  Reader Aditsan closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. ‘I do not like it, but it is not my place to object.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Halstead replied quietly. ‘The House of Kenric has always welcomed all faiths. We have not dictated a doctrine to them . . . Sol! I’m still not sure what I believe.’

  ‘I would caution voicing those doubts beyond these walls,’ Aditsan said. ‘I think the days of religious choice are coming to an end.’

  ‘And that is what concerns me, Elan. Our people have always had a choice. Now, if we’re to gain the endorsement of the Church, we must adhere to their rules. We must all believe.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ Aditsan asked, but Halstead doubted the Reader’s conviction.

  ‘Tell our citizens what to think and believe? Yes, it’s a bad thing. You know the history of Earth before the Fracture, you know of the harm done in the name of faith.’

  ‘And what of the good done in the name of faith? Do you forget that? Besides, things are different now,’ Aditsan insisted.

  ‘Are they, Elan? I’m not so sure. If we allow the Devotion to take place, we’re giving up a fundamental right of choice.’

  ‘You have the choice to say no to this, Halstead,’ Aditsan reminded him.

  ‘Do I? We need their endorsement, Elan. We’re running low on almost everything. Houses loyal to the Church refuse to trade with us until we’ve been given the Church’s seal of approval. The number of independent Houses dwindles by the day.’ Halstead clenched his fists in frustration. ‘I have to think of my people.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can help you make that decision. I’m not sure anyone can.’

  Halstead gazed at the older man, hesitating to tell him more, but he needed this confession. ‘The Scribe made another demand, Elan. He wants me to find Bara, to bring her and the House of Dulac into the Church’s protection.’

  Aditsan whistled, leaning back against the sofa. ‘The Scribe does not know Bara Delaterre. She will never submit.’

  ‘I know,’ Halstead admitted, ‘but I have to try.’

  MYTHS

  ‘What are you?’ Bara asked, placing the empty cup down onto the table.

  ‘Just a man, nothing more,’ Regional Director Alfred Gilani said. ‘A very old man.’ He stood and walked to the cannister in the middle of the room. He tapped the surface, encouraging Bara to inspect it more closely. She joined him and looked again at the transparent casing, staring at the body within. The face was sunken, the skin weathered and wrinkled. Tubes and sensors snaked over the body, disappearing into the mouth and nose. She noticed a quiver of the man’s throat and she realized this was no corpse.

  ‘He’s alive?’ she checked.

  ‘Very old but still kicking, yes. Look closer,’ Gilani urged.

  Bara obeyed, moving towards the body. Her face was close to the surface, studying the pallid flesh when the man’s eyes flickered open. She gasped, retreating from the canister.

  Gilani began to laugh. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist. At my age I get very few opportunities to surprise anyone.’

  Bara stared at the stranger, then back to the withered figure lying in the container. There was something about the distinctive shape of the man’s cheekbones that set Bara’s senses on fire. The hair on her neck bristled. ‘It can’t be . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ Gilani grinne
d. ‘That’s me, trapped in that tomb.’ He waved his arms. ‘This is merely a construct, a vehicle for my consciousness to exist beyond my body.’

  ‘How?’ Bara gasped.

  ‘How does an arkship travel through space? How does mankind survive without land or sea to sustain him? How is it possible for my mind to work independently from my body? Technology, that’s how.’ Gilani returned to his chair and pierced her with a solemn stare. ‘I was born in the early years of the Fracture. My parents saw it happen, they told me of it when I was just a boy. I grew up in those wild, barbaric years.’ Gilani’s eyes became unfocused, as if he was watching something far away. ‘I saw what humans would do to each other just to survive and I swore our family would never fall to that hellish level. But memories rarely outlive the host, and once we have forgotten the past it becomes myth. If I told you some of the things I saw in those early years you would think me mad. Unless you had witnessed it, you would never believe it possible. So, we have worked to sustain the living witnesses to those dark days. My body is almost two hundred years old. It is feeble and weak now, but my mind remains active, thanks to our technology. In this room, I can be young again. I can live, I can eat and drink, I can learn and laugh, and I can pass on my myths to others.’

  ‘You can’t leave this room?’ Bara asked, still stunned.

  ‘I have no need to. I have everything I need right here. Our matter transmutation technology allows me to create almost anything I might need.’

  Bara stepped away from the cannister, back towards the empty chair. ‘There are others like you?’

  Gilani nodded. ‘Some, yes. Sadly, we are not immortal. We still age, and we still die. A handful of the Merred family still survive in this way, but I am the oldest now.’

  ‘Why do you keep this secret?’

  Gilani’s eyes focused on her, unblinking. ‘You know why.’

  ‘Fear . . . greed.’

  ‘Mankind never really changes, does it?’ he said with a mournful sigh. ‘That is why you can never tell.’