The Contingency

by G J Ogden

  He tried to take another step towards Casey, but this time the pull away from her was even stronger. He found himself travelling again, accelerating through the hull of the ship and out of the unknown star system, until he was bouncing through the cosmic cubes again, travelling perhaps thousands of light years at super-luminal velocities until he stopped and found himself sprawled on his back in the corridor in deep space, feeling like he’d just been through the spin cycle in a laundry machine.

  “Taylor, is that you?” said a voice. Satomi’s voice! Taylor realized, feeling a sudden thrill. Taylor remained on his back, frozen. “Taylor, I don’t know where I am, are you there?”

  “Satomi?” said Taylor out loud, and this time his words lingered, rather than vanishing into the ether.

  “I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Where are you?” said Satomi.

  “Satomi, is that really you?” Taylor was still too afraid to move, in case shifting position upset his connection to this version of Satomi, whoever and wherever she was. “Do you know who I am?”

  There was a brief pause, “Of course I do, what sort of question is that?” she said, sounding exactly like the Satomi he knew. “But, where are you? I’m surrounded by darkness. I can see a hall or room ahead, but it’s also dark. This feels like a dream, or a nightmare. I don’t like it!”

  “Do you know where you are, what system?” said Taylor, desperate to know if Satomi could give him her co-ordinates, or even a hint of where she was. “What’s your mission?”

  “My mission?” said Satomi, as if the idea of her being on a mission was completely alien. “I… don’t have a mission. I’ve always been here, but I don’t understand where here is. Taylor, what’s happening? I remember you, like you’ve always been here with me. But, you’re different now somehow. Please tell me what’s going on, Taylor, I’m scared…”

  “Satomi, listen to me,” said Taylor urgently, “I don’t know how long we’ve got, so I need you to tell me where you are. Tell me, so I can find you!”

  There was no response and Taylor began to feel terror grip his mind. “Satomi!” he called out, again and again, but there was no reply. No! I can’t have lost her again! Not again!

  TWENTY-THREE

  Taylor called out to Satomi again and again, willing her voice to return, but eventually he had to concede that she was gone. Shaken and mentally exhausted, he lay on his back in the deep space corridor and stared up at the stars for what felt like hours, until the strange stabbing sensation inside his head got worse, and forced him to get up. It was like a headache, but sharper – as if there was a shard of glass inside his brain, working its way deeper into the tissue. He looked around his new location properly for the first time; he was inside one of the cubes, close to an orange sun. Then his eyes caught sight of a shimmer of light, a reflection of the sunlight in something metal that was flying towards him. The shimmer grew quickly and became the clearly recognizable, angular shape of a Hedalt warship. It wasn’t as titanic as the ship he’d seen at Earth, but it was far larger than its already sizable escorts had been. And compared to his own ship, it was a giant. If the Corvette was a scorpion then this ship was an eagle, but one that looked to have been chiseled from obsidian.

  The pain in his head stabbed at him again and he squeezed his eyes closed; a human reaction, but one that curiously seemed to help. He opened his eyes again and staggered backward along the corridor. He was no longer in space, but inside a ship, perhaps even the ship he’d just seen flying towards him. He was on what appeared to be the bridge, though it was more than twice the size of the bridge of his own ship. On the bridge, at various stations, were simulant crew, each with blank, expressionless faces that he did not recognize. Simulant automatons, perhaps? he thought, remembering what Sonner had told him. He looked to the center of the bridge and saw two figures; one standing on an elevated central platform, surrounded by a ring of screens, high above, and the other at the front of the bridge, between two simulants. Both were dressed in what looked like light armor, similar to the protective clothing that motorcycle racers wore. The additional padding and protective shells only served to enhance their already tall and muscular physiques, making them appear intimidating, even from a distance. He moved closer to the figure in the center so that he could its face more clearly, and saw that ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’, with piercing green eyes and hair tied back tightly into a short ponytail. Then it struck him that he knew what she and her companion were. They were not human beings, despite their close resemblance to them, but Hedalt soldiers.

  Taylor recalled Sonner’s mention of how the Hedalt didn’t actually look all that different to humans, though in his mind’s eye he had still pictured them as looking somehow much more ‘alien’. As it was, their appearance was almost anti-climactic. Other than their grayish, almost slate-colored skin they could easily pass for human, albeit humans with physiques that would make even Olympic track-and-field athletes jealous. The only other defining characteristic was that both wore expressions that suggested someone had called their mothers whores. A scowl was an expression that Taylor was comfortably familiar with; he often saw one staring back at him in the mirror, and far more often on the face of Satomi, but the Hedalt took looking pissed-off to a whole other level.

  What the hell am I even doing here? Taylor asked himself, rhetorically. He hadn’t been thinking about the Hedalt at the time, and even if he had been, his overactive imagination would have pictured them with bright red eyes or spikes growing out of their heads or with some other crazy appendage or feature. Anything other than simple gray-skinned humanoids that looked like they spent too much time in the gym.

  He didn’t need to ponder the question further, because the answer presented itself when the female Hedalt, perhaps the Captain, spoke. The language wasn’t English, or any other Earth-based language Taylor recognized, but for some reason he could understand it all the same.

  “The signal anomaly has reappeared?” said the female. Her tone was gruff and formal and she sounded distinctly peeved.

  “Yes, Provost. The anomaly briefly vanished, but the signal has returned and is orders of magnitude stronger than before, as it is now centered on our location,” said the second Hedalt, possibly a lieutenant or second in command. “It could simply be an error with our sensors, or merely a coincidence.”

  “I do not believe in coincidence,” said the one who had been identified with the title ‘Provost’; her scowl deepening further. “Analyze the data we have, but purge this anomaly from the CoreNet now. We cannot risk damage to the network.”

  The second Hedalt nodded, bowing slightly, and moved swiftly to a nearby station, where it issued orders to the simulant stationed there, seemingly by hitting it on the shoulder.

  “Initiating purge now…” said the second Hedalt, and instantly Taylor felt the stabbing pain return inside his head, but with twice the intensity of last time, and with it there was a tingle, like the feeling of a low-voltage electric shock. He tried to back away, but the pain was growing too severe, and he couldn’t concentrate. He pressed his hands to his temples, Further away... Move further away! Then he was back outside the ship, but the pain remained, only moderately diminished. He looked around trying to get a fix on a star constellation or nebula or something he might recognize, but he didn’t even know where in the galaxy he was, and so it was like trying to find an atom in a haystack, never mind a needle. Then he saw a bright star, not only brighter than any of the others, but with an intensity that seemed out of place compared to the other pinpricks of light surrounding him. He concentrated on it, willing himself to travel to its location, and as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, he began to traverse the grid of cubes once again, bouncing from one to another like he was part of a cosmic pinball machine. Again, his eyes darkened until eventually everything was still and the pain in his head had numbed. He stood up, blinking rapidly in an attempt to trigger his sight to return, and then ahead of him he saw the starlight door frame. He ran to
wards it, but the pain and disorientation caused him to frequently stumble, until he eventually managed to pass through the opening where the pain suddenly vanished. He dropped to his hands and knees, still disorientated, and then lay down on his back with his eyes closed. His head was spinning, and for a moment he lost consciousness.

  “Captain…Captain Taylor Ray…Taylor!”

  He opened his eyes and he was back in his crew quarters, lying on the table staring up at the face of Commander Sarah Sonner.

  “Hey, I thought I’d lost you then,” she said, looking visibly relieved.

  Taylor sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table. “What are you doing here?”

  “Eight hours is up, sleepy head. What the hell was going on in that simulant skull of yours; it sounded like the mother of all nightmares?”

  Taylor laughed, shook his head and smiled at her, “You have no idea…”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The simulant worked in silence, adjusting the configuration of the purge transmission in an attempt to erase the anomalous signal that had destabilized the CoreNet, until the anomaly suddenly disappeared off its screen. It stopped working and sent a notification to the screen of Adjutant Lux, before facing its station again and remaining still, like a mannequin.

  Lux saw the notification appear on his screen and moved over to the station, pushing the simulant aside as if it were simply an office chair that was in the way. “Provost, the anomaly is no longer present,” said Lux.

  Provost Adra stepped down from her command platform and moved over to the console, stopping just behind Lux. “The purge was successful?”

  Adjutant Lux re-ran the analysis and then turned back to Provost Adra. “It is inconclusive, Provost. The anomaly has gone, but I am not certain that it was purged fully from the CoreNet.”

  Adra scowled and approached the console directly, barging the simulant further aside with considerably less subtlety than her Adjutant had demonstrated. The simulant staggered and fell, but then stood again and remained statuesque while Adra ran the analysis herself.

  “Here,” said Adra after a few seconds, and then she pointed to the screen. “The anomaly moved away through the Fabric, before the purge was completed.”

  Lux leaned in closer to the screen and peered at the information, “Apologies, Provost, you are correct,” he said, surprised and also quietly embarrassed that he had not seen this himself. He turned to another simulant at a console nearby. “Trace the anomaly, I want to know where it originated.” The simulant immediately set to work, without looking at Lux or even acknowledging the curtly-given order.

  “A transmission anomaly like this could disrupt the transceiver network and threaten the integrity of the CoreNet; we must find the source,” continued Lux, addressing Adra again, but Adra did not answer; she was still staring intently at the analysis on the console screen. Lux waited a moment, and tried again to get her attention. “Provost?”

  “I heard you, Adjutant Lux,” Adra replied, without taking her eyes of the screen. She valued patience; a virtue that her eager new Adjutant had yet to master. “Continue your analysis and locate the source. It is most likely to be a low-grade transport vessel, operating out of alignment, or one of the deeper Way Stations that has failed to properly maintain its transceiver array.” Then she locked eyes with Lux and added, “But whoever is the cause must be found and punished.”

  “Yes, Provost,” said Lux and he made to leave, but something about Adra’s demeanor caused him to stop and turn back. “Does something else concern you, Provost Adra?”

  Adra tapped a sequence of commands into the console and then stepped back into the center of the command platform. Above her, the halo of screens that surrounded the platform, each showing a different aspect of the ship’s status of operation, all switched to display the very specific element of the anomaly’s analysis that Adra had focused on. Adra craned her strong, elegant neck up to study the screens, while Lux waited next to the platform, careful not to step on it, perplexed by his commander’s unusual behavior.

  “Tell me, what do you see, Adjutant Lux?” queried Adra, as if she were a school master questioning a pupil.

  Lux peered up and examined the information on the screens, which showed a series of animated 3D waveforms and a string of related data. He frowned, realizing he was being tested by his commander, likely as a result of his earlier mistake in not spotting that the anomaly had already moved away through the Fabric. This was an opportunity to redeem himself, but no matter how intensely he stared up at the screens, he did not comprehend what he was looking at, or why Adra considered it important. “I apologize again, Provost, but I am afraid I do not see anything significant.”

  Adra glanced down at Lux, who appeared sullen, and then returned her eyes to the screens, “Your background is in security, combat, tactics, correct?”

  “That is correct, Provost.”

  “My background, as you are no doubt already aware, is science, engineering, intelligence,” continued Adra. Lux was well aware of his commander’s background, if only because it was so rare for those who served in the scientific or intelligence sub-services to attain the rank of Provost or the command of a War Frigate. Such roles were typically reserved for Warfare Command officers with combat specialties, such as Lux. They had made an exception for Adra, largely on account of her aptitude and the significant role she had played in Hedalt history, but also because she had proved to be every bit as ruthless as the military Provosts of Warfare Command. “That is why I recognize this pattern, or at least, something very similar to it,” Adra went on.

  Lux’s interest was piqued, but he was also grateful that his commander had not castigated him for his inability to answer. “What is it, Provost?”

  “These patterns are similar to brainwaves,” said Adra. “Human brainwaves.”

  Lux’s shock at this answer was plainly written across his chiseled face. “Humans?”

  “To be precise, they are the sort of patterns you might see from a high-functioning simulant,” Adra continued, “such as those that crew our Hunter ships in the distant regions.”

  “I did not realize such ships still operated,” said Lux, watching the patterns flow across the screens. He knew of the Hunter Corvettes and their purpose, but the last remnants of humankind that had fled Earth’s destruction had been discovered and annihilated centuries ago. As such, he was surprised that any Hunter Corvettes were still in operation.

  “Few remain, but they are still out there,” Adra answered, and Lux detected a hint of resentment. “The High Provost considers them redundant, but if it were my choice, they would continue to search for another century or more; for as long as is necessary to be sure the humans are eradicated.”

  Adra broke away from staring at the screens and met the eyes of her subordinate, who was the only other non-simulant member of her crew. Most Hedalt could not survive the rigors of super-luminal jumps, which is why Hedalt warships were crewed mostly by simulants, plus one or two officers of Warfare Command. These elite soldiers possessed an exceptionally rare genetic mutation that proffered them with the mental and physical strength to endure space travel. But even for those who possessed the mutant resistance there were still significant dangers, with each jump taking a toll like a twelve-round boxing match.

  “Any surviving human colony remains a threat,” Adra went on, her tone emphatic. “Over time, as they multiply like insects, they will seek to enact vengeance upon us. They will never forget, and so, if necessary, we must turn over every stone in the galaxy to ensure they are exterminated.”

  Lux grunted his agreement, “Vengefulness is in their nature. But, surely they are all dead now?”

  “Warfare Command believes so.”

  “But you do not, Provost?”

  Adra pointed up to the screens. “These patterns are familiar, except that the frequency of these brain waves are higher than anything I’ve seen, even from the most complex simulants; they extend beyond even gamma waves.”


  Science talk was utterly lost on Lux, but he tried to contribute something nonetheless, “So, you are saying that a high-functioning simulant caused this anomaly? A Hunter simulant?”

  Adra looked down at him and her eyes narrowed slightly. “That would be impossible,” she said, and Lux looked crestfallen again, “Yet, we cannot deny the evidence. Whether it was a simulant or something else, the CoreNet was compromised, and whatever caused the anomaly is still out there.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Lux.

  “I do not know,” Adra replied, “but I do know that we must discover the source and its intent as a matter of utmost urgency.”

  “Surely, you do not mean to suggest the anomaly was caused deliberately?” replied Lux, finally catching up with Adra’s train of thought. “Simulants think only what we tell them to think.”

  Adra was silent for a moment, studying the waveform on the screens, and pondering its possible meaning and implications. Simulants were all connected to and controlled through the CoreNet. The more basic automatons, such as those that crewed Adra’s ship, had highly limited brain function, but the brains of the high-functioning Hunter simulants were intact. All thoughts were contained, boxed-off in a glass-house for their minds, encapsulated inside the vast network that was the CoreNet, but also shielded from it. If a simulant brain had somehow managed to shatter the glass and enter the Fabric, on a conscious or subconscious level, the implications could be catastrophic. The CoreNet linked everything together, through the Fabric; if the simulant control network was disrupted, simulants would cease to function and it would become impossible to operate their vast fleet of ships. On top of this, all super-luminal communications and data transmissions would be cut off. It would fracture the empire and throw it into chaos. Adra again stared up at the brain wave patterns showing on the halo of screens, and deep inside her, she knew it was more than just a random anomaly. But to be certain, she needed more information.