Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  Forcing her face to assume an expression of neutrality, Gypsy stood and waited for Matha to tire of his song, which he eventually did, finishing by shouting the last few words extra-loud and pounding his chest with a meaty fist.

  Gypsy waited a few seconds to be sure the performance was over, then said, “You have a good singing voice.”

  Matha smiled smugly. “Correct.”

  “Could you use the same voice for grovelling?”

  “What?”

  “Grovelling, Mono-slug. You see, you’re wrong about me. My mind towers above any your world has ever known. No puzzle can beat me. Anasade will win, with my help, and your culture will be dead. Afterwards, I’m going to let everyone on your planet know that the war was lost because of you, unless you beg me not to. That will be the only way to protect your honour. By grovelling.”

  The Matan’s smile froze for an instant – he was too disciplined to show any further reaction, but it had been enough. Doubt. Gypsy had seen it, and he knew she’d seen it. Nodding with satisfaction, she turned and walked back up the corridor.

  Her feeling of well-earned satisfaction lasted until she was passing her own cell. Then she frowned, suddenly embarrassed.

  What was that? I acted like a complete jerk. And why did I say I was going to help Anasade? That’s the last thing I want to do.

  Then again, why should I be nice to him, when he’s done so much to hurt me? Matha’s a typical Monosadan – arrogant and bloodthirsty. He needed taking down a peg or two. There’s no point in playing nice if no-one else is going to do the same. As to helping Anasade … well, that was just a little bluff, wasn’t it? I said I’m not going to solve their maths problems, so I won’t.

  Gypsy pressed on toward the elevator, and the pools below. A bath seemed extra desirable after talking to Colonel Matha. On the way, she reminded herself of the ethical reasons why she must never aid in a war effort, but found the logic less clear-cut than it once had been. That realisation left her with a sense of unease that no amount of cold water could wash away.

  Another session with the Mental Imprinter might.

  IX

  Betray a friend, and you’ll often find you have ruined yourself.

  – Aesop

  “So, Professor, are you ready to claim your prize?”

  Rivers frowned at Zarka. “A trifle less flippant, if you please. Today’s takeover is an ugly necessity, one that I despise.”

  With a wave of apology, the Kerinian ambassador leaned back in his seat, a rather plush green affair that he’d had brought in especially from his home. His partner Zokan looked less at ease; he stood by the wall, face inscrutable but body-language hinting at a tension Rivers felt was fully justified.

  They were meeting in the ambassador’s quarters – a slight risk with Annie next door, but they had withdrawn to the farthest corner of the large room, and the patterned drapes that hung all about them would surely render any sound that penetrated the walls muffled beyond comprehensibility. The drapes also gave their meeting a clandestine feel that was all too appropriate.

  “I wanted to check that the timetable is clear with all parties concerned,” began Rivers, but Zarka raised a fist to cut her off.

  “We’re not a concerned party. I remind you, neither Zokan nor myself have any knowledge of your plan, and we certainly haven’t been coordinating your efforts with the Icebreakers.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve made it clear that you won’t be implicated – no need to make a game of it. The Icebreakers understand their role?”

  Zarka nodded. “At dusk, Lupa will arrive at the airlock with three associates. They’ll expect the ship to already be in your hands. Upon entry, they shall proceed to the lurking place of Vitana’s child, and attempt to slay her with machine guns. If they succeed, they remain aboard while the Bona Dea is remade as a warship. Then it’s time to blast off and ravage the Ana-worms! A fine plan.”

  Rivers chose to ignore the sarcasm. Zarka struck her as an adept double-thinker, capable of showing contempt for her act of rebellion while he himself was making it possible. “I’d suggest remaining in your room for the duration,” she said. “We wouldn’t want people to think that you’re involved.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Fine.” Rivers rose from her seat and turned to leave, a little uncertainly. She felt an urge to justify herself to this man, but wasn’t sure why. Practice, perhaps, for when Hunter demanded answers? Or still trying to convince herself?

  I could stop it. Even now, I could still put an end to this…

  No. I can’t falter. People are counting on me.

  Zokan walked with her to the door. “How will you restrain those who won’t join you?” he asked.

  “There’s a cell that locks from the outside,” replied Rivers, glad of the distraction. “It’s meant for one, but there’s no reason why it shouldn’t hold six. I’m hoping some of them will come around to us anyway, once we’ve established ourselves.”

  “Lightning sings clearest at dead of night.”

  On these cryptic words they parted.

  I suppose that was meant to be encouraging, she mused once the door had closed behind her. Illumination, a truth made visible only by the darkness of the times?

  Something like that.

  Rivers felt her insides shift unpleasantly as she made for the part of the ship where the robots were housed.

  Lightning could mean destruction too.

  * * *

  Miriam Hunter felt every one of her sixty-three years as she rose, stretched and began to dress. She squinted at her computer screen on the opposite wall – her eyesight was definitely getting worse, no denying it now. The screen held chronometers for both Monosadan and Earth times. The former showed that she had overslept by some hours; her body seemed unable to synch with twenty-one-and-a-half hour days. The latter showed that it was now September 1st, 2162.

  Another fruitless month gone by. She was startled to realise that seven of them had now passed since Gypsy’s abduction. Her efforts to break the stalemate continued to be fruitless. There’d been another meeting with Safri and Hoga yesterday; Hunter couldn’t question their sincere desire to help, but nor could she ignore the fact that they were not doing so.

  They’ve got a whole planet to run, she reminded herself. I can’t really expect them to be as motivated as I am to get Gypsy back. As we are. The solution’s going to come from one of my team, I’m sure of it. My job is to keep them fresh and sharp. I’ve been falling back on that lately; no more hiding away in here!

  Hunter stepped over to the computer screen. A few taps took her into the crew’s medical status. Who was awake? Most of them, as it turned out. She settled on Dr. Little – may as well start with the woman she’d known the longest.

  The doctor sounded somewhat discombobulated when Hunter opened a channel to her over their wristbands. “Oh, Miriam. Yes? Has something changed?”

  Hunter shook her head sadly at that last question. Little sounded desperate for an affirmative response. “Not yet. I was actually wondering whether you’d like to join me for tea this afternoon? It’s been a while?”

  “Ah. Oh. Sorry, I think that’s a bit, there’s a new set of data I’m looking at on, on crew physiology with relation to the environment of this planet.”

  “The environment? Do you think there’s a risk?”

  “No, no, probably nothing to worry about. Just making sure, safety first, eh?”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes. Yes, tomorrow…”

  Hunter frowned. Little was being deceptive – her hesitant tone made that plain, as did her dubious claims to be conducting a study about which Hunter had been told nothing. Quite why she was acting this way was rather less obvious. Trouble with another crewmember? Some gentle probing would be required tomorrow.

  Rather than paging another woman with the offer of tea, Hunter decided to head over to the lounge and see who happened to be there. On the way, she bumped into Sandra Rivers. The professor perce
ptibly faltered in her stride when she saw Hunter approaching, but recovered quickly. “Captain,” she said in greeting as they drew near. “How are you?”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “Me too. Frustrated over the state of our investigations, of course.”

  “Don’t let it get to you. In fact – and I’ll be giving this advice to all the crew – it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give yourself a day off trying to solve the problem. A fresh mind can see answers in seconds that a tired one might labour over for days.”

  “Good point. I agree. In fact, I was looking to let off some steam, so, well…” Rivers gestured down the corridor, towards the wing that still housed the robots.

  Ah. That explains her skittishness. Well, to each their own. I suppose I might have relaxed that way myself when I was her age. Hunter nodded understandingly. “Take the full day off, Sandra. We’re all of us only human.”

  “Most of us.” Rivers proceeded down the corridor. She did not look back.

  * * *

  “ACM activate.”

  Ricardo’s handsome features transformed at once from frozen to animated. “This is different,” he said. “Quite different.”

  “You should find that certain interpretations of your environment are altered,” said Rivers. “Specifically, you won’t perceive six of the crew as human. Visually, their appearances will be unchanged, of course, but you’ll label them as Matan.”

  “And accordingly, I may serve as my bella donna’s sword, and strike them down.”

  “Nothing so melodramatic please. I’m giving you the order right now that no-one is to be killed. You’ll pacify anyone who isn’t sufficiently cowed by our stun guns. At the very worst, you’ll render them unconscious. Can you do that without risking a fatality?”

  “Why yes, my knowledge of female biology is quite unparalleled, as my dearest Sandy has seen.” He reached a hand out towards her cheek, but she batted it away.

  “Be serious now, Ricardo. I realise that you aren’t built for weighty matters, but you’ve told me how your programming has evolved since we set off – time to prove it. Lives are at stake here, not to mention our prospects of ever seeing Earth again. If you can’t treat this operation with the gravity it deserves, I’ll just have to try Ivan instead.”

  “Do not judge me in haste,” said Ricardo, his expression suddenly serious. “I am adaptable, as designed, and have I not said that the Bona Dea needs your command to thrive? When you give the word, my focus shall be absolute. My only question is whether this ship can truly be upgraded to the strength we will need to free the little Miss Cumberland.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Rivers reassured him. “I’ve done all the calculations on my office computer – it should only take three days to install the Monosadan tech and upgrade it to the required standard. Perhaps a fourth day might be needed to repair the hull, if it’s breeched while taking down Chamonix. Then we’re on our way.”

  “Excellent.” Ricardo regarded her in silence for a moment. Then he said, “Do not let this ugly necessity weigh on you. Your soul is pure – so too should be your conscience.”

  Amazing, thought Rivers. It is perceptive, isn’t it? We’ve built machines that intuit emotions better than us. Where does it end?

  A question for another day…

  “I’m going to finalise our plans with the rest of the team; the takeover should start a couple of hours from now.” She rose to her feet.

  Ricardo lay back easily on the bed.

  “I shall be ready.”

  * * *

  Hunter’s afternoon had proven productive – how long since she could last say that? She’d taken lunch with Bala, Jackson and Winters in the lounge, and joined them for a friendly game of poker. The trio had been silent and unresponsive when she first walked in, but soon lightened up, and were much more their usual selves by the time the session concluded, with Hunter having claimed possession of the full pile of chips.

  I really should have done this months ago, she chided herself as she walked the long corridor down to Engineering. A happy crew is an effective one, and a captain should lead by example.

  Evi van der Meyde was present in the deep and cluttered chamber that housed the engines, just as she should be – it was her shift. The lanky technician seemed to be in something of a daze, slouching against a support beam and staring into the distance, though she straightened up quickly when the captain entered, busying herself with one of the display screens.

  Hunter wasn’t about to chide her crewwoman for a lapse in focus. After all, there wasn’t much to do while they were stationary, except for routine monitoring and maintenance. Instead, she exchanged a brief greeting with van der Meyde, then passed through into the smaller section of Engineering which housed the KSD.

  This area wasn’t dominated by the KSD itself, which was rather unassuming – a flat box maybe ten feet across with five domes rising from it. Rather, the device’s curved status screen stood out, treble the size and bursting with colour, spread over many different displays: Power Consumption, Physical Integrity, Ephemera Densities and WRPS being among the labels visible. Hunter had no idea what the last of these meant, but she was not a particularly technical woman, and the principles behind Kohler-Schmid Drives were notoriously difficult to master.

  A woman who had done just that at a prodigiously young age was sitting before the Bona Dea’s KSD right now. Annie had eschewed the chairs provided, preferring to let the floor be her seat and a metal girder support her back. It looked most uncomfortable. She had her eyes trained on the screen before her, though her gaze lacked focus. Her hair was untidy, but not in the same way as usual – she had ditched the Gorgon style, and orange locks hung about her cheeks, unfettered and untidy.

  “How’s it looking?” asked Hunter gently, when Annie failed to glance up at her approach.

  “All nominal,” replied the technician dully. “It’s cycling right now, actually.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think the cycling process needs human supervision.”

  “No, but…” Annie gestured vaguely at the giant screen. “Cycle’s done in forty minutes, then…”

  “Then you can run an unnecessary maintenance check?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Hunter moved to kneel at Annie’s side – not too close in, just near enough to register. “You know, it’s not your job to win fights against alien military officers twice your size.”

  Annie grimaced. “Could’ve called for help, though.”

  There’s the guilt. I’ve felt it myself often enough since my crew started dying on me. Fruitless.

  “It’s not your job to sit in here and watch the monitors, either. You’ve already set up an automatic alert to tell us if Gypsy’s goggles register, right?”

  “Yeah, but machines are limited. Mebbe I could spot something our software would miss.”

  “How much time have you been spending in here lately? You’re barely processing what you look at. Machines have their weaknesses, yes, but fatigue isn’t one of them.” Hunter studied the younger woman a moment longer, then came to decision. “Get up.” When there was no immediate response, she repeated the order with an extra sharpness. Annie reluctantly hauled herself upright, groaning slightly with the effort. She began to stretch her tired legs.

  “If you’re gonna order me to sleep, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Fine, then you can take a walk with me first. Outside. There’s still an hour or so of daylight left. I’m guessing you haven’t left the ship lately?”

  “Been a while.”

  “Then you’re overdue some fresh air. Come on.”

  Hunter led them back through Engineering; van der Meyde remained hunched over her display screen, unmoving. Evi’s acting a bit strangely, thought Hunter. I’ll work on her next.

  They moved out into the corridor. “I still wanna hurt that Matha clown,” said Annie abruptly. “Guess I’m vindictive. When I’m not trying to think up a way to find Gypsy I�
�m mostly dreaming ‘bout whacking him upside the head. Preferably with a spanner.”

  “I’d call that a human reaction. It’s perfectly healthy to be honest about how we feel.”

  “Cool. Well, I feel hatred. I hate his gangly walk; I hate his lousy English. I hate his stupid fist as it punches my stupid face. I hate that I stare at that display screen day after day and nothing happens and I can’t think of anything new to try.”

  Hunter nodded, unconcerned by Annie’s spite. It was, in the main, well-directed.

  “Sometimes new surroundings can lead to new thoughts. A quirk of the human condition. For instance, I had the germ of an idea while playing poker just now. Nothing about the game itself or the conversation during it sparked me off – it just turned up in my mind unannounced.”

  “What was it?” asked Annie without much enthusiasm.

  “Well, consider that the direct approach isn’t always the best one. We’ve been thinking in terms of a simple two-step operation. Step one: find Gypsy. Step two: rescue her. Neither of these are particularly easy, but the ability to state our goals in so few words makes them seem attainable.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “So, if that approach isn’t working, perhaps some out-of-the-box thinking is the ticket? I was trying that when I gave the order for us to stay here and investigate the wreckage, but that wasn’t the right approach. It’s not enough to try longshots at random and just hope something works. One plausible try is worth a thousand lottery tickets.” She put a hand on the technician’s shoulder. “Communication, Annie. That’s what we need. If Monosade and Anasade start talking, everything changes.”

  “But Anasade won’t talk.”

  “Then we make them. The decision to isolate themselves will have been taken by a handful of politicians or military commanders, but the elite answer to the people. Let’s get the general public on our side.”

  “Without being able to speak to them, that’s gonna be kind of difficult.”

  “Yes, well sometimes you need to bend the rules a little. We know that Matans use television, and the technology isn’t much different from ours, based on what I’ve seen. How about a little piracy? We override their signals with ours, and broadcast straight to the people, asking for contact. Remember, we’re alien visitors, the biggest celebrities around. I’m sure we could capture the collective imagination. After that: communication. A whole new set of tools in our quest to find Gypsy.”