Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  Koli nodded. Her own voice, when she spoke, was strong and clear, but not without a hint of the sadness Gypsy had picked up from her. “Yes. My husband. Lobo worked in the monolith yards. Import and Export.” She pointed at the screen, and Gypsy noticed for the first time that an artificial mountain was partially visible in the background – one of the six monoliths Vitana had created for the exiled Matans. “Peace negotiations had been going well between Monosade and ourselves – direct transit lines had been reopened; trade, flowing through the monoliths.” Koli’s face darkened. “A terrorist group called the Icebreakers managed to install a chemical explosive within a crate of jungle fruits. Lobo was one of seventeen to die that day. It was the trigger for our 6th war – some might say the 7th as well.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Gypsy. “Any children?”

  “No, I never wanted any. I wanted him. I didn’t think I could live with the loss; Koro philosophy was a big help. So was my resolve to put an end to the foreign threat. I learnt to control my emotions, to hone and weaponize them. So can you, Gypsy.”

  “Oh, but I wouldn’t want to weaponize, I mean … I don’t like hurting people.”

  Koli stretched out a hand toward the screen, toward that sliver of the tapestry of space-time from which her husband gazed back. “Neither do I. I’m a doctor. But doing nothing while innocents suffer is just another sort of violence – more acceptable with those who write our history books, perhaps, but not with me. Monosade must be stopped. What has your OCD made you worry about today, Gypsy?”

  The question was such a jarring non sequitur that Gypsy stared back blankly, unable quite to process it.

  “You don’t realise it, but what just happened was remarkable,” said Koli. “For you to gain so many of my emotions so quickly – it smashes what we thought were the limits of the Imprinter. Perhaps the device works better on humans; perhaps it’s just you. In either case, you have a real opportunity, so I ask again: what have you been worrying about today?”

  “Oh, well, about this, whether it would work, and…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s silly, but … I’ve remembered something from when I was a girl. Or half-remembered. I was trying to recite the first one hundred digits of pi in under a minute, but I kept messing it up. I didn’t like taking responsibility for failing, back then, so I blamed it on God … and, I think I might have asked the Devil for help instead, and I think I might have done it in under a minute on my next try, but I can’t remember. I’ve spent half the day trying to dredge up the exact memory from my brain, and the other half trying to convince myself that what happened wouldn’t constitute a legal contract in any case, but I can’t get the certainty I want, however hard I try. I’m worried that I gave my soul away, and I’m going to pay for it later.”

  “As you say, silly. You might equally worry that God abhors those who brush their teeth left-handed, and try to remember whether you have ever done so. In time, you would convince yourself that you have, indeed, brushed left-handed, and through the many hours spent trying to recall every instance of tooth-brushing from your life, you would be reinforcing the idea that God does indeed abhor left-handed brushers, so that you would no longer question it, and the only doubt in your mind would be as to what the punishment for your transgression might be. Do you worry about brushing your teeth, Gypsy?”

  “No.”

  “No. Because that would be irrational. The chances of it mattering are not quite zero, for God may be mad, but it’s only one of a host of infinitesimally small possible structures that an afterlife might take. Imagine a great ball of sand, so vast that it encompasses the entirety of Anasade’s orbit about the sun. Each grain of sand in that ball represents a possible vision of the true nature of things, so that we might find a grain for your Christianity, another for the warped version of that religion which haunts you, still another for the Vitana-worship of my ancestors, and billions besides, for every belief ever conceived, and billions still besides those, for beliefs that are possible but have not been conceived. Imagine that globe, Gypsy, and then imagine the vast reaches of nothingness that would surround and dwarf it – that nothingness represents the possibility that this reality is all we shall ever know.

  “You’re worrying about an impossibly small point, a minute grain of sand, a speck that you have expanded to fill your entire field of vision. While you’ve been magnifying irrelevancies, the clock has been running on your real life, the only one that should concern you. Agreed?”

  “That does sound, erm-”

  “Good. Now, think over your fears again. How do you feel about them now?”

  Reluctantly, Gypsy obeyed. She turned her mind inwards, back toward the familiar hurt.

  It wasn’t there.

  What she found instead shocked her. “I feel … nothing?” Goosepimples sprang up all over her arms like a rash. “I-it’s true. I’m thinking about God and the afterlife, Heaven and Hell, and it’s nothing. Just silly nonsense. I’m not afraid, not even anxious. Why should I be? It’s a fantasy. I mean, I’ve always known that, but I feel it now.” She placed a clenched fist over her heart. “It’s in here. I see what’s real at last.”

  Gypsy felt she should cry, but no tears came. Instead she closed her eyes and explored a brave new world of tranquillity. “I’m happy for you,” said Dr. Koli, though her tones were guarded. “Please remember, it takes many treatments for the effects to become permanent. You’ve proven remarkably well-suited to this procedure, but it’s just the beginning.” Gypsy nodded, barely paying any heed.

  I can do anything, say anything, think anything. There’re no unlucky numbers to avoid, no cursed words. Six, six, six, six, hell, hell, hellity-hell. Meaningless. How many hours of my life have I wasted on superstition and nonsense? No more. Never again. I’ll do what I want, when I want. Heaven at last, right here in the real world.

  Gypsy was so wrapped up in her heady blanket of liberty that she almost forgot to thank the one responsible. Her good manners clicked back into place only after Koli had placed the precious Imprinter safely in one corner, excused herself and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” called Gypsy, scrambling to her feet. “Doctor, I’m so, so grateful. Golly, if you only knew … if you only knew how long I’ve longed for a moment like this. Thank you! I should never have doubted you, or resented you bringing me here.”

  Koli flinched slightly and gave an odd smile – not the usual broad Matan grin, it looked almost a grimace. “I’m only doing what I think right. I care about you, remember that. We’ll have our next session tomorrow, Gypsy.”

  “Koroko na ma krisola.”

  “Good night.” She turned and left the human alone in her cell.

  Gypsy paced slowly about the room. There was a pleasant buzz in her head, though she was aware of something scratching at the corners of her mind, demanding to be let back in. Remembering that she now boasted a new haircut, she stepped through into the bathroom area and appraised herself in the mirror.

  It was a different Gypsy who looked back at her. The untidy tangle of hair she’d seen that morning was trimmed and orderly now, reduced in length as well as thickness, so that it hung a little over shoulder-high. Koli wasn’t a professional hairdresser, and would never have worked on a human head even if she had been, but she’d done a fine job. Another little thing to thank her for.

  I look like a grown-up – cool, dignified, professional. This is Gypsy II, new and improved. If only Mum could be here to see this…

  Thinking of her mother seemed to break the spell. Gypsy felt a sudden, ill-formed burst of emotion, and then her familiar fears rematerialized, like unwanted guests who have been kicked out the front door only to sneak back in through the rear window. She felt a strong urge to tap the mirror seven times; after offering token resistance, she did so.

  It’s okay, she reassured herself. We expected this, remember? So I’ll have to live with my thoughts for a few more days until the change is permanent. What’s that against the dec
ades I’ve already slogged through? The important thing is that this is going to work.

  It’s going to work, and then there’ll be no more stuttering and stumbling, no more dithering and wondering and worrying, worrying, always worrying! I’ll be able to look Annie in the eye and tell her I love her. I’ll be able to sleep without fear, wake without fear.

  Free!

  I’m going to be free…

  VII

  … There’s a strange air about the ship lately; the calm before the storm. Engaging any of the crew in meaningful conversation, whether social or professional, is becoming more difficult by the day. Even gregarious women such as Grace seem to be withdrawing into their own thoughts, further and further.

  Something has to happen – the only question is whether the impetus is internal or external. This was a strong crew when we set out, but a steady diet of frustration and catastrophe has eroded that strength at the roots. Any equilibrium we might seem to have now is fragile, illusory.

  We’ve been stuck here for too long…

  – Daniella Winters, Journal entry #667

  “Mutiny,” said Sandra Rivers. “It’s an ugly word, but we need to confront it. This is not a noble act that we’re considering – at best, it’s a necessary evil.” She turned her gaze slowly about the room, ensuring that every woman present fully appreciated the gravity of the situation. “We all agreed, when Hunter won the election, that that would be the end of it. She would be our captain for the rest of the voyage, come fair weather or foul. I myself shook her by the hand and gave my pledge of loyalty. I meant it. I was happy to let things lie.”

  “We all were,” agreed Dr. Little, eyes cast down to her rapidly cooling tea.

  “For me to go against my word is … a repulsive idea. But I’m willing to debase myself for the good of this crew, and let history judge me accordingly. Each of you has approached me in private and stated, in one way or another, that things need to change; you’ve implied that I should be the one to instigate that change. I will … if and only if I have your unanimous support.”

  “Do we really need to mutiny, though?” wondered Lorna Costa. “There are only fourteen women left on this ship, and eight of them are in this room. Hold another election and you’ve got a guaranteed victory.”

  Rivers shook her head sharply. “No. Hunter would refuse a second vote, and rightly so. The terms of the first one were clear, and she has neither the motivation nor the obligation to roll the dice again. The window for a peaceful transition has passed – we act directly or not at all.”

  She surveyed her quarters again. There were eight present, as Costa had said. Both doctors were here. Little was fiddling with her hair now, a usually boisterous woman plainly riddled with guilt and uncertainty; Iris looked on calmly and silently, her thoughts her own.

  Jess Ryan was another quiet one; she’d been like that since the loss of her wife. Rivers was confident of her support but she didn’t look in the best frame of mind for coming up with ideas.

  As to the technicians, three of the remaining four were present. Besides Costa, who Rivers felt reliable, were Ekaterina Antakova and Evi van der Meyde, about whom she knew little. Antakova looked somewhat defensive, she thought, even angry, as though daring anyone to condemn her for attending; van der Meyde looked unhappy but determined, as did the ship’s gardener, Barbara Young.

  All fair enough, Rivers decided. If anyone was thrilled that this meeting has become a necessity, I’d have to seriously question their attitude.

  “Has there been any progress in the past few days?” asked Barbara. “No-one tells me anything.”

  “None that I’m aware of. Safri’s investigation has found that Gypsy was carried off in a scheduled space flight, which rendezvoused with an Anasadan vessel while the inner moon of Monosade obscured it from view. That only confirms what the Icebreaker agent had told us already, of course. She’s gone, and the Anasadans are continuing to refuse all offers of communication with this planet, be it official or otherwise.

  “Hunter has contacted Haji of Ramira and had him offer to bridge the gap as a 3rd party – Zarka has done the same via his superiors on Kerin. Anasade declined, and not very politely. The only statement they are willing to make is that they had nothing to do with Gypsy’s abduction and are ignorant of her current whereabouts.

  “Our investigation of the crashed jet finished two days ago, with the rather prosaic conclusion that it was a normal craft, controlled by a remote radio signal which hijacked its autopilot, exactly as we suspected. It was a complete waste of time.

  “Finally, as most of you are aware, the Kerinian ambassadors joined our tech, medical and science teams in a brainstorming session yesterday. We spent several hours trying to come up with a way to locate Gypsy; despite some rather enterprising ideas, there were no methods of detection suggested which I believe could feasibly isolate human biological readings among a sea of Matans at any significant distance.

  “The only remotely promising idea revolves around Gypsy’s Ephemeral Motion Detection and Interpretation Apparatus – her quantum goggles, if you prefer the colloquial name. She was wearing these when she was taken, and they haven’t resurfaced; it’s likely that the people who took her also claimed her technology to study. The significance is that, due to a flaw in their design, the goggles can cause small disruptions in the ephemera when rapidly switching between viewing modes. Annie says that this has happened a few times since we set off; she knows because they show up on the KSD status screen as interference. Ms. Grace has rigged some monitoring equipment that should automatically alert us if this occurs – if we’re lucky we might trace them back to their source. Unfortunately, it’s unlikely that the Anasadans would produce this effect by accident, even if they start fiddling with the device. Gypsy would have to do it herself, and her captors are probably ill-inclined to allow her such freedom.”

  Rivers rubbed her head, which was throbbing slightly. She’d been struck there twice in the past year, and despite Dr. Little’s best efforts, the after-effects still lingered. I really should have got treatment on Kerin like Iris did. Their biology may be different to ours, but their technology is superior – I’d have been in safe hands. As it is, I don’t feel so able to rely on my brain as usual. Of course, if we go back to Kerin I can rectify that oversight. Another reason to wrap up our business here as quickly as possible.

  Rivers glanced across at Barbara. “So, the short answer to your question is ‘No’. No significant progress.”

  “Let’s look at the mutiny concept, then,” suggested Costa. “How might that play out? How would the other six react, and how should we handle any fighting?”

  Rivers sighed. “Taking the less unpleasant aspect of your question first: Ms. Winters likes to remain neutral and shouldn’t give us any trouble. Annie’s been uncharacteristically withdrawn lately, but she’s not the sort to tolerate what she believes to be foul play – I believe she will resist. The Captain and al-Hawsawi might too, but they’re old and little threat. Jackson and Bala may be more serious obstacles. I’ve directed a few careful conversational probes at the latter; based on her responses, I don’t think she’ll join us, though she may not actively oppose us either. Jess, what do you think?”

  Ryan was staring vacantly ahead. She fiddled with her lower lip and did not respond.

  “Jess,” tried Rivers again. “what’s your take on Bala?”

  The botanist’s eyes slowly refocused. “Hard to read her,” she managed at length.

  “Isn’t Chamonix the real threat, anyway?” asked Barbara. “You saw what she did to the soldiers back on Mata. Imagine if she gives us the same treatment. Or worse…” Her mouth twisted in fear, and Rivers could see why. A creature with such advanced powers of transmutation might find unpleasantly creative ways to kill them.

  “I went to see the hybrid recently. It still claims not to have fully mastered its powers, but its home has been significantly transformed. I’m beginning to wonder whether it might not become
every bit as strong as it was while joined with Vitana, given time. That can only be bad news for us. We must hope that our window of activity is still open … that’s if we choose to act. In that event, we would have no capacity to safely imprison the creature; it would be necessary to try and kill it. Unless anyone has an alternative?”

  No-one did, though they looked far from thrilled at the prospect of taking Chamonix on.

  “There’s still the matter of Jackson and Abayomi,” said Barbara, eager to return the conversation to marginally safer ground. “If they both oppose us, I don’t think we can possibly win.”

  “We have still three stun guns made for Matan animals,” suggested Antakova. “Maybe-”

  “No,” Little cut in sharply. “They weren’t made to be used safely on humans. The electrical discharge from one of those things could easily cause brain damage, even death. One careless shot in the head and the mutiny turns bloody.”

  “The threat of them may be useful even with no intention to fire.”

  “I’m not sure we can take the ship on bluffwork alone.” Little looked to Rivers for support.

  “Agreed. We need something non-lethal to tip the balance in our favour. The Icebreakers might help, but I’m not sure I trust them to behave.” Rivers found her gaze wandering along the walls of her quarters. She was looking beyond them, she realised. Towards the starboard bow of the ship. “The androids. They’re programmed not to kill, and they fought well back on Mata – better than any of us could.”

  Costa looked doubtful. “They’re programmed not to harm humans at all, and to obey our every order. Rather an easy weapon to shut down. I mean, Flora did change their programming once, but she was a robotics expert. I wouldn’t know how to do it. Do you?”

  “I have some decent knowledge of the area,” said Rivers, a touch defensively. Flora had found a way to circumvent her attempted reprogramming of Charlie a couple of years ago, a reverse which had stung rather. “I acknowledge the difficulty, and the risk if anything goes wrong, but I think it should be possible to exclude certain individuals from a robot’s definition of humanity. They’d still obey us, but not Hunter.”