Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  Dr. Little winced. “Excluding from humanity? That’s a bit, well…”

  “Not the best way to phrase it, perhaps. Look, I’ll keep the prohibition against killing in place, and honestly, we should only need one ACM, not all three.”

  “Ivan?”

  “He’s the best fighter, but I don’t trust him, programmed inhibitions or no. Ricardo looks a better prospect.”

  Costa attended to an itch by rubbing the back of her hand against her short, bristly hair. “Okay, so we take the ship using the threat of the stun guns and Ricardo’s fighting skills. Can he beat Chamonix, do you think?”

  “No, we’d need the Icebreakers to help with that. Serious firepower required.”

  “Which brings us onto phase two. Once we’re in charge, what happens next? Some sort of military alliance? What can we offer the Icebreakers, and what can they offer us?”

  “They can offer us weapons, and we can offer them upgrades on those weapons. Enough to give them a clean victory in their next war. Enough to give us the power to take Gypsy back by force. Hopefully we can pick up Vitana’s fragments while we’re about it; otherwise the Icebreakers will hand them over once Anasade is defeated.”

  “Have you agreed these terms with them already?”

  “No,” Rivers conceded, “but I’ve spoken with Zarka, and he’s confident that they’ll accept.”

  “And why is he so helpful?” asked Antakova. “What does he gain?”

  Rivers pondered for a moment. She really should have been asking that question herself, she realised. Never mind. “His mission is to bring the fragments back to Kerin, and he’s been given wide autonomy to pursue that. He’s probably under orders not to interfere directly, though.”

  “So, we do his dirty work for him.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And can we do it?” asked Costa. “Do we actually have the power to improve their weapons?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Rivers sat back in her chair, feeling that they were crossing into territory that was more familiar to her, if not any more comfortable. “Zarka has given me some specs on what they’re using. I believe that we can fit Monosadan missiles with jammers that can completely scramble the automated defences of Anasade. Incoming missiles can be neutralised just as easily. This sort of technology was perfected in the 21st century back on Earth; it was rendered obsolete a few years later, but we needn’t worry about that. It’s unknown tech in this part of space, and Monosade is already militarily stronger than their neighbour. They should score a decisive victory within a week, if we lead the way.”

  “Wars are seldom that clean, if you look in the history books,” said Little unhappily.

  Rivers considered the doctor. A petite, middle-aged woman, she’d been among the first to be named on the Bona Dea’s roster, back when this whole voyage was still little more than a fanciful dream in Miriam Hunter’s mind. Wanda knew the captain long before we embarked; it’s not surprising she looks uncertain now. It can’t be easy for her, to contemplate betraying a friend.

  Yet she was the first to approach me about a potential coup. She’s a respected figure, and if she backs out, others might follow her lead. We need her.

  Doctors care about saving lives more than anything. That’s her concern – the Hippocratic Oath. Blood on her hands.

  “No wars are completely clean,” she agreed softly. “But some are dirtier than others. You’ve seen how things are around here. There’s no true peace, only a lull between conflicts. Clear victory for one side over the other is the only way the cycle can be broken. A quick 8th war, so that there will be no 9th, 10th or 11th. Lives saved, in the long run. Think of the Hiroshima bombing – a tragedy, yes, but Japan never made war with America again. Anasade may curse us in the short term, but our lasting legacy here would be one of peace.”

  Little turned her head awkwardly to one side – somewhere between a shake and a nod. Her response was equally non-committal. “It’s hard to know.”

  “Yes, it is.” Rivers lifted her gaze to encompass all those present. “This whole proposal is riddled with uncertainty, risk, and morally dubious acts. I for one will not consider it without your unanimous support; it’s time to find out whether I have it. We can hammer out the finer details later, but I want each of you to indicate now whether you agree in principle, both to seizing the Bona Dea and to using it aggressively to force the issue with regards to Gypsy and Vitana’s artefact. Lorna, what are your thoughts?”

  Costa flinched slightly at being named first, but her response was as expected. “I hate to say it, but there’s nothing else to try. We’ve explored all the alternatives, and … yes, yes, it’s the only way.” She nodded sharply, as though she had just now convinced herself.

  Rivers turned her gaze onto the other technicians. “If I’m assured that we can do this without hurting any of the crew, then I’m in,” said Antakova.

  Van der Meyde nodded her agreement. “Yes, on principle, but let’s draw up the full plan first.”

  “We won’t rush into anything,” Rivers assured them. “Jess?”

  Ryan, who had seemed lost in her own thoughts throughout, looked up at the sound of her name, eyes shining. “I hate everything about this. But I can’t sit around in this ship any longer doing nothing, can’t stay in that room we shared. I just want to go home.”

  Barbara nodded sympathetically. “I feel the same way – we’ve lost sight of our objective here. It feels like a choice between doing something or going mad at the moment. I’ve had enough of being a curiosity on an alien world, or a nomad among the stars; just let me set foot on Earth and I’ll never leave again.”

  Two to go. Rivers turned her enquiring gaze upon the doctors.

  Iris didn’t need much prompting. She simply said, “Yes,” and turned expectantly toward her senior colleague.

  Wanda Little sipped nervously at her tea, grimaced slightly to find it cold, then set it upon the table. “This isn’t who I am,” she said weakly.

  “Of course not,” said Rivers. “None of us here are mutineers at heart, but sometimes circumstances make us what we don’t want to be. Acts that let us feel good about ourselves lead to disaster; the difficult, ugly path turns out to be the one true way. It’s not just, but it’s how life is.”

  Little nodded. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “God help us all then. I’m in.”

  The heavy silence which greeted the consensus seemed all too appropriate. Rivers wondered whether to reassure those present that if circumstances changed in the next few days their plans might change too, that she wouldn’t stop looking for alternatives.

  No. Our course is set. Time for strength and surety.

  “Let’s discuss the details,” she said.

  VIII

  Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.

  – George Bernard Shaw

  Peace.

  It was becoming a familiar friend, together with its siblings, confidence and self-control.

  Mornings on Chopiko Base found Gypsy and Koli performing their daily sessions with the Mental Imprinter; today was the nineteenth. Each time, Gypsy retained her borrowed tranquillity for longer – already it was only in the evenings when she felt the first creeping tendrils of OCD tickling at her grey matter. While the Matan doctor was at pains to remind her patient that the process was still a long way from being completed, Gypsy felt certain that the old her wasn’t coming back.

  She smiled as the Imprinting Helmet was placed on her head and the needles worked their way inwards. The hour of treatment itself was her favourite part of the day, feeling her worries drain away like poison down the plughole of her mind, with naught but a dark smear to show their passing.

  “Ready?” asked Koli, donning her own skullcap.

  “Yes.”

  Today’s clips were mostly war-related, with wrecked housing and charred corpses showing the results of Monosadan terrorism and military strikes against Anasade. The scenes were disgusting, and G
ypsy felt a brief surge of rage, her pulse pounding through her brain. She soon controlled it, though, and spent the rest of the presentation concentrating on her desire to return home to the Bona Dea. In truth, this didn’t seem so important as it once had, but Gypsy did it anyway because she deemed it a worthwhile intellectual exercise.

  “How do you feel about what we just saw?” asked Koli, once the last clip had frozen on a close-up image of a grieving mother, yellow-haired and youthful.

  “A travesty and a tragedy,” answered Gypsy without hesitation. “I’ve heard the guards refer to Monosadans as ‘Mono-slugs’ – that’s fair enough. At least, in the case of the people responsible for scenes like these. The nice thing is that I could reign in my anger at will. I suppose that virtue’s another gift from your mind?”

  “‘Virtue’ would be in the observer’s eye, but yes. Unchecked emotion can break a person. My own hurt became a spur, a colossal negative turned to a small positive. If you can learn the same mentality then that would please me. Honestly, the speed with which you’re changing is extraordinary. Perhaps the human brain is less rigid than ours?”

  “Maybe, but I’m thinking back to something you said before we started this. Something about how my mind wasn’t built for religion? I think you were right. I was meant to be rational. A machine in human guise. It took a tremendous effort by my OCD to pervert me to such utter derangement; making me cool and logical is easy, because my thought processes are simply being allowed to reset themselves to their natural positions. Does that make sense?”

  “It certainly bears consideration,” said Koli carefully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must collate the readings from this session and get back to work.”

  “What is your work? What do you people do up here?” It struck Gypsy as strange that she’d never thought to ask those questions before; she actually knew next to nothing about the environment she’d lived in for what must be months by now.

  “There are meetings that go on above my head, but our focus is always on the next conflict with Monosade,” said Koli as she began withdrawing the needles from Gypsy’s cranium. “I myself look at effective methods to treat injuries from the chemical weapons favoured by our enemies, as well as techniques to gain immunity from the gases we know they’re working on. Beyond that, we have a spy network to maintain, and our own weapons to develop.”

  “Do you ever work on that side of things? I mean, making weaponry that kills more efficiently?”

  Koli froze for the slightest instant – Gypsy wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been on the lookout for a reaction. The doctor’s voice was calm when she responded.

  “I’ve offered my advice in the past. Does that bother you?”

  “No,” said Gypsy.

  Why should it bother me? she asked herself. They’ve got their backs up against a wall here. My particular brand of naivety wouldn’t help them fight back.

  “I’m becoming more comfortable on Chopiko, I must say. Don’t get me wrong, I’d still like to escape, but that’s hardly likely, since you’re not about to let me play around with my quantum goggles.”

  “Quantum goggles?” repeated Koli as she lifted the helmet from Gypsy’s head. Realisation dawned. “The equipment Colonel Matha had when we captured him. Yes, we did reason that it must belong to you. It looked a toy to us, though – a show with lights. It’s being held in our labs for later study.”

  “I suppose it is kind of a toy, but it’s important to navigating our jumps through space too. It’s got a design flaw which would let my friends find us, if it was used in a certain way.” Gypsy gave a brief explanation of the goggles, and how they might be used as a distress beacon. “I could probably have thought up a way to trick you into letting me have them without supervision if I was a bit more creative,” she concluded. “But I don’t have the right kind of imagination. I don’t have the nerve to take risks, either.”

  Koli looked thoughtfully at her human charge. “We wouldn’t hurt you, even if you were caught trying to escape.”

  “I know that in here,” said Gypsy with a tap on her head. Then she moved her hand to her heart. “It’s what’s in here that tends to make decisions, unfortunately.”

  The doctor nodded. She left soon afterwards; Gypsy watched her go with satisfaction.

  Worth a try, I think. I wasn’t lying, though, when I said I was becoming more comfortable here. They’re good people, and the station has everything I need.

  Speaking of which, time for a bath…

  She stripped off her shirt and dress – now relegated to the status of nightclothes – and put on one of the many black coveralls her hosts had given her. These fit perfectly, and had clearly been tailored specifically for her human frame. Exiting her cell, she prepared to turn right, in the direction of the elevator to the underground pools, but paused upon hearing someone approaching from the opposite direction.

  It was Commander Ayakopi. Gypsy felt a momentary urge to turn and walk in the opposite direction when she saw him, but quelled it without great difficulty. She decided to try out her Matan speech on the station head. This was still a weak area – the sessions with Koli and the Mental Imprinter hadn’t had any direct impact, as innate skills were not transferable, only mindsets. Still, Gypsy felt able to handle a basic conversation.

  “The best of mornings,” she said in Matan as he drew near.

  “The best of days,” Ayakopi responded in kind. He did not look surprised that she had greeted him. “How does it find you?”

  “Healthy. My treatments are good. And you?”

  The commander raised a fist and nodded heartily. Gypsy thought he has trying to appear friendly, but wasn’t entirely sure how to do it – the effect was jarring, like a newsreader presenting the headlines while wearing a clown costume.

  “I’ve just finished interrogating the Mono-slug, Colonel Matha. He knows a lot - we did well to seize him. Why not go and see him yourself? He’s a sorry animal, who surely regrets trying to kidnap you.”

  “I will,” said Gypsy. The idea of talking to Matha did interest her – there were still a few outstanding questions on how they’d both come to be aboard this base. “The best of days to you, Commander.”

  “Strength to our …” Ayakopi checked himself. “Strength to Anasade. And to you.” He tapped her firmly on the shoulder with his knuckles and continued up the corridor.

  He didn’t mention the Kinkawa equations, or anything else mathematical. Interesting.

  Gypsy advanced toward Matha’s cell at a measured pace, wondering how she’d react when she saw him. She’d positively quailed last time, but a lot had changed since then.

  Matha was once again standing at his door when Gypsy reached it. She wondered whether he had a habit of standing there at all hours, day or night. Perhaps not. She hadn’t been quiet in her approach – the captive may have simply heard her coming and positioned himself so as to try and intimidate her.

  If so, he was going to be disappointed. Gypsy did feel a small surge of adrenalin, but once again controlled herself quickly. Noticing for the first time that there was a second, transparent barrier protecting Matha’s cell, she felt confident enough to step forward and rest her arms on the bars of the outer door. After meeting the Monosadan’s gaze for long enough to show him she was unafraid, Gypsy addressed him in English.

  “My word, is this really Colonel Matha, the warrior who single-handedly defeated two untrained human women in single combat? How sad, to see such a fearless war hero penned in like the lowliest animal.” He didn’t respond, so she switched to Matan. “Do you understand me? I’m laughing at you, jailor-turned-prisoner.”

  Matha flexed his gangly limbs and bared his teeth unpleasantly. “I am not afraid to die, little one. I’m a patriot, serving my culture. Every role I play is informed by that service: soldier or terrorist, saboteur or spy, I have been all of those, and more. A glorious life assures a glorious death.”

  “I wonder what your ‘culture’ would think of your f
ailed kidnapping. You saw me as a weapon to use against your enemies; now I’m in their hands. How do you feel about that?”

  To Gypsy’s annoyance, the colonel showed no particular concern at her words. “You overestimate your own importance. At most, your help will make the coming war a more drawn-out and bloody affair, with a higher toll in lives.”

  “Oh, and that makes you happy? You enjoy the thought of innocents dying?”

  “It should make anyone happy. Through war and hardship, the boy becomes a king. There are no weaklings orbiting this star – haven’t you noticed? Through the sacrifice of innocents, the fat is trimmed from society. Let the aristocrats of Kerin wallow in luxury; the finest gadi are found here, forged in the fires of war. Strength to our culture! It shall endure long after theirs has fallen into decadence and ruin.”

  “If you want to believe that nonsense then you can, but what gives you the right to decide for children that they’ll live short or miserable lives? How arrogant to-”

  Matha cut her off with an unexpected burst of song. The words went by at too swift a pace for Gypsy to follow, but she caught the gist – this was a war chant, an upbeat marching ditty with references to death, nobility and service to Monosade. The colonel’s chest swelled as he belted out the words; in his gleaming eyes could be seen a vision of a thousand gun barrels catching the sun.

  “Be quiet,” Gypsy snapped, irked by the irrationality of the response and pained by its volume. When Matha’s song continued, she shouted, “Shut up!” and pounded her fist on the bars. The sharp, rasping sound of her voice alarmed her – she wondered when she’d last raised it above a normal speaking tone.

  This isn’t the way. Remember, control the anger. Make it a positive, like Koli said.