by Karl Beecher
Of course, that vision didn't include Colin.
In another vision, she surrendered, was brought aboard, and Colin blabbed about the Predecessor artifact to anyone on that ship who had ears. The Transhackers then immediately deployed their own archaeologists, and Tyresa's fame and glory went up in smoke faster than you could say ‘big, fat mouth.'
"Well?" barked the Captain's voice, snapping Tyresa back to reality.
Maybe she didn't have to risk Colin's indiscretions at all. Maybe there was another way.
She reached for a button on her console and killed power to the engines. Their hum died away. "Cruiser Eighty-Nine," she said. "Our engines are cut. We surrender."
"And your shields?" drawled the Captain.
"Oh yeah, forgot," lied Tyresa. Another jab at the console. Now the Turtle was adrift and defenceless. "Done. Turtle out."
She closed the commlink.
Colin appeared at her shoulder. "What are you doing?" he said. "They'll blast us to smithereens."
Tyresa shook her head. "Nah. Even though they're Transhackers, they've got some sense of mercy."
"But…but…" stuttered Colin, seemingly searching for any reason to panic. "What are they going to do to us when they have us?"
"Nothing."
"How can you be so sure?"
White, flickering light suddenly shone in through the viewport as the enemy's tug beam took hold. The ship buffeted as the enemy cruiser began dragging them in.
"Because they won't get us, that's why." She turned to the android. "Ade, prepare for an emergency engine boost."
Ade turned. "Ma'am?"
"They'll have to bring us aboard into their ventral hangar bay," she explained. "That's the only one big enough and their ship is lightly armed under there. If we wait until the last moment, just before we reach their hangar doors, we can engage emergency boost. That might be enough for us to break free of the beam. Then, if we emerge under their stern, they'll have to turn and manoeuvre to make pursuit. And cruisers aren't exactly nimble. We could get away to warp before they know what's happening."
Being an android, Ade never looked enthusiastic even when the going was good. Now, he managed somehow to look very unenthusiastic despite his customary neutral expression. "Ma'am, that plan is ripe with risk. The enemy is bound to have weapons trained on us. If we move a proverbial muscle, they are likely to fire."
"But there's no other way to escape!" she implored. "We're out of options. We have to take that chance."
"Without shields at point-blank range, our chances of surviving a barrage are slim to zero."
Poor Ade. He always let logic and probabilities guide his decisions. His overriding goal was always the preservation of life. He had no idea what it was like to burn with ambition, to feel yourself willing to risk everything for a chance at glory. He would protest now, as he always did, but he would always obey in the end. He was programmed to do so.
"It's worth the risk," she said.
"Very good, ma'am," Ade replied, "if you and Mister Douglass agree that it is worth the risk. Please consider that I am now answerable for both your lives."
His words had a pointed, calculated edge to them. She looked at Ade, at his pale, emotionless face that still somehow conveyed warmth and empathy. Then she looked at Colin. His sweaty, terrified expression stared back. The face of a frightened puppy.
Then it hit home. Unlike before, it wasn't only about her anymore. Colin was here now, and she was responsible for him. Playing fast and loose with her own life was one thing, but did she really have the right to put him in the firing line like this?
Her conscience found the shittiest times to raise its head.
She sunk into her chair. "You're right, Ade," she mumbled, feeling her fingernails drive into the arms of her chair. "Forget I said anything."
Fine. If this was the way it had to be, so be it. This wasn't over yet. The future may have been uncertain, she may be facing arrest, even imprisonment, but she was going to prevail in the end. She'd reach the end of that treasure trail, no matter who or what got in her way.
"And you!" she snapped at Colin. "Keep your mouth shut on that ship. Don't say a word out of turn, and don't go blabbing a thing about what happened on Solo IV. Clear?"
He nodded and gave a tiny gargle of agreement.
There was nothing more to do except watch as her precious Turtle was dragged into its new prison. Soon enough, the Transhacker ship came into close-up view. It had been a while since she'd seen a Collective cruiser up close, but they'd lost none of their potent ugliness. The great hulk was a monstrous thing, like a half-kilometre long wedge of cheese overrun by grey mould. Pipes, struts, and conduits snaked around a hard, angular surface. Viewports and airlocks were haphazardly tucked wherever there appeared to be some leftover space. Never any beauty in Transhacker ships, just brutal function over form.
Once under the ship's belly, a huge pair of hangar doors became visible. On them, the vessel's designation, a single line of stark, bold text:
T.S.S._CRUISER_89
The doors parted, and the Turtle was scooped up inside. There was no escape now.
Colin shuffled along behind Tyresa, who led the way, quiet and sullen, down the Turtle's exit ramp. He looked around at the Transhacker's hangar bay and hugged himself.
The place was frightening. The huge space was like something from the fevered mind of a brutalist architect on speed. Everywhere was imposing, angular grey metal: metal panels, metal struts, metal piping, metal light fixtures. Rows and rows of screens, large and small, assaulted the eyes with never-ending streams of data. Consoles and control panels were affixed to the bulkheads here, there and everywhere.
It was as though a giant had taken a steel factory in one hand and a branch of an electrical retailer in the other and smashed them together.
A boot-thumping march heralded the appearance of three people jogging into the hangar bay through a pair of double doors, setting Colin's heart pounding. Each carried some kind of rifle-like weapon and wore a shiny, black one-piece uniform along with what looked like jewellery. The armed welcoming committee lined up at the foot of the ramp and pointed their weapons.
"Hands up!" ordered one of them. "And line up at the bottom of the ramp."
Tyresa, Colin and Ade did as ordered. As they reached the foot of the ramp, Colin finally saw the strangers up close. Though they weren't identical, they all shared a very similar look: short dark hair, pale skin, and lean, almost sexless bodies. It gave them an androgynous look. Colin would've hesitated to take bets on which were male, and which were female.
There was also something odd about that jewellery. They weren't pieces of jewellery at all. They appeared to be strange little gizmos—which were attached to their skin! At the neck, on the back of the hand, over one eye like a techno-monocle. Tiny machines with buttons and flashing lights actually penetrated the flesh.
A chill went through Colin. He leaned towards Tyresa. "My god! What are those things they're wearing?" he whispered.
Tyresa muttered back, "I know. Shitty uniforms, huh? Makes them look like security at an S and M convention."
"No! I mean those…those…"
She seemed to recognise what he was driving at. "Cybernetic implants."
"Prisoners will remain quiet!" came a voice.
It belonged to a woman who'd just appeared in the doorway. From afar, she looked like the other members of the ‘welcoming committee.' Same black uniform, albeit with a few extra bits of insignia, same implants dotted around her flesh. But as she approached, differences became apparent. Some were subtle, like the air of confidence and authority, suggesting she was an officer of some sort. Others were more obvious. For one thing, this was most definitely a woman from where Colin was standing. No androgynous look on her, but full lips, soft skin, and a figure beneath that clinging uniform that could start a brushfire at fifty yards.
"Oh," groaned Tyresa as she clapped eyes on the woman. Her face fell like someone who'd just s
een their smartphone fall into the toilet bowl. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
The stranger halted in front of Tyresa with an inscrutably blank look on her face.
Tyresa shook her head. "Of all the starships in all the sectors in all the galaxy, I warped into yours."
"Greetings, Tyresa Jak," replied the woman in clipped, matter-of-fact tones.
"That's ‘Doctor Jak' if you don't mind," sneered Tyresa. "Only people I like get to call me by my first name." She looked at the insignia on the woman's chest. "Commander now, huh? Last time we met, you were a lieutenant. I guess you got promoted for the shit you pulled last year."
"I was," she replied, "in large part thanks to you. Revenge is sweet, as I believe the popular phrase goes."
"Huh! You've got to have emotions to enjoy revenge."
The Commander ignored her and turned to one of her comrades. "Ensign, restrain these people."
One of the three Transhackers nodded to the other two. They shouldered their weapons and stepped forward, each taking a six-inch-long chrome bar from their belt.
"Wait a second," protested Tyresa. "I'm an archaeologist protected by the Interstellar Archaeological Treaty. Under Section Three, I'm to be allowed through your space without hindrance."
"Fine," replied the Commander. "Then, as per Section Three, show me the permits provided by the Transhumanist Collective, and you may go free."
That knocked the wind of Tyresa's sails. "Well, whaddya know," she said with a lick of her lips, "I guess I left them at home."
With a sigh, Tyresa held out her hands. She nudged Colin to do the same.
Colin held out his shivering hands. The Transhacker in front of him put the bar between his wrists. With a snap, a plastic ribbon shot out from each end and wound tightly around each wrist to form a loop, making Colin jump. He pulled at the contraption. The bonds held firm. It didn't hurt, but somehow they seemed more secure than any handcuffs he'd seen before.
The other Transhackers did the same for Ade and Tyresa.
Tyresa looked at the Commander. "I'd have thought you'd want to do this yourself," she said. "But then I guess you were always the one who enjoyed being restrained."
The woman avoided Tyresa's gaze. It was the closest she'd come so far to displaying any emotion.
She looked at Colin. "Who are you?"
Tyresa interjected. "Let me introduce you. Robbi: this is Colin Douglass, a friend of mine. Colin: this is Commander Robbi Leet, a double-crossing bitch."
Colin gulped silently. It was hard to know how to respond to an introduction like that. "Nice to meet you," he said, reaching out a hand—well, two hands—in greeting.
Commander Leet simply glanced at his outstretched arms. "And why are you in Collective territory?"
Tyresa interrupted again. "I told you already. I'm trying to get him to the nearest hospital. He's in need of urgent medical attention."
"What is the nature of his illness?"
"It's a brain disease," replied Tyresa. "For all we know, he's got days left to live, maybe even hours. Help him!"
"Very well." Leet turned to the Ensign. "Take him to the medbay."
One of the officers moved to flank Colin.
Tyresa looked suddenly anxious. "I'll go with him."
"You will not," said Leet.
"But he needs me!"
"From what you say, he needs a medic."
"He's a stranger," protested Tyresa. "He's scared. He needs a reassuring friend."
Leet fixed Tyresa with an unimpressed stare. "I know your M.O., Doctor Jak. You want to interfere and confer with him during questioning. No, you will be questioned separately to see if your stories match." She turned to another one of her officers and pointed towards Ade. "Take the artificial life form to the cargo bay and place it in secure storage."
"Wait, hang on a second." Tyresa stepped closer to Leet and switched to hushed, reasonable tones. "We don't have to make this difficult for everyone else on account of our past…dealings. Why don't you and I go talk this over somewhere, huh?"
The Commander stared back at her. For a moment, she said nothing and betrayed no feelings except for when she swallowed. Finally, she pointed at each of the prisoners in turn. "He will go to the medbay. That will go into secure storage. And as for you, Doctor Jak, these officers will take you to the brig." She put a hand on the pistol that hung at her hip. "I recommend you go with them voluntarily."
17
Robbi Leet entered her quarters and sighed a deep, frustrated sigh. She wanted to be alone, just for a while.
This was a highly unorthodox feeling for a citizen of the Transhumanist Collective. A true collectivist always stayed mindful of one's fellow citizens, constantly at their service, forever beside them and in their company.
All fair enough, but sometimes people just pissed you off, and you needed a breather.
By hiding away in her quarters, Robbi was risking the ever-present dangers of individualism and egoism. They were always lying in wait, every Transhumanist knew that, ready to gnaw at you and cajole you into forgetting others and servicing your own selfish desires.
The image of Tyresa Jak flashed into Robbi's mind.
Why did this have to happen? Of all the ships for Tyresa to run into, why Cruiser_89? Why…
No, thought Robbi, squeezing her eyes hard shut. Discipline. That was the key. Discipline kept unorthodox thoughts away.
She stepped further into the room, and the doors closed behind her. The lights came on automatically, bright and oppressive. She turned them down using her tekapt, signalling her desire for low, warm lighting with nothing but a thought. The lights mellowed into a warm, yellow glow, which reflected gently from the dull, metallic walls.
Another gentle glow came from the readout screens which littered every wall with text and images, a constant flow of information coming not just from the ship but from every corner of the Collective. They were everywhere onboard, convenient sources of distraction whenever you risked being too reflective and introverted.
Distraction was exactly what Robbi needed now. She glanced over the various scrolling messages, mostly routine stuff. One displayed output figures from hydroponic plants on Cygnus. Another showed the current status of transport ships undergoing refit at Base_14. A third screen reported something more salacious: breaking news of an Altarian doctor who'd been caught in a long-term monogamous relationship and removed from her post by demand of scandalised patients.
Monogamy. Unorthodox. One of the most deplorable unorthodoxies in the Collective as it happened. The single-minded focus on an individual, the desire to love only them and forsake all your other fellows. It could only lead to betrayal of the community.
That poor Altarian doctor. She was far less likely to get a second chance, like Robbi had been fortunate to get.
The text on screen melted away and, as every screen did occasionally, scrolled the Collective's motto:
Every citizen for their association. Every association for the Collective.
The Collective's emblem appeared below; several nodes arranged in a circle, each connected by a line to another node at the centre. On one level, it symbolised how every citizen belonged by law to an association. On another level, it symbolised how associations banded together to form the Collective, with one particular association—Govcentral—in the middle, first among equals.
It was an elegant system. Associations practically self-policed. Each citizen oversaw their colleagues to ensure they remained orthodox, while each association kept eyes on all the others to ensure they policed their members properly. The Altarian doctor would have belonged to the Medical Doctors Union, but not for much longer. She was probably facing exile, something Robbi herself might have suffered after she and Tyresa Jak had…
No. Discipline.
She wrenched herself away from the screens and came to a stop beside the viewport. A wave of anger overcame her, and she thumped the wall beside the glass.
"Banish it!" she whispered t
o herself, using an expletive favoured by many in the Collective. Why was this making her so angry?
She tekapted a mood enhancer. Her neural implant detected those brain waves and duly obliged, ordering the med-implant—a small device attached to her neck—to release a few milligrams of pep into her bloodstream. A little wave of contentment washed over her.
Just a few more quiet moments. Staring into space was always soothing.
She detached her bionic eye overlay and lay it on a little shelf beside her, then leaned against the glass. The silent swirls of warped space outside glided by, always better enjoyed with the naked eye. After a few deep breaths, the anger melted away, and her mind went empty.
A familiar beeping noise interrupted her. Not a sound in the conventional sense, but created by her neural implant directly manipulating her auditory nerve. It was an incoming notification from the OmniWeb.
Never a moment's peace in the Transhumanist Collective.
With a sigh, she took the overlay and slotted it back into place over her ocular implant. She tekapted the alert displayed. Text formed in her vision as though hovering in the air.
URGENT COMMUNICATION!
Probably nothing. News alerts and messages marked important came at a rate of ten an hour, but they were rarely anything of the sort. After years of living with this, ‘breaking news' and ‘urgent communications' and headlines promising that you'd ‘never believe what happened next' tended to desensitise you.
Dismissing the notification was a possibility, but Robbi had ignored the previous couple already. Everybody's personal inbox was monitored, and too many unopened messages led to questions being asked. Specifically, what are you doing that's so important you don't have time to read communications from the Collective? Spending a quiet moment by yourself, staring at the stars was not an acceptable answer.
Finally, she gave in and tekapted the message open.
The text appeared in her vision. It described the results of this week's plebiscite. The motion had proposed that teaching realsex in schools be promoted and considered just as socially valid an activity as virtusex. It was the third time in as many years this proposal had been put forward. Once again, the billions of citizens had voted on the motion in their respective syndicates, unions, and communes. And, once again, it had been rejected.
