by M. D. Cooper
The man’s words were cut off as a pulse blast hit him and knocked him to the deck. Moments later, another man stepped into his place.
“Hello. I’m Captain Kyle. I’m instructing every ship to send you the data you’ve asked for. Our databurst is highlighting the other two gates in the system.”
“Very good,” Joe replied. “We’ll evaluate this intel to ensure it’s accurate and truthful.” He closed the channel and looked to the comm officer. “Well?”
“Sir, they’re just flooding us with data now. However, I can confirm that they did send the coordinates of two other gates.”
Joe glanced at Captain Tracey, who nodded before saying, “Preparing a spread of picomissiles.”
“Good. Also, fire some at the gate we’re using, and set a ten-minute timer following activation. We’ve messed around here enough.”
A GENERAL BESIEGED
STELLAR DATE: 10.12.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Medical Center, Durgen Station
REGION: Karaske System, Rimward of Orion Nebula, Orion Freedom Alliance
General Garza looked down at the body before him, a feeling of cold satisfaction suffusing his mind as he gazed at the lifeless clone in the medtube.
“The extraction was a complete success,” the woman standing across from him verified. “We’re loading it into the merged mind.”
“Good.” Garza’s single word carried both his appreciation for the woman’s achievement, and his disdain for the thing they were creating.
Initially, the idea of cloning himself—as President Uriel of the Hegemony of Worlds did—had seemed wise. He had been able to spread his reach and reduce risk to himself, while also re-merging the clones’ memories back into his mind when their missions were complete.
But over time, the cognitive dissonance created by conflicting memories and timelines had begun to overwhelm him. He felt fractured, like his past selves were warring with one another.
It wasn’t just mental, either. His mods were not designed to handle overlapping event timestamps for activities that were all from his point of view. It required alterations to his data storage systems, and that had caused more fracturing.
In the end, it had been A1 who had suggested he make a separate construct and store the merged minds in it, a form of AI avatar that would be able to handle the overlapping data and that he could interrogate as needed to learn what was necessary about the clones’ activities.
Another desired side effect was the elimination of the other copies of himself, all of whom seemed to believe that they were the original version.
That fallacy had taken root in the clones’ minds, nearly leading to disaster when the clone assigned to manage the Nietzschean emperor had returned to Karaske thinking he was the original Garza. There had been an attempted coup, but Garza had successfully defended his position. He’d put that clone down and replaced him with the newer version, which was more malleable, if a bit less imaginative.
The price I must pay for maintaining control.
To his knowledge, there were still seven of the original clones out there, clones he needed to find and eliminate, lest they develop the same belief that they were originals.
“I estimate that we’ll have the construct back online in one hour,” the woman said after a minute of waiting for Garza to speak. “Should I dispose of this shell?”
Garza looked up from the body of his clone, and studied the medical technician. For a moment, he couldn’t remember who she was; his mind was filled with so many faces that he couldn’t recall which were which at times, and people weren’t as unique as they liked to think.
He triggered an AR overlay, and the text that appeared next to her read ‘Gemini’. It seemed wrong, but he had no reason to doubt it.
“Yes, of course.”
He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, walking down the long corridor that connected the secure wing to the general medical district on Durgen Station.
Once in the lower security section of the facility, the crowds thickened, and he moved to the side of the passage, head turned to the right as he looked out the large curved window that supplied a view of the station and its fifty concentric rings that encircled the once-moonlet that bore the same name.
It reminded him of the Cho back in Sol—though that orbital structure was much larger, now on the verge of dwarfing Mars in mass. But where the Cho was a chaotic growth, one that had been expanded by adding ring after ring for over six thousand years, Durgen was elegant and beautiful.
And far more defensible than the Jovian’s construct.
Most people in the Orion Freedom Alliance had no idea that Durgen functioned as the headquarters for Garza’s operation. Even Praetor Kirkland himself thought that his division operated from another station elsewhere in the Karaske System.
No one would expect that the most secret and powerful division of the Orion Guard was housed in a civilian station that was known for its beauty and amazing views of the storms raging below on the gas giant Tamalas.
It suited Garza. Hiding in plain sight was his preference. Not only that, but like the tourists that frequented the station, he too enjoyed the view of the planet below.
At present, just beyond the station’s furthest ring, he could see a jet of hydrogen rising up from the planet’s surface and stretching a thousand kilometers into space, where it blasted matter into the cosmos. The jet would eventually form another ring around the planet. Over that time, the new gas ring would merge with another, or be dissipated by a moon’s orbit. All of which was carefully managed by the Tamalas Caretakers Guild, which ensured that rings and ejecta didn’t obscure the view of the planet.
Unlike most station AIs in Orion space, Animus wasn’t an NSAI, but rather a fully sentient AI. The official rationale for using an SAI to manage Durgen was that the station was too complex for non-sentient beings, but the truth was that Animus’s primary task was to maintain the fiction that Durgen was a wholly civilian facility.
If pressed, Garza would privately admit that the AI’s presence was also a way to thumb his nose at Praetor Kirkland—even if the man didn’t know the true reason for Animus’s presence.
Granted, he probably doesn’t even know that there is an AI operating this station. The fool.
Garza wasn’t surprised; the Perilous Dream was a sizable vessel. Vector matching with a ring for such a craft was time-consuming. Far more expedient to park it in a high orbit and take a shuttle in.
Still, though it had been centuries since he’d met A1 face to face, the last time she’d come to Durgen, her ship had docked directly.
A minute later, Garza reached the medical district’s main concourse, where a dockcar waited. Once he settled into it, leaning back in the deep seat, the vehicle rose into the air and sped off toward his destination.
He lost himself in review of updates and messages during the journey, noting that the Hegemony of Worlds had swallowed more of its neighbors, establishing an een stronger front, even in the face of the Scipians and League of Sentients. Meanwhile, the Septhian victory against Nietzschea had emboldened that nation to press their advantage against the empire.
Elsewhere, things were going better. The Trisilieds had weathered the first attack by the New Canaanites, and the Sarentons were pressing forward in Corona Australis. Souring that welcome news were rumors of attacks in the Perseus Expansion Districts, though little reliable intel had arrived on that matter.
If I became alarmed at every rumor, I’d be in a constant state of panic.
He repeated the thought to solidify his belief in it
, though that reiteration didn’t stop a worry from taking hold in the back of his mind, a concern that perhaps a counterattack was underway.
All of that paled in comparison to the news that A1 had sent, news which had precipitated his demand that she attend him in person. An entire team of Widows had been sent to kill Tanis Richards, and had failed. If A1’s assassins couldn’t take out that one woman, how much faith could he put in their ability to destroy the Airthan ring?
The view outside the dockcar changed as the vehicle passed through a grav shield and ventured out into space, racing over the rings on its way to A1’s point of arrival. His eyes roved over the thousands of ships surrounding Durgen Station, and a red outline appeared around the brooding mass of the Perilous Dream.
He wasn’t certain if it was his imagination or not, but it appeared as though other vessels were giving the black ship a wide berth, creating a notable pocket of empty space around the sinister-looking ship.
“Ever the dramatic one,” he whispered, shaking his head at both A1’s general attitude as well as what she’d turned herself into.
Even Kirkland had made a few offhand statements about Lisa Wrentham having gone too far in her pursuit of the perfect human weapon. Of course, the praetor also had a soft spot for Lisa, and so he allowed her to continue with the use of her Widows—something Garza was certain the ruler of the Orion Freedom Alliance would not allow with any other.
A minute later, the dockcar re-entered the station, passing into yet another high-ceilinged concourse, the air filled with vehicles, while maglevs raced above and below. On either side of the car were dozens of levels filled with people, and beyond, the docking bays containing smaller ships, shuttles, and pinnaces.
After a minute of speeding through the areas of the concourse reserved for the general public, Garza’s dockcar passed into a less-busy section, eventually coming to rest at the edge of the deck that serviced Bay 1811.
He climbed out of the car and strode across the near-empty deck to the bay’s entrance. Within, a black pinnace was settling onto the cradle. He walked toward it at a leisurely pace, reaching the dock’s ramp as it began to rise to meet the ship’s airlock.
After a minute, the airlock opened, and four Widows emerged. His HUD tagged the one in the lead as A1, and she was followed by others bearing the indicators E12, R71, and Q93.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he really was meeting with the A1, and, if the creature before him was the Widows’ leader, if she was really the original Lisa Wrentham.
Not that it matters overmuch. She functions as desired for now, and one day, I’ll sate my curiosity. I wonder if I’ll be able to tell that it’s her just by removing her helmet, or if getting to the truth will require more invasive examination?
“A1,” he said in greeting as she reached the bottom of the ramp. “You made good time.”
“General Garza.” She inclined the featureless oval that enveloped her head. “I agreed with your assessment that we need to advance our timetable, so there was no reason to remain in hiding. I have sent out missives for my Widows to return to the Perilous Dream in preparation for the next phase.”
“Excellent. We’ll need as many of your assassins as you still have, if we’re to meet our objectives.”
“Still have?” A1’s lisping ethereal voice took on a hard edge. “I have multitudes.”
“Of course. I was worried after your recent losses is all.”
A1 didn’t reply, though he could feel annoyance flowing from her slight frame.
“Very well.” Garza gestured to the bay’s exit and the dockcar visible beyond. “We’ll discuss specifics in a more private setting.”
* * * * *
A1 gave Garza a sidelong look as she walked next to him, her three guards in tow. Despite her sisters’ insistence that she bring them all along, she’d left Faleena and Priscilla behind on the Perilous Dream, only bringing Saanvi—or rather, E12—along.
The other Widows in her escort, R71 and Q93, had no idea that their leader had been switched out, and they’d been selected because their history of identifying falsehood was marginally worse than other Widows.
She didn’t plan to give her guards reason to suspect her, but she wasn’t going to stack the odds against herself any more than necessary.
She turned her thoughts back to Garza, curiosity burning in her as to what he planned to do next. She knew that his ultimate goal was to overthrow Praetor Kirkland and assume control of the Orion Freedom Alliance—preferably when the OFA was in a position to defeat its enemies and assume control of the galaxy. However, she didn’t know the details of how he planned to accomplish that goal.
If Lisa Wrentham had known, it wasn’t something that A1 had pulled from the other woman.
“So, General,” she began as they settled into the dockcar. “I’m calling my Widows home, what about your clones?”
The lean man gave her a sidelong look. “You can simply order your Widows about. My situation is…trickier.”
“Oh?” A1 asked. “Is it because of what I warned you about? They all think they’re the original?”
Garza’s lips thinned and he nodded. “Yes. I suppose there’s something to be said for your approach.”
“Indeed,” A1 nodded, getting the feeling that he was pushing her to reveal whether or not she was the original Lisa Wrentham. “You should have known from my centuries of work that clones are neither simple, nor something to be trifled with. More than one civilization has fallen as a result of messing with cloning.”
“And you’re not ‘messing’?”
“I’m the only one not messing. So, tell me. Now that we’re in private, what do you propose to be our next steps?”
The general leant back in his seat, staring across the car at A1 before glancing at the other three Widows.
A spear of fear struck A1 as she considered her options. Her face was identical to every other Widow, including that of Lisa Wrentham; removing her helmet would tell him nothing. However, what she didn’t want to do was give Garza that level of perceived control over her.
Or it’s a test…should I, or shouldn’t I?
She sent a command to the other three Widows, and they all unsealed their helmets, pulling the front half off. A1 looked at E12, noting that it was impossible to tell that Saanvi was not really a Widow—except for perhaps a spark of something in her eyes.
The general carefully took in each of the white-skinned women, their large eyes, missing noses and ears, near lipless mouths. A look of sadness seemed to flash across his face, and he turned to A1.
“And you?”
She complied and showed her face, a mirror of the other three.
“I can tell that this is important to you, but we are all Widows, General Garza. All my Autonomous Infiltration and Attack Simulacras are.”
“But are you Lisa?” he asked, his voice cracking for a moment as he said her name. “Tell me, where did we meet?”
Luckily, that memory had been one that had lodged itself firmly in A1’s mind after she had drawn out Lisa Wrentham’s thoughts.
“We met on New Europa in Alula Australis. You were an up-and-coming major in the Defense Force, agitating to bolster our military.”
“Anyone could know that.” Garza sliced a hand through the air, his tone dismissive. “Where specifically?”
“We were at Superior Station. You came into the mess hall, got a bowl of chili, and sat at the same table as Finaeus and I. You knew one of the colonels we were conversing with, if I recall.”
The general nodded. “I suppose that’s more than just about anyone else would know…barring Finaeus, I suppose. But are you Lisa?”
A1 shook her head. “I am not. I am A1.”
He stared at her for nearly a minute as the dockcar exited Ring 17 and flew over Durgen Station toward his personal residence.
“Cover your
faces,” he finally said, turning away. “You’re disgusting.”
A1 didn’t disagree as she resealed her helmet, signaling for the other three Widows to follow suit.
Once her face was covered, she addressed the general. “I’m not the one who wished to see what could only hurt. There’s nothing between us anymore, Garza. We share goals. Nothing more.”
“So it would seem.”
Three minutes later, the dockcar reached Ring 3 and brought them to a district controlled by Expas Incorporated, one of Garza’s many front companies. The vehicle parked on a balcony near the apex of a tower that rose several hundred meters off the ring’s inner surface.
He exited the car first, and once the Widows had stepped out—the three guards’ posture changing as they scanned the area—he led them across the terrace to a pair of ornate doors. Upon reaching them, he pulled one wide, gesturing for the Widows to precede him.
A1’s three guards entered first, Q93 sending her a signal when the space was declared safe. Then she stepped through into the lavish seating area, a forty-meter oval shrouded with drapes, covered in thick carpets, and dotted with couches loosely arranged around a firepit in the room’s center.
Blue flames streaked out of the pit, rising to the ceiling, where they exited through a hole, appearing to pass out directly into space, which A1 supposed they might.
“Plasma plumes were always your favorite,” she said while settling into a chair near the fire. Her three Widows took up positions equidistant from one another around the perimeter of the room.
“I like to watch the flames dance,” Garza said as he sat on a sofa and angled himself to face her. “I know you do as well.”
“It’s plasma, not flames,” A1 corrected.
The general snorted. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No. Precision is important. That is why I need to know how many of your clones are out there, and whether or not they’ve gone rogue.”
“Rogue?” The general laughed. “Stars, no. They do as they’re told. They have the same goals as I do, so there’s little need to exert control.”
