Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  Move fast and break things had always been Lowcuzt's motto, but this was ridiculous.

  Technically, he hadn't actually done any of it himself. The real perpetrator had taken control of Lowcuzt's body and used it to carry out the crimes, but who'd believe that? Even Lowcuzt thought it sounded crazy, and he knew it was true. As far as the law was concerned, his hand had pushed the buttons on the nexus chair, and his voice had ordered the kidnapping. The law didn't recognise diminished responsibility by way of spiritual possession. Not even science recognised it. The nearest the law could offer was to certify him as insane.

  Which left two outcomes for Lowcuzt if this all went wrong: life in prison or life in an asylum.

  "Hurry up!" ordered Crzethnuk. "Hurry up and be gone!"

  The two SAPs finished tightening the bonds that secured Colin Douglass' wrists to the arms of the chair. Crzethnuk flapped Lowcuzt's arms, and the two guards scurried out through the elevator door.

  So, this was Colin Douglass, an ordinary, drab-looking man in ill-fitting Alliance clothes. He didn't look like much of a threat, but if Crzethnuk was to be believed this person squirming in the nexus chair was also possessed. If so, then the other Predecessor was an excellent actor, because Colin Douglass on the outside looked more terrified than Lowcuzt's engineers at an annual performance review. Lowcuzt could read human faces, even if Crzethnuk couldn't.

  Crzethnuk looked keenly at his prize. "I've been waiting for you, Klablath," he crowed. "We meet again at last."

  Colin Douglass, bound and trembling, gawked back. "Sorry, have we met before? I'm guessing we haven't, I'm kind of new around here."

  "Come now, Klablath," grinned the Predecessor. "You can't fool me. I know you're in there, old man. It's me, Crzethnuk. Like you, I have possessed a human. I am contained within this feeble body."

  Hey! voiced Lowcuzt. Who are you calling feeble?

  Quiet!

  In the corner of his vision, Lowcuzt noticed Forn. He was still here, slavishly obeying his master's every whim and being driven to the edge of his wits in the process. It was a mystery what went through his assistant's mind now, but despair seemed a sure bet. What Forn had been doing to rationalise his actions was anybody's guess.

  However, Crzethnuk's last remark was the first time he'd acknowledged his true identity out loud. With it, a subtle change appeared in Forn's expression, as though despair had morphed into desperation. Maybe he thought Lowcuzt had lost his mind.

  Colin Douglass was coming to his own realisation. "Aaah," he said, trying to raise his hand, forgetting it was tied to the arm of the chair. "I think you've made a mistake, Mister Crzethnuk."

  "I don't make mistakes," replied Crzethnuk ominously.

  That was a bit rich, considering the three mistakes now stashed away in the vault.

  "W-well," stuttered Colin Douglass, "what I mean is, you're almost right. I've met this Klablath chappie, in a manner of speaking. We sort of met in my head a couple of times, but he hasn't possessed me. He's not here right now. If you like, I could pass on a message for you next time I see him."

  The Predecessor simply laughed. "A masterful performance, Klablath. Your imitation of a weakling human impresses even me. But, come now, let us get serious. You know what I want."

  Colin peered back dubiously. "Let's assume for the sake of argument that I don't…"

  Crzethnuk leaned over him. "I'm only in partial control of this human. I cannot stray too far from the beacon. Otherwise, I lose control, and the human reasserts himself. I want the secret of possession, real possession, independent of the beacon. You have achieved it, and I want to know how. Clear enough now?"

  Colin gulped as he looked up at his captor. "Not really, to be honest."

  Crzethnuk grunted and straightened up. As he did, he caught sight of Forn, who was slowly backing away towards the elevator door. The Predecessor shot an accusing finger in his direction. "Where are you going?"

  "Who, me?" whimpered Form innocently.

  "Sit!" Crzethnuk barked.

  The poor man planted himself into a nearby chair so quickly he practically fell into it.

  The Predecessor turned his attention back towards his prisoner. "Very well, Klablath, persist in playing games if you wish. But let me ask you this. Have you, like me, rediscovered this rich variety of senses and emotions the corporeal realm has to offer, feelings our race had long since dismissed and forgotten?"

  Colin didn't reply.

  "I think it was a mistake to dispense with them," Crzethnuk went on. "I know you, and the rest of the dogmatists disagree with me, but these things are what make life worth living. Without them, we're just dry, boring intellect and that's no way to live. What is life without taste? Smell. Touch. Joy. Frustration. Pleasure. Pain."

  He leaned in closer.

  "Pain. Now there's an interesting phenomenon. Physical pain. We've forgotten all about that, but it exists here. Have you felt it yet, old man? A most hurtful, excruciating sensation. The kind that one might do anything to avoid. Anything." He straightened up again and began stalking slowly around the nexus chair. "You want to play games? How about this one? I'll show you what pain is, and we'll see how long you can stand it until you decide to give me the secret of possession."

  "Now, wait a minute," quavered Colin. "I…I really don't know what you're talking about. Hurting me isn't going to help you. I don't know what it is you want to know!"

  "I'll take that as a ‘yes,'" Crzethnuk replied.

  He turned away.

  Are you there? voiced Crzethnuk.

  Yes, replied Lowcuzt.

  Good. Then tell me how best to inflict pain.

  Huh?

  Between the two of us, you're the expert in getting hurt. You must know some techniques for hurting people so much they can't stand it.

  Torture. That's what Crzethnuk was getting at. Physical torture.

  He couldn't be certain, but Lowcuzt felt as though something ‘snapped' inside his mind.

  As potent and tempting as his ultimate dream had been, he finally had to face the fact that it was no longer worth it. This had all gone too far. Crzethnuk was completely out of control. Lowcuzt had to do something. But what could he do? He was powerless. He was just a voice. All he had were his words. What good were they?

  Crzethnuk seemed to spot something on the table beside the nexus chair. He pointed to it. The utility knife.

  Why don't I shove that into him? It went into my finger earlier, and that hurt like a bastard.

  Stab him? Don't be ridiculous, you could kill him.

  Kill him? Surely not. How about I just stick into one of his sensitive bits.

  No! cried Lowcuzt.

  An idea occurred to him. Words might have been all he had, but there was one thing that words could do. If he couldn't put a stop to things, he could at least influence them. He could reduce the harm.

  I know of one technique. A great one.

  Excellent. Tell me.

  Lowcuzt offered up a silent prayer to a god he didn't believe in, hoping that Crzethnuk—a complete novice in matters of physical feelings—would fall for his ploy.

  Have you ever heard of…tickling?

  Tick-a-ling? echoed Crzethnuk. No. Do tell.

  It's a technique that, when done right, will make a human thrash around loudly and beg for mercy.

  Hmm, sounds good. All right, let's try that. But you'll have to talk me through it.

  Lowcuzt let out a silent sigh of relief. I will.

  And if that doesn't work, then we try the stabbing thing.

  Crzethnuk turned back to Colin Douglass, then reached over to the table beside the nexus chair. Among the mess of tools and components sat a box of latex gloves, reserved for work on sensitive electronics.

  Colin watched in horror as Crzethnuk pulled out a fresh glove, tugged it over his hand, and let it go with a snap!

  "Well, Klablath," purred Crzethnuk, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see how your constitution handles a good…tick-a-ling!" />
  34

  Tyresa poked her head around the rocky mound. She and the others had landed on some higher ground which gave them an excellent view of the peninsula. The land stretched away from the mainland into the dark blue ocean. It was a singular patch of green and pleasant land jutting out from a vast and otherwise arid plain. At the centre sat the Lowcuzt compound, a manicured spread of buildings.

  From this vantage point, the whole site was visible. In the middle sat a sprawling building of chrome and glass, laid out in a figure eight to resemble an infinity loop. Several smaller buildings surrounded it, along with countless trees and lawns. The whole site was enclosed by a tall, grey wall. On its south side, a large, secure-looking gate served as the obvious main entrance.

  A few distant figures were visible walking around within the grounds and along the top of the wall. The ones at the wall wore red uniforms and carried rifles.

  Falco Shuffla appeared beside her and poked his head around the rocks too.

  "Interesting," he said. "The SAPs are out in force. I see close to twenty. If he hasn't increased their numbers since I left, that should be almost all of them. They're probably expecting an attack."

  "That's good," replied Tyresa. "With all the security busy sitting on the wall looking outwards, they'll miss me when I pop up on the inside. Now, show me the map again."

  They retreated behind the rocky mound that concealed them. Falco took out his slate. It displayed digital blueprints of the compound, including a long tunnel that ran far inland away from the site.

  He pointed at the tunnel. "This is the drainage tunnel I told you about," he explained. "It runs up to an underground lake and provides a water source for the compound. However, this time of year the lake level is low, so the tunnel will currently be dry." He pointed at a tatty old manhole cover a few metres away. "That's a maintenance access point. It leads down into the tunnel. Once inside, proceed north until you come to a shaft numbered twenty-two. Ascend it, and you'll come up here…"

  On the map, he pointed at a spot where the tunnel met another access point within the compound's walls.

  "This is a manhole on the east-side lawn. It's fairly secluded. As long as you get out unobserved, everyone will assume you're just another programmer." He pointed to a clock on the slate. "We're fortunate. The time is close to seventeen hundred hours. That's a shift change, meaning there'll soon be lots of programmers coming and going. You'll be able to blend into the crowd. After that, it's up to you."

  "Right," said Tyresa, scratching at one of the fake implants on her neck. Falco had dug out some of his old ones—a neck-mounted med-implant and a cyber monocle—and glued them to her skin. They made her look more like a Transhacker, but were damned irritating.

  "Leave them," barked Falco. "Or they'll fall off."

  "Yes, sir," sighed Tyresa sarcastically.

  She looked over her shoulder at the others. Beside a pair of shuttles, Robbi was briefing her security team, which now numbered twelve after the arrival of reinforcements. Ade was sitting in the back of the shuttle near the rear door. Jonn Shuffla, who'd refused to remain home alone, continued to patch up the damage. Tyresa walked over to them. As she came near, the android reached out his hand.

  "Good luck, ma'am," he said. It was the first time he'd moved any of his limbs since being shot.

  "Hey," she said, shaking his hand, "looks like the repairs are working."

  "Indeed they are, ma'am, although not rapidly enough that I may join you. My legs remain inoperative. I regret immensely that I am unable to assist on this occasion."

  "Ah, come off it, Ade. You've fished me out the shit so many times already, you'd qualify as an honorary sewage worker. You get to sit this one out. Ironic, seeing as I'm the one about to descend into the sewers." She patted him on the knee. "Get back on your feet soon as you can. I need you."

  "I shall endeavour, ma'am."

  Robbi completed her briefing and called Tyresa over. "Are you prepared?" she asked.

  "Ready, willing, and able," replied Tyresa.

  "Then let's go."

  They moved to the manhole, where the cover had already been removed. A ladder descended into the silent, dank-smelling darkness. Robbi sat on the edge, strapped a head-mounted lamp around her skull, and then lowered herself in. Tyresa did the same, following down until she was just a head poking out of the ground.

  "Look after them, Oric!" she called out to the Ensign whose job was to stay behind and guard Jonn and Ade while everyone else was away.

  She continued down the ladder, Robbi below her and close to a dozen security officers above.

  The tunnel was chilly and slimy. Boots splashed through puddles of water as everyone jogged along. Eerie draughts of air whistled from far away. Although it wasn't cramped, its diameter of no more than three metres made it feel claustrophobic in combination with the darkness. The only light came from a dozen or so head-mounted lamps that cast rapidly-darting beams around the grey walls.

  Occasionally, they passed numbered shafts that led back up to the surface.

  Twenty…twenty-one…shaft twenty-two. This was it. Robbi, Tyresa and the others congregated around the base of the ladder.

  Tyresa checked her watch. Two minutes to seventeen hundred. Perfect. Before she could drop her arm again, the Commander grabbed her hand and wrenched it towards herself, then began typing onto the wrist computer.

  "I'm programming my tekapt frequency into your computer," explained Robbi.

  "Giving me your home number, huh?"

  Robbi ignored her. "That means you'll be able to signal me directly. Now," she said, letting Tyresa's hand drop, "let's reiterate the plan."

  "Come on," moaned Tyresa. "We must have gone over it three times already."

  "Correct, but I believe it prudent to be sure with someone as impulsive and ill-disciplined as you. Remember, your only goal is to locate Colin Douglass. No heroics. Citizen Shuffla believes that Lowcuzt Null's secret project room is the most likely place Colin Douglass is being held, so that is your primary target. Investigate quietly—quietly—and, if you can, secure your friend's safety. In any event, signal me immediately after locating him. My team and I will then come up and retrieve you."

  Tyresa shrugged. "Couldn't be simpler."

  "Good luck, Doctor Jak," said the Commander with an encouraging nod. Whatever she was feeling, she hid it masterfully.

  "Thanks," Tyresa said simply. There wasn't anything else to say now. There was just a job to be done.

  She climbed the ladder until she reached a manhole cover. She pushed up, and the cover came loose with a scrape. Gently, she nudged up one side and peeped through the gap.

  Green grass surrounded the opening, its sweet smell wafting into Tyresa's nostrils. To one side stood the main building, while the outer wall was opposite it. Falco had been right; the hole was secluded. It was near the centre of the loop-shaped building, which meant the bulging out walls obscured it nicely from all but a portion of the outer wall. Right now, that portion was unoccupied, and nobody else seemed to be around.

  Tyresa removed her headlamp and dropped it down the shaft. A distant "ow!" echoed back up.

  "Sorry!" she said softly.

  She quietly shoved the cover aside, clambered out and onto the grass, and slid the cover back into place.

  She'd done it. She was inside.

  That tunnel might as well have been a wormhole to a different planet entirely. Everything had gone from dry, arid grassland to a world of manicured lawns and gently rustling palm trees. Even the air felt different, moist, and sweet.

  But there was no time to admire the compound's microclimatic engineering. Activity on the campus was beginning to surge. Towards the south entrance of the building, hundreds of people were on the move. Tyresa hurried to a path that ran alongside the main building and followed it towards the growing crowds. She walked nonchalantly, trying to look as natural as she could. Falco had told her that, if questioned, she should claim to be out taking a walk
, trying to find inspiration for some problem she was working on. Apparently, inspirational walks were big with programmers.

  Within moments, Tyresa had reached the front entrance and was among the noise and hubbub of hundreds of programmers. Some were entering the building, while others were exiting and going off towards the various satellite constructions. About ninety-five percent of them wore canvas trousers and dark t-shirts bearing slogans like:

  ‘I'm a machine for turning caffeine into code.'

  or

  ‘¬false: It's funny because it's true.'

  Hilarious.

  Tyresa joined the inbound stream of people. She tucked herself behind a couple of guys chatting amiably and passed through the main entrance into a spectacular lobby. It was like an air-conditioned cathedral to technology, its tall glass walls flooding the interior with light. Leather sofas and huge potted palm trees were dotted around on the pristine marble floor. Screens displayed everything from advertising campaigns to dashboards of numbers Tyresa couldn't understand. From the ceiling, high overhead hung enormous banners bearing various company logos. Some bore slogans too, a long one reading, ‘Synergistic thinking facilitates innovative functioning'—which presumably meant something to somebody—and a short one reading simply, ‘ThinkTM,' which must have helped remind those employees who forgot to do so from time to time.

  She chided herself for staring at everything. She was trying to blend in.

  The stream of people broke into various smaller columns. Each flowed in different directions. Falco had said to take the east doorway from the lobby. Coincidentally, the two guys in front of her headed the same way. She followed behind.

  A panel hung on the wall beside the doorway. A light on it flashed green as each person passed and was cleared by the security systems. She felt at the little neural implant inside her pocket. It was supposed to let her through any door on campus, but would it work? It had belonged to the dead SAP, but the other SAPs might have updated their security system already and taken their former comrade off the authorised list.