by J G Smith
“Thank you, Robert Peters,” says Nazriya. The shadows push through her hold and draw nearer to me. “Now go. Remember and go. Use your power. Picture the scene on the other side of the oasis and jump. Think shocky and jump.”
I remember the girl – the mystery girl – as she says that word, shocky. I remember how we got through—into—the room with the tombs.
A surge of electricity courses through my veins and I do it. It feels as if everything is moving through me as I do – as if I’m suddenly weightless and free.
On the other side of the oasis, I look back at the girl and hear her voice – that beautiful voice. I then, without question, turn to the portal and run, fleeing from the shadows. If I didn’t tell her…
When the shadows are crawling
When the night’s blight is nigh
Remember to sing
And remember we’re near
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALPHA IRRILIUM PRIME
“Your friend is an Artificial?” I ask, almost rhetorically, with the best English I can muster. There’s a slight rise in my pitch with particular emphasis on the word friend. “That’s not possible,” I ascertain.
My spoon is in my bowl. My right hand is holding onto my chair and my body is turned slightly to the right, facing Ahteirus. She doesn’t seem to understand how ridiculous she sounds.
“Artificials can’t be friends with anyone,” I continue. My face contorts and my left hand spasms to illustrate the absurdity of her claim. “They don’t feel emotion. They don’t think like you and me. To them, everything is strategy. There’s always something in it for them and if history has proven anything, it’s their desire to see the extinction of the human empire.”
That felt good. I take a moment and wait for her to reply, but she doesn’t say anything. I look at her face and then at the readings next to it – they still trigger a dull ache at the centre of my skull. I don’t know why. I read the signatures I understand and they reveal that she isn’t impressed. In fact, they indicate she’s somewhat disgusted… by me?
She puts her spoon back into her bowl and asks, sternly, “How can you be so horrible?” adding that I haven’t even met him – her friend.
The nerve. We fire back and forth between points of argument before she outright refuses to continue. “You’ve clearly made up your mind,” she says, not budging on her outlandish stance. Some people can be so stubborn.
I notice, out of my peripheral, that my father and sister are watching us. They don’t know what we’re discussing, but from their readings and questions I realise that Ahteirus and I are making quite the spectacle.
I still need to report my findings on her, but I don’t know where to begin. Half her claims are outright aberrant and asinine. But, for some reason, I still trust her. I wonder if my father and sister will, too.
Speaking of my father, he’s becoming impatient with my delay in responding. I take more time thinking than he and my sister feel is necessary. “Have you acquired any useful intel on your friend yet?” he asks, following up.
I scratch my head. “Her name is Ahteirus,” I tell them, starting with the least perplexing find. “She doesn’t really know where she comes from, but she believes she’s from another world.” I choke on those last few words, expressing my incredulity.
My sister, too, seems dubious about the matter. My father, however, seems to have a different response. His readings indicate that he’s… surprised. He isn’t doubtful. He’s… anxious? His eyes open wide and his pupils dilate. Natalia notices and is just as confused as I am.
“Do you think those readings you saw in no man’s territory has anything to do with it?” my father asks.
He’s serious. I look towards Ahteirus. She doesn’t understand a word we’re saying. She’s trying to, but seems to be finding more success in gulping the porridge down her throat.
“You can’t be taking her claim seriously, can you?” Natalia asks, puzzled by our father’s entertainment of the other world idea.
“We can’t be certain what the Artificials are up to,” he ascertains. “Twenty years ago, artificial life was barely a reality. Now look where we are.” His eyes—his readings… they seem to give off a glimmer of guilt and redress. He’s hiding something. “When something, or someone, walks into our barracks, we do everything we can to uncover everything they know,” he adds, dourly. “And we cannot be blinded by what we think is real or not. There are no limits. There are no boundaries. And this is your responsibility, Natalie. Your mother did well in entrusting you.”
His voice was loud and earnest. It’s not a side I’m used to – Natalia either for that matter. It’s definitely not something we’d catch him doing in the presence of our mother.
He comes to and notices our reactions, taking his tone down a notch. “We’ve learnt a lot from this war and from the things that started it,” he says, plainly. He’s never really spoken about how the war started. Neither has our mother.
“What else did she tell you?” Natalia asks, pumped up by my father’s words—wanting to take her responsibility more seriously.
I remain suspicious, however. His words were carefully chosen and this isn’t the first time his readings have suggested deceit. The only problem is that the previous topics usually involved me.
I hesitate somewhat before I continue in reply to my sister’s request to know more. “She claims to have the ability to see through time,” I tell her and my father, “comparing it to my formulapathy.” They both frown—puzzled by the notion.
Ahteirus is still trying to pick up on what we’re saying, without any progress it seems, while successfully forcing the last of her porridge down her throat.
“And apparently her friend was made in a laboratory,” I mutter, “like an Artificial.”
My sister reacts just as I did when Ahteirus mentioned it to me, only, a little more extreme. “And you’re sure she’s not an Artificial?” Natalia interrogates.
I nod.
“Then she’s a traitor against Organics!” she loudly concludes, standing from her seat with fists firmly planted on top of the table. There’s a squeal from the feet of her chair dragging against the marble floor as she does. “A spy!” she adds.
I quickly stand to my feet in Ahteirus’ defence. “She didn’t even know there was a war,” I explain.
“That’s not possible,” Natalia responds. Her face makes an awkward expression I’m unable to interpret and her readings jump between signs of confusion, surprise and insistence.
Ahteirus is taken aback by the apparent confrontation between me and my sister. She doesn’t seem to know what to do besides stare in paralysis.
“Which type of Artificial does she claim to be friends with?” my father asks.
My sister’s head turns towards him. Her face gleams with apparent horror, perplexed that he’d even ask such a question. “Does it matter?”
I’m with Natalia on this one. “An Artificial is an Artificial,” I say. “They can’t be friends. They’re computerised war machines without any compassion or empathy.”
“Is that what they’re teaching you in school these days?” he asks. I take quick note of the condescension in his voice. A topic of distinction has never come up in these barracks before. “Type one Artificials, the first, did and still do feel emotion. They developed bonds and units similar to what we used to call family. There were some Organics who deigned to call them friends. But when the war started, type two Artificials enslaved them. We fight this war so that we don’t meet the same fate.” He sighs and then adds, “It’s just a pity that the reputation of type one Artificials has been clustered with that of type twos.”
Most of us couldn’t be bothered by the type one—type two classification. An Artificial is an Artificial, right? Natalia and I exchange glances, dumbfounded by our father’s sympathy towards type one Artificials. But it begs the question, if he can believe this, maybe Ahteirus does too. So, I ask, sheepishly.
“There are diffe
rent types?” she asks, befuddled.
I sit back down to my chair, starting to believe her other world claim more and more. “Type one and type two,” I say, probing for a hint of recollection in her mind. It doesn’t work. This is the first time she’s hearing this. “Type one Artificials are short—dwarf-like—and type two Artificials are large, like the one we encountered in no man’s territory.”
“Are those the only types?” she asks.
“Well, yeah.”
“He’s neither,” she says.
“What do you mean by neither?” I ask.
“Exactly that. Neither.” She notices my blank stare and adds, “He’s like you and me.”
It can’t be. My jaw drops and I start sharing with my father. “He’s—” I start, but Ahteirus quickly interrupts.
“Why do you have that whole scanner thing if there are only two types?” she asks.
I scratch my head as I answer, tentatively, “There are rumours that the Artificials managed to create other Artificials that look and behave exactly like us. They’re called perfect Artificials.” Then, after a pause, I add, “But they’re supposed to be rumours.”
“The ones I saw making Robert weren’t Artificials, though,” she reports. “The scientists were boasting that they had successfully created life, for the first time, and one lady was saying that the whole thing made her sick.”
That doesn’t make sense. I stare at her blankly, not knowing what to say.
“They also said something about a Dr Albatross,” she continues. My father and sister don’t understand what she’s saying, but it’s clear they hear that unmistakeable name. Their faces stretch in surprise along with mine. “Apparently he’s the reason they were able to do it.” She shrugs and hesitantly suggests, “Maybe Dr Albatross is an Artificial and he managed to get normal humans to make Robert?”
“Dr Albatross?!” I call out, just to make sure I heard correctly. I’m certain my father and sister are curious as well, seeing as they’re both leaning forward, over their empty bowls.
“Yes, why?” she asks.
“Dr Albatross isn’t an Artificial,” I tell her. “He’s the scientist that first made them.” I put my hand to my puzzled face and add, “But it doesn’t make sense. If he made the perfect Artificial, surely he would’ve told us.”
Again, Ahteirus shrugs and then, in a delayed response, pulls closer to me with wide eyes. “You know Dr Albatross?” she asks, almost shrieking in astonishment.
“Well, not really,” I say, in an almost-let-down tone. “I know about him more than I actually know him.”
Her brightened countenance falls and her readings indicate disappointment.
“But my father knows him better,” I tell her, which seems to elevate her mood, slightly.
She turns to face him and I do as well. He, along with my sister, is waiting patiently for my report and, with bated breath, I share. This insight invokes a level incertitude for my sister, much as it did for me when Ahteirus explained.
To ease her own wariness, Natalia attempts to argue that Ahteirus’ dream was simply that, a dream. However, she quickly doubts her theory when she notices something in my father’s expression. I don’t know if it’s his eyes, his gaping jaw or his overall demeanour, but she’s able to see what I’m barely able to interpret in the equations mapping his face. Even without a unique ability like formulapathy, she’s always been on par or one step ahead in areas like this.
His readings are the same as when I told him about the correlation between the anomaly in no man’s territory, Ahteirus and myself. It’s the same suspicious reaction as each time the topic of my tattoo or the origin of my formulapathy comes up. He knows something. But he isn’t sharing.
“Dad,” Natalia calls, authoritatively. “Is it possible?”
He’s caught off guard, changing his expression almost immediately as he turns to look at her.
“Could Dr Albatross have orchestrated the creation of the perfect Artificial?” Natalia asks, expounding upon and pushing for an answer to her original question.
He sighs. “We should wait for your mother,” he says, cleverly evading the question.
I try pushing him to answer regardless, asking why it matters for our mother to be around, but Natalia steps in. “She’s the General and head of this family,” Natalia says. “If this is something big, she needs to be around. You should know that, Reuben.”
I throw my hands in the air, but neither my father nor my sister seems to notice.
“How long do you think it’d take for you to make a working translator for your friend’s language?” my father asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Quite some time. I’d need to use a few neural mappers to pick up on what I see with my formulapathy. Even then—”
“Then?” my father asks, rhetorically. “Don’t you think it’s time to get started?”
My sister supports my father’s sentiment, stating, “I’d like to speak with her myself. You know, girl to girl.” The way she says it comes off as sexist, but her scattered claims against matriarchy make me wonder.
I stand up from my seat and make my way upstairs to get started on a translator.
My father collects the bowls on the table and Natalia finally sits down, pulling her chair closer to the table and putting her attention wholeheartedly on Ahteirus. “We still don’t know why she followed you here,” she says, stopping me on the stairs.
I look back at Ahteirus to ask and—I change my mind. “I’ll ask when I get back down.”
My father continues cleaning the dining area and kitchen and Ahteirus looks at me with a crease in her brow. “I’ll be back later,” I tell her. “I’m going to get started on a translator so that you and the rest of my troop can understand each other.”
§
It’s a few moons into Dark Shift and I’m making my way downstairs. I’ve made quite a bit of progress in my task to develop a translator, but now my stomach is growling. Natalia is showing Ahteirus her weapons and gadgets while my father frets with jumpy fingers on his tablet.
“Still no word from your mother,” he says.
“It’ll be fine,” Natalia replies. “It’s only been a few moons. Remember, Mom’s battalion is undefeated.”
I’m shown to another bland meal, this time rice and canned meat. “It’s help-yourself,” my father says. His attention is set on my mother; on following up and making sure she, and her battalion, is okay.
Ahteirus takes a seat next to me as I start eating.
“Do you want some?” I ask.
“I’ve already had,” she answers. She seems to be in a bit of a hurry.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, mixing my mulched meat into my plain rice.
She nods. “It’s just,” she stutters. “What are we doing?”
“We’re waiting for my mother to return,” I tell her. “In the meantime, I’m working on the translator.”
She smiles, worriedly. Natalia pops up on the other side of the table with her chair back-to-front and a large smile on her face. “Is this the part where you ask her why she trusted you enough to follow you to the barracks?” Natalia asks.
I shake my head, but give in. I’d also like to know. “Why are you here?” I ask. “Why did you follow me?”
She bites her lip. She’s anxious. “For you,” she says. “I saw you… in one of my dreams and came looking for you.”
“Did you see anything significant?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She remains silent. At first, I think it’s because I got a few of the words wrong, so I try rephrasing my question. Still, she remains silent. I can see that she doesn’t want to answer the question.
“I wanted to stop what I saw,” she says. “I still do. And I felt I would find more answers if I came to you.”
“The tattoo thing?” I ask.
“I don’t know, it was just a feeling,” she says. Then, after a pause, adds, “But now I’m worried about Robert.”
I ask if she
saw something else in her dream about Robert. Her response is the same as when I asked about her dream of me… silence – unsettling silence.
“You want to go back, don’t you?” I ask.
“Not without you,” she says, “or not without stopping what I saw.”
“We’ll have to wait for my mother before we can return to no man’s territory,” I tell her. I don’t think I’d be able to follow her to another world, but this uncanny trust keeps returning. It feels as if I know her and, at the same time, I’d like to meet this Robert she’s talking about. I don’t trust him. I don’t like the idea of him being an Artificial either. But I am curious.
Natalia’s eyes are glued to Ahteirus and me. She’s awaiting an answer and I tell her, “She saw me in one of her dreams and felt she could trust me.” The simpler, the better.
§
It’s nearing the end of this Dark Shift. My watch is about to reset and the translator is almost complete. My mother isn’t back yet and I’m certain my father is all wired up.
I take a moment to look at some of the readings I saved from Ahteirus’ brain scan. They still don’t make sense, but at least my head doesn’t ache when reading them here.
I move the cursor on the computer screen to save the added programming for the translator, but just before I’m able to the screen goes black. “No!” I cry. The light in my bedroom turns off at the same time and, as I look around, I notice there are no electrical energy readings around me. The power has cut. That’s never happened before.
I put my hands to my face in utter dismay. Almost a half moon’s worth of work lost!
The backup generators kick in with a booming mechanical sound, restoring the power to the barracks. I wait for my computer to turn back on, still frustrated, and the power cuts again. I slam my hands onto the desk and then brush them slowly through my hair. What’s going on?
I stand up and make my way downstairs, in the dark, to find out what happened.
“It’s a trap!” cries a voice from amid the darkness. “The infiltration in the outlying Organic city was a diversion.” I recognise the voice. It’s one of the soldiers from my mother’s battalion. Is it Private Martin? “They’re here!” he announces.
