Endeavour (Atlantia Series Book 4)

by Dean Crawford

  ‘I don’t know,’ Meyanna said as she looked down at the computer screen. ‘The more we learn the more we can tell that the Word was set on destroying humanity from the moment it achieved self–awareness. Any attempts at philanthropy were merely a cover for its plans for conquest.’

  The face on the screen warbled something new and Evelyn looked at Emma. ‘What did it say?’

  Emma’s expression changed to one of consternation as she looked over her shoulder.

  ‘Another ship has arrived,’ she said. ‘We could be in danger.’

  ‘We are already in danger,’ Riaz growled, ‘and now we’re stuck down here with no way out.’

  The face on the screen warbled again and this time Emma smiled as she looked up at the back wall of the hold. She moved out from behind the computer and strode across to the wall, then reached up and touched it with her hands as though seeking some imperfection in the design. She rapped her knuckles on the metal panels as she moved from right to left, the knocks echoing around the hold until suddenly one of them change timbre, the knocks sounding hollow.

  ‘Place your charges here,’ she instructed the Marines. ‘The hold wall is thinnest here and should open out onto an access corridor that will continue aft to the landing bays.’

  Bra’hiv nodded and instantly his Marines dashed across to the wall of the hold, their charges already in the hands as they positioned them and set the timers. Evelyn ducked down with Andaim and Meyanna as Emma joined them behind the computer console, the Marines all ducking down and turning their backs to the charges, their fingers in their ears.

  A deafening crash shattered the air around them as the charges blew and thick smoke billowed out in blue clouds in the dull light. Evelyn removed her hands from her ears and peered into the dense acrid smoke, and almost at once she could see the wall of the hold ripped and torn, and through the ragged cavity the pale illumination of ceiling lights in the corridor outside.

  ‘That’ll do me,’ Bra’hiv said with guarded admiration. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Emma reached out and grabbed the general’s arm. ‘There is something else,’ she said.

  Evelyn knew, instinctively, what Emma was going to say so instead she said it herself.

  ‘We have to take the Word with us.’

  ***

  XXIX

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  Idris Sansin stared at the Morla’syn on his display screen on Atlantia’s bridge as he tried to understand what he had been told.

  ‘Humanity has been selected for extinction,’ the Morla’syn insisted.

  ‘Selected by whom?’ Mikhain demanded from Arcadia’s bridge.

  ‘The Galactic Council,’ the Morla’syn explained. ‘After the fall of Ethera it was decided that we could not allow humanity or its creation to expand anywhere beyond the core systems. Likewise, we could not allow the expansion of the Word beyond those same boundaries. Although it pained the council to pass the vote, it was recognised that it was a necessary evil. There is little that we can do to stop the Word except to ensure that it is destroyed wherever it is found, until a more permanent means of preventing its expansion it can be created.’

  ‘But that’s what we’ve been trying to achieve!’ Idris insisted.

  The Galactic Council was a governing body put in place by the Icari in order to allow self–governance by the systems within its realm. The Icari, although by far the wisest and most experienced species in the known galaxy, preferred not to intervene directly into the affairs of species over whom it watched. Rather, it installed governing bodies which brought together different species and attempted to resolve their differences through means of diplomacy and dialogue rather than conflict. It had been a known irritation to all member species that the differences between humans and the Veng’en had not been resolved despite decades of diplomacy. Equally, it had been irritating to humanity to discover that in the eyes of the council it was viewed as no better or less warmongering than the Veng’en themselves, a race virtually dedicated to conflict.

  The Galactic Council was led by representatives from the capital planet of each system represented, numbering up to thirty five individuals all of whom had extensive experience of governance within their own systems and of communication and cooperation with the species of neighbouring systems. These representatives were chosen by the Icari on the basis of their performance in government of their own worlds, a meritocracy that spoke of the faith of entire planetary populations.

  Now, it appeared, they had chosen self–preservation over assistance of their beleaguered human membership. It briefly occurred to Captain Sansin that there must have been at least one sympathetic voice on the council.

  ‘What of our own representative?’ Idris asked. ‘They are unable to defend us?’

  The Morla’syn captain remained silent for a moment as though considering his response.

  ‘Your representative did not oppose your destruction.’

  ‘He did what?!’

  ‘He felt that the actions of your kind were indefensible and that he could not speak on behalf of Ethera when he considered humanity to no longer actually be human. Your representative asked to be removed from the vote as he could not in good conscience defend a species which may already have been eradicated by its own creation and could not be trusted to have the best interests of other species at heart.’

  ‘How the hell do you not know whether that representative was himself infected by the word?’ Mikhain demanded. ‘He could have abstained from the vote in order to indirectly affect its outcome!’

  ‘It does not much matter whether he was infected or not,’ the Morla’syn said. ‘He committed suicide the day following the vote. In the interests of ensuring that the Word could not possibly have reached as far as the council, his body was incinerated and all of his digital records destroyed.’

  Idris took a pace closer to the display screen. ‘You’re telling me that the survivors of our race have no representative on the council?’

  ‘That is so,’ the Morla’syn replied. ‘As humanity in effect no longer exists we felt there was no need to seek a replacement for your counsellor. The vote was passed and the Morla’syn were tasked with hunting down the remainder of humanity and ensuring it could spread no further, including beyond the Line.’

  ‘So you’re here to destroy us?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Idris said. ‘I don’t believe that the Council would simply abandon us without even attempting to take in as refugees those who had survived the apocalypse. We are not infected and there may be many others out there who are also not infected. This is not the protection of other species, this is genocide.’

  ‘This is the only way,’ Morla’syn said. ‘Despite our technological superiority no species other than humans has created such a devastating weapon of war as the Word. It simply cannot be allowed to spread and there is no way that any human can be sure that they are not already infected, no matter how they may feel or how they may act. Species outside of the human systems have no detailed knowledge of how the Word works and insufficient time to understand it in an attempt to find a cure or defence. Sooner or later the Word will learn to infect other species, if it has not already. We do not intend to allow that to continue.’

  ‘This is our responsibility,’ Mikhain insisted, ‘and our right to act against it. Destroying us here and now will have no effect on the Word. It will continue to evolve and expand its territories regardless of whether we’re here or not.’

  ‘It is not my responsibility to make judgement calls on whether or not you will be able to have an effect on the future of the Word,’ the Morla’syn insisted. ‘It is my job to carry out my orders, and my orders are to destroy you.’

  ‘We have discovered new ways of defeating the Word in battle,’ Idris pointed out. ‘Destroy us now and you’ll never learn anything of what we have. The Word is neither infallible nor indestructible: it has weaknesses that can be exploi
ted, weapons that can be defended against.’

  ‘That matters little,’ the Morla’syn replied. ‘The danger it presents is considered so great that it has been agreed that the fleets of all nations under the Icari will be deploying to Ethera with the intention of destroying not just the Word but the entire system.’

  Idris stared at the display screen aghast, quite unable to believe what he had just heard. Never in the history of the core systems had any species or council voted for the destruction of an entire star system.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he grasped. ‘Even an entire fleet could not destroy a whole system.’

  ‘The Council is amassing thousands of vessels,’ the Morla’syn replied, its aloof expression and tone of voice angering Idris further. ‘We will advance one planet at a time, counter one threat at a time and win one battle at a time with overwhelming force. One way or the other, the only solution to the problem of the Word is to utterly eradicate its source along with every single planetary body that it has infected.’

  ‘And the lives of the people that remain uninfected?’ Mikhain demanded. ‘Those who fought to survive the apocalypse, fought to protect each other and uphold the values of humanity that the Council claimed to sympathise with when it accepted our membership? How do you justify their deaths at your hand?’

  The Morla’syn captain remained silent for several long seconds and in the background Idris imagined he could see the other members of the Morla’syn crew waiting to see what their captain would say. The Morla’syn finally emitted what sounded remotely like a sigh, but it gave Idris an impression of irritation rather than sympathy or regret.

  ‘I am merely the carrier of the message,’ he said. ‘The fates of those who survived your apocalypse are in the hands of those who created it. Do not attempt to bloody my hands with the genocidal actions of the machine that you created. We are the reaction, not the proximal cause.’

  Idris glanced at the tactical display and scanned the data upon it. The Morla’syn destroyer was in a tactically superior position, it shields fully charged and over one hundred plasma cannons available to fire down simultaneously on both of the frigates. Even a cursory glance at the destroyer’s statistics revealed that it could destroy all three vessels within minutes, regardless of any damage sustained in return. There was no way that the colonial frigates could win the fight, at least not by force.

  ‘And if I suggested to you that there may be a cure aboard that vessel, aboard Endeavour?’ Idris asked.

  He maintained a neutral expression, ignoring the surprise that flashed on Mikhain’s face. The Morla’syn peered suspiciously at Idris and one long, hooked finger stroked the side of his face absent–mindedly as he considered the claim.

  ‘And how would you know this?’

  ‘I have people aboard Endeavour who have been searching through the ship for evidence of what happened to it. It would appear that even though this ship may have been contaminated by the Word, it did not destroy the life aboard but appears to have attempted to preserve it.’

  The Morla’syn’s face twisted in a scowl of disinterest.

  ‘It is of no interest to us. We have our orders and will carry them out regardless.’

  Idris advanced to stare directly into the camera at the Morla’syn captain. ‘Is that something you’d be willing to take back to the council? That you may have held in your hands the solution to a problem that threatens the very existence of countless civilisations and discarded it in favour of aggressive action? Isn’t that what the Veng’en would do?’

  Idris made no attempt to veil the insult. He knew full well that the Morla’syn considered the Veng’en to be an even more barbaric race than human beings and something of a scourge upon all other species. The Morla’syn’s voice deepened as he snarled in reply.

  ‘The decision has been made and is not our place to go against it. To disobey the commands of the council would be every bit as bad for us as turning against it. We cannot trust any of you human beings to have the interests of anybody but yourself at heart, and the dramatic expansion of the Word and its conquering of your planetary system despite the warnings of the council of the danger of passing control to advanced artificial intelligence is evidence of your inability to control either yourselves or your own creations. This conversation is over.’

  Idris was about to shout something, but it was Mikhain who spoke first.

  ‘If you destroy us now and it turns out that we were correct, how long do you think it will take the council to discover your mistake? The Legion has shown an ability to adapt and evolve to infect any species anywhere in the galaxy, the very reason that you now say you want to destroy us. You should know, then, that it also remembers everything that happens.’

  The Morla’syn’s belligerent expression deepened but was also tainted by uncertainty as Mikhain continued.

  ‘If you destroy us it will know about it. If you attempt to hunt it down, it will know about it. Everything that it knows eventually reaches all corners of its empire, and its reach has already gone far beyond anything we could possibly have expected. There is every possibility that it has already infected even your own species or that of others beyond the core systems. Every action that you now commit will be carried home with you and eventually passed on to others. The Word was in our population for decades before the apocalypse arrived–our fate was sealed long before we even knew it had begun. What you do now you take with you, forever.’

  Idris stared at the image of Mikhain and fought to conceal his admiration for the captain’s sudden inspired outburst. The Morla’syn likewise stared blankly at Mikhain, and Idris could see the conflict racking the Morla’syn’s features as it struggled to decide which course of action was the best.

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ the Morla’syn insisted. ‘We know well our own species and the ability of the Word and it could not have infected us.’

  ‘But did you not just claim that it was your inability to understand the Word that was the driving force behind your decision to destroy what remains of humanity?’ Mikhain demanded.

  The Morla’syn scowled again, irritation flaring across his features as one bony finger pointed at the screen.

  ‘Our mission is to destroy humanity, and nothing else matters!’

  ‘That is exactly what the Word would say,’ Mikhain replied.

  The Morla’syn slammed a fist down onto its seat and directed an angry glance to somewhere off–camera aboard the destroyer’s bridge. Instantly the communication was shut off and the screen went blank.

  Idris turned to face the image of Mikhain and could not decide whether to congratulate or scold the captain. Mikhain shrugged before Idris could even respond.

  ‘It wasn’t like we were gonna get on anyway,’ he said with an apologetic expression on his face. ‘Just like old times, captain.’

  Idris suppressed a smile and glanced at the tactical display. ‘There’s no way we can defend our crew on Endeavour for long. If this goes south we’ll have no choice but to retreat.’

  ‘I know,’ Mikhain said. ‘All we can hope is that the Morla’syn comes to his senses and gives us the opportunity to finish our search of Endeavour.’

  ‘And that the team on board the ship find something we can use,’ Idris reminded him.

  It was not Mikhain who replied, however. The voice came from the bridge entrance, where Councillor Gredan was staring in horror at Idris, having heard the entire exchange.

  ‘You’re taking us to war!’

  ***

  XXX

  ‘You want to do what?’

  General Bra’hiv stared at the face in the computer screen as his Marines took up positions around the ragged hole in the hold wall.

  ‘We have to take it with us,’ Evelyn repeated. ‘This is something new, something important. If we leave this behind or destroy it we may never get to understand how the Word thinks, how it works, what its weaknesses are. This could help us.’

  ‘This could destroy us!’ Andaim countere
d as he pointed at the computer. ‘This is the very thing we’ve been fighting against. If we take it with us, place it aboard Atlantia and plug it in, then the same thing could happen to us as happened on Ethera.’

  ‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Evelyn shot back. ‘We can control it better on a ship of our own, isolated, ensure that it can only operate with our bidding.’

  ‘That’s probably what they said about the Word on Ethera,’ Bra’hiv pointed out.

  It was Emma who confronted the general, somehow blessed with a knowledge that nobody else could understand.

  ‘If we had not set the Word here and empowered it to look after us these decades past, you would have found nothing but corpses aboard this ship.’

  The general glanced at Andaim, who shrugged and dragged a hand across his face as he tried to think of a suitable course of action.

  ‘They could be right,’ Meyanna said from nearby. ‘If this computer can teach us anything about the Word, then we should not abandon that opportunity.’

  ‘Damn it,’ Andaim uttered as he glanced again at the computer, the face upon which was now staring silently out at them without any discernible expression. ‘All right, pull the plug and get this thing out of here.’

  General Bra’hiv took a deep breath as though to demonstrate his reluctance and then called several of the Marines across. Within moments the power conduits and cables were detached from the computer and the screen and its bizarre face blinked out.