Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  Contents

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Notes

  WHAT’S NEXT IN THE SERIES?

  FROM THE PUBLISHER

  FAULTY PROPHET

  ©2019 KARL BEECHER

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.

  Print and eBook formatting, and cover design by Steve Beaulieu.

  Published by Aethon Books LLC. 2019

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Interstellar Caveman

  YOU’RE READING: Faulty Prophet

  UP NEXT: The Man with the Tick

  Prologue

  Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true.

  – Human proverb

  Ever since the human species developed intelligence (or, at least, a passable imitation of it), its members have been preoccupied with questions of how to achieve happiness.

  The person who best understood human happiness was a scholar named Sachiko Aguda, an anthro-constructivo-socio-cyberneticist who was far less pretentious than his academic field might suggest. He made it his life's work to understand why his fellow homo sapiens were so bad at finding happiness.

  He studied various cultures across dozens of star systems and analysed where people tended to go wrong when pursuing fulfillment. For example, people in Aguda's own nation, the Transhumanist Collective, believed that technology was the key to happiness. However, the never-ending line of promising gadgets, recreational drugs, and V.R. experiences created brief thrills rather than lasting satisfaction. Conversely, the Worilu people of Gamma Pegasi II dedicated themselves to communal transcendental meditation in order to achieve contentment. Unfortunately, their efforts were undermined by an unspoken suspicion shared among the Worilu that they looked a bit silly while doing it and everyone else was probably getting a lot more out of the process than they were.

  Aguda found that the highly religious society of Abrama ranked among the happiest in the galaxy. In his opinion, that was because the Abraman religion gave people something to look forward to by promising happiness only in the afterlife and was smart enough to avoid describing it in any detail. Nobody ever complained that the afterlife wasn't up to scratch.

  After long and thoughtful research, he concluded that most people tended to make one of two mistakes. Either they underestimated the downsides to achieving their dreams—like the maintenance costs that came with that dream mansion, or the in-laws that came with that beautiful bride—thus setting themselves up for inevitable disappointment, or they overestimated the pain of failure and so gave up even trying in the first place.

  Aguda's painstaking research took years, but he finally achieved his dream and announced his findings in a landmark paper that brought him fame and recognition within the anthro-constructivo-socio-cybernetics community. However, he found that his long dreamed of success didn't make him as happy as expected, and he subsequently suffered a mental breakdown after developing an extreme case of C.I.O.S. (chronic irony overload syndrome). A short time later, he committed suicide. History doesn't record if this made him any happier.

  Although Aguda couldn't have known it, his findings about happiness applied not only to humans but also to countless other intelligent species that have existed across the multiverse.

  1

  Tyresa Jak imagined a future where she was happy. To her surprise, she knew exactly how to make it a reality.

  Not that she was currently unhappy, although her surroundings were hardly cheerful. The inside of a hospital rarely inspired joy. And being on the planet Procya, a planet that had a shade of grey named after it, was enough to make anyone depressed. But she couldn't wait to get off this world and start putting her plans into action.

  The next steps were obvious. Visit the planet Solo III, conduct investigations, and compile a body of evidence that proved beyond doubt that it was, in fact, the original home of the human species. It may have been a long shot, but it would be the discovery of the century if true. In her imagined future, fellow academics clambered over themselves to congratulate her, shower her with honours, and apologise for having written her off as a mere treasure hunter.

  But then, as she strode along the corridor among the doctors and nurses, she chided herself for letting her thoughts run away with her. That tended to happen when she was on the hunt for artifacts. She always tried to stay cool and reserved, like she knew she should. A cautious voice was always inside her head, telling her to remain detached and scholarly, but it sometimes struggled to be heard, especially when the potential prize was big. Proving that Solo III was in fact, Earth offered a prize so deafeningly enormous that the cautious voice was considering leaving Tyresa to become a mime artist.

  Excitement barely suppressed, Tyresa almost took a wrong turn. She can't have been the only one to be overjoyed. Surely Colin, recently cured of a life-threatening disease, would be giddy with joy.

  One of the many disappointments the future had lobbed at Colin Douglass was the food.

  After arriving in the future, he'd taken his first few meals in the Alliance of Free Worlds, a place where the vegetables were the wrong colour, the fruits were the wrong shape, and ‘meat' was nothing more than lab-grown protein and loaves of brown gel. Indeed, the Alliance itself had rather an ‘organic supermarket' feel to it, complete with smirking, self-assured patrons.

  Things had improved foodwise after arriving in Abrama. He still had mixed feelings about the vegetables. However, the fruit was pleasant enough, and here they ate real meat, lots of it, enough to make a colon quiver in fright. In some ways, Abramans themselves were closer to being his type of people, not including the bigotry and religious extremism, naturally. However, even if Colin could overcome these barriers, he'd already blown it with the Abramans by accidentally trying to become their messiah. It had been an easy mistake to make, but the deed was done.

  As he took one final look around his hospital room in Saint Barflet's, it dawned on Colin that he had no ide
a what he'd be eating in the near future. He was due to leave the hospital today, due to leave Abrama altogether. According to Tyresa, the next stop was the Transhumanist Collective. Judging from what little he'd learned of the Transhackers, it wouldn't be surprising if they ate microchips cooked in machine oil. Perhaps it would be prudent to take some Abraman food along, just in case.

  From his bedside table, he took the fruit bowl, piled high with native Procyan produce, then began transplanting some of the tastier items into the small suitcase on his bed. As he did so, the door to the room opened, and Tyresa walked in. Tyresa Jak, a kind of mix between a scholar and a road rage incident. She wore her usual clothing—combat trousers, canvas jacket, black boots—doubtless the only woman on Procya not wearing a dress.

  "Almost time to go," she said enthusiastically. "Are you ready to…" She stopped, peering curiously at him as he packed the fruit. "Colin, what in the name of Orion's balls are you doing?"

  "I'm stocking up on fruit," he replied. "The fruit on your ship doesn't agree with me, and I'm guessing the Transhacker food will taste like battery acid."

  She rolled her eyes. As good as the two of them were getting along these days, Colin could still excel at annoying Tyresa. He never meant to annoy her. That's why he excelled at it; he was able to irritate her without any effort whatsoever.

  "Colin," she said, "it'll go rotten long before we get into Transhacker space."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. It's going to take time to arrange everything. We can't just cross the border into the Collective whenever we feel like it."

  "You did," Colin pointed out, "just before you rescued me from stasis."

  "Ah, yeah…well…that was—"

  "That's why we got attacked by that Transhacker ship."

  "I know, but…but…"

  "And for that you got your arse handed to you by your bosses at the university, judging from what Ade said."

  "I did not get my ass handed to me," insisted Tyresa. "Ade tends to exaggerate."

  "He can't exaggerate, he's an android."

  "Look," she said firmly. "The point is, we're going to do this properly. We're going to get official permission to enter Transhacker space. That means visiting the Collective's embassy. We'll probably be mired in bureaucracy until it's all sorted out, so it'll be a while before we're anywhere near Solo."

  "Fair enough," sighed Colin.

  He placed the fruit back in the bowl. That left the inside of his suitcase a sorry sight once again. All his earthly possessions (or was that galactic possessions now?) amounted to a change of clothes and a postcard from Spudge, one of the young natives who had helped save his life a few days earlier. On one side was a picture of Saint Barflet's, which looked like a stately mansion on steroids. On the reverse Spudge had written, "Come Again Soon!!!" and then added below "(to Procya I mean, not necessarily to the hospital)."

  "Incidentally," he said. "What is food like in the Collective? From the way you describe them, I dread to think about what they eat."

  "How did I describe them?" asked Tyresa.

  "‘Extreme technophiles' were the exact words I think you used. You also said something about them being three implants away from full-blown cyborgs. To be honest, I'm scared to meet one now."

  She brushed his worries aside. "Ah, don't let it worry you. Once you get used to them, you'll be fine. Underneath all those implants they're as human as you or I. Believe me, I've even gotten to know a few. But yeah, their food tastes like shit."

  Coming from someone who ate Alliance food, that was condemnation indeed.

  A muted buzzer prevented him from asking for more detail. It was the wall-mounted intercom that hung beside the door.

  Tyresa stepped over and thumbed its button. "Hello?"

  "Hello," came a female voice. "This is reception. Could I speak to Doctor Jak please?"

  "This is Jak," said Tyresa.

  There was a pause at the other end. "No, I'm after Doctor Jak. Perhaps that's your husband, deary?"

  The Procyan at the other end was evidently unaccustomed to the idea of a ‘mere' woman holding a doctorate. Claiming that attitudes towards women on Procya were a bit regressive was like saying Genghis Khan was a bit aggressive. Still, Tyresa had done her best to tolerate these attitudes, in her own way—her own way being not hitting people.

  She tongued her cheek and twisted her neck until it made a loud crack. "I am Doctor Jak," she growled.

  "Oh… erm…" You could almost hear the neurons realigning at the other end of the line. "I see. I have a message from Deputy Chief of Police Gilper. He says he'd like to meet you in Conference Room 4E to discuss something. You should see it on the map now."

  On the small screen below the intercom, a map of the hospital appeared with a flashing red circle around one of the rooms.

  "In a conference room? Why doesn't he just…" Tyresa broke off and shrugged. "Okay, fine. Thanks for the message."

  "Blessings upon you."

  Tyresa jabbed the intercom's button again, and its light went out.

  "Gilper?" said Colin. "Do I know that name?"

  "You should. The arrogant policeman. I had a run-in with him during the demonstrations. Don't you remember me telling you?"

  In all honesty, Colin didn't. He'd felt groggy and forgetful ever since his operation. Apparently, these were temporary after-effects. He looked forward to the day when he'd finally have a normal memory again.

  Tyresa continued. "Anyway, we spoke earlier. He's a little concerned about some of the more extreme natives wanting to take a shot at us. He claims there's been threats made."

  This was the first Colin had heard of it. "Threats? Why would anyone threaten us?"

  "Some people around here are itching to see the back of you. Maybe a few of them think your back would make a handy target. But would they actually go through with it? I find it hard to believe."

  That wasn't awfully reassuring.

  Unsettling as all this was, it hardly came as a surprise. In the last few days, Colin had managed to offend a good portion of the planet's highly religious population because another portion had proclaimed him some sort of messianic figure. It hadn't helped matters when he'd been overheard plotting to set himself up as a false prophet in order to institute revolutionary societal changes—but all in a very light and tentative way, as he'd insisted on pointing out. Nonetheless, it had led to a near-riot on hospital grounds. Colin was keen to leave Procya and the whole sorry mess behind.

  "What does this Gilper chap want to do about it?" he asked.

  "Nothing much," replied Tyresa. "Just to give us an escort. The last time we met, he was itching to throw me off-world. I wouldn't be surprised if he's arranged a parade to line the route to the spaceport. Speaking of which…" She brought up her arm and tapped on her wrist computer. "I'm going to check in with Ade."

  A moment later, the voice of her redoubtable android came through, clear and elegant as ever. "Good day, ma'am," he greeted her in a voice like the Queen's elocution teacher.

  "How are things looking, Ade?" she asked, getting straight to the point as usual.

  "The ship is almost ready for departure, ma'am. I'm presently engaged in a few last-minute verifications. All systems appear functional. In fact, I'm pleased to report that the performance of some systems has even been improved. A parting gift from young Mister Spudge."

  "That's great," replied Tyresa. "We should be there soon. Make sure we're ready for launch at a moment's notice. Tyresa out." She moved towards the door. "Right, I'm going to go meet with Gilper."

  "Wait," blurted Colin. "You're going to leave me alone after these threats?"

  Tyresa smirked. "Threats, shmets. I'll bet there's been none. It's just Gilper trying to scare us, making sure we stay away."

  "But what if it's true?"

  "Will you stop worrying? You're going to have to learn to keep your cool if you're going to come spacefaring with me. Seriously, you have a nasty habit of panicking."

  Colin
felt offended. Fair enough, it was true, but he didn't need to be reminded of it. In fact, Colin was a world-class worrier. It was the only relevant skill he had left these days since all his other abilities were nigh on two millennia out of date. Computers had already been beating him at his own game, insurance analysis before he even went into stasis. By now, his skills were in less demand than flint knapping. After all, a stone axe might come in handy if you were, say, marooned on a jungle planet, whereas calculating dividend payments would hardly contribute to survival.

  He might have felt more reassured if his friendship with Tyresa had included less time almost being killed. In the opening minutes after they'd first met, Colin had nearly suffocated, bled to death, and been blasted to pieces by a warship. The ensuing few days added to the list attempted kidnapping and almost being flushed into the vacuum of outer space. It was perfectly sensible being a worrier in Tyresa Jak's company.

  She opened the door. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, "but if you're concerned, lock the door behind me."

  Colin rushed after her as she left the room. "Why?" he called out. "Do you think they'll try—?"

  Too late. He stuck his head through the doorway in time to see her disappear around the corner.

  Huh! he thought. A worrier am I? Can't keep a cool head? We'll see about that.