by Ashanti Luke
Dr. Davidson sent a light chuckle back through the comm-link, “Honestly, because for some reason, I like you more than anyone else on the ship. You’re honest, almost to a fault, but I can respect that. And you don’t seem to believe in ulterior agendas.”
“So, do you ask everyone to root through a steaming vat of whipped piss and shit on the first date, or is that a privilege reserved only for true love?”
Dr. Davidson’s visor clouded as laughter erupted through the comm-link. He leaned against his sifting pole and waited for the involuntary convulsions to subside. With still deliberate breath he comm-linked, “See, that’s what I mean, you can make a man belly-ache even standing in the expelled bowels of nineteen other men. That, and you seem like the type to get the job done no matter how abhorrent.”
“Fair enough,” Cyrus said, laughing a bit himself. “So exactly why are we here?”
“The Shipmate’s systems keep everything pretty much in order, but we still have to make routine checks to make sure the Shipmate isn’t malfunctioning. Also, this particular part of the ship will be vitally important on the planet as far as terraforming goes, so I want to train someone I can trust to share that responsibility with me. As an added bonus, it would be nice if that person had enough fortitude to hold his lunch if we found an undigested watermelon seed or two.”
“Well, I can promise you I can hold my lunch. However, if we find a watermelon seed in the sewer of a ship that has seen neither vine nor fruit of a watermelon plant in 195 years, I’m grabbing Dr. Tanner’s Bible and I’m leaving, and you can root in piss and shit all by yourself.”
Dr. Davidson shook his head, his visor fogging up again, “You see, never a dull moment around you Chamberlain. Not one second.”
• • • • •
Dr. Tanner sat reading a corporeal Bible as Cyrus entered the room. Cyrus stopped for a moment, looked a little lost, and then spoke, “I wanted to thank you for not being offended earlier.”
“Offended at what?”
“The distance.”
“I figured you would come around eventually.”
“If I do, it will be a first. You can mark the date in that ephemeris of yours.”
“I’ll keep my stylus handy.”
“You do that.”
• • • • •
The codex looked not unlike the Unified Interplanetary Launch Platform on Eros where the Paracelsus had embarked on this journey. Only here, the scientists that had then been confined to the mechanized wombs that had slowed their bodily functions to the cusp of death, now filled the various cubicles and holostations instead of the engineers and technicians that had catapulted their inert bodies into the virgin depths of space.
Now they busily hovered over their respective holograms, each showing different parts of the same battlefield.
“We need to do something about this guy!” Dr. Milliken yelled to Dr. Koresh in the cubicle next to him.
“He can’t hold us back forever,” Dr. Koresh replied in a slightly calmer, yet still agitated, voice.
Another cry came from across the room, “What the heck? Why are my peasants dying?” Dr. Jang was frantically scanning the battlefield for the source of his problems. He noticed the water source leading into his castle was a mere trickle. “How the...” he shifted down the hologram, following the creek that should have been a river. About a scale kilometer upriver he noticed there were four dams built in succession with cavalry and archers protecting them—Dr. Chamberlain’s cavalry and archers. “You underdeveloped pod spawn!” Jang exclaimed. He knew Cyrus had to have heard his reaction, but as he scrolled along the battlefield, he saw Cyrus’s troops were engaged with Dr. Koresh’s men at the growing conflagration that had been Koresh’s main supply depot.
Jang scrolled back to his castle, selected his vanguard, and ordered them to destroy the dam and the force surrounding it.
His castle gates flew open, and his three van leaders charged out into a maelstrom of arrows from behind either hill across the road from the castle. Unprepared, the forces collapsed in a heap of carnage just beyond the portcullis. While the arrows were still in flight, the two archer units, plus a unit of infantry that had been hiding, rushed in and took the castle.
A charged cry of, “Damn you Chamberlain!” reverberated above the clamor. Dr. Jang had not realized how ludicrous his outburst had been until the area immediately around him became quiet and snickering began. He was sure Cyrus had heard him, but there had been no response—only the clash of swords and arrows and the pitiful cries of the last of his soldiers as Cyrus’s horde routed them out.
Jang set his head down on his cubicle as the sound of the obliteration of his last bastion subsided. A beep from the cubicle prompted him to lift his head. A private message that had been sent to everyone except Cyrus swept across the hologram. Evidently, Dr. Jang’s demise had been so fast the system had not registered it before the message had been sent. The message read, “Let’s pool our forces and attack him at all at once.” It was too late for Jang’s own army, but Jang scrolled through the hologram to watch the battle as an observer. Dr. Koresh lowered his drawbridge and sent out the bulk of his forces, leaving only a few foot soldiers behind to keep the fort. Across the hologram, Davidson’s portcullis opened and his force rushed out as well. One by one, the others’ forces surrounded Cyrus’s original keep that had only a small group of men because he had extended himself across the battlefield. Cyrus was producing new troops with Jang’s old fort and the forts of two other players that had been ousted, but these new troops were too far away to provide assistance. Jang smiled through his own frustration. The end was near for Cyrus, and his other troops would not be able to save him in time.
Jang scrolled over to another fort as the doors closed and he caught a glimmer of something odd as the gates were barred. “Wait a second,” he said to himself and zoomed into the corner of the fort where he saw a hint of ruddy brown in the corner—the same ruddy brown of the capes Cyrus’s elite foot soldiers wore.
Frantically, Jang’s hand moved over the laser keyboard to send a message of warning, but he had already been put into observer mode and was locked out.
He looked around the battlefield. The troops formed a ring around Cyrus’s main castle and began their advance, but each of his attackers had at least three of Cyrus’s elite soldiers inside their own gates. Only they weren’t attacking.
The onslaught on Cyrus’s main base commenced and it was clear that his forces would not be able to hold out for long. But no one seemed to notice the men lurking in their bases.
Jang couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Hey, he’s already...”
But it was too late. By the time the warnings that their main bases were under attack could have flashed across their holograms it was already over. Cyrus’s men stood in the center of each of the bases waving the other teams standards over their heads. A furor of grumbles, sighs, and curse words in various languages filled the room. More than two or three fists slammed down on cubicles and there were screeches here and there as chairs slid from under their owners. Dr. Jang was already next to Cyrus as he rose calmly from his chair. “You are a sneaky bastard,” Jang said as he extended his hand for Cyrus to shake.
“Thank you,” Cyrus said, smiling only slightly as he shook firmly then yawned. “Now I think I can sleep soundly.”
“Sleep? I’m gonna have stupid gram cursors and foot soldiers dancing around in my head all night until I figure out a way to beat you.”
Cyrus laughed as he moved toward the entrance as some left, and some moved to shake his hand. “Well, I feel sorry for you.”
“Why’s that?” Jang asked as Cyrus received a handshake and pat on the back from Davidson.
Cyrus turned his attention back to Jang and smiled, “Because you’re going to have to miss more than one night of sleep before you can beat me at being a sneaky bastard.” Cyrus winked and then made his way through the mix of admiring and dejected scientists that moved to congra
tulate him on his victory.
seven
• • • • •
—Hey Dada, I got something to ask you.
—What’s that Dari?
—Something Scott Seal said in class today kinda bothered me.
—Okay.
—He said I was arrogant and that I had a big head. But I don’t feel arrogant and I don’t really think my head is that much bigger than anyone else’s. What do you think? Tell the truth Dada.
—Firstly, I think Scott Seal needs to watch what he says about other people’s heads. I’ve seen his head. If the head jokes start flying, most of them will stick to his.
—Come on Dada, I’m serious.
—Okay, okay, Dari. Well, what I honestly think is that simple people like to use the word arrogant when they feel like they themselves are out of their depth.
—I don’t get it.
—What I mean is this; big-headed is just a figure of speech to describe someone who thinks they are better than someone else, but I say, if you really are better at whatever it is, not only should you not have to act ashamed, but you should get credit for it.
—Okay, I get that, but how can that help me deal with other people?
—You know, on that Conquest game you love to play so much, on the Chinese Warring States period levels, the guys all wear helmets or hats and the officers all have the big hats? Why?
—So you can see the generals on the battlefield I would guess.
—Exactly. So the higher ranked officials stand out. But unlike our society, in their society, you were awarded higher rank by how well you did what you said you could do—which in their case was measured in how much butt you kicked. Which meant if you were on a raging battlefield, and you looked across the horizon and saw a giant hat with feathers and all other manners of gaudy extensions, you checked the size of your own hat, and if it wasn’t big enough, you knew not to go over there.
—Unless you wanted your butt kicked.
—And who wants that, right?
—So I think what you’re saying is, it doesn’t matter how big your head is as long as it still fits your hat.
—Precisely. But at the same time, remember anyone can have his hat knocked off his head, and if you piss enough people off, they’ll show up at your house with pitchforks and torches like in those old two-D monster vids.
—Well, what if your hat is big enough to take them all?
—Son, note my words and note them well, there are men who have stood against the world in the past, and men that will in the future, but no man’s hat is so big that he can stand there forever. No one.
—Not even yours, Dada?
—Not even close.
• • • • •
Cyrus shuffled through the datadeck looking for a particular book by Richard Feynman that he remembered from the Arcology. It was a rather antiquated book, but it contained the particular equation he needed for his computations.
As it was not after lights-out, the lab was not swarming with scientists engaging in interstellar warfare, ambushing one another with turn-of-the-century tanks, or filling the moats of each others’ keeps while archers buffeted the inhabitants with hails of flaming arrows. Only a couple scientists, whom Cyrus did not recognize immediately by their voices through the partition, were working on their own projects on the opposite side of the codex.
Suddenly, Dr. Jang appeared behind Cyrus as if he had descended from the ceiling like one of the ninjutsu assassins from the Japanese Shogunate levels in Conquest. “You playing C.o.t.A. tonight?” he asked as he brushed his bangs to the left side of his head.
Cyrus didn’t know if he had overlooked Dr. Jang working silently behind a partition, or if he had been so engrossed in his own work that he hadn’t noticed Jang come through the entrance, but he was decidedly unnerved by his own lack of awareness. “Where in blistering hell did you come from?”
“Ha,” Jang laughed to himself, “unsettled are we? No worries, I was here when you got here. But I have a reputation for being practically invisible when I don’t want to be bothered. My last girlfriend wondered if I even breathed when I was working. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Well, if you are really that eager to get trounced tonight, I suppose I could oblige you.”
“Your winning streak can’t last forever.”
“Maybe, but I assure you, it won’t end tonight, and definitely not by your sneaky, ‘I-don’t-breathe-when-I-don’t-want-to-be-bothered’ hand.”
“We’ll see, Chamberlain. We’ll see,” Jang brushed his bangs from his face again and stooped a little to look at the holographic monitor that floated in the air in front of Cyrus. “What are you working on?” Jang gave him a friendly, but brusque, pat on the shoulder, “Hope you’re sharpening up your game. Wouldn’t want to make the champion look like unfledged pod-spawn.”
Cyrus turned a sharp look at Jang’s hand as it still rested on his shoulder, grabbed Jang’s index finger as if his hand were covered in grime, and gingerly removed it. “You know I liked you more when you were mousy and kept all that lab waste to yourself.” Cyrus looked him in the eye and returned the smile. “I was trying to find an equation in an old Feynman book, but it’s eluding me.”
“Why don’t you ask Feynman himself?”
“You got anymore of whatever you’ve been inhaling over there invisi-boy? Unless you’re planning on holding some sort of séance, Feynman’s as inaccessible as all this newfound skill you plan on using to beat me tonight.”
“Well, for once, you might be right. Feynman, much like your military doom, are closer than you think,” Dr. Jang brushed the outside of Cyrus’s shoulder, indicating he wanted him to move, “Watch and learn, young Novitiate.”
Dr. Jang exited out of the normal interface into the datadeck backbone. A prompt appeared before them and he entered the words ‘avatar folder’ on the laser image of the keyboard on the desk. “You can find this folder in the hierarchical menu, but this is much faster.”
“What is an avatar?”
A color wheel with colors that alternated in a pattern as the information loaded appeared in the lower right-hand corner of the image. “An avatar is an interactive personality emulator that uses fuzzy logic to convey information in a more direct manner than any datadeck interface could ever manage.”
“You know, I haven’t been keeping up with my tech braniac lessons, so I’d prefer you translate that into High Common, at the very least.”
The color wheel spun for longer than Cyrus had ever seen it spin before it stopped. The datadeck hologram went blank as the speakers in the cubicle asked in a warm, grandfatherly voice that sounded remarkably like Dr. Villichez, “Whom would you like to meet?”
“Perhaps, it is better to show than tell,” Dr. Jang smiled somewhat smugly then turned back to the cubicle, “Richard Feynman.”
The color wheel spun again, briefly this time, and the face of a bushy-haired man in his fifties appeared in the cubicle. Cyrus recognized him instantly. “Good evening Dr. Chamberlain,” the ethereal Feynman said, “how may I assist you today?”
For a moment, Cyrus seemed stunned. “Ask your question,” Jang said, opening his palm toward the bust on the hologram in front of them.
Cyrus turned back to the image of the physicist, “I’m looking to configure the comm-sat and the scanning satellite we’re going to deploy before we land,” Cyrus paused for a moment, as if he had forgotten something, and then turned to Dr. Jang, “Will he know what a comm-sat is?”
“He’s linked into the other systems on the ship, so he should be able to reference them.”
Cyrus turned back to the image of Feynman, “I need to check my computations against some of your equations for nanotechnology—particularly your work on density functional theory and testing of reaction sequences. I couldn’t find them in any of your works, but I know I’ve read them before.”
Feynman’s disembodied head tilted back as he sounded an amused chuckle. “I helped spawn t
he push into nanotechnology, but I cannot take credit for those equations. They were developed ten years after I left this world. They were the works of two gentlemen, a Stephen Walch and Ralph Merkle. They were awarded the Feynman Prize for experimental work in 1998 for those equations. I do not believe they have avatars on this system, but I do remember the equations myself. Here, I will write them down for you.” Feynman’s head recessed into the depths of the cubicle and a blank white page appeared between Cyrus and Feynman. The color wheel appeared again, and when it disappeared, the page filled with numbers, symbols, and figures.
“I took the liberty of saving the equations in your personal menu so you can reference them at your leisure,” Feynman added from behind the formula. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Cyrus looked over his shoulder at Dr. Jang, “Wow, he even makes facial expressions.”
Before Jang could comment, Feynman himself chimed in, “It is truly amazing the progress that has been made in the last five hundred years in quantum computing and nanotechnology. I personally, am very impressed.”
Cyrus laughed, “This is absolutely ingenious. Light-years ahead of anything I’ve ever seen.”
A thin, but long smile spread across Jang’s face. “Thank you,” he said, brushing his bangs to the side yet again.
“You created this?”
“Well, not by myself,” the color that filled his cheeks made him look even ten years younger than he was. It was no wonder to Cyrus why the ladies would have liked him. Jang looked away momentarily then shook his hair to the side as he turned back again, “Dr. Villichez is the real genius. His questions and psychological profiling system are the very backbone of the software. And the specs for the neural mapping came from Dr. Winberg. It took us two years just to get the right algorithms down and to create a development interface to link with Villichez’s profiling system. Once we finally got ahold of the Agamemnon Drei Quantum processor, we had the power to actually put it all together. Then it was just the scanning and compilation of the database. We would never have been able to get the backing if they hadn’t been trying to get everything together for this expedition.”