The Dark Imbalance

by Sean Williams

  “How long?” The anesthetic was already beginning to work; her voice sounded like it was coming from kilometers away.

  “As long as it takes, I guess.”

  “Two hours,” she said. “There’s something... something I have to do.”

  Haid glanced at the autosurgeon’s holographic display. “It’ll take at least six to clean you up, not to mention fitting the new eye.”

  “Forget the eye.” She could barely keep her remaining one open. “Make it three, or so help me I’ll—I’ll—”

  —send you back to Sciacca’s World.

  She never found out whether she finished the sentence.

  * * *

  When she woke, the pain was gone. That more than anything else convinced her that survival had been worthwhile.

  She couldn’t move, though. The autosurgeon had her carefully encased in a body cast that allowed the use of her right arm only. When she tried to sit up, it correctly interpreted her feeble movements and tilted the entire bed instead.

  “It won’t let you out of its clutches just yet,” said Haid. He was sitting with his feet up on one of the other operating tables with his back to the holographic “cybercorpses” rotating slowly in one wall.

  “You’re still here?” she asked. “Haven’t you anything better to do?”

  “It’s not as if I’ve been sitting around idly waiting for you to wake up.” He smiled at her warmly. “You said three hours, and it’s been exactly that. I just had to be here on time.”

  She smiled also, envying him his mobility and fitness—even with his cybernetic mesh and patchwork limbs. “How am I?”

  He swung his feet off the table, but didn’t stand. “Much better. Not one hundred percent by any means, but at least you look”—he shrugged—”better.”

  “Is there a mirror in here?”

  “No, but I’m sure Maii can arrange something.”

  Roche felt the girl’s featherlight touch in her mind, and full stereoscopic vision poured through her, from Haid’s eyes. She saw a white-wrapped corpse half in and half out of a gleaming sarcophagus. One eye was covered with a patch. Her mouth was swollen; yellowing bruises spread down one cheek to her jaw. Her head had been shaved and half-covered with bandages.

  said Maii.

 

  “That’s not a good idea,” Haid warned.

  Roche insisted.

  A flash of red passed before her secondhand eyes, but it didn’t really register. The naked woman curled up in pain, the one arm nearly severed and vertebrae visible through wounds at the back of her neck, the messy crater on her right hip, the blood... surely this couldn’t have been her?

  “Enough,” she said, swallowing. If the Box really was dead this time, at least she knew why. Nothing else could have kept her alive through such mistreatment. She tried shaking the image from her mind by changing the subject altogether.

  “Where’s Cane?”

  “Up in the observation blister,” said Haid. “He’s been there since we got you back.”

  “I want to talk to him later.” She couldn’t help the tiredness in her voice. She was alive, yes, but there was still so much to do. “First, tell me how you got me back. How did you know where I was?”

  Haid stood, frowning, and stepped up to her. “I’m not sure I understand all of it myself, Morgan. We knew something had gone wrong almost immediately, when you didn’t arrive at the Ana Vereine and Maii couldn’t find you. There’d been a disturbance in the docks below us, and security arrived just minutes too late. Automatic monitoring in the area had been shut down somehow during the ambush, so we never did get a good look at what was going on, and the ship they had you on had detached and hot-launched before anyone could work out it was involved. Things were pretty messy in the area because of the attack. It wasn’t until we received a tightbeam squirt from the ship that we guessed.”

  “What did the message say?”

  “It was fairly short, telling us basically that you were aboard and injured and that a pulse would be sent every hour telling us where the ship was, but it didn’t tell us who it was from. The Heresiarch picked it up and passed it on. I wanted to follow straightaway but Cane was adamant we shouldn’t. Quite apart from getting through the siege around the Phlegethon, he felt there was also the matter of the people who captured you to take into consideration. We couldn’t afford to take the chance that they might kill you if we came in with guns blazing. So we kept track of the ship and thought of another way.”

  “By masquerading as one of them.”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “And who are they?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “So how did you know what to do?”

  “I didn’t. It was all Cane’s idea. He got us through the blockade and gave us the specifications of the ship we were to impersonate. When we caught up with the ship you were on, he gave us the codes to broadcast to convince them that we were who we said we were. And when we were in range he insisted that he should go aboard alone. He didn’t tell us what he was going to do, just told us to trust him. I didn’t know whether I should, but couldn’t think of anything better to do. He seemed to know what he was doing, and if it got you back...” Haid shrugged. “It worked out in the end, I guess.”

  She was silent for a while, remembering Cane’s tone, remembering how he had dealt with the groveling Hum. And she thought of the epsense link that possibly connected the clone warriors....

  “He was different back there,” she said. “For a while there, it was almost as if he was the enemy, you know? I think he was close to becoming one of them.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Haid said, concern etched deeply in his face. “I couldn’t help think that if he went too far, he wouldn’t come back to us.” He shrugged again. “I didn’t want to lose him as well.”

  “I don’t believe he was ever ours to begin with.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “We need him here.”

  Perhaps a little too much, she thought, but said nothing.

  “Alta Ansourian is still with us, by the way,” he went on. “She refused to disembark when she had the chance. She’s still in her quarters.”

  “Doing what?” Roche asked.

  “Staring at the wall as far as I can tell,” he said. “Cane has tried talking to her a couple of times, but to no avail. She just won’t snap out of it.”

  “Give her time, Ameidio,” she said. “She just witnessed her father being murdered. It’s going to take more than a few days to snap out of that.”

  He nodded wearily. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe she has the right idea. At least she doesn’t have to worry about... everything.”

  He pulled his gaze away from hers; Roche realized he was embarrassed.

  She reached out and took his hand lightly in hers. “If it’s any consolation, Ameidio,” she said, “I think this will all be over soon.”

  His hand squeezed hers back. “Not soon enough for my liking.” He forced a smile.

  “Have we heard anything from the council?’

  “Nothing yet. There’s an ftl drone following us, though. We can call them when you’re ready. If the fighting’s done at their end, they might be willing to reconvene.”

  It felt like weeks had passed since the last meeting. “How long was I gone?”

  “Just over thirty hours,” he said. “You still haven’t told us what happened to you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to.” Her scalp itched, and although she wanted to scratch it, doing so would mean letting go of his hand. She wasn’t ready to do that, either, even though she’d already held it longer than she’d intended to.

  As though through a fog she saw Page De Bruyn’s face as it had looked, lifeless, on the deck of the Hum ship. She still had no idea what her former superior had been doing to her, and why. If the Box had bee
n around, she could have asked it, but this time it seemed to be irrevocably gone. Having lost it once before, she found it hard to believe that it wouldn’t come back to her again—but she could feel its absence all through her body. It was gone forever.

  “Hey,” Haid said, letting go of her hand and wiping her cheek. “I’ll go and let you get some rest.”

  She took a deep breath. “How about you get some rest? I’ll bet you haven’t slept for two days. Besides, I want to talk to Uri. Then Cane. I need to sort this out now, before I convince myself it was all a bad dream.”

  “The surgeon says—”

  “I don’t care what it says, Ameidio,” she cut in. “It’s keeping me comfortable enough in here, and I’m not planning on going anywhere for a while.”

  He nodded reluctantly. “Okay, but you call if you need anything, all right?”

  She assured him she would, and watched as he turned and strode from the room.

  When he was gone, she turned her eyes to the ceiling and asked: “Okay, Uri, what does the autosurgeon say?”

  “That you are responding unexpectedly well to treatment.” The voice of the ex-captain of the ship came from one side of the room, not all around as she’d expected. She glanced around to find that three “cybercorpses” had disappeared. In their place, Kajic’s hologram reclined comfortably in a standard bridge chair, affecting a warm and slightly amused expression.

  Her bed rotated to face him.

  “Your fractures have already knit,” he went on, “and all tissue grafts are proceeding ahead of schedule. Although the autosurgeon doesn’t anticipate your returning to full mobility for at least two days, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were out of the cast in eight hours or so and walking within the day.”

  “That seems unreasonably fast,” she said.

  “As I said, you are recovering quicker than expected. I’ve had a quick look to ascertain why and found some evidence of nanotech tampering here and there. It looks like you were being helped along. Not so much now, but certainly when you were first brought here.”

  She nodded slowly, not wanting to say anything in case it made him suspicious. “I guess I was lucky.”

  He smiled then. “It’s okay, Morgan. I guessed the Box was still around after Perdue Habitat. You had too many lucky escapes that could not have occurred any other way. And since it wasn’t anywhere on the ship, it had to be on you—or inside you. It helped you escape from the destruction of the habitat, it sent the message when you were kidnapped, and it somehow kept you alive long enough to reach here. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But it’s dead, now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You said the evidence of nanotech had faded. That’s the only way you would have picked it up—and that’s why it didn’t want me examined back on the Phlegethon. A thorough search would’ve found signs of it for sure. Since you can’t find it now, it must be gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said.

  She brushed aside his sympathy, genuine or not. “Don’t be, Uri,” she said. “It lied and it manipulated me and I’m still not entirely sure what its hidden agenda was. Maybe in the long run I’m better off without it.”

  “Maybe.” He paused for a moment, the light from his hologram flickering minutely. “Was this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Roche sighed. “Uri, I need to make a decision,” she said. “One that could affect millions, maybe even trillions of people.”

  “Regarding the enemy?”

  “Yes.” She cast about for a way to phrase her question, but in the end decided to be blunt. The chances were he would take it for a metaphor, anyway. Not even she could take the idea seriously yet.

  “If you found a way to wipe them all out,” she said slowly, “would you do it?”

  “That depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “On why I was doing it, of course.”

  “Because if you didn’t do it, there is every chance that Pristine Humanity could wind up extinct!” She blurted it out, and, having done so, realized how ridiculous it sounded. She sighed again, this time in annoyance. “There’s only a few of them, Uri, but their method of turning us against each other might actually work.”

  “But why are they doing it, Morgan? Ask yourself that. They might have good reasons—or think they have, anyway. Whoever created them may have felt justified in unleashing them against us.”

  “Justified half a million years ago, maybe—but now? So much time has passed; Humanity has moved a long way since then. Surely we shouldn’t be held responsible for the crimes of our ancestors? There must be another way for them to achieve retribution—or whatever the hell it is they want.”

  “I agree. But if they’re programmed to attack—”

  “Exactly: they’re programmed. There is no other way, for them. But does that make it right?”

  “There is no right and wrong in war, Morgan. There is only expediency, efficiency, and capability—all untainted by emotions or morals. Nearly all wars are won or lost without regard for Human values. As a result, the right side loses as often as the wrong. Only when the odds are stacked highly in favor of one side can such qualities be called into play. Mercy, after all, relies on the certainty that one party can kill another any time they wish. Without that certainty, mercy is meaningless. Only the most powerful can afford the luxury of forgiveness.”

  She half-smiled. “Once again, you sound like my old Tactics lecturer.”

  He returned the smile, briefly. “Ultimately, though, Morgan, all the theory in the world will only get you so far. In the end you reach a point where you have to decide for yourself. When you have to act. War is as much about instinct as it is about higher thought. Indeed, one could argue that if we thought enough, there would be no war at all.”

  “Now what are you trying to say?”

  “That it’s your choice, and I don’t feel qualified to advise you. If what I think you’re saying is true, and you do somehow have this capability, then I don’t envy your position. I don’t think I could make a decision like that. I’m too narrowly defined.”

  She frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean that in some ways I’m like the enemy. I’m programmed to obey a small set of rules, inasmuch as a Human can be.” His image shrugged. “I don’t remember my previous life. Maybe I was no different from who I am now, the person I became after the experiment. But all that I am, now, is here within this hull. All I really care about is the ship and the people who travel within it.”

  “Well,” she said, “it’s nice to know we’re in good hands.”

  He disregarded the compliment, his image staring over at her with a sober expression. “Morgan, I would be just as happy to leave this system and never come back, since we would all be safer that way. But I know we can’t do that, and never will be able to until the business with the enemy is sorted out I wouldn’t be surprised if fighting has already started escalating outside Sol System. Soon, perhaps, if we don’t do anything about it here and now—nowhere will be safe.”

  “If I could only be certain that it did in fact boil down to a ‘them or us’ decision,” she said. “That would make it simpler. Or if there was some way we could negotiate, find some other solution, or...”

  She ran her hand across her face. Her skin was clammy, and she felt tired, but she didn’t want to rest anymore. She wanted to push this through to the finish.

  “Have you told anyone about the Box?” she asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Don’t, then. Not that it matters anymore, I suppose.”

  She rested her head back on the bed, and the autosurgeon misinterpreted it as a request to lie flat. She didn’t stop it lowering the bed, though. She just closed her eyes for a moment and put her forearm over them, to block out the glare from the ceiling light. Her mind felt full, heavy. There was too much to think about, too much to do, and simply not enough of her to go around....
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  * * *

  When she woke an hour later, it was on the crest of a soothing dream. She was a plant, absorbing nutrients and turning them into cells one by one, growing and stretching at a patient, steady rate. She existed; she was. Stripped of all fears, all concerns, she delighted in the simplicity of just being....

  Then the memory of the decision she had to make came rushing back, and she realized at once what was going on.

 

  replied the girl, without the smallest trace of guilt.

  she said, stretching her one free arm and raising her head. She could at least feel her other limbs now, under the cast

 

 

 

  Roche rested her head back on the bed’s cushioned support.

 

 

  The girl’s reply was instantaneous and frank.