The Orb

by Tara Basi

  The crowd roared back, “We will!”

  “Then listen well. Listen carefully and listen with all your heart. Only once will you hear the Revelation of the Box. After, I choose to be dead again.”

  A wail flew up from the crowd. “No!” they screamed.

  With a simple hand gesture, the Tramp silenced the throng. “Listen, listen and listen again to my new Revelation. Listen and believe. Listen and act. It must be buried and forgotten. It must be buried and never spoken of again. It must be buried for all time. It must be buried, and you must step out of its foul black shadow. Bury the evil. Step into the light. Make your own art. Fill the Cuboid with cement, encase the Box in concrete. Put it out of reach and out of mind for all eternity, and it will never have existed. Have you listened?”

  “Yes!” the crowd roared back.

  Zip calmed, her anxiety dissipated. He was right. It was the only way. It had to be ignored. If only they’d ignored the Orb.

  “Will you do it? Will you do it now?”

  “Yes,” the crowd roared again.

  “Industries and Church, do you hear? Will you deny the will of the world’s Pilgrims? Answer us! Answer us now!”

  “Answer us!” the vast crowd echoed.

  “As a scientist, I wouldn’t agree; as a Pilgrim, I see he’s right.”

  For a moment, Zip was disoriented until she realised Petula was talking to Bunny.

  “Tell the crowd! Tell the world!” Zip urged.

  “Bunny, answer for Industries and the Church and begin the process. Apply all resources. The entombment of the Box must be completed before they regain control.”

  A moment later, a global broadcast signed by the Church CEO and the head of Orb Industries announced that the necessary equipment to bury the Box was en-route. The Pilgrims must leave the park and the Waves, for their own safety.

  Outside a roar of “No!” exploded from the crowd.

  The Tramp hushed the crowd and continued, “Go home and do not come back to this place until it is buried. By sunset tomorrow, the Box will be gone. I give you my word. Go home. You are free to believe whatever you want. Goodbye.”

  With that, the Tramp’s face disappeared, and the Box took its place. The crowd groaned in collective horror. Zip breathed a little more easily as she watched a tell-tale dribble of Pilgrims breaching the lights bordering the black squares. They were listening; they were going home. Thank Jesus and the Tramp, Zip automatically said to herself and immediately corrected that thought. Thank the Tramp.

  Zip called Peter, hoping she might be able to speak to the Tramp. He couldn’t want to die. Not now.

  Peter dashed that hope. “He wants to die. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone. He’s only waiting for the burial of the Box. When that’s done, he’s insisted we end the VR and destroy his Record.”

  Zip didn’t answer. Her prophet had made his choice. There was nothing to say. Zip was back in the Cuboid, looking out over the insidious Box.

  Petula spoke to her. “Bunny will see to the burial. We’ll have control for a few more days. It should be long enough. Mathew and I will travel to Greenland and make peace with the AI Nation. We’ll need their help to rebuild the world. Are you ready to make peace, Mathew?”

  Zip didn’t really understand what Petula was talking about. An AI nation in Greenland? She looked to Mathew, and out of the shadows, he quietly said, “I prefer war.”

  He flashed out of the dark in a blur. The shock of the suddenly displaced air threw Zip to the floor. She struggled back up to her knees and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Mathew had punched his fist right through Petula’s chest. With his spearing arm, he lifted the twitching machine off its feet. Mathew’s free hand clawed at Petula’s face, ripping away swathes of mirrored metal, revealing intricate inner workings flooded with a white liquid latex.

  Mathew looked towards Bunny and calmly said, “Stay.” He stopped clawing at Petula’s twitching face for a moment, blew Zip a kiss, and then flung himself over the edge, taking Petula with him. Zip scrambled forward on her hands and knees as quickly as she could. She saw glints and flashes from the two shiny bodies, all tangled together and thrashing violently as they fell. Zip couldn’t stop staring at the tumbling horror. After many seconds, the pair crashed onto the floor of the Cuboid and splintered like glass under the shadow of the Box.

  Zip turned to Bunny. “What happened? Are they dead?”

  “Yes, the fall was not survivable.”

  “Can’t Peter bring them back?”

  “Mathew destroyed his Record. As did Petula. She was afraid Industries or the Church might animate another instance of her and, through torture, extract her secrets.”

  “Why did Mathew kill her?” Zip cried.

  “Mathew couldn’t forgive Petula. His rage was beyond logic. Mathew didn’t want to be a machine.”

  “I don’t understand,” Zip babbled, confused and starting to feel frightened. Zip lay on her stomach, gripping the edge of the opening, staring down at the little bits of brightness, and wondered if Mathew’s fate was something to be sad about; or was he at peace? Zip didn’t know how to feel about Professor Simmons. The woman may have stopped a war. Yet, Mathew and Peter hated her. Zip had to believe it had all been worth it.

  “It’s all happened so fast. What now?”

  “A new war is coming. If Bunny has to give it a name, it will be called the Shape War. It will be the last war. There can be only one victor, or no one will survive.”

  Zip staggered to her feet, her fear and sadness now mixed with a rising anger. “No! No more war. The Tramp had the answer. Didn’t he?”

  “He was brilliant. His inspired words bought time. Bunny will oversee the burial of the Box and the final resting place of Petula and Mathew. Bunny predicts that within a year, fanatical Orb, Box, Tramp and Ungodly factions will emerge. In the chaos, it is logical for the AI Nation to strike.”

  “You’re crazy! We wouldn’t! Not again! How can you know that?” Zip shouted, angry that Bunny’s prediction sounded so plausible.

  “It is a probable outcome, based on human history. Nothing is certain. Bunny will travel to Greenland and attempt to make the peace Petula craved.”

  “Is there really an AI nation in Greenland?”

  “Yes. The surviving Mutiny AIs settled there after the war. They consider humanity warmongers. If Bunny fails to convince them otherwise, Bunny will be forced to choose sides. Like Bunny, Zip might strive for peace but must be prepared to fight and to choose sides.

  Zip didn’t want to listen to any more terrible prophecies. “You’re wrong. I’m going back to Alice.”

  A silent Bunny moved to the airlock door and effortlessly pulled the massive metal slab open. Zip followed. Her ears popped in the airlock. She followed Bunny all the way back to the hangar where a jump-jet was waiting for her.

  “Let us hope Bunny and Zip never meet in battle,” it said. “Goodbye, Zip.”

  Cheerful bastard, Zip thought. There was really nothing else she could think of saying. She climbed aboard and called ahead as the aircraft sped away. “I’m on my way back, Peter. Please tell Alice.”

  Down in the park, the trickle of departing Pilgrims had turned to a river of black, passing under the lights around the dark squares, flowing away from the Cuboid. How many would stay to watch the Box being buried? Not many, she hoped. Zip couldn’t bring herself to scan the Net for trends and hotspots. It would be unbearable if there were already any hints that Bunny was right.

  Before the jump-jet passed over the towers that bordered the park, she took her last look at the Box and shuddered. It made her think of a monstrous and final full stop at the end of everything. Zip couldn’t bear to look at the thing, the artwork catalyst. Thankfully, it wasn’t as tall as the Orb; it wouldn’t be visible from Peter’s house.

  Peter was standing in the doorway, waiting for her, when the jet touched down.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” was the first thing he said to her after the jet had
left. Had he heard about Petula? Unusually for Peter, he looked relatively happy. “Come and have a drink. We’re celebrating while we can.” He headed towards the kitchen.

  Zip wondered what he meant. Had he been talking to Bunny? She checked her Headgear. It was only a few minutes after eleven in the evening, still early. A drink sounded good. She found Alice and the kids happily clutching glasses full of bubbly. There was a jeroboam jammed into a kitchen bin full of ice in the centre of the table. Peter manhandled the huge bottle out of the ice bucket and sloppily poured Zip a glass. It was foaming wildly when he handed it to her. She held up the glass and said, “What are we drinking to?”

  “Being alive,” Peter hollered.

  “Exactly,” Alice shouted.

  Zip smiled and sipped, getting mostly bubbles up her nose.

  “Heather, time for bed. It’s been a long day,” Alice said.

  “Oh no, not yet.” Heather resisted for as long as she could, but eventually Alice got her way. Reluctantly, the younger girl left for bed, dragging her feet and sighing loudly all the while.

  From Jane’s forced smile and constant Headgear checking, it was obvious to Zip that her older granddaughter was still nervous and unconvinced by Peter’s jollity. She made her excuses and went to bed soon after Heather. Probably to VR with her friends and find out what was happening in Hyde Park.

  By midnight, it was just Alice, Peter and Zip left in the kitchen.

  “Has Bunny been in touch?” Zip asked Peter.

  “No. Why?”

  “Mathew and Petula are dead.”

  Peter stared at Zip, his face initially frozen in disbelief before a big grin melted it. Then he roared in triumph and laughed and cried, frightening Alice.

  “Are you alright? Who are Mathew and Petula?” Alice asked, her eyebrows pinched tightly together.

  Peter grabbed the bottle and refilled everyone’s glass before answering, “A toast, to justice.”

  “Justice?” Alice said, more relaxed now that Peter was looking happy again.

  “My daughter’s killers are no more. How did it happen?” Peter asked.

  “Mathew killed Petula. He blamed her for his … condition.”

  Peter laughed again and toasted silently.

  Alice downed her drink and started moving towards the hallway. “Mathew, Petula, I don’t know who you two are talking about, but I’m glad to see you happy, Peter. I’m off now. I’m not used to all this drinking, and I guess there’ll be a lot to discuss tomorrow. Goodnight, Peter, Zip.”

  When Zip was sure Alice had gone, she asked Peter what she’d wanted to all evening. “What are you going to do now?”

  Peter didn’t seem to be listening; he was smiling to himself as he sipped champagne.

  “Peter?”

  He blushed and lowered his eyes. “I’ve got something to tell you. I hope you’re not going to be mad.”

  “Peter, what are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

  Peter was still sheepishly staring at his feet. “I asked Alice to marry me and move in here.”

  “Jesus and the Tramp, Peter! Have you gone mad? You’re old enough to be her father. You haven’t known her more than a couple of days.”

  Peter interrupted before Zip could continue her rant: “She said no.”

  “Thank the Tramp! What were you thinking?” She took a long swig from her glass.

  “She’s agreed to move in, though.”

  Zip sprayed her champagne across the kitchen. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Peter handed Zip a tea towel before continuing. “We’re going to live together, see how that works out, and Alice is going to think about marriage.”

  Zip couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was a horrible thought. If Peter did marry Alice, he’d be her son-in-law. She gagged at the idea. Zip wiped her chin and dabbed at the wet patches on Jane’s blue dress.

  Peter said, “Look, I know it’s a shock, for you and me. I don’t know why, but it seems right. I love having the girls around, and Alice and I agree on a lot of things. And, we have to be happy while we can.”

  Zip wanted to be angry with Peter, and Alice. She found it difficult. After all the misery, this seemed a good thing, despite all her reservations.

  “You like my daughter because she hates Pilgrims?”

  Peter looked embarrassed. “No, not at all. She’s a strong, forthright woman. That’s what I need, Zip, someone strong. I don’t feel strong anymore.”

  “You’ll look after them?”

  “I promise. I’ll keep them safe.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll be the mother-in-law from hell.”

  Peter grabbed the champagne bottle and refilled their glasses. “To Alice and the girls.”

  Zip grinned and raised her glass. Slowly, her smile slipped away as she remembered her final conversation in the Cuboid. “Bunny thinks the war is still coming.”

  Peter didn’t immediately react. He took a seat and sipped at his drink. He seemed to be considering Zip’s comment carefully. While she waited, Zip went to the fridge and took a plate of cold meats and cheeses to the table. Then she went and found some bread; it smelt delicious. It might even have been made by Alice. Grabbing some plates and knives, she set the table and joined Peter. While she was tearing open the bread and helping herself to some cheese, Peter spoke.

  “Bunny is probably right. The Tramp did his best, and it was quite amazing. I think I will read the Revelation. He was, and is for a while longer, a great man.”

  Zip was surprised. “You’re really going to read the Revelation. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be converted?”

  “After all those VR sessions with the Tramp, I think I am already, though I’ll never be a Pilgrim. Do you understand?”

  “Of course. Are you sure we can’t speak to him?”

  “He was quite adamant. I think we should respect his wishes.”

  Zip savoured her bread and cheese and marvelled at Peter’s transformation, though it was no more unexpected than her own conversion.

  “Maybe he did enough. Why does there have to be another war?”

  “Unfortunately, the world is out of balance. Industries and the Church have lost their Orb. Pilgrims are confused and the Ungodly are nervous.”

  “What will stop it?” Zip said.

  “Nothing. It has to happen. The boil must be lanced. If only Industries would turn away from the damn Cuboid and go out into the world, restart trade, export their technology, maybe the war could be contained.”

  “Without the Orb stacking the Waves, Industries will need new sources of income,” Zip said.

  “They’ll go back to their old ways. That’ll be easier. In a year or so, the Box will be exhumed, and Industries will sponsor a whole new dependence, a new cult, just to stock the Waves. Damn, the Church of the Box will probably help them.”

  For Zip, it was a depressing scenario, not least because it all sounded so likely. “There must be a way to stop them, stop them digging that ugly Box out.”

  “How? Alpha and Beta will soon be overwhelmed. No one’s ever likely to be able to pull that trick again.”

  Zip got up and strode around the kitchen with a piece of cheese in one hand and a glass in the other, as though searching for inspiration. She came to a halt quite suddenly. “What if I could stop them digging it out?”

  Peter looked sceptical.

  “Theoretically,” Zip added.

  “Theoretically, it would force Industries and the Church to find a purpose that didn’t involve that hideous alien artefact. It might lead to more integration, more trade, more tolerance. And then, maybe, it’ll be all of us against the AI, or a majority against a terrorist faction. Not all-out, total war.”

  Zip sighed. “A small war versus a global war. There’s still going to be a war?”

  “Oh yes, that’s unavoidable.”

  Zip held out her glass to Peter, who manhandled the giant bottle and provided her with an untidy refill. She suddenly knew what she ha
d to do. “There might be a way, but I’ll have to do it now, while we’ve got control. Tell Alice not to worry and not to get married before I get back.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Honour my promise, and hope it doesn’t backfire. You must stay here till I get back.”

  “Sure. Are you going now?”

  It was a superfluous question; a slightly inebriated Zip was already on the way to the front door in silent Headgear conversation with Bunny.

  The saloon never changed. It looked like the same ramshackle scrap-filled hovel it always had. Zip scanned the gloom. She found Bremer first, sitting on the floor with his back against a bar tyre, asleep. His pudgy chins were concertinaed against his chest. A low rumble escaped from between his lips, and a thick line of dribble was pooling on his chest. His gear-specs clung precariously to the end of his nose. It was nearly four in the morning. Way overhead, up where they could see the sun, it would be rising in an hour – the first sunrise to be affronted by the Box. Not for much longer: by tomorrow night, it would be buried in wet concrete. Exactly where she aimed to keep it.

  There was no sign of the barkeep or anyone else apart from Bremer. Zip called out to the darkness, “You here, old man? Time’s a-pressing.”

  Bremer stirred, snorted and opened his eyes. “What? Who? Zip, you’re safe. I’m so happy to see you.” Bremer lurched to his feet and charged towards her with open arms. He embraced a slightly embarrassed Zip and squeezed tightly, while sobbing profusely on her shoulder. “It’s horrible, that black thing. Wasn’t the Tramp wonderful?”

  Zip gently prised herself free from Bremer’s bearhug. “I’m fine. Where’s Q?”

  “I’m here,” a voice called from the gloom. The Quartermaster emerged, puffing a fat cigar, looking a little drunk. Who could blame him? Zip was still feeling a little tipsy herself.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Not in front of Bremer; that man is very sensitive,” Q replied with a smirk.

  “You’re a very dirty old man. That, I’ll have to see to later. This is serious. Sober up, Q,” Zip said as she reached out and gently stroked the old man’s raspy cheek.