Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  There was also the possibility that Hunter would think up a way to warn the hybrid. She could only hope that Ricardo kept a close eye on the captain. Despite his timely rescue act, he was a long way off being classed as reliable in her eyes.

  Lupa had been speaking the truth when she said she knew the way. They took the most direct path out of Medical, past the Hub and into the Gym, where the ladder up to Chamonix’s room was in place, the hatch above it wide open. The Icebreakers had evidently planned their approach beforehand, as they paused only briefly at the bottom of the ladder, exchanging glances before Lupa raised a clenched fist, signalling the attack to begin. She took the lead herself, ascending with superlative speed and grace. Her team were no less adroit, and all four had vanished from view within seconds of Lupa’s signal.

  Rivers waited for the chatter and roar of rifle fire. When that didn’t come, she waited, more fearfully, for the sound of screams. Had Chamonix been lying in wait, plucking the intruders from the top of the ladder like ripe berries? Would it now make its way down to seek retribution on the instigator of the assassination attempt?

  No tell-tales reached Rivers’ ears as she waited below, willing her frantic heart to cease its pounding long enough to listen properly. When finally she heard something, it was a faint wind rustling the trees outside. Innocuous, but quite impossible in a sealed ship.

  Lupa appeared in the opening, a hand beckoning Rivers up. She climbed, guessing already what would greet her.

  The skin of the Bona Dea had been breached from the inside; a rough opening stretched some ten feet wide, showing dark, cloudy skies above. The titanium alloy hull, designed to withstand the rigours of deep space, was bent and crumpled like cardboard. In the dimly lit room below was a haphazard jumble of bars, no longer attached to the walls as they once had been, but lying on the floor in an ungainly heap of broken ends and fused joints.

  Chamonix was nowhere to be seen.

  Lupa gave Rivers a slightly accusing look, as though suspecting the human had played a prank at their expense. “The hawk has flown the aery.”

  “Yes. So it would seem.” Rivers considered this newest twist, and judged it to be far from the worst outcome available. “The breech in the hull will need repairing, but we do have the means. Our eventual departure might be delayed by a day or so. The hybrid itself is probably going back to the capital for help. There’s no knowing how fast it can travel, but I suspect it will be perceived as a threat by whoever it meets – it would probably take some time to persuade them otherwise. Of course, once it realises that, Chamonix may double back and try a direct assault. A defensive perimeter about the Bona Dea would be helpful.”

  Lupa looked doubtfully at the hole in the ceiling, perhaps realising for the first time how much power Chamonix had at its disposal. “I will organise this,” she said at length. “A loose cordon, encircling the ship at a distance of two lopitri.”

  Rivers wasn’t familiar with the unit of measurement, but trusted Lupa to know what she was doing. “I’m going to check on the Hub,” she said.

  They let her go without comment.

  We were always likely to suffer damage to the hull, Rivers reassured herself as she clambered down the ladder. If anything, this is better than having the Icebreakers firing their weapons up there, because the damage is localised and all in one place. Lorna’s our expert in hull repairs, and she’s with us. Maybe three days to upgrade the ship and make it spaceworthy again. No problem. As for Chamonix, good riddance. It fled easily enough, but it won’t find getting back in nearly so straightforward, if it even tries.

  Things are still going to plan.

  * * *

  Hunter made sure her own mind was clear before she attempted to decipher Wanda Little’s. The physician was pointedly avoiding eye-contact as she worked on Bala’s injuries, which thankfully did not appear serious. The Nigerian was already talking lucidly, and still had command of all her limbs.

  In truth, as dramatic as Bala’s fight with Ricardo had been, it was some words spoken by Rivers that Hunter found herself replaying.

  She can’t read me … if she could then why didn’t she see this coming?

  Why not, indeed? Hunter’s skill at decoding bluffs had served her well over the years, but what use was that parlour trick, when she couldn’t spot an incoming cataclysm like this? She’d been complacent, letting the seeds of mutiny grow while telling herself that all the crew needed was a little pep talk here and there.

  I believed my own narrative, she realised. When I won the election, I was supposed to have won the hearts of the crew as well. The thought that I’d only gained a stay of execution didn’t occur to me for a second. I never dreamed that Rivers would take by force what she couldn’t win fairly.

  At least it’s a pretty shoddy mutiny – it can’t last.

  But how much damage will be done before it’s stopped?

  “I was sorry to miss tea with you this morning,” she said. As light as her tone was, Little still jumped when she began to speak. “Perhaps tomorrow morning instead? I’m sure we could find some interesting things to chat about.”

  The doctor managed to paste on a thin smile, but didn’t glance up to where Hunter stood. “I may be busy.”

  “Patching up other injured crewwomen, perhaps?”

  “I’m sure there’ll be nothing more like that.”

  “No? What’s the plan with regard to Chamonix?”

  “I … think she’s to be killed.”

  “You know she’s to be killed,” corrected Hunter, and Little didn’t contradict her. “I’m not sure where the Hippocratic Oath stands on the treatment of half-human hybrids. But maybe I don’t know much of anything anymore. I thought you were a friend.”

  The doctor made a point of concentrating quite minutely as she bandaged Bala’s forearm. All eyes were on her, including Ricardo, who had been content to stand and watch since Rivers departed. He was leaning against a console, the picture of relaxation, running one hand over his flawlessly sculpted features while the stun gun hung limply in the other.

  Hunter had no doubt that he could aim it and fire in a heartbeat if the mood took him.

  Silence hung in the air, heavy enough that Little finally felt compelled to break it. “I’d say you have closer friends.”

  “True enough,” said Hunter, “especially now. Is that important? Perhaps the magnitude of the betrayal is proportional to the strength of the friendship it violates. Yes, you might be onto something there.” She paused to let the doctor’s guilt fester a little, then probed again. “I suppose that an explanation as to why is too much to ask?”

  Little at last looked up to meet her captain’s gaze. There was a hint of anger in her voice when she replied. “I told you why, months ago.”

  “Care to jog my memory?”

  “Morale would hold up, I said, as long as we kept moving forwards. But we stopped, Miriam. Something had to happen. Do you understand? We had to make something happen.”

  Hunter bristled internally at the crass simplicity of the explanation, but decided that she’d played the accusatory card for long enough. She let her face soften and nodded, as though conceding the point. “You certainly did that, and maybe you gave me the wakeup call I needed. I should have listened to you more, let your wisdom guide me.” Too much? she wondered. Let’s tone it back a bit. “I actually have managed to come up with a new approach – a day too late, maybe.” Hunter gave a quick run-through of the plan she’d told Annie about. “Does that sound workable?” she finished.

  “Yes, maybe, it could be worth a try, but…”

  “I’m glad you like it, but unfortunately my idea’s an instant bust if Anasade views us as a threat. And they will, won’t they? Rivers is planning to turn us into a warship, like Lupa suggested.”

  Little nodded. “I know it sounds bad, but she believes we can make it work. Think of Gypsy, a prisoner out there.”

  “Of course. I understand the temptation, I really do. But sometimes the p
rice of success is just too high. You’re a doctor, and one of the best. Ever since I’ve known you, saving lives has been your passion. That’s why you did this really, isn’t it? To save a friend. But there are other ways.”

  Time to move in for the kill. Hunter knelt down and placed a hand on Little’s shoulder. “You can stop this. You can choose the path of peace, not war. Be my friend again, Wanda.”

  She read Little’s face, and … yes! She had her. The doctor was wavering; it was written all over her twisting lips and darting eyes. It might take a bit more work, but she could bring this woman back to the light. If Hunter was right, that would be enough to turn the tide. Little could order Ricardo to stand down, and the machine would be forced to obey. After that, the captain could take to the intercom and announce that the Hub was back in her hands. Other defections would follow.

  Then Ricardo spoke, his rich, accented tones filling the Hub. “I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er. Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 3 Scene 4. I fear, darling doctor, that there may be no safe retreat for you. My niece, the wondrous Chamonix, will already have been killed by now – or perhaps, may have shed blood in self-defence. There is no easy path back to yesterday. The only peace you can know will come from following your course through to its end.”

  His words had the desired effect. Little’s expression changed; there was a drawing back, an erecting of screens between her and Hunter. “Bala’s fine,” she said hastily. “I should get back to Medical.” She exited at record speed, leaving her first aid kit behind.

  Blasted machine. Hunter, still kneeling at Bala’s side, looked up furiously at the ACM. Ricardo’s expression was neutral, though his ostentatiously relaxed body-language bespoke a certain smugness.

  A motion in the corner of her eye caught Hunter’s attention. It was Doria al-Hawsawi, standing by the Auxiliary Control Station and signalling to her with a wiggling of her fingers.

  Of course! Auxiliary Control was designed as a general backup to every other station in the Hub. From there, al-Hawsawi could patch into communications and send out an SOS. Would Ricardo realise that? Perhaps not – Hunter had never permitted the ACMs to study the Bona Dea’s blueprints, and Rivers surely wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of giving him that sort of access. Yes, this could work.

  Still, a distraction would be handy. Quite whether a machine’s attention could be diverted in the same way as a human’s might be, she didn’t know, but it was certainly worth a try.

  “I imagine you’re relieved that Ms. Abayomi will fully recover,” she said, standing and taking a step toward Ricardo in the hope of blocking his line of sight to al-Hawsawi.

  “Greatly, yes,” he said, subtly sidestepping to keep everyone in view. “I was created to give pleasure, not pain.”

  “You were also created to obey humans, but you’re ignoring my commands.”

  “Ah, well that is because you are no longer a human. The divine Sandra’s delicate touch has reshaped my perceptions, you see. I now identify you as lower animals.”

  Ricardo’s friendly tone made the statement all the more chilling. Still, Hunter did her best to match it. “I’ll try not to let that demotion bruise my ego too much.”

  “But it is nothing personal, Signora Capitana. It has always greatly saddened me that, of all the women on the ship, you have never visited me.”

  “Perhaps if I were thirty years younger, I might have been tempted,” replied Hunter. But I doubt it, she added internally. ACMs, she had always thought, provided only the shallowest echo of true intimacy. “I’m surprised that you refer to me as a woman, though. I thought I was no longer human?”

  “Ah, but I have eyes and a mind of my own. I can perceive what you are – a woman, and a beautiful one, within and without. You must understand that we machines do not perceive the world as you do: doublethink comes easily to us. The intelligent part of my brain sees you as you truly are; the mechanical part sees the lie Sandra has fed it. Unfortunately for you, it is the latter part that determines who I must obey.”

  “So, you don’t have to obey me. But you can choose to. You could take my side, if you wanted to.”

  “No – Sandra has commanded me to guard you. She is still human; her orders hold.”

  Hunter fought the urge to glance back at al-Hawsawi. How much longer would she need? Another thirty seconds might do it.

  Let’s see whether I can draw him into a good old-fashioned slanging match…

  “So, Ricardo, you’re a slave to your programming. That’s actually funny; Ivan almost had me convinced that you’d evolved into something more, but in the end, there’s no science to manufacture a soul. You’re nothing but walking scrap metal, and when this is all over, back to the scrapheap you’ll go!”

  The ACM appeared unperturbed by her sudden hostility. “You wound me, dearest Miri. May I call you Miri? I believe that I shall. I have always thought that-”

  “No! You’ve never thought, you’re not capable of thought, feeling or awareness. You’re a fake, a sham, a slave to be shaped and reshaped to suit our needs. I wonder what indignities your ‘divine Sandra’ has in store for you when this is over? Back in your gilded cage, probably, to live out your mockery of a life in isolation, or maybe she’ll just switch you-”

  Without warning, Ricardo lunged in her direction. Hunter raised her hands instinctively, expecting a brutal, one-sided fight.

  But she wasn’t his target.

  The ACM brushed past her without slowing, charging on in the direction of al-Hawsawi, who to her credit held her ground, frantically tapping at the console to get the SOS sent. Ricardo ploughed into her without slowing, wrapping his left arm about her body and lifting her clear. At the same time, his right hand lifted the stun gun to her temple.

  Without hesitation, Ricardo depressed the firing stud. A shock potent enough to stun a large animal was delivered straight into al-Hawsawi’s brain.

  The brave officer’s cry was chilling. When Ricardo dropped her body to the floor, it landed in a limp tangle, all life stolen away.

  * * *

  Rivers was only a few paces from the Hub when she heard the scream. She froze in place. For a split second, the idea of staying out there in the corridor for the rest of her natural life seemed a viable option, because nothing but horror could be waiting for her behind that door.

  But Sandra Rivers was a scientist, and wouldn’t shy away from unpleasant truths even now. She tapped the door release and crossed the threshold on unsteady feet.

  The banks of consoles meant that Ricardo was the only person immediately visible. He had both hands on his head and was looking down with obvious distress. Advancing with trepidation, Rivers saw Hunter and Bala crouched over the blue-clad figure of al-Hawsawi. She was just in time to see Hunter draw the fallen woman’s shayla headdress across her face like a veil.

  “What happened?” asked Rivers numbly.

  Hunter’s tones were dead. “He killed her. Shot her point blank.”

  “No.” Where was the doctor? She whacked her wristband. “Little! Get back in here!”

  Ricardo was gazing sadly down at the body, shaking his head in distress. “What have I done? It all happened so fast … I saw she was doing something at the console, realised she was sending a signal. I don’t know how the gun went off, maybe she did that herself in the struggle. A tragedy.” He put a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes. Synthetic tears ran down his cheeks, and the gun slipped loose from his fingers, landing on the deck with a clatter.

  The captain had been listening with open-mouthed astonishment. “He’s lying!” she shouted. “He knew what he was doing … he aimed right for the head!”

  “No, no,” Ricardo sobbed in response. “Please don’t say that. Respect for life is written into the very fabric of my soul. Oh, grief, grief! I am torn asunder!”

  “He’s lying,” Hunter reiterated. “Sandra, something went very wrong when you reprogrammed him. What just happen
ed was murder. Please, stop this now.”

  Rivers wasn’t sure whether the captain was referring to the mutiny as a whole, or just Ricardo’s part in it. Could her plan still go ahead after this? But could it be stopped, with Chamonix gone and a quartet of alien freedom fighters aboard? She felt a surge of self-disgust – a good woman was dead because of her arrogance and lack of foresight. Ricardo may have been the one who’d fired the killing shot, but she’d put the gun in his hand, a tool for self-defence now turned deadly.

  Much like Ricardo himself.

  “Return to your room,” she ordered. Whatever happened next, he must have no part in it. When the ACM failed to instantly obey, she repeated her order more clearly. “Ricardo, return to your room and await further instructions.” He looked back at her through lovely brown eyes that suddenly showed no hint of guilt or pain.

  When he dropped his hand from his face, she saw that he was smiling.

  Rivers wouldn’t have believed she could feel any sicker than she had on seeing al-Hawsawi’s body, but the sight of that smile did it. It was a beautiful grin for a beautiful face: perfect teeth flashing, dimples forming at the cheeks, eyes lighting up with a pure joy that no human could fake so flawlessly.

  Like all Ricardo’s expressions, it had been given to him by his designers back on Earth.

  “ACM deactivate,” said Rivers.

  “Ah, such a shame. I did want our game to go on a little longer, but it’s time to drop the act.”

  “ACM deactivate!”

  “My bella donna truly doesn’t understand machines if she believes an increase in volume will bring compliance. Excuse me for a moment, I believe we will soon have company…” Ricardo strolled casually past the little group of women and toward the entrance. “You’re probably thinking that some error you made in my reprogramming has driven me beyond sanity; in fact, you’re half right.” The door opened, and Dr. Little hurried in with a fresh first aid kit. Ricardo slugged her without warning, a lazy backhand swish of an arm that sent the unfortunate woman spinning through the air and crashing face first into a console. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious or worse.