Arkship Prophecy

by Niel Bushnell

  A chime toned. He was here.

  ‘Come in,’ Valine said, rising to pour her guest a drink. She could get one of the attending bots to do it for her, but this simple act would set the right tone, suggesting Strom was her equal, two old friends sharing a drink.

  The door opened and a young man entered, striding towards her with his arm outstretched. It was the mechanical one, the metallic digits obvious to see. Strom preferred it that way. A veteran of the battle between the arkship Fenrir and the Vengeance, he didn’t like to hide his injuries. Both legs were prosthetic too, lost in battle. His bravery had propelled him up the ranks, making him the youngest commodore in the fleet. The Leof was the first Kenric-Draig arkship, named after the revered ancestor of Halstead Kenric and Orcades Draig, it was a symbol of their unification, and Strom had been chosen to command it because of his Draig heritage, to show that even those who had lost almost everything in the war with the House of Kenric could have a place in this peaceful future. Getting the support of Strom would be key to Valine’s plans.

  Valine took his hand, smiling a warm welcome. ‘Good to see you, William,’ she said. ‘Gin?’ She held out the drink to him, knowing it was his favorite, waiting for him to take it.

  He stared at the glass, hesitating. ‘Thank you, no. Doctor’s orders.’

  Valine put the glass down, cursing herself. Her information was out of date. ‘Of course,’ she bluffed. ‘Something else instead?’

  Strom shook his head, remaining formal. ‘No, thank you, Admiral.’

  ‘Please, call me Jacque.’

  The commodore flustered, looking pensive, then forced a smile.

  Valine offered him the sofa. He sat down, a pained expression on his face as he came to rest. His remaining hand went to his boot, massaging the truncated limb beneath.

  ‘Still bothering you?’ Valine asked.

  Strom let go of his calf. ‘No, it’s fine. Just been a long day.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you too long. You’ll be keen to get back to Amanda.’

  ‘We are separated,’ Strom informed her.

  ‘Oh,’ Valine replied, thinking quickly. ‘I didn’t know.’ She touched his knee, but his leg tensed immediately, and she withdrew her hand. ‘I can see it’s been too long since we’ve spoken.’

  Strom smiled, but his defenses were set in place. ‘What is it I can help you with, Admiral?’

  Valine gestured casually. ‘This is just a catch-up, William, nothing more. I just wanted to see how you are.’

  The commodore tensed. ‘Have you had complaints about my leadership?’

  ‘No, not a bit of it,’ she soothed. ‘I’m just doing the rounds. You’re the ninth commodore I’ve seen today. You can relax, William, you’re not on report, far from it.’

  He smiled again, but this time his shoulders lowered slightly. Good.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, his tone easing.

  She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. ‘In truth, I came to ask your advice.’

  Strom’s brown eyebrows raised. ‘Really? You want my advice?’

  Valine leaned closer, drawing him in. ‘If that’s alright with you?’

  ‘If I can help.’ Strom said, his voice friendlier now.

  ‘Thank you,’ Valine replied, staring into his eyes. ‘I wondered what you thought of these silly rumors . . .’

  ‘I don’t listen to rumors,’ Strom replied formally.

  ‘Of course not, neither do I, but this particular piece of gossip was brought to my attention and I feel that I am duty-bound to investigate it. It’s about the prince . . .’

  She caught the tiny hint of recognition on Strom’s face. He knew.

  ‘. . . and the Church,’ Valine added. ‘There is talk of him conspiring with anti-Church groups. I know it’s nonsense, but I’m keen to find out if you’ve noticed any dip in morale because of this.’

  ‘If he wants to see his ex-wife it’s no business of mine, is it?’

  Valine grinned. ‘I never said he was seeing Bara, did I?’

  Strom reddened, leaning away from her, trapped.

  Valine remained silent, leaving space for him to respond.

  ‘I’ve heard it mentioned,’ Strom conceded, ‘but, as I say, it’s none of my business.’

  ‘I think it is. If people are spreading falsehood about our leader then we should stamp these rumors out. Of course, if there is any truth in what people are saying . . .’

  ‘You believe it?’ Strom asked.

  ‘That the prince is working against the Church? If it were true then he wouldn’t deserve our allegiance, would he? I can’t imagine such a thing. I’ve prayed to the Gods for this to go away, but the rumors persist. In fact, they seem to be gaining ground . . .’

  Strom nodded darkly, rubbing the side of his face with his mechanical hand. ‘I’m sure it’ll go away.’

  ‘I think you’re right. Those video feeds certainly don’t help things though, do they?’

  ‘No,’ he replied quietly.

  Good, he had seen the drone feed. Valine had contacted the Haukr an hour ago; Halstead’s arkship was still with the Benwick. Once her meeting was completed, she would return there.

  ‘I’ve tried to contact the Caerleon, to quash the stories, but it is off-grid, its transponder switched off.’

  ‘This is a worrying development,’ Strom conceded.

  ‘It makes it hard for me to prove Halstead’s innocence,’ Valine said with a worried sigh. She leaned back on the sofa, waiting.

  ‘What if it’s true?’ Strom said eventually.

  Valine stared at him, an expression of surprise on her face. ‘Do you think it could be?’

  Strom exhaled, blowing out his cheeks. ‘Sol! I don’t know, but it looks bad, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Especially so soon after the attempt on the Scribe’s life. And Halstead hasn’t been seen at Church in weeks.’ She knew this last comment would resonate. Strom was a devout believer, committed to the Church. His duty calendar showed his twice-daily attendance at the Leof’s chapel. Even if the other information she had on him was outdated, she knew this was still true.

  Strom wallowed in his thoughts. ‘What should we do?’ he asked at last.

  TRUTH

  ‘Do you think we’re safe?’ Otto asked, rocking slowly in the chair beside Gofal. He had been anxious ever since they had set off on their new course, checking the console every few minutes for signs of pursuit. His heart rate was still elevated, Gofal noted, his movements sudden and impulsive.

  ‘That’s a hard question for me to answer,’ Gofal replied, ‘not without being dishonest, which is something I do not wish to do. I am certain we are being hunted, but that does not mean we will be caught.’

  Otto became quiet and still, lost in himself for twenty-two minutes, then he turned to Gofal and asked, ‘Did you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew this would happen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Otto swallowed, blinking quickly, then he flung himself out of the seat and began to punch Gofal.

  ‘Please,’ Gofal said calmly. ‘Don’t do that. You will injury yourself.’

  Otto didn’t listen, landing punch after punch onto Gofal’s hard frame. Next, he tried to drag him from the chair, pulling at Gofal’s body, failing to move him.

  ‘If you do not stop, I will have to restrain you,’ Gofal warned.

  Otto fell to the floor, his knuckles bloodied and bruised. ‘I hate you!’

  ‘I understand,’ Gofal said, turning back to the console. He considered trying to help Otto, to comfort him in some way, but it was certain to enrage him further. Instead, Gofal fell silent, letting Otto calm down in his own time.

  Eventually, he returned to his chair, cupping his aching hands. ‘You could have saved them,’ Otto said softly. ‘You could have warned them, you could have stayed and helped. You could have done a hundred different things to stop this happening.’

  ‘True,’ Gofal conceded. ‘But that would compro
mise the clarity of the future knowledge given to me.’

  ‘My mother might be dead, Gofal! She saved you once. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. And this is how you repay her?’

  ‘It is a choice I made long ago, to keep the information separate so that it would not interfere in my decision-making process.’

  Otto clapped slowly. ‘Well, good for you! I hope you can sleep at night, knowing you’ve probably condemned innocent people to death. Have you ever stopped to consider why you were given this information?’

  ‘Of course,’ Gofal replied. ‘I have spent many hours trying to decipher that. It is why we are out here.’

  ‘Did you ever think that maybe they wanted you to act upon it? Maybe the Infinite Gods wanted you to use it – to change the future! You can make it better, Gofal!’

  ‘Of course I have thought of that, but to do so would only unravel the information I have. We would move along an alternative timeline that would not conform with the information I have stored in my cerebral matrix.’

  ‘Ah,’ Otto laughed, as if he’d just discovered some new truth. ‘Then you would be normal again, wouldn’t you? Just another bot. You wouldn’t be the Prophet anymore. Gofal wouldn’t be special. You wouldn’t know the future. That’s why you won’t change it.’

  ‘That would suggest I have an ego to bruise, that I was afraid of a future where I didn’t know the outcome.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Gofal mulled this over, feeling uneasy in Otto’s scrutiny. He was just a bot and he had no ego to speak of. That was true, but he had learned much, and he considered himself gifted . . . special. Chosen. He ruminated of this for seven point seven seconds, long enough for him to consider Otto’s statement from every possible angle, and he was shocked to discover some truth in his argument.

  ‘Otto . . .’ Gofal began. ‘Otto, you are right. I see now that I am afraid. I am afraid of . . . mediocrity. I am afraid of going back to being a mere bot, to being normal. I do not wish to be less.’

  ‘Less than what?’

  ‘Human,’ Gofal confessed.

  ‘Then start thinking for yourself!’ Otto demanded.

  Gofal plotted a new course into the ship’s navigation computer.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Otto asked.

  ‘If we continue on this course, a hunter bot will find us in two days’ time. It will attack us. I will defeat it, but you will be badly injured, and by then your mother and the rest of the Traum colony will be dead. I am changing that future.’

  Otto grinned. ‘Where are you taking us?’

  ‘To rescue your mother.’

  LIES

  He awoke with a jolt, sending flashes of hot agony across his stomach and chest. Halstead grimaced, waiting for the pain to ease enough that he could sit up. His eyes were shut tight, his face compressed until his dark vision erupted with dots of light, his ears throbbing. Slowly, the sickening sensation eased, and Halstead opened his eyes.

  Bara was there, waiting for him. Behind her, by the door, was his attacker, pensive and hesitant. Halstead looked at the boy first, feeling a mix of curiosity and fear, then he focused on Bara. Her face was older, but it suited her, and she was still beautiful. He felt an odd flutter in his stomach, and Halstead realized he was smiling at her.

  ‘How is it?’ Bara asked him, glancing to his bandaged body.

  He looked at Galen, then back to her. ‘Sore.’

  Bara reached out to their son, beckoning him to come closer. Galen walked to the end of the bed, keeping in the protective shadow of his mother. His downward eyes found Halstead, he straightened his back and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Me too,’ Halstead replied. ‘I should have come sooner. I stayed away, to give you space . . . I think that was a mistake.’

  Galen’s face reddened, anger still just beneath the surface, his feelings raw.

  ‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Bara admitted, emotion catching her voice, ‘but Faron would want us to talk, not fight, wouldn’t he?’

  Galen nodded, as if he was trying to convince himself. ‘What happened on the day my father died?’

  My father. The words stung Halstead, catching his breath. But how could he expect anything else? Halstead was absent while Faron had raised Galen as his own son.

  ‘We were trapped,’ Halstead began slowly. ‘The Caerleon was going to be destroyed along with the Solcor station. Faron – your father – was there as well. He saved us, he gave his life so that we could escape. I pleaded with him . . . I pleaded with him to go, to get out of there before . . .’ The emotions of that day were still raw, even after all this time. ‘I couldn’t save him. I wanted to but I couldn’t. That’s something I think about every day, Galen. It’s something I have to live with . . . and I’m sorry.’

  Bara took Galen’s hand, comforting him.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Galen asked. ‘You’ve stayed away for so long. Why now?’

  ‘I came to warn your mother. The Church want your submission. They want you to agree to the Act of Devotion. If not, they’ll kill you. I had to warn you, to try to convince you to give in. This isn’t a fight you can win.’

  Bara shook her head. ‘No one will win once the Church has broken us all, Wynn.’

  The old name took him by surprise. He hadn’t been called it in years, not since they had separated. She saw his unease, adding, ‘Halstead.’

  ‘You have to think of your people, Bara,’ Halstead said, regaining his composure. ‘We can’t just keep on fighting when we know we can’t win.’

  ‘You can’t trust Mori,’ Bara replied. ‘He won’t keep his word.’

  Halstead shifted position in the bed, trying to ease the pain. ‘He’s the Scribe.’

  ‘He’s using you, Halstead! You’re the one the Gods spoke to, you have power. He knows that. All you’re doing is helping him to gain more control. This Act of Devotion is just the first step in controlling the population. What do you think’s going to happen to those not on his list?’

  ‘It’s just a list . . .’ he replied, not believing it.

  ‘They’ll round them up, they’ll strip them of their rights, their possessions, they’ll make them leave or they’ll kill them.’

  ‘We can work to change that.’

  Bara’s voice grew louder. ‘Wake up! They’re already doing it. What do you think happened to the House of Addington? And they’re not the only one. We just don’t hear about it. You can’t trust anything the Church tells you anymore. They were the ones who sabotaged the Solcor station’s defenses. It’s their fault that Faron is dead.’

  Bara fell silent, her hand to her mouth, the weight of her words too much for her. Galen and Halstead exchanged a glance, both shocked by Bara’s confession.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Halstead whispered.

  ‘It’s true, I have evidence.’ Bara replied. ‘I’ll send it to you.’

  Halstead watched his former wife, the pain in his stomach growing again. ‘I . . . I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.’

  Bara threw up her hands in frustration. ‘Halstead, you’re many things, but I never thought you’d be closed minded!’

  ‘I am not!’ he retorted. ‘But you’re asking me to defy the will of the Church.’

  ‘Exactly. You don’t have to do as they say.’

  Halstead closed his eyes, feeling trapped. ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ Bara said angrily. ‘Sol! You shouldn’t have come here. Your Reader will be telling the Scribe our location.’

  ‘Aditsan wouldn’t do that, I trust him.’

  ‘You can’t trust anyone from the Church anymore, Halstead. The sooner you realize that the better.’

  Halstead paused, his defiance wavering, then he whispered, ‘I have to put my people first. I can’t drag them into conflict again.’

  Bara nodded, wiping her face dry. ‘Then we have nothing more to say.’

  Before Halstead could respond, she turned for the door, leaving
Galen standing at the end of the bed. He looked to Halstead, his mouth open as if he was about to speak, then he turned and followed his mother.

  Halstead sunk into the safety of the bed, feeling drained, his mind reeling. All around him the surgeons and medical bots returned to the room and began to prepare the bed for his departure.

  INTO THE UNKNOWN

  The prison ship Leylan was over sixty years old, a squat, functional design that deliberately lacked the Church’s usual flair for beauty in their vessels. In truth, they didn’t build this ship, it was a Ciation transport craft with a long service record, most of it a fiction designed to hide its true purpose. Nothing could link it back to the Church, but Gofal knew how to look beyond the obvious data. There was always a trail to follow. In this case, it was the transfer of Church funds into a charitable foundation on a Rhydar arkship, designed to help rehabilitate former addicts to Gravel. The donations were large and regular – far in excess of the funds needed to support their meagre humanitarian work there. Some of the funds were then paid to a Rhydar administrator in the form of a service charge, with the remaining, much larger payment, going to an unusual organization called the Children’s Arts and Welfare Trust. One of the directors of that organization was called Oskar Lantree, who also happened to sit on the board of the New Horizons Consortium who had purchased this ship from the Fedorov family eighteen years ago. From there it was traded and licensed as an Ort Runner under a group called London Swan Shipping. But they were far from the Ort Runner routes here, and this ship lacked the familiar scoops it would need to make a living in those barren wastes. This was a Church ship, transporting prisoners to their final destination.

  Gofal adjusted their course, moving the Adventure closer to the prison ship. Beside him, Otto shifted in his seat.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Gofal checked.

  ‘You’re sure they can’t see us?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure? No, not sure,’ Gofal replied. It was an interesting sensation. He had known almost everything that would happen to him since his encounter with the Infinite Gods. Now he was in uncharted territory, facing an uncertain future, and he felt the excitement and anticipation of the unknown. ‘That ship’s sensors are limited, and we are coasting on minimal power. The odds of them detecting us are very low.’