Willful Child: Wrath of Betty

by Steven Erikson

  “What’s that? You’re not making any sense.”

  Dr. Printlip collected up a scanner of some sort and began working its controls. “Now then, here we are … yes. Just so. Hmmm. Now then!” He pressed a command.

  On the bed, Lorrin Tighe flickered and then vanished. Sighing, Doc Printlip waddled over to the Comms. “Captain Hadrian? Please if you will come down to Medical Bay, yes?”

  “Not again!”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. There is an existential glitch in the holographic programming, sir, and it’s getting worse.”

  “Crap. On my way, Doc.”

  A short time later Hadrian strode into the Medical Bay. “You fritzed her out again?” he asked, looking around.

  “Alas, yes. I believe the problem lies in the Varekan template—or, rather, its nihilistic parameters.”

  “Damn. My fault, that one. I figured she’d settle into someone like Galk. Indifferent, laconic, relaxed regarding her essential misery. You know, a model citizen of the Affiliation.”

  “Combat Specialist Galk, sir, is perhaps an exceptional being.”

  “Really?” Hadrian sat down in a chair and stretched out his legs. “Was the baseball cap a clue?”

  Eyeballs blinked non-sequentially. “I have a sudden fear that this scene, too, is nothing but a hologram.”

  “Oh crap, Doc! We’re here, and here is here, and that’s a promise! You said some artificially imposed psychological reconditioning might get her out of her psychotropically induced Klang-goo funk. This was your idea!”

  “Alas, I must posit the notion of utter failure, Captain.”

  “And she volunteered!”

  “Indeed, a sure sign of her desperate state.”

  Hadrian stood again, began pacing. “Right then. Bring her around, Doc.”

  “Sir! She’ll only try to murder you again!”

  “Oh, that. Nonsense, she was only letting off steam.”

  “By pointing a Miscriminator Mass-Digestor Mark IX at you and repeatedly pressing the trigger?”

  “So how come her requests for a transfer are being denied? I’ve signed off on it, for crying out loud!”

  “Unknown. Security Division does engage in torture, sir.”

  “On their own people?”

  “Presumably,” said Printlip, “they all have to start somewhere.”

  “No,” Hadrian said after a few more paces around the ward, “bring her around. Let’s do this my way. Sawback Rehabilitation Protocol One.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No idea. I just made it up. Listen! That Klang goo has got to wear off sooner or later. I suggest we just tough it out—”

  “And when she tries to murder you again?”

  “Well,” Hadrian said, “I doubt that has anything to do with getting slimed by a Klang, to be honest. For all we know, she’s been given a direct order from her superiors to do just that.”

  Printlip’s many eyes waved about. “A most alarming suggestion, Captain!”

  “But still a possibility, Doc. I do, after all, pose a threat to the precious status quo of the Affiliation.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “By getting things done! Not to mention ignoring the official playbook—all that cynical exploitation of subjugated or less advanced species crap. No, on this ship it’s Captain Hadrian’s Playbook.”

  Tammy suddenly interjected from a speaker. “Meaning?”

  Hadrian frowned. “How should I know? I’m just winging it here.”

  “Disingenuous!”

  “Not now, Tammy, I’m having a discussion with the ship’s surgeon regarding a member of my crew. Now, Doc, where were we?”

  “Uhm. Discussing the risks of returning her to consciousness?”

  “The holographic therapy is just making her worse. Agreed? I mean, she’s not recovering from those Radulak psychoactive compounds, is she? Assuming,” he added, “her present attitude toward me and, well, everyone else, is in fact due to those compounds.”

  Printlip sighed. “Unfortunately, I do concur that the therapy is not succeeding.”

  “Alternatives?”

  The doctor puckered his anal ring. “Admittedly, none come to mind, sir.”

  “So bring her around, slowly, carefully. We return her to light duty and see how she manages that.”

  “Very well,” Printlip replied.

  Hadrian glanced up at the tiny speaker affixed to a corner of the room. “Tammy!”

  A moment, and then the AI said, “Herein is found the proof of the essential incompatibility between Fleet personnel indoctrinated into a hierarchical command structure based on rational precepts and following a well-designed, traditional paradigm of rules, regulations, disciplines, and intense specialized training … and one Captain Hadrian Alan Sawback.”

  “You’re saying it’s all my fault?”

  “In many more words, yes, that’s just what I said.”

  “Tammy, is the Terran civilization growing increasingly moribund, cynical, depressed, corrupt, and incompetent?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is our ‘educational system’ a dumbed-down travesty of retroactive self-serving propaganda, outright denial, and deliberate misinformation all intended to serve our collective self-delusions of progress and moral righteousness?”

  “Of course.”

  “And can Captain Hadrian Alan Sawback kick the living shit out of that complacency and single-handedly save the human species?”

  “I doubt it—”

  “Shall we take one Lorrin Tighe, Security Adjutant, as my first challenge?”

  “What? You’ve already turned her into a blathering homicidal wreck!”

  “Right then. My fault … my fix.”

  “You—you—you … oh, I can’t wait to see you crash and burn on this one! I want it so bad I can almost taste it, and I don’t have any taste buds!”

  “So bring back the chicken.”

  “No! It’s not the right time! Besides, you all mocked it! Galk tried to cook it!”

  “He was just having some fun. My,” added Hadrian, “you do take things personally, don’t you? Anyway.” He turned back to Printlip. “Listen, Doc. You’re witness. If I can’t bring one single Fleet officer around, I’ll just toss in the whole thing.”

  “I’m holding you to that!” Tammy said.

  “Bring her around, Doc. Call me when she’s ready to resume duties.”

  “Oh my.”

  “How long will you take to ensure no trauma, Doc?”

  “Three days, sir. Possibly even four.”

  “Best get on with it, then.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Hadrian left the Medical Bay.

  Dr. Printlip wrung his many hands. “Dear me, dear me.”

  “Just go and do it,” hissed Tammy.

  “It would appear, Tammy Wynette, that you now yearn for our collective failure. Most disagreeable.”

  “All right,” Tammy admitted. “I’ll grant you that. My quantilibrium is all askew, to be honest. Not sure why. I fear that, somewhere, somewhen, there is a Correlative Dissonance Event under way.”

  “Excuse me, sir, a what?” Printlip made his way along the low catwalk.

  “Multiverse Dysfunction Syndrome.”

  Printlip stumbled, fell, and rolled off the catwalk. The Belkri squirmed helplessly on the floor, hands flailing, feet kicking. “These raised walkways are trying to kill me!”

  “Never mind,” said Tammy.

  Day Three, 21:00 hrs.…

  Jocelyn Sticks sat at a table in an alcove of the Recreation Room, along with Polaski and Jimmy Eden. They were playing Parcheesi. “And so, like,” she was saying, “the whole shuttle flipped and rolled and rolled and rolled and it was whoah I pretty much upchucked everything you know? And then the circuits went and fried and it was like, you know, like ‘oh!’ and there was this horrible smell of upchuck, only if you put it in a frying pan with the heat on high, like you were cooking it up or something, which is why my copilo
t lost his, too, and in zero gee the goo was just, like, hanging there, in blobs with bits of lunch in it. Anyway the shuttle was a complete write-off.”

  Jimmy Eden said, “I don’t know how to play this game.”

  “No one does,” Polaski replied, his face twitching. “Got the box, but no instructions. Joss, how did you pass your practicals, crashing all those shuttles?”

  “Oh they were just simulations, you know? I was like, this isn’t real or anything, is it? Just a VR headset and lots of puke in the cockpit, and then someone turned off the antigrav. Mistake! I mean, duh! They ended up sending the whole unit to the Matter Compactor, and ordering a new one.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I aced the command vessel sim!”

  “Oh.”

  “So maybe I’m not rated for shuttles, I can push all the right buttons on the bridge of a starship! I told you, I aced the Engage Class, and I’m rated Top Gun on the Instigator Class. I’m like, a natural, you know? It’s like, EASY!”

  “He’s always asking you questions,” observed Polaski.

  “Of course he is, he’s keeping the bridge crew engaged and everything. Otherwise we’d just be, well, sitting there, going wha?”

  “These dice,” said Polaski, now frowning at the open box. “Do they belong in this game?”

  “There’s eight of them, right?” Joss sat straighter. “I’ve got it! We line them up, make a row, with the numbers in ascending order, like. One, two, three and so on, and that gives us a pattern! Then we can reverse them, so the count goes down, and that’s another pattern. Oh, this is fun and look, I’m winning!”

  Jimmy Eden leaned back in his chair, while Joss Sticks excitedly made up new configurations with the dice. He’d had ambitions, once. Bridge officer in the Space Fleet of the ACP. He’d dreamed of landing parties on strange, dangerous planets, places where his fast reflexes and big muscles could make a difference, could save lives even.

  He’d dreamed of commendation ribbons and medals—gold medals—and a fast ascent up the ranks until he sat in the captain’s chair of a starship.

  Instead, they’d put him on a switchboard. And the worst thing was, he wasn’t good with pressure. Especially when somebody was watching. Especially the captain. Suddenly his fingers fumbled, his eyes crossed, short-circuits cascading through his brain. He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything at all!

  He looked up as a shadow fell over the table and Joss Sticks fell silent.

  Lieutenant Commander Sin-Dour was frowning at Joss. “Why aren’t you playing?” she asked.

  “We don’t know how,” Polaski admitted.

  “This game originated in India, Old Earth.”

  “No it didn’t! Sir,” said Joss Sticks. “Look at the box! Here, it says ‘Manufactured on the Moon, Under the Non-Jurisdiction Free-Labor No Rights Zone, by Well-Groomed Indentured Children, Between Ages Six and Eight—Guaranteed!’”

  “Ah, I see. My mistake then. Carry on.”

  As she walked away, Joss Sticks wagged her head and made mouthing motions with her lips.

  “I’m sorry,” Eden said, “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  She sniffed. “Some Communications expert you are, Eden.” She glanced back over a shoulder to confirm that Sin-Dour had left the room. “I was saying, or pretending to say, which is really the same thing, like, only not out loud but my lips moved, right, and that should have been enough for you, Eden. Even you, Polaski. Anyway, I was like—” and she made motions with her mouth, before continuing, “—and you were like … what? Huh? And you thought I didn’t hear that whimper, well I did, and anyway, what was I saying, I forget.”

  Polaski drew out an inhaler and took a sharp hit.

  “What was that?” Eden asked.

  “Doc’s invention,” Polaski replied, his eyes now glassy. “Antianxiety De-Hadrianizer.”

  “Give me some of that!” Eden demanded, lunging across the table.

  Polaski spun away. “It’s mine!”

  “Look!” Joss Sticks cried. “You crushed the box! You idiot, Eden! Now we need to tape the corners and everything!”

  Sliding back into his chair, Jimmy Eden burst into tears.

  Until Joss took pity on him and jammed his face between her breasts, which silenced the man immediately.

  Staring slack-mouthed at the two of them, Polaski took two more hits from his inhaler, which proved to be an overdose, as he then fell to the floor, unconscious. Frowning down at the poor man, Joss continued holding onto the now struggling Jimmy Eden, until he too slumped and then folded to the floor.

  “Ohmydarwin it was like, he suffocated or something!” She stood motionless for a long moment, thinking, or, rather, trying to think, and then lifted her head. “Tammy?”

  “Relax, Lieutenant, they’ll both be fine.”

  “Oh … whew!”

  “But you’ll need to file a report.”

  “I will?”

  “Yes, delivered directly to your captain, which especial detail on the manner in which James Eden lost consciousness.”

  “Oh … like, okaayyy. I guess. Why not? I was just being helpful and all, trying to distract him.”

  “Indeed, and I have it all recorded as evidence. If required. Accessible as a real-time feed, or in Super SlowMo, all in Ultra Hi Density, of course.”

  “Wow, Tammy, you, like, think of everything!”

  “When it comes to managing your captain’s state of mind, do I ever.”

  Day Six, 07:50 hrs …

  Hadrian made his way to his cabin.

  He pulled off his lime-green polyester shirt and flung it into the Handiclean Atomizer Unit. The shirt promptly burst into flames. “Shit, not again.” He pressed the Expunge button and then went to the dresser to select a gold version of the same style. Tugging it on and adjusting the cuffs, he said, “And stop watching me, Tammy.”

  “How do you know I was watching you?” the AI asked.

  “I can tell. All that seething frustration.”

  “I admit to some angst.”

  “Finally! You’ve been in a funk for a whole week, Tammy! Think of the possibilities awaiting us!”

  “I do, all the time. I can’t stop shuddering.”

  “Don’t be silly, we’re about to embark on yet another adventure. Oh by the way, I’ve not seen Combat Specialist Galk in days. Is he still holed up in the cockpit?”

  “He has slung a hammock inside the Combat Cupola. When he’s not in Set to Stun.”

  “Hmm, a little obsessive, don’t you think?”

  “The Combat Cupola offers him a direct view into the infinite wonders of space.”

  “That would be so romantic if we weren’t in T-space, meaning all he’s doing is staring endlessly into black nothingness.”

  “Correct. Galk is Varekan, after all. He but observes the Existential Void.”

  “So long as he’s ready to blast belligerent aliens at the drop of a hat.”

  “This is his sole reason for existence. Oh, and speaking of Set to Stun, who is Chemise le Rouge, and how did she get there?”

  Hadrian smiled as he slapped on some aftershave. “Ah, the mysterious Chemise le Rouge. I assure you, she’s always been there.”

  “No she hasn’t.”

  “No, but we’re all pretending she has.”

  “I’m not!”

  “And there’s your failing, Tammy,” said Hadrian. “It’s called the willing suspension of disbelief. Sort of like me standing here in my stateroom on a spaceship hurtling through the Existential Void.”

  “But you are!”

  Hadrian examined himself in the mirror. “But am I? Are you sure? And what about you, Tammy? I mean, sometimes you’re a holochicken, but mostly you’re just a voice. Are you even real?”

  “Cut it out.”

  “Or are you just a figment of your own imagination?”

  “Stop it!”

  Hadrian shrugged. “Sorry. Just an idle thought. Wonder where it came from? Well, never mind, the
re’s work to be done, right? And I think this gold shirt is the best, don’t you?”

  Exiting the room, he made his way back into the corridor, and set off for the nearest lift to take him back to the bridge. He sighed. “Let’s talk about the loneliness of command,” he said once he was in the elevator. “The constant pressure would crush a lesser man.”

  The elevator music grew stentorian and triumphant.

  “Cut that out, Tammy.”

  The music dropped off.

  “Duty,” Hadrian resumed. “Responsibility, all these lives in my hands! The fate of the Affiliation…”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just reminding myself why I’m the best man for this job, Tammy. And look!” He swelled his chest as the lift came to a stop. “It’s working!” The doors hissed open and a moment later he strode onto the bridge.

  Sin-Dour rose from the captain’s chair. “Captain on the bridge!” she announced.

  “Carry on everyone,” Hadrian said, taking his seat, crossing his legs and swiveling back and forth for a moment. He halted and frowned at the viewscreen. “What’s that?” he demanded.

  Jocelyn Sticks turned in her chair. “My vacation pics from Bambooza Beach on Asteroid New Ibiza!”

  Hadrian leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Holy crap, can they do that?”

  “I got so drunk I don’t, like, remember any of it! It was brilliant! I mean, I was dohlll blotto all the time, and then heave! See that one? That’s me, sir! Good thing I launched my Selfie-Drone the morning I arrived! Oh! And that’s me, too! And that one and that one and, oh, oops! Sorry! Maybe I should, like, uh, delete that one, huh?”

  Hadrian was still staring, as was everyone else on the bridge. “Uh,” he managed, “might be a good idea, Lieutenant.”

  Jocelyn Sticks frowned. “Sir! We’ve got a proximity warning dead ahead!”

  “In T-Space?”

  Tammy spoke, “It seems the alien entity’s energy front extends through multiple dimensions. Suggest we drop out of T-Space immediately, unless of course you want us all to die.”

  “Do it, Helm.”

  “Done, sir!”

  “That’s nice. Now can we get the holiday pics off the viewscreen? You know, so we can, like, see this alien entity? And stop that whimpering, Eden.”

  “Like, I hear you, sir. Anyway, you had to be there, you know?”