The Fifth Science

by Exurb1a

  “I'm sorry,” Tisho said.

  That's okay, Tisho.

  Io began working at the telescope, aligning it with the smaller moon. Its name was Mesec and it was riddled with craters.

  Io said something quietly to her little pet sphere and the sphere shot a beam of light at the moon for a few seconds. It murmured to Io in what Tisho assumed was Ertian. Io made some notes on parchment. They worked in this fashion for half an hour or so, Tisho drinking a beer and watching the stars. Then Io said, “I think that’s everything I need.”

  “Really, so soon?”

  She nodded sadly.

  “What is it?”

  She glanced at her notes. “The results are clear. I’m going to have to have a chat with your brother. He won’t like it.”

  “Will you show me what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll try.” She invited him over to the telescope and he put his eye to the thing. “Those ridges in the top right-hand corner of the moon, you see them?”

  “Sure,” Tisho said.

  “They’re formed by fidon radiation. That’s a special particle you don’t know about yet, a hypergeometric one. Fidons are usually only produced in supernovas. And unstable stars.”

  “Unstable?”

  “That’s right.”

  Tisho stepped back from the telescope. “So what will happen next?”

  “Lots of things. None of them good, I’m afraid.”

  He watched the reflected moonlight in her eyes. “You came all this way just to look at our star, to tell us it was going to explode?”

  “No and yes. It’s a little complicated.”

  That was all she appeared willing to volunteer and Tisho knew better than to force her to elaborate. Instead he picked up a few beers and said, “Do they drink on Ertia?”

  “Some of us. I’ve never tried it.”

  He offered her one and without much thought she opened it and they drank. “This is quite disgusting,” she said. “I like it.”

  They finished their beers and Tisho fetched two more.

  Io said, “You have values here. You believe in things. I miss that.”

  “Don’t they believe in things on Ertia?”

  “Not in the same way.” The sphere was in her lap now. She stroked it and the thing purred quietly. “There is a special problem in communications theory. We call it ‘narrative collapse’. When a planet is very connected, a time inevitably arrives when it becomes difficult to work out what is actually going on. Video and audio can be faked. Testimony isn’t reliable. All truths fall into a relative flatness. This is more dangerous than any doomsday weapon. You have a king and, if you don’t mind me saying so, not a very nice one. But at least his population knows when he’s being deceitful or harsh. On my world and the sister world we’ve lost even that. Many still don’t even believe Morae really exists. They claim it’s a fabrication by Al’Hazaad.” She held her beer up to the moonlight. “Doesn’t look like a fabrication to me.”

  Tisho said, “Why would Al’Hazaad fabricate a whole planet?”

  She shrugged. “Who cares? All you need is an enemy to take the punches at. Cut the world into us and them, manufacture dichotomies, boil complex issues down to sound bites. Divide and conquer.”

  Tisho said, “We like dichotomies here too. My mother was from another raft, Glossia. They’re better than us. They don’t execute people. They help them. My brother decided they were a threat when he came to power. Now most folk really think that of them. It’s awful. I hate it. The whole worldsea could be working together, form a relationship, like one of your countries. Instead we just keep to ourselves.”

  “You’re nothing like your brother, Tisho Ferdinand.”

  “I hope not,” he said.

  Before arriving at the compound, Ha’Izaak had been ordered to use Frame 12. He knew all 24 frames by memory. Most Al’Hazaadian children learned them early on. His favourite was Frame 9 which held that the stars were really points of light mere miles away and the entire universe revolved around Al’Hazaad. Frame 18 was its direct opposite, claiming the universe was in fact gigantic and stars were balls of hydrogen and helium. Well, who was to say?

  In this case though it was Frame 12 he slipped into. Frame 12 asserted that Ertia was a backwards culture, an orb of excess and stupidity, and nothing short of total annexation could correct its inevitable slide towards self-destruction.

  He arrived at the compound on time. His papers were checked. He was conveyed into a bunker where there stood, by the look of his robes, a science man.

  The science man made the customary gesture in Mandala to check Ha’Izaak was using the correct frame. Ha’Izaak responded in Mandala that he was utilising Frame 12. The science man nodded.

  “You have received your void training?” the science man said.

  “All of it, yes.”

  “And your extra-framing lectures?”

  “All of them, yes.”

  “Very well.” The science man scanned him with a medical sphere and appeared pleased. “Everything is in order. We will inspect the device now. I should warn you that the generals and staff here operate using Frame 12b.”

  Ha’Izaak had not encountered Frame 12b before. He looked the file up mentally and found it was confidential, though now accessible to him. It was a simple frame, asserting that not only was Ertia backwards, but Morae too, and all lives were expendable if the Prime Objective should be threatened.

  “You’ve familiarised yourself with the frame?” the science man said.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.”

  He led Ha’Izaak into a room of perhaps fifteen waiting staff, all wearing official military robes. The staff nodded to Ha’Izaak and he nodded back.

  The science man presented a sphere. “This is Ixtab. She is versed in tactical matters and will act as you command. She is especially effective at neutralising hostiles.”

  In Ha’Izaak’s mind the sphere said, Pleased to meet you.

  Likewise, he replied.

  The sphere zipped across the room and joined Ha’Izaak’s side and hovered there idly. The science man clapped his hands and an old man was brought into the room by orderlies. He was wearing felony robes of some kind.

  “Go on then,” the science man said. “Test out your new friend.”

  The sphere did a few circles of Ha’Izaak, excited. How shall I proceed? she said in his mind.

  However you like, Ixtab, Ha’Izaak replied.

  The sphere was still a moment, then exploded into a million fragments and flew at the old man. His body was dissected into infinitesimal pieces before even hitting the ground. The sphere then cleaned the ground of blood using its containment field and vapourised the remains.

  “Is that satisfactory?” the science man said.

  “Very,” Ha’Izaak confirmed. To his new sphere he said, We will be good together.

  Yes, the sphere said.

  Next the science man took a symmetrical shard of glass-looking material from a box and placed it in Ha’Izaak’s grip. “This is the device. It will accompany you to Morae. As of this moment it is the most important item you will ever have in your care. You will protect it with your life up until the moment you order it to do its job. It is partially sentient and will do its best to execute your commands. Better you die and it survives than the other way around. Do you understand?” Ha’Izaak nodded. “Good. As you know, an Ertian party has already set voidsail for the orb. You will see to it they are neutralised, then you will complete the Primary Objective. If you attempt to complete the Primary Objective while the Ertians are still alive, they will likely find a way to sabotage your efforts. When the Ertians have been dispatched, you will pilot your craft to a proximity no less than four hundred thousand kilometres from the system’s star, then deliver the device. Morae is a planet of backward savages. There is no need to use deception. Dispatch whoever you need to in order to execute the Primary Objective. Understood?”

  Ha’Izaak nodded. “Is there a recom
mended frame for dealing with the natives?”

  “6,” the science man said without hesitation. This was not a surprise. Frame 6: Progress is absolute. All human life is secondary to the good, and the good is progress. There is no such thing as murder, only the removal of obstacles between Al’Hazaad and its goals.

  The science man said, “Your voidsphere is waiting. If there are no questions then you may leave now.” Ha’Izaak went to exit. The science man added, “Oh, it goes without saying there will be no returning to Al’Hazaad in the event of a failure. You will be expected to end your own life. If you have children, we will execute them. If you don’t have children, we will make children from your blood cultures, then execute them.”

  “Of course.”

  “Very well then. Pleasant journey.”

  “Many thanks.”

  It was Liberation Day aboard Great Tarnovo. The morning found Sar Meto on the bridge, still drunk from the night before, looking out over the city and occasionally ordering food up from the royal kitchen.

  Tisho and Io Clements entered the bridge, both dressed formally. Meto murmured, “Ah, the idiot and the alien.”

  Tisho said, “Meto, we’ve come to ask a favour.”

  Meto lit a cigarette, said nothing.

  “Sir, I have some alarming news regarding your sun,” Io said.

  “Of course you do,” Meto purred and let out a fug of smoke.

  “We managed to take precise readings of the sun’s flare history. I believe you may be only years from experiencing a possible extinction event.”

  “How convenient. And you have the solution, I suppose? What is it, money? A position among the Tarnovan royalty?”

  Io smiled. “No sir. Something a little more adventurous. Your folk tales mention a great voidship beneath the ocean, abandoned in the seabed. It is almost certainly the craft your ancestors arrived on Morae in. Moreover, we're not so far from its position.”

  “And?”

  Tisho said, “And we’d like to send an expedition party down to investigate it.”

  Meto’s face was neutral for a few moments. He looked to Tisho, then to Io. He threw his head back and began to cackle. “What next! Shall I pluck down the stars and braid them into a little necklace for you? Shall I resurrect the dead? And even then, little brother, how would you get down there?” He called out to the lookout man. “How deep is the worldsea bed on average?”

  “Perhaps a kilometre in places.”

  “Then you might do more than just hold your breath!” Meto flicked his cigarette out the window. “Unless you both have actual news, get drowned. The game is afoot with Glossia.”

  Io appeared ready to say something but Tisho interrupted. “What’s afoot with Glossia?”

  “They’re inbound. Did nobody tell you? They’ll be here within the day.”

  “Did they radio ahead?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “That’s…odd…” Tisho murmured.

  “It is, yes,” Meto slurred. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t care a shit for nautical adventures with your girlfriend here.”

  Io said, “Sir, perhaps we could make a deal.”

  “A deal! You and your deals. We’ve been trying to work out the mechanisms of your craft for days now to no avail. I’ll be a lick more careful before making another deal with you.”

  “If you would, Tisho…” Io murmured.

  Tisho took a banana from his pocket and threw it up in the air. Hare, Io’s sphere, went to work immediately, cutting it into halves, quarters, then dissecting and dissecting until it was dust. This entire display took no more than three seconds.

  Meto stared.

  Io said, “Now, sir. Several years ago I believe you took capture of a merchant’s submersible. It is currently in the waterpen and still functioning. Tisho and I could use it to examine the ancestor ship on the seabed. In return, while we’re gone, I will leave my sphere with you. I will ask her to follow your commands. If Tarnovo is in trouble, she will most certainly come to the rescue. She assures me she could single-handedly take on an entire raft with little effort. If Glossia is hostile, you have no reason to be afraid.”

  “Well, let me try it,” Meto said.

  Be nice, please, Io said to Hare mentally.

  The sphere joined Meto’s side and hung in the air. He nodded at the dust remains. “Remake that.”

  The sphere whirled about a moment and when it pulled back the banana was once again whole.

  Meto stared. He pointed to an empty chair at the map desk. “Destroy that.” The sphere vapourised it.

  He pointed to the lookout boy. “Kill him.”

  The sphere remained still.

  Io said, “Sir, the sphere is self-aware and has ethical principles. She won’t kill if she doesn’t see a threat.”

  “And would it kill a Glossian?”

  “If Tarnovo is in trouble, yes. I promise you that.”

  Meto eyed the sphere. Tisho recognised the expression. It was an old favourite of his brother’s, a quiet but nonetheless present exhilaration at new power. “Perhaps we could reach an agreement,” Meto said.

  The subnautical was already uncovered when they arrived. It was a long and streamlined contraption, only a thin slither of metal protruding from the water. They boarded and sealed the hatch.

  “And you can operate this…” Io said.

  “Dad made sure we could pilot most things, yes. In case of emergencies. You all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just haven’t been without Hare in a very long time.”

  “Meto will take good care of her.”

  “It’s more Meto I’m worried about,” she said under her breath.

  The subnautical was more biological than mechanical inside, the hull made of a derivative of calcium; grey and toothish. The rest was brass and velvet. There was a pilot’s nest at the front of the craft and they seated themselves and Tisho ignited the engines and piloted them out of the waterpen. Io only sat quietly and watched. She had never seen a lever or a switch before.

  They were immediately received by the worldsea current the moment they left the waterpen. The subnautical rocked left and right. Tisho’s hands flew across the controls, first levelling their yaw, then filling the ballast tanks with water. Steam blew out from vents within the craft. Io started up.

  “It’s all right,” Tisho said and took them a few metres under. The water was almost crystalline, wonderfully transparent. Fish moved closer to examine them, retreated.

  They descended further and the surface dimmed from a fissure above to a murky skylight.

  Tisho watched his thoughts a while. He hated subnauticals. He hated closed-spaces. But in the presence of someone who appeared to hate them more, he found a sudden courage.

  They were just a few metres from the seabed then. Tisho flicked on the arc lights and an infinite carpet of coral was before them, blue, purple, orange, a sort of undisturbed glory to it.

  “Majister Denyer was a great diver,” Io said softly.

  “Your mentor?”

  “My mentor, yes.”

  Tisho switched the subnautical to autonomous. There was a wild whirring and clicking from behind, the Babbage engine coming to life. “I’m so sorry about what happened to him…” Tisho said.

  “It’s fine. He would’ve liked this. And I think he would’ve liked you.”

  They put their feet up on the viewing window and got comfortable. The ambient noise became almost routine after a while, the whistle and crack of air bubbles popping in the pipes, the occasional clank of a course correction from the cog computer.

  Tisho took the controls again and guided them into a floating shimmer ahead. There was a jolt and their speed increased drastically. He explained it was just a passage of current and posed no danger.

  The seabed whipped past below, coral blurring into a dizzying rainbow.

  Out of Tisho’s porthole appeared an eye three times the size of an adult’s head, the pupil fixed on them. It was a squid-like c
reature, dozens, perhaps hundreds of wire-like writhing tentacles. Io shrieked.

  “Flick the green switch,” Tisho said quickly. “The one by the pump, there, flick it.”

  Io practically levered the switch off the control panel. Nothing happened a moment, then the squid began to writhe about, still attached to the subnautical. It bent over in pain. Finally its body went limp and detached.

  Tisho said, “Electric casing. Usually does the trick. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Io rubbed her arms. “I don’t much like the thought of hurting animals.”

  “Really, it’s better than the alternative.”

  The mood settled again and the quiet returned. Io said, “We’ve been vegetarians on Ertia for a very long time now.”

  “Not Al’Hazaad though, I assume?”

  “No. They like to torture their animals before they eat them. They say it makes the meat taste better.”

  “Charming. It must be difficult trying to exist alongside a culture so different to your own.”

  “We gave up with that long ago.”

  “How so?” he said.

  “Tisho, the Old Empire is dead. There’s no one left with a shred of decency. Ertia and Al’Hazaad are like two children picking through the spoils of a battlefield. We find a crossbow or a pistol but we don’t have a clue how the thing works. We tell each other stories of the dignified administrations of old without knowing how to build our own. We grow more distant every year. Ertia becomes more theoretical, Al’Hazaad more secretive. There’s no common ground. The narrative collapse effect I told you about? There’s no getting rid of it once the genie is loose. I sort of hoped you might have gone a different direction. Morae was a whole new start, a whole new culture.”

  Tisho said, “You haven’t seen the other rafts. Glossia, the one my brother spoke of. They have democratic rule there. They treat their population well.” Io was silent. “What is it?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  But Tisho was not stupid. He turned slowly to her. “Io.”