Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  What are you doing? asked Lowcuzt. You just spent all that time building this damned contraption, now you're taking it apart?

  No, replied Crzethnuk. I spent all that time perfecting the transference procedure, and the nexus chair was a convenient test apparatus. The chair is no longer of any use. I will use a more efficient delivery method.

  Efficient?

  Yes. Did you think I was going to use the chair for all my followers? That would take an eternity.

  After finishing, Crzethnuk dragged the mass of cables over to one of the computer terminals. He removed its back panel and began hooking up the wires, connecting the beacon to the terminal.

  It didn't make any sense, but before Lowcuzt could enquire further Klablath called out.

  "Lowcuzt Null! If you can hear me, Lowcuzt Null, know this: Crzethnuk's actions will result in the deaths of millions of humans. Do you hear me? Millions."

  What's he talking about? You said you were bringing back a few friends. You said you were a tiny faction.

  No, I said I lead a tiny fraction of the Predecessors, but only a tiny one, really. Point one percent, tops.

  A fraction of them? But how many Predecessors are there in total?

  In the ethereal realm? Trillions.

  Trillions? But…but a fraction of one percent of trillions equates to millions! You want to bring millions of Predecessors back and force them into human bodies? You never said anything about that many.

  Didn't I? Oh, sorry, I've had a lot on my mind recently.

  But how can you even do that?

  Thanks to PanJoin, of course. Every human in your pitiful little Collective has an implant in their brain. Most of them run PanJoin, a computer network whose hub is this very building. It provides the perfect distribution mechanism.

  You mean…you're going to hook the beacon directly into PanJoin?

  Precisely. The consciousnesses of my followers will flow out through the beacon, across the network, and directly into all those unsuspecting brains. Hardly the best brains we might have hoped for, but better than nothing.

  But you can't do that!

  As you can clearly see, replied Crzethnuk as he continued hooking the cables in place, I can, and I shall.

  What about my uplift? You haven't been working on that at all, have you? I'll bet you've no intention of honouring your part of our deal.

  Ah, I've been meaning to discuss that you. You're right, I won't. Discussion concluded.

  But I trusted you.

  That was your first mistake. Trust is a dreadful human weakness. Now be quiet.

  Lowcuzt was approaching full-blown panic mode. He felt like his frenzied mind was bouncing off the inside of his skull.

  Suddenly, an alarm in the room began shrieking. Crzethnuk looked up to see red lights flashing on the walls.

  "Forn!" he yelled. "What's happening?"

  Forn activated a nearby wall screen. The view showed feeds from various security sensors. What looked like ten or more armed soldiers had stormed into the lobby of the main building. Terrified employees were rushing in all directions.

  Lowcuzt didn't know whether to cheer or cry at the spectacle.

  "Damn," growled Crzethnuk before resuming his wiring at double speed.

  "It's over, Crzethnuk," came Klablath's voice. "Give up now, so no more humans have to suffer. You're out of time."

  "I have a little time remaining," muttered Crzethnuk, "and that's all I need."

  Most of the cables appeared to be in place. Only a handful remained loose. Crzethnuk looked briefly at the screen again. The armed invaders seemed to be held up in one of the corridors, exchanging fire with a couple of SAPs who had taken shelter behind a foosball table.

  "That's right, my precious little SAPs," said Crzethnuk. "Just give me a few more minutes."

  As he spoke, Forn made a dash for the exit and began pounding the door controls furiously.

  "Forn, get back here at once, you miserable little microbe!"

  "You must be joking," replied Forn, pointing to the big screen. "It's every Transhumanist for themselves now!"

  Crzethnuk growled inwardly. Oh, forget him anyway. He's no use anymore.

  Meanwhile, Lowcuzt's mind surged with a kind of mental adrenaline as it scrabbled cerebrally. Lives depended on what he did next. Either millions of people were about to become possessed or, more likely, have their brains fried by Crzethnuk's horrific gizmo. Lowcuzt had to stop him, but how?

  How?!

  HOW?!

  Aaagghh! he cried, achieving full-blown hysteria.

  His hands began to tremble uncontrollably. It was like his earlier, brief panic attack, only it felt much more intense.

  What are you doing? demanded Crzethnuk, watching the wobbling wires in his hand.

  Pins and needles spread from his fingertips and down his hands like ice-cold water. The feeling spread into his arms like blood flowing back into a sleeping limb. The rush. The adrenaline. It was causing control to return.

  Lowcuzt's mind came back from the edge. He summoned up enough of his wits to focus on his hand. It felt heavy and sluggish as he tried to move it. He urged his hand to open, and it obeyed, dropping the wires.

  Stop that! This is my body now.

  The feeling soon spread across his torso. With all his mental might, Lowcuzt retook tenuous control of his arms. They now moved at his command, albeit as though weights were attached to the wrists.

  No! Give me back control.

  Then his legs. Lowcuzt backed away from the computer terminal. Finally, his body was his own again.

  But control might only have been temporary, liable to evaporate at any second. He had to do something while he had the chance. Lowcuzt turned just in time to see Forn disappear into the elevator.

  "F-Forn!" Lowcuzt rasped, just barely able to speak again.

  Too late. The doors closed behind his assistant. Banish it! What now?

  Klablath was his only hope now. Surely the other Predecessor knew best what to do. He had to free Colin Douglass's body. Lowcuzt staggered over to the desk like a drunkard and began rifling through the piles of equipment. It was here somewhere…somewhere…

  …there!

  The utility knife.

  He snatched it up and lumbered towards Klablath, who glared at the blade.

  "It's…all right," struggled Lowcuzt. "I'm…going to…free you."

  His shaking hand moved towards one of the cables binding Klablath's arm to the chair.

  No! yelled Crzethnuk, louder and angrier than ever before.

  Lowcuzt's knees begin to buckle. The feeling drained from his legs. His arms, too, began to go numb. An invisible force pushed against his knife-wielding hand, wrenching it away from the wrist and towards the man's chest.

  Lowcuzt felt utterly exhausted. He didn't have much left to give.

  I'll kill him before I let you free him.

  The blade scraped against the fabric of his shirt.

  No. You. Won't!

  With his last gasp, Lowcuzt pushed back, dragging the knife back towards the bond.

  Klablath lifted his arm and held the cable taut.

  The blade edged closer to it.

  Closer.

  And closer.

  Until…

  Snap!

  The cable was cut.

  Lowcuzt wheezed as his will gave out. He dropped the knife, and it fell at Klablath's feet. Lowcuzt, too, fell to the ground. It was no good. He was utterly spent, unable to feel his body at all. He was nothing but a spectator again.

  Crzethnuk reasserted control and sat up in time to see Klablath grab the knife and cut the other cable. As Crzethnuk scrambled to his feet, Klablath jumped out of the chair, but he made no move towards his enemy. Instead, he dashed away, blade in hand, towards the computer terminal and the muddle of wires.

  His obvious intent was to hack them to pieces.

  "Oh no, you don't!" cried Crzethnuk.

  He ran and leaped onto Klablath's back, seizing his knife
-wielding hand and knocking it against the computer. The blade went flying out of sight.

  In response, Klablath kicked against the terminal, sending both bodies stumbling backwards. They landed with a crash against the table. Dozens of components showered noisily onto the floor. Klablath and Crzethnuk both flopped onto the ground.

  Crzethnuk got to his feet first and seized at the nearest bulky thing to hand: an aluminium cable tidy, one of a couple that had been on the table. Ordinarily, it was just a metre-long metal tube for housing wires, but in determined hands, it was a sturdy weapon. That's certainly what Crzethnuk intended to demonstrate as he grabbed the thing with both hands, raised it over his head and bore down on his target.

  Klablath got to his feet and hastily grabbed at the second cable tidy. Crzethnuk swung his down with a cry, but Klablath held his tube up just in time to block. They met with a shuddering krang!

  But Crzethnuk refused to give his opponent an inch. Again and again, he swung his pipe. Each time, Klablath met it with his own, deflecting the blow and edging backwards. Finally, Crzethnuk saw his chance when his enemy stepped back and stumbled on a small tin that had fallen to the floor. He swung. Klablath floundered and tried to duck, but the pipe struck him on the upper arm. He fell to one knee with a cry. Crzethnuk went for a second strike, but Klablath rallied surprisingly quickly, got to his feet again and jumped out of the way.

  The Predecessors stood, catching their breath and staring coldly at each other. Both brandished their pipes like sabres.

  "You can't win, Crzethnuk," said Klablath. "If you strike me down…I'll just get up again. And again. And again, until you suh-suh-surrender."

  For a brief moment, Klablath looked faint and unsteady.

  "‘Suh-suh-surrender?'" Crzethnuk laughed. "Your powers are weak, old man."

  But Klablath regained his composure. "We'll see about that!" he yelled as he launched his own offensive, swinging his pipe with remarkable strength.

  His blow was harder than expected. Crzethnuk stumbled back, finding himself suddenly on the back foot. Strike after strike came at him and he struggled to fend off Klablath's desperate swipes. After a dozen of them, the pipe smashed against his knuckles. Pain flooded into Crzethnuk's hand. He screamed and shook his injured hand, leaving his weapon in a tenuous, one-handed grip.

  Klablath brought his tube around for a final swing, which would surely send Crzethnuk's weapon flying from his hand and render him defenceless.

  But Klablath again went faint. His neck and arms went limp, and he looked close to collapsing.

  "I kuh-kuh-keep losing control," he stuttered.

  Crzethnuk didn't waste time. Despite the pain, he clasped both hands around his pipe and swung.

  Klablath rallied just in time to try and parry the blow, but his grip on the weapon was slack. This time, Klablath's pipe went flying from his hands.

  He was defenceless.

  38

  In the anteroom, some kind of alarm screamed out, but Tyresa was too preoccupied to be distracted by it. She was caught in a struggle with a SAP who fought like a panicking baboon: not particularly strong, but vicious and dirty.

  He swung his arms, he slapped, kicked, and bit. His unpredictability had given him a brief advantage, but it was becoming obvious he was just an undisciplined amateur, one who thought he was a prize-winning fighter simply because he wore a smart uniform and carried a gun.

  Or, at least, had carried a gun. The weapon now lay somewhere at the other end of the room. Doubtless, Tyresa wasn't the only one thinking about it.

  The SAP switched to throwing his unruly punches again. Tyresa showed him how to do it properly, ducking one of his messy, broad swings, then following up with a clean, straight jab of her own. Her fist met his left eye with a satisfying smack and sent him reeling.

  Now was her chance.

  She barged the stunned man aside and made a run to the other end of the room where the pistol had flown. She skidded to a halt, desperately looking around for the weapon.

  She spotted it on the floor near the elevator doors.

  But just as she went to grab it, the heft of the SAP's body thudded into the back of her knees, sending her toppling forward and crashing to the floor. A second later, the SAP leapt onto her back, flung an arm around her neck and began to squeeze.

  Tyresa tried everything to resist. She pulled at his arm, but couldn't release his grip. She pushed against the floor, but couldn't turn the pair of them over. She reached around, trying to find a pressure point, but he squirmed too much. All the while, she struggled to breathe.

  Soon enough, her head began to swim.

  But then she felt something as she fumbled at the SAP's neck: the med-implant. Her fingertips ran against the buttons on its surface. Something Robbi had told her about them ages ago flashed to mind. A certain button combination. What was it?

  Tyresa fumbled towards the two buttons that came to mind. Was she right? There was only one way to find out. She lined up her fingers and pressed. As she did, the little machine beeped. The SAP stopped snarling and let out a breath. His grip loosened a little. She pressed the same combination again. And again. And again. After six presses, the SAP sighed, and his body went limp.

  She'd obviously remembered right. One press delivered a dose of a mild, anxiolytic tranquilliser. She'd just given him six doses, enough to get a giant mammothunk stoned.

  She flipped the two of them over until she was lying on top of the SAP and staring at the ceiling, then gulped down several breaths. Composed again, she struggled to her feet. Finally, she could get the gun.

  But when she turned and reached for it, the gun was gone. In its place, were a pair of dark shoes. Her eyes moved upwards. Above the shoes were a pair of blue trousers, which themselves stood beneath a black roll-neck sweater. Atop the sweater was a bald head wearing an expression as welcoming as a hermit eyeing an oncoming bachelor party.

  All the parts went together to form a short, slightly-built man, who nevertheless was pointing a pistol at Tyresa.

  "What in exile is going on here?" he snapped.

  "Citizen…" slurred the SAP's dreamy voice as he slowly got to his knees. He wore an inane grin on his face, and his pupils were the size of commemorative coins. "Citizen Forn. This woman is an… erm… intruder…I guess is the word? Isn't it?"

  Tyresa gestured at the SAP. "Too many happy pills," she explained. "And on duty, too!"

  The guy now known as Forn peered at her and then looked at the handful of fake implants that had fallen off and scattered around the floor. "Not a Transhumanist, clearly. Who are you?"

  There was no longer any point using her alias. They'd all seen through her disguise now.

  "I'm a friend of Colin Douglass," she replied. "And I'm here for him."

  Forn took a moment to consider his response. "That's all you want? What about Lowcuzt Null?"

  "I'm not interested in him."

  He paused again. The panicky, despondent look on his face suggested someone who wasn't accustomed to thinking in a crisis, or, for that matter, accustomed to thinking for himself much at all. Despite that, he seemed finally to fumble towards some kind of decision. He looked at the SAP. "You'd better get out of here."

  The SAP staggered to his feet. "Leave? But…what…"

  "There's a small army now storming this building, citizen. We need to get out of their way."

  "But…" the SAP mumbled. "We must protract…I mean, protect Lowcuzt Null."

  "No," said Forn. "Lowcuzt Null has lost his mind. We must think of our own safety now."

  "Our safety? W-what about our loyalty to—"

  "Forget loyalty!" snapped Forn. "You're not loyal to Lowcuzt. You were conditioned to serve him. He programmed you like he'd program a computer. And then you were conditioned to forget you'd been conditioned in the first place."

  The SAP's face was a picture of confusion.

  "Just go," commanded Forn. "That's an order."

  "What about you, citizen?"

>   Forn swallowed. "I wasn't conditioned. I gave in to Lowcuzt willingly. But now I doubt Lowcuzt Null was ever really deserving of loyalty. You, at least, are free of guilt. Whereas I…"

  His voice trailed off. He left the rest of his thought unsaid and repeated his command to the SAP, who finally obeyed and went out the door.

  That left Tyresa alone with him. They sized each other up. He moved first. He began to sidestep slowly, circumnavigating her and eyeing her closely as he inched towards the exit. Tyresa stared back, turning with him as he moved.

  "Is Colin all right?" she asked.

  "I don't quite know how to answer that," he replied. "He's alive."

  "But?"

  "Like Lowcuzt, he's not himself," was Forn's enigmatic response. "What are your intentions towards Lowcuzt?"

  "I told you, I don't care about him. I'm here to get my friend."

  "And the artifact? Are you after that too?"

  So, there was an artifact after all. Quite possibly in that room with Colin.

  However, best to keep things simple and feign ignorance. "I don't know anything about an artifact."

  Forn finally came to a stop. He now stood at one end of the desk, near the exit.

  "Look," he said. "I suppose people are going to discover what happened in there very soon. You and everyone else must know that I didn't want any of this to happen. It wasn't my fault. I got caught up in it against my will. It's Lowcuzt Null, you see. He can be so persuasive. He—"

  "I know, I know." Tyresa waved away his words. "It's like he's got a reality distortion, blah, blah."

  "Exactly. He can inspire loyalty like no-one I've ever known."

  Except it wasn't loyalty, thought Tyresa. Real loyalty meant standing by someone, no matter the danger you face. Running away at the first signs of a crisis suggested something much more one-sided.

  "Why don't you help me?" she offered. "Come in there with me and help me rescue Colin."

  "Oh, I couldn't do that," he replied. "I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't turn on you the minute I saw…him again. You go ahead alone, get your friend. As far as I'm concerned, it's every Transhumanist for themselves now. I suppose you'll want this…"