Through a door which recognizes him and opens automatically he enters the next room, which is dominated by a sleeping beam. There is a multi-sectional mechanical arm holding a fearful array of tools on the ceiling. It looks as if surgical procedures are performed here. The sleeping beam is tempting. He really should get some rest. In order to avoid a sector being sealed off, it is enough if at least one Grosnop stays in it. He doesn’t have to walk around. Yet he also carries some responsibility as a company commander. If he is asleep he won’t be able to reach his fighters quickly in an emergency to assist them. While he does not know what this emergency might be like, he just wants to be on the safe side.
However, sitting on the sleeping beam for half a bubble period will certainly not hurt his subordinates. Gronolf sits astride the sleeping beam. He hopes he will never have to be operated on. The idea of having the circle of sharp, pointy tools coming down from the ceiling towards his body makes him shiver. He is proud that he is never afraid, but he has great respect for the work of the Life Scientists.
A door slams behind him. Gronolf opens his rear eye, but he cannot detect anything. The source of the noise must be far away. Shortly afterward there is a hissing sound. That was definitely a bulkhead mechanically moving downward. It must have happened south of him. His company is responsible for the sectors there. If they lose another area, he will be responsible for it. He has to go and look.
Gronolf jumps up and moves rapidly in the direction of the noise. He traverses a crew room, a waiting room, and an office. Suddenly he stands in front of a closed door. It is one of the hatches that should recognize him, but it seems to be defective. Gronolf looks at the room through all four eyes. There are four exits, one on each side. The one in front of him is closed, but if he goes to the right, then left and left again, he should be back on the way toward the source of the noise.
He turns around. There are only four steps to the right side exit, but just as he gets there, the door also slams shut. That leaves the left exit. Somebody must be watching him. While his four eyes see what is happening around him, that isn’t enough. He only appears to be alone. Therefore Gronolf acts this time as if he is not sure what to do next. He even lets his knees tremble, and someone who knows the gestures of the Grosnops would draw appropriate conclusions. Without warning he jumps as far as he can. He reaches the exit on the other side in record time, but the door is faster.
This is outrageous. Someone is playing with him, someone who has access to the doors and the cameras in this room. This can only be the Omniscience. Gronolf wonders what to do. What is the Omniscience trying to achieve by blocking his way? Is there something back there he is not supposed to see? He examines the door. It is not very sturdy. He could break through it with his weapon. Then the plan of the Omniscience would fail, but he would have damaged the ship. Maybe that is exactly the plan? Is the Omniscience trying to make him damage this sector, so it will have to be abandoned?
Then the door, which the Omniscience closed first, reopens. Gronolf has to hold on, because a strong gust would otherwise sweep him off his feet. There must be a vacuum behind the door that was just opened. He has to leave this room right away, or he will suffocate. Gronolf uses his arms and legs and struggles towards the only door still open. He slips through it and the door immediately closes behind him. What was that? Is he now safe?
This room, an office, has two other doors. He receives an answer when one of them closes by itself. This can’t be true! He guesses what will happen next and therefore moves toward the still-open door. Just as he gets there, the air is sucked out of this room from the other side. He runs to safety into the following room. Yet here the game repeats itself: All exits except for one are closed and then the air is suctioned off. What might happen if he does not follow this invitation and refuses to leave the room?
Gronolf hates becoming some stranger’s plaything. Therefore he prepares for the next room as if going on a long dive. He inhales air into his primary and secondary stomachs. For such emergencies, both possess a connection to his lungs so he can stay under water for half a bubble period with some effort and without dying. He is just ready when the door opens again that he used to get into this room.
Gronolf keeps his eye on the only exit and exposes himself to the increasing vacuum. He is getting cold. The Omniscience must have managed to establish a direct connection to space, probably via the sectors already sealed off. He will survive the cold. His skin is covered by a thick layer of fat, which serves as insulation. Yet after about a quarter of a bubble period, he still feels the typical sensation of heat. That is a paradoxical reaction of his thinking layer. When the brain cells underneath his skin cool down too much, his mind reports this as a feeling of heat. His skin is burning. If it really were that hot, it would develop blisters.
Gronolf knows his brain can withstand a lot. During the draght it has to survive without oxygen for a much longer time. His thoughts are still clear, but he can feel the cold in his joints. He has to take that into account when he launches his escape. Then he won’t be able to run as fast as he is used to. The heat becomes unbearable, but he tolerates it, nevertheless. The Omniscience will see what a Grosnop—who is the strongest of his plex—can do. Now he feels dizzy. In order to lower his energy requirements, he closes three of his eyes. The Omniscience must realize it won’t succeed with him. Once he is close to death, at the latest, it will again fill the room with air, as it is not allowed to kill a Grosnop. Gronolf will show the Omniscience its limits.
Suddenly somebody calls him. The voice sounds like his mother’s. She says farewell and thanks him for his honorable death, which will become a shining example for all young Grosnops. But that is impossible. His mother is billions of steps away and cannot reach him here. The Omniscience is obviously mocking him.
Gronolf is shaken by rage and simultaneously energized. He must not tolerate this incredible intrusion into his privacy. If he reports this to his superiors, they will finally have something to use against the Omniscience, which is willing to let him die in this room.
He has to get out of here! Gronolf starts running with his last remaining strength. However, the door offering his way out closes. He is imprisoned. No, nothing can stop him as long as he still has his weapon. He raises the weapon and fires at the door. Then he throws himself against it. The damaged door slams onto the floor of the next room. Gronolf does not stop. The Omniscience must suspect his intentions and will try to prevent his escape. Yet he has anger on his side.
He has to get out of this sector. The doors are no problem, even if they close, as he still has his weapon. However, he’d better not encounter a bulkhead. Luckily, the thick bulkheads are not very common. If he keeps to the left he should reach the crew room of the neighboring company. He hopes the Omniscience won’t be able to kill him anymore once he is among other Grosnops. He races through Sector 23, destroys one door after the other, and finally stumbles through the last door, behind which several younger warriors sit around a table, gambling. He is saved.
Gronolf opens his eyes. He is sitting in his chair, all alone. One of the memories has returned without him having to use the archives. The following day he was court-martialed for destroying Sector 23. Nobody believed the story of his persecution. It sometimes happens that trained warriors grab a weapon and start shooting randomly. They believed him to be such a madman. Yet he was vindicated before a verdict was reached, because something similar happened the next day in the sector of a different company.
His claim that the Omniscience entered his mind using his mother’s voice was still dismissed as an illusion, after a Life Scientist stated that such visions were not uncommon when suffering from oxygen deprivation. A Motion Scientist also insisted that such a manipulation would be completely impossible. Yet Gronolf knows what he experienced.
Someday he will get even with the Omniscience.
Archive, Darknight 9, 3350
A somber melody sounds. The entire crew of the ship is lined up. Ei
ght warriors carry the deceased through the crowd on a repurposed sleeping beam. Gronolf, who is standing in the front row, recognizes the typical marks of frostbite on the skin. This is already the third victim of a series of events the superiors stubbornly call accidents, even though nobody believes that. Supposedly, as the electronic log kept by the Omniscience stated, the deceased, in each case, opened the connection to a sealed, airless chamber. The records are clear and allow for no other interpretations. But why should three young warriors deliberately kill themselves?
The Knowledge Scientists checked the log file and could not find any manipulation. Accordingly, this is the official version of the story. Gronolf does not know what their superiors think about this, but for him the case is clear: The Omniscience has murdered these warriors. He has to admit, though, that his theory has a pretty obvious flaw. Nobody knows the reason for the killing. The three victims were not important. Why should the Omniscience run the risk of maybe getting caught? It did not achieve anything through these so-called accidents it could not also have achieved by different means.
The only motive Gronolf can come up with is pure bloodlust. Yet that is unimaginable. The Omniscience is not a normal being. It should be far above such primitive instincts. The Knowledge Scientists stress that as well. Accordingly, the leadership currently refrains from moving against the Omniscience.
The question is, what good would it do anyway? They are going to need the Omniscience, at least until the Majestic Draght has reached its destination. The superiors know that, as does the Omniscience. Gronolf is therefore glad this moment will arrive soon—though he simultaneously feels a vague sense of dread.
The musicians play another song. The fact that they are performing here today is an enormous concession by the leadership. The first performance by this grandiose quartet was supposed to have happened after their arrival, to celebrate the successful great jump. Now however their superiors think it necessary to strengthen the crew’s morale. Everyone is listening in awe. Gronolf is kneading his hands because the melodies are so moving. It must have been difficult for those four to refrain from presenting their art for so long.
A high-ranking officer steps up to him.
“Please appear in Sector 1 in half a bubble period.”
“Understood.” Gronolf briefly bends his knees to express respect.
Sector 1—that is the area where the leadership lives and works. One has to pass numerous checkpoints in order to enter it. He had better start now. Too bad I have to leave the music, he thinks, I won’t hear that musical quartet again for quite some time.
On the way he is stopped by Wakmir, who suddenly steps out of a side corridor, as if he had been waiting for him.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks.
“Sector 1.”
“Oh, what an honor!”
“What do you want, Wakmir?” Gronolf shakes his knees impatiently.
“I heard something you might be interested in.”
Of course Wakmir lives up to his reputation, he thinks. “And what might that be?”
“If you are interested, come to Sector 132 after your shift.”
“Why should I?”
“That’s your decision. But I have the feeling you are going to be there.” Wakmir places both touch-hands on the pit of his stomach, a sign of deference.
The old bootlicker! Gronolf hates being so obviously manipulated, yet Wakmir is probably right. But first he has to reach Sector 1.
At the entrance of the leadership sector, he first has to hand over his weapon and then slowly walk through a metal detector. The last step is a brain scan. Supposedly the intelligence service can tell from activity patterns in his thinking layers whether he has rebellious thoughts. Gronolf doesn’t really believe that. It probably is just meant to have a deterrent effect. The officer on duty asks him to sit in a special chair. Then Gronolf imagines in great detail how he would slaughter the leadership with his weapon.
“Everything is fine,” the officer says after one-tenth of a bubble period, thanking him for his cooperation. Gronolf is amused but refuses to show it. Of course he realizes his tests offer no final proof, as the technology might be able to detect manipulated thoughts. Unfortunately he does not have any acquaintances working for the intelligence service. Gronolf thinks about the members of his plex, but none of them have pursued that career, at least not to his knowledge. The intelligence service developed a long time ago, during conflicts among Grosnops, and even though it officially has no enemies to spy on, it has managed to avoid being abolished.
At the end of the checkpoint a young female is waiting for him. Gronolf feels how the arousal nodes distributed across his body pulsate at her sight. He has not seen a female for so long that he can’t quite control himself. Actually, females are not allowed to serve in the fleet. However, there are rumors spreading about an entire sector of the ship inhabited solely by females, with whose help the colonization of the planet would become possible. He always thought this was just soldiers’ wistful dreams.
“I am Murnaka, the daughter of Murnak,” she says. “You seem... surprised?”
He has to think about what he should say. “I, no... I knew of course that the leadership group has male and female members.” And the rules of the dual sun indeed require an equal distribution of all positions. After all, Father Sun and Mother Sun are equals in the sky. The fact that only male representatives of the leadership show themselves in other sectors seems reasonable to him, as it avoids confusing the warriors’ senses.
“I will take you to the meeting,” Murnaka says, turning around and walking ahead.
Gronolf follows her. She is an arm’s length taller than he is. He particularly notices her wide, swaying hips. They protect the egg chamber, in which the female organism prepares the eggs before laying them. Murnaka’s skin is still so smooth and light green that she cannot have laid eggs yet.
“What is this all about?” he asks, less out of curiosity and more to hear her voice.
“I don’t know, and even if I did, it would be inappropriate for me to tell you,”
“What is your function?”
“I am a learner. If I don’t embarrass myself, I will become part of the leadership group after the landing on Single Sun.”
That is a great honor for a young female. This means Murnaka must have been one of the best of her plex.
“And how is it going?”
“Quite well, I think.” Murnaka closes the lid of her rear eye and reopens it while saying these words in order to demonstrate her modesty.
“More than well, I bet,” Gronolf says. This was almost a crude pick-up attempt, so he softens its effect by briefly closing his front eye. Who knows what her father might do to him otherwise? Murnak does not know his name, though, because except for his father, Gronolf has no connections to the leadership group.
“We are here,” Murnaka says, pointing to an inconspicuous door with her right touch arm. There is no lettering on the door.
Gronolf stops for a moment.
“You have to speak your name,” she says.
Of course he knows that. He just wanted to take a quick breath. He hopes Murnaka will not consider him stupid and hot-headed, as many warriors are. He wants to tell her that, but she has already disappeared, as if she had never existed. Too bad, he thinks.
“Gronolf Carriontooth.”
The door opens immediately. Behind it is a spacious hall, which is surprisingly empty. Gronolf enters it. There is a pleasant smell of fish. On the right side of the room he sees a long table, with a large number of chairs around it. One set, he estimates, meaning seven times seven. Most of them are occupied. Somebody stands next to the table and waves at him. He starts moving with measured steps. The atmosphere in this hall is grand, and he fears that his mere presence might destroy it.
“Gronolf Carriontooth,” says the Grosnop who waved him over, partially to him and partially to the others. It is an older female. She does not offer any
further explanation besides his name. This is an incredible honor, and Gronolf feels his back becoming cold with awe.
“Just sit down, Gronolf.” This is his father’s voice. He cannot see him, because a female next to him blocks the view of his body, but it is obviously him.
One chair turns by itself to indicate it is unoccupied and meant for him. Gronolf’s blood is pumping fast, as if he were about to enter a battle. What do they want from him here?
For a moment there is silence. Then Gronolf hears a scratching noise. His father gets up and starts walking around the long table, as a speaker properly should.
“The leadership circle, Gronolf Carriontooth, has been worried for a while,” his father states. Whenever he passes someone in a chair, he winks at the person with his side eye.
“The Omniscience—how can I say this?—no longer cooperates with us the way we would want it to. While we still can send it our commands, it often finds reasons for not implementing them. We cannot accuse it of insubordination, because the Omniscience bases these reasons on supreme rules which we are also subject to. Its arguments are so clever that even our best Knowledge Scientists have nothing to oppose them with.”
Gronolf is surprised, not by the contents of the speech, as even common soldiers realize by now that the Omniscience likes to use these supreme rules as an excuse. What surprises—or rather shocks—him is that the leadership group seems to have no strategy to fight this. Why else would they have invited him?
“You are probably wondering what you have to do with this and what this invitation is all about,” his father adds promptly. “The Knowledge Scientists have extrapolated that the Omniscience might gain complete control of the ship in the near future. These recent events indicate that it does not regard us as its masters, but rather as a means to an end, or even a burden.”
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 62