Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  Gypsy started the session well (she could calculate the odds flawlessly) but finished it poorly (she could neither decode an opponent’s bluff nor pull one off herself). Still, she seemed to enjoy the game, and was content to sit and watch once she’d been knocked out.

  “You need to watch hard for tells, and hide your own,” Bala advised Gypsy, after cleaning out Annie and Jackson with a pair of Kings. “Your voice raised when you were bluffing, and you’d smile.”

  “Sorry, I just think lying is funny.”

  Gypsy looked confused but pleased when everyone laughed.

  Annie clapped her hands. “Never mind these lucky layabouts, buddy mine, it’s time for a test of real skill. You an’ me are gonna shoot some pool – I think this could be your game.” This was another lie, of course; Gypsy was predictably bad, jabbing awkwardly at the cue ball and seldom getting her attempts anywhere close to the pockets.

  Annie was actually rather good at this game, but to lighten the mood she rolled out the class clown act that had been winning her friends since kindergarten. She miscued after making bombastic boasts about her prowess, whacked the balls so hard they flew off the table and managed to stumble over one of her shots in such a way that her cue flipped up and smacked her in the forehead. This last act hurt rather more than she had intended, but brought the reward of an actual laugh from Gypsy.

  One emotion bursting through the dam will often lead to more; Annie wasn’t surprised to see tears follow the laughter. She led Gypsy over to a table and sat her down. Then, after some thought, she raided the cafeteria’s freezer for Ramiran vegetables, returning with two platefuls on a tray, as well as a pair of glasses and a small jug full of a sweet-tasting juice. They sat opposite each other in silence for a while, enjoying the meal together.

  “It’s my fault,” said Gypsy at length.

  “No, it’s not,” responded Annie automatically. Then it struck her that she’d jumped the gun. “What is?”

  “My mother going down to the planet. She could’ve stayed on the ship. The captain only really wanted me on the team. But I asked her to come, because I was too scared to go without her. So, it is my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Annie again, with more thought this time. “If we’d have gone without her, you wouldn’t have been in a fit state to put that math maze together in your head-”

  “Maths.”

  “-and none of us would have gotten out of there alive. We needed both of you down there.”

  “I guess, but I mean, I’m twelve thousand four hundred and sixty days old. I should be able to function by myself. You can, and you’re only nine thousand seven hundred and forty-seven days old. If I’d pushed myself, if I’d not hidden away behind Mum like I did, maybe-”

  “Yeah, maybe, but that’s not who you are.” Annie leaned forward impulsively, laying her freckled hand upon Gypsy’s. The other woman flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. “Look, no two of us see the world the same way. Different folks, different challenges, yeah? Just getting yourself out here, that was your fight, and you won it. I’m alive because you’re here, so keep that head up and carry on pushin’. Your Mom knew you were gettin’ there, and you’re not gonna prove her wrong.”

  Gypsy nodded slowly. Her mouth worked silently for several seconds before she managed a slightly strangled, “Thanks.”

  I’m overwhelming her, Annie decided. She leaned back in her chair, watching as Gypsy gingerly rubbed the back of her hand where Annie had touched her. Let’s lighten the mood. “What’s all that nine thousand days old stuff about?”

  “Hmm? Oh, that’s just how I like to calculate time. The problem with years is that they’re not all the same length, so they don’t work as units of measurement. With days there’s no confusion.”

  Annie laughed. “That actually makes sense, in a crazy way.”

  “Crazy? Oh dear.”

  “Don’t worry. Crazy’s good. You’re my kinda crazy.” Hearing soft footfalls behind her, Annie turned to see Iris approaching. “Oh, hey there Doc Junior. Pull up a seat.”

  “No time,” said Iris economically. “Hunter wants me in Medical when the Kerinians come aboard. I’d like to see you tonight, though. Work’s been tough lately.”

  “Ah.” Annie sighed inwardly. Iris hadn’t approached her for a while, and she’d been rather hoping that the doctor had lost interest in their sessions. She’d have to do something about that, but this wasn’t the time. Another tumble couldn’t hurt. ‘Once again into the breach’, I guess… “Sure thing, swing by when you’re free.”

  As Iris left, Annie turned back to Gypsy with a playful grimace. “What can I say? It’s a big ship, and there’s only one of me to go ‘round. You okay?” Gypsy’s posture had subtly changed; there was a sudden chill about her, a stillness that hinted at emotional withdrawal. Still, her voice was clear when she spoke.

  “Yes, thank you Annie. I’m fine.”

  * * *

  The Kerinian docking corridor was every bit as flawless as Chapashazon had promised. Hunter wondered where they’d got the Bona Dea’s specifications from. The Ramirans had never had cause to know them, and Gatari didn’t strike her as a world to part with data cheaply. A spot of espionage, perhaps?

  Regardless of the source of his delivery method, Chapashazon was considerably warmer when he arrived, though still guarded. He came alone, which proved to be the trigger for his change in personality.

  “You can call me Chapa in private, Captain, but please do not do so while in the company of others. A certain … aloofness is expected of one who holds the office of vice president.”

  “And if one holds the office of president?”

  He smiled thinly. “Considerably more aloofness. The president is the living symbol of Kerinian grandeur. Our superior culture, technology, spirit: her every motion must reflect these when she appears in public. It can be quite restrictive.”

  “It sounds like you’ve no plans to ascend to that office.”

  “I’m unlikely to live long enough.”

  This last was a surprise to Hunter. She knew that Kerinian presidents ruled for an unusually long time, by the standards of elected heads of state. One generation was the term – a Matan unit of measure equal to slightly more than twenty-two Earth years. The current president, Mokubarij, was barely a quarter of the way through her own run.

  Still, Chapa looked fairly young, and seemed in good health. The hair on his sloping brow was short and dark, his eyes a bright orange, and his back was held straight within his intricately-patterned robes of office. These were silken, a shining mixture of light greens and dark blues – very grand. Fitting for the second most important person in the galaxy, Hunter decided, and I’m sure that’s how his people perceive him.

  The vice president was polite enough during his tour of the ship, but didn’t seem entirely able to switch off his imperious façade. There was a guardedness about him that Hunter hadn’t seen when she gave Grand Merchant Haji this same tour some months ago. His comments about the science lab, Medical and Engineering were all respectful, but there was a cool quality to his assessments. If Hunter was any judge, he was trying to gauge where the technological level of the Bona Dea stood in relation to that of Kerin. His people had an expectation of scientific superiority to which the Earth vessel represented a potential threat.

  He seemed satisfied enough in all areas save one. The Kohler-Schmid Drive was quite beyond his understanding, a fact which he grudgingly admitted after Annie had given him her spiel on its operation.

  “It’s beyond mine as well,” Hunter reassured him as they left Engineering and began to stroll in the direction of the Hub. “Young Ms. Grace is our leading expert, and even she understands how to make it work much more than why it does. Our navigator has a better grasp on the science of manipulating ephemeral particles.”

  “Gypsy,” stated Chapa.

  “Yes.” Hunter was slightly unsettled by the alien’s easy familiarity with her crew roster, but there was no
reason why he shouldn’t know that name. Gypsy had appeared on Gataran television, after all, and her performance had been quite eye-catching. “She can find meaning in the chaos of their motion, but they still hold so many mysteries.” Hunter hoped that Chapa wouldn’t ask for precise details –her trade agreement with Ramira had specified that the technical aspects of the KSD must remain a secret shared only with that planet. Happily, the vice president’s thoughts turned in a different direction.

  “Your ship holds a greater mystery,” he said with a frown. “A scion of Vitana, the only one of its hybrid offspring ever to leave the old homeworld.”

  “That’s right. She lives above our gymnasium. If you wish to speak with her, I could-”

  “No!” Chapa raised both hands, as though to ward off some sudden menace. “No, thank you Captain, that won’t be necessary. I’m naturally curious, but to meet it? No...”

  “I could vouch for your safety,” said Hunter, with a confidence she sincerely hoped was not misplaced. “She’s been aboard for months with no trouble.”

  The Kerinian smiled, his composure, swiftly lost, now as swiftly restored. “That won’t be necessary. I apologise for my vehemence, Captain, but the idea of fusing the biological and the mechanical is considered quite obscene on Kerin. Especially by me.”

  “Because of how your colony came to be?”

  “Perhaps so. It would be better if your hybrid remained hidden for the duration of your stay.”

  Hunter nodded slowly. Kerin had been founded by exiles Vitana had deemed unworthy of becoming one with their robotic fellows. It wasn’t too surprising that they’d chosen to move on from that trauma by rejecting the idea of cyborgs entirely.

  “I would be curious to meet with one of your robots, if that’s possible.”

  Hunter was surprised, but saw no reason to demur. She led Chapa to the ACM’s quarters, wondering whether he was aware of their primary function, and hoping that he wasn’t expecting a demonstration.

  A greater surprise awaited her when she opened the door labelled “ACM-3” and introduced the vice president to its occupant, for Salomon rose at once to his feet and exclaimed, “But you are a robot!”

  “Indeed, I am,” responded Chapa, paying no heed to Hunter’s wide-eyed expression as he strode past her and embraced the ACM warmly. “It’s good to be recognised, Brother. The robots who serve our colonial cousins have little to no intelligence; the idea of artificial life crafted by another species entirely has intrigued me since I read of your presence aboard. Tell me, what gave me away? My walk?”

  “Yes. The underlying algorithm is new to me, but the smoothness of motion is unmistakable. A robot – and they let you serve as vice president?”

  “They let me do anything I wish, provided I show the competence. Ours is a strict meritocracy.” Chapa turned back to Hunter. “Your culture is different, perhaps?”

  “Quite different.” Hunter, recovering as best she could from her surprise, decided that there was no point in sugar-coating matters. “Robots are not considered sentient, and have no rights to speak of. It is illegal to harm an anthropomorphised machine, but only due to fears that humans who partake of simulated cruelty are more likely to indulge in the real thing as well. I’m sorry if that offends you.”

  Chapa placed a hand protectively on Salomon’s shoulders. “Bigotry is never pleasant, but I don’t blame you for the failings of your society.”

  Hunter felt her cheeks redden briefly; she restrained herself from pointing out that bigotry could cut both ways. “Salomon and his brothers have given me cause to question our policies,” she stated neutrally.

  “Good. Our situation isn’t perfect here, either. Our life-span is set at sixty-four years, and there are only ever sixty-four of us in existence planet-wide.”

  “Ensuring organic dominance is never truly threatened,” suggested Salomon.

  “Exactly. We can excel as individuals, but the group must always be kept down. I must say, though, the manner in which they limit our life-span is rather clever…”

  The vice president unleashed a blizzard of technical language which Hunter made no great effort to follow. She was still struggling to adjust her perception of Chapashazon to accommodate this revelation. Back on Earth, she’d always been able to quickly tell the ersatz humans from the real ones. It was sixth sense as much as anything, a subtle feeling of wrongness when she saw them move and speak. No such instinct had alerted her this time.

  Faultless robots, effortless space travel, magical anti-gravity. These people are more advanced than us in so many ways. Yet when it comes to long-distance space travel, the one thing we need from them, they’ve got nothing.

  Such persistent back luck. It’s enough to make a woman suspect conspiracy…

  IV

  No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

  – Aesop

  “Magnificent, isn’t it? The precision, the unity. The sense of power and common purpose.”

  Hunter smiled noncommittally. Ivan had been waxing lyrical since the military parade had started. That had been some two hours ago, and the end was nowhere in sight. Rank after rank and file after file of Kerin’s finest had marched by, their uniforms crimson and gold, weapons gleaming, heads held high, feet moving in time to the beating of a thousand drums. So many soldiers had already come and gone that Hunter was beginning to wonder whether some of them had looped around for a second pass.

  The military might on display was all the more impressive for being largely pointless. There hadn’t been a civil war on Kerin for over three hundred years, and armed conflict with the other colonies was all but impossible, transport to and from them being entirely dependent on Vitana’s monoliths. Spies might be sneaked through, but an army? Impossible.

  This was another ostentatious show of power.

  At least Ivan seemed to be enjoying it, as did Daniella Winters; the journalist had been permitted to place her 3D imager at the front of the raised dais where the Bona Dea contingent were seated. The resulting holograms would doubtless be spectacular, and not just because of the parade itself. Kodimon, capital city of Kerin, was a true metropolis. Broad boulevards were festooned with flowers and greenery, skyscrapers fought against each other to stretch closest to the sun, and colossal statues loomed around every corner.

  The two grandest of these dominated the national park situated directly across from them. One was of Sheko, the scientific genius whose breakthroughs had propelled Kerin to its current state of pre-eminence. He knelt opposite Chivu, warrior queen of Srisade. She stood with a single powerful hand outstretched towards her counterpart.

  The arrangement was clever. One viewer might read it as Sheko kneeling before his superior; another might perceive Chivu beseeching the scientist to show her the way forward. The two were complementary, mind and might … Kerin valued both equally.

  There were fourteen present from the Bona Dea, including all three ACMs – Chapashazon had made it quite clear that the robots were invited. The rest of the party seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, with one notable exception. Annie sat slumped on Hunter’s left, fighting valiantly to stay awake.

  The technician had given up on holding her eyes open with her fingers and moved on to pinching herself. It wasn’t working; the technician’s head fell forward, then jerked briefly upright, then began to fall again. Hunter reached over and shook her.

  “Wuuuh … yeah?”

  “You’re making us look bad.”

  “Sorry, Skip. I got this.”

  “You said that ten minutes ago. I’m sending you back to the Bona Dea.”

  “Honestly, it’s just a little jet-lag. Or planet-lag. A brisk walk’ll set me straight.”

  “Then walk to the ship.” Hunter’s expression softened. “Look, I understand – you’ve been working yourself too hard again. You’re excused from the rest of today’s programme, and tomorrow’s too. Time off, like we discussed, okay? Just relax for a bit. Treat yourself.”

 
Annie demurred no more; she looked relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands. The captain beckoned their chief escort over and explained that one of her officers was feeling light-headed, probably on account of the humid climate. Could she be taken back to the Bona Dea? She could, the escort assured her, assigning a young male to the task.

  Diplomatic crisis averted, thought Hunter as Annie was led away. Illness is a far more acceptable explanation than fatigue. Though how she could sleep through this cacophony is beyond me.

  It wasn’t just the drums or the marching boots – the crowd were making quite a racket as well. They lined the parade route in their tens of thousands, cheering with an enthusiasm that appeared unfeigned from where Hunter was seated.

  The Kerinian citizens seldom glanced in her direction. This was surprising on the face of it, but there was a perfectly good explanation, seated behind them on a dais three times the elevation of theirs. President Mokubarij.

  It was considered disrespectful to look in the president’s direction when she was not speaking, and downright rebellious to look in any other direction when she was. Mokubarij herself had stared straight ahead while giving her opening address, the only direct acknowledgement of Hunter’s crew being a hand briefly raised in their direction when she spoke of “honoured attendees”. This small gesture, their escort had assured them, should be taken as a great compliment.

  The woman herself was as one might expect. Powerfully built, with a strong and clear speaking voice; short dark hair cut in intricate patterns on her face and neck; green and blue robes, similar to the vice president’s but longer and more elaborate. Mokubarij’s dais was festooned with many streamers bearing those same colours.

  Hunter had managed to resist the temptation to look back at the president since her speech had ended, though she’d noticed Ivan sneaking furtive glances under the pretext of turning to say something to the people beside him. No doubt he found the trappings of power attractive. She herself felt rather more ambivalent. Robot or no robot, Chapa had carried a touch of arrogance about him, even when not performing for his crew. What might Mokubarij be like? She was practically deified, more Queen than elected official. Hunter found herself missing Ramira, and Haji’s laid-back approach to leadership.