Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  Eventually, Colin and the others came to the table at the end of the room. There, a solitary figure sat eating from a bowl. He was a cookie-cutter type and appeared to be in advanced middle-age with a wrinkled face and a paunch that seemed to complain about the tight-fitting uniform. Still, he had the air of someone who commanded respect. Even Colin could see that the silver insignia on his chest marked him out as someone important.

  The man looked up at the approaching party.

  "Greetings, Doctor," he said. There was actually a hint of warmth to his voice, the first Colin had heard from a Transhacker. "I understand you wanted to talk to me."

  "Yes, Captain," replied Zeddex. "This is Colin Douglass, one of the intruders we picked up. Colin Douglass, this is Captain Mikka Kliez Four-Six-Four, commanding officer of Cruiser Eighty-Nine."

  The Captain shot Colin a short but curious glance. Colin opened his mouth to greet him, but Zeddex got straight down to business.

  "Captain, there are some things you ought to know about this man."

  "Indeed," replied the Captain. He gestured to the benches. "Sit."

  Zeddex directed Colin to sit on the bench across from Captain Kliez before taking a seat beside her commander. The security officer remained standing beside the table, towering over the others. The situation felt suddenly like an interrogation.

  Captain Kliez took another spoonful from his bowl. "Apologies to you, Colin Douglass," he mumbled through a half-full mouth, "but I am still eating meal two. Do you require food yourself?"

  Colin spied the contents of a bowl: a grey, lumpy goop that resembled something a bronchial rhino might cough up. It was nauseating just watching the little cube wobble on Kliez's spoon.

  "No, thank you," he whispered, resisting the urge to wretch. "I ate something yesterday."

  "You should eat something," remarked Zeddex. "It's not wise in your condition to go under-nourished." She pointed at the bowl. "That is a superb mixture of proteins, vitamins, and macronutrients. Everything the body requires."

  "No, really," said Colin, still whispering. "Perhaps later, when I'm on the edge of starvation."

  "Do you have a problem with your throat?" asked the Doctor.

  "Well, erm…I assume you're supposed to keep your voice down in this room?"

  Kliez and Zeddex exchanged confused glances.

  The Captain shook his head. "This is the rec room. You may speak as loudly as you wish."

  "Oh." Colin gestured to the other people in the room. "I just thought…everyone else is so quiet."

  Kliez finally seemed to understand. "Ah, yes," he said, glimpsing at his crew. "We are not so gregarious a people. Not these days anyway. Most of the crew are likely occupied at this moment."

  The Doctor raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Zombified would be a more accurate term."

  Colin's face screwed up in horror. "Zombified?"

  "Stay your anxiety, I was merely attempting levity. The neural implants I told you about…" The barest hint of cynicism entered her voice. "…most young ones today are never off the banishing things. They don't talk to one another anymore."

  Colin looked over his shoulder. Things made a bit more sense now. Although they sat together, the crew weren't really together in the full meaning of the word. A smattering of them spoke to each other now and again, but most just stared blankly ahead, eyebrows twitching intermittently. If he understood these implants correctly, the only things most people were currently looking at was the inside of their own eyepieces. It was disconcerting, but he tried to stay broad-minded. It seemed no stranger than a roomful of people with their eyes anchored to smartphones.

  "It was not like that in my youth," continued Zeddex. She folded her arms and leaned back on the bench. "Implants were primitive things. You could barely control a sonic scalpel with one when I was at medical college."

  "A scalpel?" said Kliez, folding his arms too. "You were lucky. Implants could barely control a light switch when my first one was fitted."

  "And they didn't function immediately like today's implants," the Doctor went on. "It took me weeks before I could operate mine at all. We had to stay behind after class to have extra tekapt lessons."

  "Yours was fitted at school?" exclaimed the Captain. "You were lucky. I was twenty-two before neural implants became available. And it took months to be conditioned to use them."

  The Doctor surveyed the room. "I first saw a rec room thirty years ago—"

  "Nearer forty in my case," Kliez hastened to point out.

  "A rec room back then would have been rife with conversation, ten times as loud with only half the people you see here. It was proper collectivism in those days!"

  For a brief moment, Colin felt like he was back in the Sprotsbury Grove Bowls Club listening to bellyaching baby boomers. In fact, Kliez and Zeddex would probably have blended in quite nicely among the retirees, presuming they changed clothes first. The two veterans paused for a moment, as though recalling better days. Then they both looked at Colin and stiffened, seemingly remembering themselves and reasserting their composure.

  The Captain pushed the remains of his gruel aside. "So, Doctor, you mentioned something I ought to know."

  Zeddex filled him in on Colin's disease and the unknown energy that now encased it. The Captain listened, betraying no emotion.

  "Most fascinating," he said in response. "Can you treat the ailment?"

  Zeddex shook her head. "I don't believe I should attempt anything until he is brought to a specialist hospital on Alcentor. Fortunately, the disease appears to be suspended by the energy. So long as that remains, I believe he is in no immediate danger."

  "How did this energy come to be in his head?"

  "That is not yet confirmed. However, Colin Douglass underwent a plus-interesting experience just prior to joining us." The Doctor fixed Colin with a stare. "I suggested he share the details with you, Captain."

  The Captain leaned forward. "Very well. I'm listening, Colin Douglass."

  Colin looked at the two blank but ominous stares in front of him, then at the armed security officer beside him. He swallowed. Tyresa was going to be furious when she found out, but it was too late now. The Doctor already knew everything. What difference would it make telling the Captain?

  He began reeling off the story, describing his disease and being kidnapped by the Hanson and Gunga. He explained how he came to Solo, then ended up finding a cavern on Mars after following a prophecy.

  As with Zeddex, Captain Kliez was frustratingly hard to read. He listened in attentive silence, his expression remaining inert. Ordinarily, this was the face of a bored audience, but Colin was fast learning that you never could tell with a Transhacker.

  Then, something interesting happened. As he began describing the Predecessor artifact itself, Kliez's face flickered, and something like genuine intrigue passed over his face for an instant. It flickered again when the story turned to mysterious messages and treasure trails pointing towards Alcentor.

  After the story ended, Zeddex turned to the Captain. "I know it sounds improbable, Captain, but I thought it worth you hearing it."

  Colin agreed with the improbable part. Even after recounting it a second time, it still sounded ridiculous. He scarcely believed it himself, and he'd actually been there.

  Kliez nodded slowly. He still looked about as animated as Keanu Reeves choosing bathroom tiles, but a definite change had come over him. "You did correctly," he said, the vaguest hints of calculation entering his voice. "I think we ought to treat his account seriously. After all, his travelling companion is Tyresa Jak, an archaeologist and noted specialist on the Predecessors."

  Then he did something astounding, something monumental for a Transhacker.

  He smiled.

  It was unpleasant. It felt like the kind of smile a spider would beam at a big juicy fly after inviting it over for a bite to eat.

  "I should like to know more about this artifact," said the Captain. "For instance, the coordinates at which you found it."r />
  "Oh," said Colin, loath to disappoint him. "Sorry, I don't know them. Doctor Jak does the driving, so to speak."

  "I see," replied Kliez. "Then the details of this sketch you created. Tell me about that."

  "Erm, well…" This wasn't going to go down well either. "I'm afraid I can't. You see, I've no memory of actually doing the drawing. And the whole thing was just a meaningless bunch of numbers to me anyway."

  The smile melted from the Captain's face. "Most disappointing. I suppose Doctor Jak will know more about that too."

  Kliez went quiet. His stare went off into the distance, and his eye twitched several times. A few seconds later, the Doctor's eye also twitched. Finally, Kliez and Zeddex looked at each other, and they nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Had something just passed between them? A mind-based message perhaps? A telepathic text? A subconscious S.M.S.?

  Captain Kliez resumed smiling, although less conspiratorially this time. "I'm grateful for your information, Colin Douglass. We shall arrive at Alcentor tomorrow. In the meantime, I think we can grant you the freedom of the ship. Within reason, of course, and with an escort."

  He gestured to the security officer, who was still standing beside the table and—judging from the faraway look in his eyes—had fallen into another tekapt trance.

  "Oh," said Colin, "that's jolly decent of you, thank you."

  "You're most welcome," replied Kliez magnanimously. "Relax. Consider yourself a guest of the Transhumanist Collective."

  Colin had already seen a good portion of the ship already and, frankly, felt in no rush to see any more of it. However, it was probably a good idea to visit Tyresa immediately and own up about failing to keep their secret. Ordinarily, it would have been a bad idea, but now was the perfect time. Since she was safely locked up, she had only the walls to punch after hearing the news.

  "Would I be able to go to the brig?" asked Colin. "I think I really ought to visit Tyresa, if that's all right with you."

  "Why, Colin Douglass," replied the Captain sweetly. "I was about to suggest the very same thing myself."

  22

  Lowcuzt saw the door at the end of the corridor coming into view, the door that led to serenity and satisfaction. Behind it were his favourite things: computers, contraptions, and code.

  People were there too—sadly—but only the most select handful of employees were allowed beyond that door: pliant ones possessing keen technical skill but without imagination or any willingness to disobey. Aside from Lowcuzt's, the only genuine intelligence to be found behind that door was artificial.

  A few paces from the door, he let out a sigh of contentment. Being greeted by the familiar black and yellow stripes and the stark, red-lettered sign always felt like coming home. The sign read:

  PROJECT ÜBERDIGITALITY

  NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL

  Below it, the sticker he had added later to demonstrate he still had a sense of humour:

  You don't have to be unorthodox to work here, but it helps!

  The great door opened.

  Lowcuzt walked into the antechamber, a plain little room containing a desk and a second door opposite. Slouching behind the desk was one of his Security and Protection Officers (or SAPs for short). The red-uniformed SAP immediately snapped out of his trance and stood to attention. It was SAP_16, one of the newer officers. He had a real name, but Lowcuzt numbered all his security personnel because he remembered numbers better.

  Lowcuzt and his SAPs couldn't have been more different, but they did share one thing in common. Collective conditioning hadn't worked on the SAPs either. The similarity went no further than that, however. In Lowcuzt's case, the state couldn't tame his high-functioning genius. With the SAPs, state conditioning could only turn out barely-functioning imbeciles.

  If you asked Lowcuzt—which, he liked to point out, the state never did—a truly compassionate society would have put these poor fools out of their misery long ago. Why couldn't the state see a lack of intelligence as an engineering problem? Even the best engineering occasionally put out a faulty product. When that happened, the best thing to do was dispose of it, not let it pollute the rest of the line-up.

  Still, Lowcuzt had cleverly turned the state's mistake to his own benefit. A SAP's destiny would ordinarily have been a lifetime of menial work, but Lowcuzt had taken a handful of them and created his own little private army personally loyal to him alone. He could never have done that with ordinary citizens.

  The state weren't the only ones skilled in psychological conditioning.

  "Good day, citizen," greeted SAP_16.

  Lowcuzt ignored him and continued to the other doorway. SAP_16 had only been here a few weeks. He still had a few habits of the outside world, the world where everyone and their worthless opinions were treated as equal. He hadn't yet learned that such views didn't fly within the walls of Lowcuzt's compound and that SAPs only spoke when spoken to. A little extra conditioning would fix that.

  The other doors parted, and Lowcuzt strode into the waiting elevator. The interior was top-to-bottom white and featureless, lacking even a button. There was no need for one because this elevator had only one possible destination: basement level. A moment later, that's where Lowcuzt was.

  The doors opened to reveal the Project Überdigitality lab. It wasn't a huge room, but it didn't need to be. No products were built here, there was no assembly line. The raw material powering this project was information. All that was required was a few dozen stacks of computers, a handful of desks and terminals, and an assortment of other handheld tools like slates, scopes, neurometers, and engram analysers.

  Standing in the centre of the room was the most important piece of all: the nexus chair, the key to Überdigitality. Its main unit was a chrome block, two metres tall with a surface covered in controls and readouts. The cranial fixture, a silver half-sphere, jutted out from one side and hung over a grey chair. One day, when Überdigitality was finally complete, Lowcuzt would be sitting in that chair finally realising his greatest dream.

  Spoiling the view of all this technology were four humans, the hand-picked engineers who had the honour of working on Überdigitality. They clustered around the nexus chair, examining its many readouts and bickering nervously over what they saw. None of them had noticed Lowcuzt yet. That suited him fine. For the moment, his main concern was what lay behind the door at the far side of the room. The plain door bore no sign, but everyone here knew that nobody except Lowcuzt was allowed beyond it.

  As Lowcuzt passed them, the gaggle of engineers noticed him and bolted upright like startled meerkats. They blurted out greetings at him skittishly, but Lowcuzt ignored them.

  One of the engineers broke away from the herd and scuttled after him. It was Margam, the lead engineer. She was short and skinny and walked like a penguin, her arms seemingly pinned to her sides. She was probably the smartest engineer Lowcuzt had ever employed, so naturally, she'd graduated from PanJoin up to working on Lowcuzt's baby. She was the only person he knew who wore two ocular implants because she could read two documents simultaneously.

  Of course, Lowcuzt never let on that Margam impressed him hugely. That would have caused devastating effects to her motivation. Complimenting engineers only inflated their egos, encouraging self-satisfaction and laziness. The key to real motivation was to belittle someone, demean them, and make them feel worthless. That drove employees to work harder and crave approval, to push themselves beyond their limits and break new barriers. That turned them into people who would arrive at the end of a workday and willingly put in that extra hour or two. Or sometimes even fifteen.

  "Greetings, Lowcuzt Null," said Margam softly as she waddled beside him. "Could I, erm…could I ask something?"

  "What is it, Margam?" he replied flatly, still walking.

  "Erm…the report y-you wanted from us t-today," she stammered, tripping over her own feet. She had never really mastered walking and conversing at the same time. "Would it be poss to…d-delay maybe?"

&nb
sp; Lowcuzt stopped. "Delay? Why?"

  "Well…" She gulped. "The progress on the neurochemical analysers has been…a little…scant."

  "How scant?"

  Margam thought a moment. "Paltry, I would say. Or maybe more sparse."

  "If I'd wanted a thesaurus I would have tekapted one. Numbers! Put some kind of number on the progress."

  She thought again. "Somewhere between zero and…well, minus one actually, since we just discovered we made a mistake yesterday."

  Lowcuzt almost sighed, but not quite. The Überdigitality project had run into constant hurdles since its inception, but he believed greatly in maintaining a Positive Mental Attitude. If Lowcuzt sighed every time the project hit a snag, he'd never have the opportunity to breathe in. No, his response, in this case, would be to assemble the engineers together and motivate them. In other words, yell, call them incompetent, tell them he could do their work ten times better himself, and then send them back to work, their fuel tanks duly replenished.

  But that could wait until later. As much as he loved working on the project, he simply had to view the artifact that lay behind this door. He wanted to see for himself whether it resembled the description that this Colin Douglass person had given.

  He shook his head at Margam. "There will be no delay. I want to hear what you have to say for yourselves. Maybe I can salvage something from your failure. I'll be back in a few minutes."

  He left the anxious engineer behind and approached the door. The security system silently confirmed the presence of Lowcuzt Null's neural implant and granted him access. A moment later, Lowcuzt was alone inside his inner sanctum. The rest of the world and all the idiots in it were now on the other side of the door behind him.