All The Frail Futures: A Science Fiction Box Set

by J Battle

  As Debois stood in the doorway, he counted 30 or 40 men standing quietly around the ship.

  And they were all almost identical, though they were dressed differently, with a variety of hair styles, beard styles and head-ware. Some seemed at their peak of fitness, others had let themselves go a little. Some were barely out of their teens; others would soon need assistance to walk.

  But they were all versions of the same original man. And that man was Jack.

  ‘Oh, this is going to be so much fun,’ Debois whispered to himself as he floated to the ground.

  Jack joined him and together, they marched through the bowing crowd.

  There was a grand sweep of steps leading to a wide glass entrance in the nearest, most impressive building. Jack led the way up the steps and into the building. They followed a broad corridor with a shiny marble floor to further steps and corridors.

  At last they came to a set of double mahogany doors, four metres high and just as wide. The doors opened at their approach and they entered what could only be described as a throne-room; wide and high, lavishly decorated with gold and crystal chandeliers, rich red carpet and a full set of minions lining the walls.

  And, sitting on the great gold throne at the far end the hall, they found Number Three.

  Chapter 52

  Number Three rose from the throne to greet his visitors.

  It was immediately obvious to Debois that he’d had some work done.

  He was fully three metres in height and the dull black body sported by Jack and all of the other replicants was certainly not for him. He favoured a much more eye-catching bright silver skin; so shiny you could see your distorted reflection in his broad chest.

  ‘Welcome to my little world,’ Number Three said, grandly. He descended the three white marble steps leading from the throne to their level, where he towered over them both.

  ‘Thank you for your welcome, Number Three.’ Debois bowed waist high.

  ‘I am no longer known by that ridiculous name. Please address me simply as Sire. In the third person, I will be referred to as Charlemagne. The Warrior King.‘

  ‘I beg your pardon, Sire. We were not made aware of your regal station.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself. I am a generous king and not easily offended.’

  Debois glanced at Jack who was standing, unmoving beside him. He wondered how long it would take Jack to cause offence.

  ‘You know why we are here, Number Three,’ said Jack.

  There you go; not very long at all.

  ‘I fully understand your mission, Jack. But there’s really no need to be hasty, is there? Stay a while and rest. I expect you have been travelling for some time. And as for me, it would be nice to have access to company at little bit more exotic than I have been used to.’

  He turned to Debois.

  ‘I’m sure you must be filled to bursting with interesting conversation.’

  Debois smiled and nodded. ‘It has been mentioned on more than one occasion, Sire.’

  ‘Do we really have to go through all this, Number Three?’

  ‘Humour me, Jack. Let me show you what I’ve done with the place since you left, so long ago.’

  ‘I saw no sign of the Yeken on our way here. What have you done with them?’

  ‘The Yeken? Yes, well they were an unpleasant bunch, weren’t they? With that horrible socket arrangement they had which caused that disgusting sucking sound when they moved. And their eating habits! Well, if I had a stomach, I’m quite sure they would have made me quite nauseous. Had to get rid. There was no other course of action available to me. Not when I was growing my lovely new clones. Do you like them? You must, surely.’

  ‘You’ve killed all of the Yeken?’ Jack took half a step closer to Number Three.

  ‘Well, not all of them. That would have been too tiresome, ferretting them out in their little hidey holes. No, there are still some out there, mercifully far from here.’

  ‘You talk to him!’ snapped Jack, as he marched out of the throne-room.

  ‘He can be a little tense, Sire. Please forgive his rudeness.’

  ‘Not at all. If we can’t give Jack Russell the benefit of our magnanimity, who can we give it to?’

  ‘Very kind of you, Sire.’

  ‘Now, as far as entertainment is concerned, we are a bit limited. Jack was never a creative person and his singing and dancing, any performance skills actually, were barely even basic. It must have been so hard for him, in his time on Earth, with so few actual skills. Even his brain wasn’t really up to much; brighter than most, but duller than so many. How could he have endured that?

  ‘Still, I’ve chosen a small number to train up as musicians and singers; they can now give a passible performance, when properly rehearsed. Nothing original, of course. That would be too much to expect.’

  He took Debois by the elbow and guided him from the throne-room.

  ‘We’re going to hear some late 20th century ballads. I hope you are happy with that.’

  ‘Of course, Sire. I can’t wait to hear them.’

  Debois was delighted when five of the younger versions of Jack, standing before a small band, performed an enthusiastic, and quite authentic, version of ‘Flying without Wings.’

  Chapter 53

  Jack raced from the hall, his mind racing.

  Were the Yeken that decimated? Could a version of himself really be that callous? Deliberate genocide.

  He was self-aware enough to accept that the things he’d done in the past had caused great harm, but none of those disasters had been voluntary or deliberate. This was a different order of evil entirely.

  He didn’t bother with the ship; he simply flew into the cloudy sky, his scanners on their widest possible settings.

  Fifty kilometres north of the city, he found them.

  It was a small wood, nestled in a valley in a low mountain range running west to east. The clouds had cleared and the sun was warming the green slopes.

  There were three of them, two mature males and a junior of indeterminate gender.

  They watched him land calmly, though there was an alertness about them that suggested they were ready to run at the first hint of danger.

  The adult males were a head shorter than Jack, bipedal but with short legs and disproportionately long arms. Their bodies were as wide as they were tall and they sported bushy beards and long raggedy hair. They were dressed in traditional long brown trading tunics, their massive feet unshod.

  ‘Do not fear me,’ said Jack, comfortably fluent in their language. ‘I mean you no harm.’

  One male stepped forward. He brought his great arms up to waist level, the three fingered hands clenched.

  ‘We know you,’ he growled, his voice deep and guttural.

  The other adult male moved to one side, his attitude equally aggressive.

  Jack knew how strong these creatures were. If they attacked him, he wouldn’t be able to stop them without causing them considerable damage.

  ‘You don’t know me; you are mistaking me for another. I want to help you. I want to give you back your world. I want….to apologise for what has been done you.’

  ‘We don’t believe you.’

  ‘That is perfectly reasonable. But I declaim the name Hardron, and you must acknowledge me.’ He held his arms out at his sides, palms up.

  At the sound of that name and the truth gesture, the Yeken turned to each other. The largest one shook his shaggy head and spat extravagantly into his left palm. The other spun away and chugged into the woods.

  The remaining Yeken turned back to Jack and smeared the mucus through his beard.

  ‘That name is known. We acknowledge you, Hardronbrother. We shall not harm you, today. Tomorrow, things may be different.’ He held out his arms in a replica of Jack’s pose.

  ‘I thank you for your kindness. Tomorrow, I ask that you return to the city. Jurnent, I believe it was called, many years ago. There you will see us leave your planet. Leave and never return. That is my
promise to the Sons of Hardron.’ After holding the truth posture for the required time, he dropped his arms.

  ‘And will you all go? The silver one and his soft bodied playthings?’

  ‘The silver one will be gone. The rest will have to stay, but they are not many, and they pose no threat to you. I ask that you treat them with more kindness than you received from their master.’

  ‘That is not for me to decide. It may be that the cleft stone will make the final decision.’

  ‘If that is the case, I can say no more. I claim no right to interfere,’ said Jack, knowing that the cleft stone was never going to provide a bloodless solution. But he had done what he could to save the clones.

  ‘Tomorrow, we will arrive at Jurnent at sunrise. We will see him go, or there will be bloodshed.’

  The Yeken turned and lumbered into the woods, the youngster trundling behind.

  Jack watched them go; his mind filled with memories of Hardron, his old friend.

  They’d met on a world far away from both Occlusion and from Earth. A world that could have been Earth’s sister, it was so rich in all that life might need. The place was called Wierworld , occupied by the Wier, a strangely complicated people, equally mild and bellicose, relishing all sorts of activities that they were not really physically equipped for, including war.

  But their wars were small scale, in a controlled specific area. Only soldiers were involved and even they were allowed to be exposed to violence for just a short period of time. A battle lasted no more than six hours and a war was restricted to five battles.

  The peace treaty that would follow the war was agreed on by all parties before commencement of hostilities. If any party was not happy with the results of the war, there was always the option to start another one, after a proscribed period of time had elapsed.

  All very civilised.

  Hardron was on the planet as a mercenary and, on this visit, was due to fight on behalf of the Left Leggers, against the Right Leggers.

  The Wier were one metre high oval creatures with two soft marshmallow-like heads that could swivel independently. They were equipped with four short legs, aligned in a row, that could only move sideways. This arrangement had two main effects. Firstly, they walked sideways; some walked to their left and were called Left Leggers and, you can work out the rest.

  The other result of their unusual leg arrangement was that they were very easy to push over.

  Not a great advantage for a soldier, which was why they used mercenaries to do the actual fighting. Of course, this gave them the added benefit that no Wiers were ever hurt as a result of their frequent wars.

  Even more civilised.

  Jack was there because his ship had crashed.

  If you spend thousands of years flying round the cosmos, sooner or later, something is going to go wrong.

  In this case, the ship lost its sense of the exact location of the planet it was approaching. It wasn’t that the proximity sensors went wrong, with so many of them spread all over the ship’s surface, that was never likely to happen. But they did all feed into a single receiving junction that processed their input and passed it on to the ship’s AI. That was where the fault occurred. So, although the ship was aware of the planet, its exact coordinates were not transmitted.

  The ship fixed the problem in less than a second, but by that time, its disastrous course had been set.

  Landing on grass, or on a beach, or even in the sea; all would have been fine.

  But there was this rock.

  This was long before the ship was equipped with the complete array of fields she sported now, so, when her bow hit the massive, half buried rock, considerable damage was done to both the ship, and her passenger.

  Jack’s back was broken just above his waist and most of the servo mechanisms that powered his legs were crushed.

  He ignored the thick, viscous liquid that dribbled from his broken body and crawled out of the ship, worried that there might be a fire. He dragged himself across the rough scrubland around the ship and struggled round to the safe side of the enormous cube shaped rock.

  He had already sent a set of nanos to work on his body; the best available at the time. Still, it would take a day or so before he would be fully healed. He needed to find a safe place to hide until he was able to defend himself properly.

  They attacked him without any warning at all, which was a bit of a worry, as his sensors should have detected them long before they could pose any sort of threat.

  There were three of them; tall, loose-limbed bipeds bearing great clubs. They were a head taller than Jack would have been if he had be able to stand, clad in matt white armour and wearing tall helmets.

  The closest struck a jarring blow on Jack’s head, which seemed to vibrate throughout his ravaged body. Another went for the body, jabbing his club firmly into Jack’s chest. The third leapt into the air and brought his club crashing down on Jack’s left leg.

  Throughout the attack, they were absolutely silent.

  Jack wasn’t hurt by any of this, but he was beginning to get annoyed at all of this unwarranted attention.

  He flicked a hand out and broke the leg of the first attacker. The second was a little slow to react, so he ended up with a selection of broken limbs. The third only just escaped his grasp.

  He stood a metre out of arm’s reach and rained blow after blow down on Jack’s head. The creature was very strong, if a little unimaginative. Jack began to worry that his body might not be able to withstand the punishment much longer, so he shatter-shocked the club to dust.

  The creature was swinging it at the time and the shock of losing his club caused him to stumble forward into Jack’s reach.

  More broken bones; but still no screams.

  Then Hardron appeared, blowing a whistle and proceeding to admonish the injured attackers.

  Jack cycled through his translation programmes and came up with one that recognised the language, an Occlusive dialect.

  It seemed that the current battle had actually finished 30 minutes earlier, and the white armoured soldiers had no business attacking a non-combatant anyway. If they wanted to take part in the next day’s battle, they’d better get themselves fixed.

  As the disgruntled soldiers hobbled off, Hardron turned to Jack.

  He was big, wide and hairy, his body covered in thick, coarse brown and black hair, which was all for the best as he was otherwise naked.

  ‘No armour?’ asked Jack. ‘Or pants?’

  ‘We Yeken always fight naked. Armour is for cowards, and clothes are for courtship or trade. Who are you and why are you here in a battle zone?’

  It was the start of a friendship that lasted more than 30 years; the longest in Jack’s extended life.

  They travelled together, after Hardron had finished his stay on Wierworld. He’d asked Jack to fight along-side him but, it seemed, there were strict rules about the use of weapons of mass destruction, so Jack had to decline.

  From Jack’s point of view, there was no reason for the friendship to end. The Yeken were long-lived people, and Hardron had not yet reached middle age. He looked forward to many more years of company on his travels. Then, without any warning, Hardron asked Jack to drop him off at home.

  ‘It is time for me to mate,’ he said slowly, from his squat-place near the front bulkhead.

  So Jack took him to Occlusion and dropped him off in the great northern city of Jurnent.

  Less than three years later, Jack returned to look up his old friend.

  He was appalled at what he found. The big loud bulldozer was no more. Instead he found a bent skinny creature, with dull eyes and a quiet voice. The fire and the bulk had gone from him.

  ‘This is what happens when we mate,’ whispered Hardron. ‘We lose so much of ourselves. The female retains our genitals when the coupling is complete, and this is all we are left with.’

  Jack put one hand on his old friend’s bony shoulder, but he could think of nothing to say that would actually have any mea
ning.

  So he simply said goodbye and left as soon as he could.

  Chapter 54

  Number Five: Mk II reached Occlusion just as Jack met Number Three for the first time.

  He landed and, in full stealth mode, walked into the throne room as Jack stormed out, almost brushing against him as he went. He could have taken him there and then, he was sure, but Number Three might have intervened, and there would surely be a better time soon.

  **********

  ‘We are leaving tonight.’ Announced Jack, as soon as he was back inside the throne-room.

  Number Three was on the throne, holding court with a small band of Jacks, and Debois.

  ‘Why the haste, oh Original One?’ Number Three’s voice boomed across the room. ‘I have a number of entertainments planned for the next few days. It would be a shame to miss the fun.’

  ‘I’ll try to get over the disappointment.’

  Number Three waved his hand at the Jacks and they scurried out of the room.

  ‘I know that you can compel me, Jack. But leave me a little dignity. That’s not too much to ask. Another couple of days and I’ll accept whatever role you intend to give me.’

  ‘Sorry. It can’t be helped. We have to go tonight, before the Yeken arrive.’

  ‘We have nothing to fear from the Yeken.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But we will not here when they arrive. I have given them their world back.’

  ‘And my babies? What will become of them?’

  ‘They will reap what you have sown.’

  ‘Very biblical, Jack,’ said Debois. ‘ But surely you can’t leave them to the mercy of these creatures?’

  Jack turned to Number Three.

  ‘How many clones there?’

  ‘3333, approximately.’

  ‘Too many to take with us. We don’t have any choice. We have to leave them behind.’

  ‘In that case you will have to…’ Number Three stopped, his body leant forward a little, one hand raised slightly.