The Vanity of Hope

by G W Langdon

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve progressed Tiekur’s timeline forward from his meeting with Ba’illi. Tiekur tried to commit ‘suicide’ four days ago.”

  “Load up. She might’ve already been here.”

  They stepped from the lift and the Telion lightMatrix blinked out. Amie twisted her lightBand and lit the tunnel. “Should I go back and request a Viper?”

  “No. What’s down there?”

  “X-ray shows a space behind the stone that’s painted with a Feheri chariot, three quarters of the way down.”

  He dragged the stone aside and pulled the concealed lever. “These blind doorways and hidden passages remind me of those sneaky monks.”

  “Allow me to go first,” Amie said. “I have superior sight.” She edged inside the mausoleum door. “There’s one cocoon.”

  “Can you increase the light?”

  “It’s all we’ve got.”

  Amie unsealed the cocoon lid. “We’re too late.”

  “Damn! I wonder what happened to the reGen,” Reuzk said, reading the inscription, ‘Hope conquers doubt’, etched on the inside of the Tylinite lid.

  Amie rubbed the moist blood between her fingers. “They’re Jbir’s genes.”

  He poked the arteries and saggy membranes. “Yesterday, two days at the most.” He stepped back from the cocoon and shone the laser sight around the mausoleum. “Doesn’t seem there’s anything else here….”

  “What was that?”

  “By the feel under my boot, I’d say I’ve stepped on a Det.”

  Amie knelt and shone her lightBand onto Reuzk’s boot. “It’s one of ours. Pressure sensitive… Identifier is 24B, which has a timer…”

  She knocked Reuzk away and smothered the Det.

  He staggered upright and leaned against the wall, disoriented from the thick dust and concussive explosion ringing in his ears. He wiped the blood from his mouth and straightened his cracked visor. “Amie, what have you done?” He removed the lightBand from her arm lying beneath the cocoon and checked the ground as he picked up his gun and limped to the mausoleum doorway.

  “What happened down there?” Amie asked, as the lift doors opened. “Where’s my envoy?”

  “Somebody left a calling card. Send in the cleaners to bag up your envoy.”

  “No disrespect, sir, but you look terrible. Are you all right, General Reuzk?”

  “You just got blown into a dozen body parts.”

  “But I’m alive and well. You shouldn’t identify my envoy with me.”

  He emerged from Kaleria, guarded front and back by the Vipers, with his gun at the ready. He limped up the ramp of Sirion and slumped into the back corner of the cockpit. Machines, it was all damn machines. “Run full surveillance of everything you have about Kaleria for the last week. Find out who beat us to the mausoleum, and I’ll take it from there. Upgrade finding Jbir’s neurals Violet priority. He can’t have gotten far.”

  “Do you want to reschedule our meeting with Ba’illi?”

  “No,” he snapped. “Not after this.” He spat Kaleria’s foul taste onto the floor and closed his eyes. “You can drive; just this once.”

  #

  The Vipers escorted Rulg into the interrogation room.

  “Have a seat,” Reuzk said.

  Rulg hissed and sat down. “I was curious why you wanted to see me—Amie would’ve trawled through my memories and know what I do, but now that I know why I’m here—in the flesh. You look like you’re losing.”

  “You have no memories of bringing the doctor here.”

  “I can’t remember him. Who?”

  “We know everything you know about the crew and cargo of StarTripper, but there’s not a single neural associated with the doctor. Not even a slither of when you were on Tilas together.”

  “We were?”

  “I know you were there because I remember you. Imagine my surprise when we matched the stealth and navigation hardware on StarTripper to your ship we found abandoned on Tilas—strike one. You’re not Tilasian—strike two. Your ‘irregular’ genetic mutations indicate a proximal association with Decay—strike three.”

  Rulg took a deep breath and let out a long, slow hiss.

  “You delivered this ‘doctor’ to spread the gospel of Decay to Emperor Tilaxian so he would help with the overthrow of the king.”

  “You’re grasping, but anything’s possible—I wouldn’t know.”

  “Amie’s cross-referenced your neurals with her Federation records of Tilas. You were in the emperor’s courts for quite some time. You kept a very low profile, but indications are you were on Tilas from around the time of the queen’s birth. Was it a happy occasion?”

  “I…”

  “Don’t remember. That’s all right. My guess is Decay somehow managed to get ahead of the Federation and was planning to launch a pincer movement from Tilas on Stenari for the final war. For some reason, it found Tilas more ‘attractive.’ As a result, we’ve had the time to rebuild our war fleet on Heyre stronger than we’d ever have hoped for. Makes you wonder, though. What could possibly matter more to Decay than the end of the Federation?”

  “Maybe the Federation is a game to Decay, like a cat playing with a mouse. Decay’s giving you a sporting chance?”

  Reuzk offered Rulg a golden spiceRoll. “That’s not its nature.”

  “Your reputation tells me this isn’t a courtesy call,” Rulg said, picking two from the box. “Why am I here?”

  Viper 25 held out a fireFlick.

  Reuzk looked at Rulg’s claws. “It’s certainly not to reminisce about old times.”

  Rulg lit the Roll and exhaled hard as he shifted closer. “Very nice, high grade,” he said, tapping the ash into the corner tray. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

  “That’s far enough—if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.”

  “I’ll have a failSafe on Tilas.”

  Reuzk signaled the Vipers closer. “Have you not wondered why your flesh is so soft?”

  Rulg hissed and flexed his muscles. “Go on.”

  “This is the third time we’ve had this meeting. Our last meeting ended forty-two days ago when you attacked me. More precisely, tried to attack me. Your flabby flesh is from a force-accelerated reGen. Time is against us, and your antics are not helping. She’s leaving—in nine days. Off to see her father.”

  Rulg scoffed and blew smoke at the Viper. “Is Emperor Tilaxian still alive? He must have had more help than I realized.”

  “The data logs we retrieved from StarTripper showed you completed over ten thousand combat missions against Thomas Ryder.”

  “It wasn’t all hard work without play. Don’t forget his partner, Sarra. She was a wickedly delicious side treat after I reset her desires towards the flesh—my flesh that is.” Rulg licked his long tongue around his thin, purple lips. “Yum.”

  Reuzk unclipped his holster and raised the gun above the table top. “Let’s stay with Thomas, shall we?” he said, aiming the laser on the Carez cactus across the room.

  “You know what I know,” Rulg said. “He’s the best. Of course, he was rough around the edges, but from when I first found him hiding away in that forest, I saw the potential. Especially, after he killed my beast using only bits of string and sharp sticks.”

  “Were you surprised when Iris gave Thomas an SRI score of nine hundred and twelve?”

  “No, it proved my hunch right. Remember, I chose Thomas Ryder. Training against Thomas Ryder made me superior to what I was.” Rulg finished the Roll. “These are very good. Do you think I could get a box of them?”

  “No amount of training would get you past a Vipr. I suppose you weren’t to know Jbir had done a deal to bring a Scout class Orb onto the ship.”

  Rulg shrugged. “I had to try. I’m a navigator and I run ships. Jbir was a nobody who by luck found himself caught up in a far bigger game.”

  “In your professional opinion, was Thomas Ryder the best soldier you’ve come up against?”
>
  “You want my opinion.” Rulg leaned back and his soft neck wobbled in a gale of laughter. “Yes, fearless,” he managed to say. “The neural Blueprint of Thomas Ryder I started with was nothing compared to his abilities in the end.”

  Reuzk turned the gun over in his hands. Real versus cyber. Each had their merits. A cyber-soldier wouldn’t know they had endless lives and would act and execute their mission as well as a real soldier—with the advantage of being a ‘native’ of the cyber realm. Despite, Amie’s duality to operate in both worlds, a real soldier was clearly more effective on the outside, where it finally mattered. “What did the emperor give the doctor in return?”

  “It was top secret.”

  He raised the gun and aimed between Rulg’s eyes.

  Rulg stiffened in his seat. “I swear. Check my neurals again if you don’t believe me. Nobody knew, not even that busy little chronicler, Ba’illi, who followed the emperor everywhere like a second shadow. It was all very inner-circle.”

  “Was she involved?”

  “When you said she’s leaving… Is the doctor going with her?”

  “I guess so. Why?”

  “I was only the navigator for Jbir, but since coming to Heyre I got the impression he’s very ‘advanced’. She must have plans.”

  “She’s going nowhere until I’m sure she’s clean.”

  “General Reuzk,” Amie interrupted. “I’ve found him.”

  “It’s been good catching up over old times, but I have to go.”

  “The box of spiceRolls you promised?”

  He pulled the trigger. “That’s for the good old days.”

  Chapter 32

  The buggy passed through the Violet security tunnel and Grand Central Station opened up into a gigantic, sprawling sea of busyness. The rows of lockers in the station for the storage of personal items appeared to go on forever. Shafts of sunlight flowed in through tall stained-glass windows. Gaudy ceiling beams clashed with the pristine colors of the light-enabled world portrayed with deeper details and a richer perception than the last visit.

  From his room telescope, Tom saw the residents of Nu’hieté as either white, dark brown, and black or a blend of the three. However, inside Gi LaMon’s Grand Station the beings were every color of the rainbow. Blues, reds, greens, even yellows, but none were white. In here, the content of the character determined the social ranking, which in turn produced the skin color. There were many Red-hued beings, lesser Yellows, fewer Blues and… zero Indigo, which made sense as they would only populate the High Color simulations. Their clothes—loose fitting to tight, figure-hugging uniforms; hats or not; rainbow scarves, beads, necklaces, sparkling jewelry; and flamboyant shoes to plain—reflected an underlying psychological trait. A few carried pets, but what their colorations, genomes—mammal, reptile, or fanciful combination—meant was a mystery. He didn’t fully understand Gi LaMon’s subtle ways and social clues, but no adornment was ever just for show.

  They seemed happy enough in their constant distraction from the threats outside. Did thousands of years of culture end in an unwavering adherence to a system of social ranking as the most efficient way to maintain the peace? Or did the ever-present threat of war demand conformity?

  Tom placed his hand on the terraBug selection panel and scanned through the categories. He should have listened more carefully when Ba’illi explained the procedures inside Grand Central, but there was only so much he could take.

  “Aren’t we a clever one?” the Red commuter said. “How long did it take to get that Rating? I’ve never seen a full range of terraBugs before; an unrestricted license, too.” She studied him for a moment. “You are either very good, or you know someone high up.”

  “A bit of both.”

  “May I suggest a Streamer if you’re after a fast ‘Bug.’ It costs plenty, but you look the type that could afford one. I haven’t driven a Streamer yet, but it’s my dream.” She tapped the Speed icon and a dozen modified Bugs appeared. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “That one there,” she said. “If that’s too expensive, then the Rewja is almost as fast and it has a high customer ‘Visual.’ They’re both single-seaters, but if you want others to notice you then that’s the one.” She peered around the station, taking her time. “You are alone?”

  “Yes, just me.” Was everyone here this helpful? “I’m Tom,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “How rude of me. Mirtiul,” she said, shaking his hand. She tapped the screen again. “I’m a clerk… on the outside, I mean,” she said, selecting a Freon. “When I get the chance, I race in here to reCharge. We should race sometime. I know of some good roads with low traffic and a good mix of bends, slopes, and long straights. There’s a tunnel east if you’re game to try out there.”

  “Sure, another time.”

  She walked along the platform to departure bay three forty-six and got into the waiting Freon.

  Too friendly, but helpful, he thought as she sped off and waved goodbye. Roads out east, and a tunnel. He tapped the Rewja and the number of credits in the bottom left corner dropped to six digits. He could have gifted the Streamer to her for the day and there would have been plenty of credits left over. Was she hinting for that and he missed her clues?

  The Rewja burst from the station tunnel.

  Clear of the ramp, he disengaged the mandatory autopilot and headed straight onto the ten-lane in-bound freeway beneath the busy skyWays. Why did the ‘guests’ bother with skyBots when they could travel around the realm at light speed? Maybe the fun was in the journey.

  Ba’illi mentioned more than once it was vital to know what the colors and different tints meant for navigation and safety. The depth of the tint indicated the direction of travel—no tint for north, dark for east, medium was for west, and light for south. The Blue coded roads were for the most experienced drivers. Blue to Green, Yellow, Orange, and Red for the slowest drivers.

  He kept in the Red lane and tested the Rewja’s acceleration and braking. Satisfied he was ready to change up, he weaved into the heavier traffic on the Orange lanes. Hour after hour, he circled the crater, dipping down the wall then back up, daring to go faster and faster against the steepening trim. Nobody crashed, but what would happen if he did? He fought the impulse to challenge the system to see what might happen if he didn’t conform. He switched into Blue and accelerated to four hundred along the steep Outlier Ring lane, one below the hyperLoop train that circled the upper crater wall at twice the speed.

  Round and round.

  Was this all there was to Gi LaMon? There had to be an escape from the mind of illusion? An off-ramp sign approached in the heads-up lightScreen for the third time. Mixed reality inside virtual reality was a head spin he didn’t need right now. Remembering the Red lady, he checked his mirrors and swerved into the tunnel to head out east. He exited the tunnel and hollered the way Dougal did when the silly ol’ fool had uncovered a hedgehog in the leaves.

  “How far to the Base?” he asked as he sped out east over the Magrebian Plains.

  “Improper request. Access Denied.”

  The Red faded in the road as he zoomed past the half-full amusement parks and scraggy stopovers. The top speed slowed further after the ‘extreme conditions ahead’ road sign and again beyond the dusty, flashing ‘no exit’ warning sign on the side of the road. The Rewja slackened in surges and the road color diluted to become almost indistinguishable from the arid desert. Out here under the harsh sun, the scrubby brown trees didn’t dare reach for the sky. He got out and took off his jacket and stamped the staff into the road. The hot ground was spongy but solid enough under his weight. He hooked the jacket over his head and set off.

  The ground softened in the unbearable heat and his boots left sticky prints. Endless fields of hostile cacti crowded the roadsides. Some cacti with long spikes were almost the height of the scrubby trees, but most were squat and strong with fine barbs. After half a mile, the sticky road turned to a dirt t
rack that had the feel of ankle-deep sand. He wiped his brow and glanced back to the Rewja, creased smaller in the heat haze furnace. The air burned in his nostrils and dried the back of his throat. Ten more minutes and he’d turn back if the deteriorating, illogical road didn’t make the decision for him earlier. He placed each careful step on the blackening ground as if testing the ice on old man Tait’s pond.

  A small earthquake rumbled under his feet.

  Tom grabbed the staff with both hands for balance. He rubbed the sweat from his eyes and continued. A hundred yards further on, a wide canyon blocked his path. Was the unbearable heat playing tricks with his mind—a hallucination inside a simulation? Mixed reality, virtual reality—inside his head. Had he gone to sleep inside the dataPod and this was all a dream. Another layer of silliness and his psychoSphere might break its tethers and he’d drift into insane oblivion. The unstable, heat-fuelled air wavered in a gigantic mirage. Slow down, take control, breathe.

  “Nobody makes it this far.”

  It was the voice of an old woman.

  “I’ve come for some answers,” he said, as she walked closer and her form became more definite.

  She wore clothes beaten thin by the desert wind and a craggy face scorched from too long under the infernal sun. Beneath the headscarf, grey streaks ran through her long, sandy white hair tied at the ends by strings of beads. A startling violet shawl embroidered with flowers the colors of the rainbow covered her rounded shoulders and draped down to the tops of a pair of worn out, laced, brown boots. Clinging to the shawl, a dark blue, almost black lizard peered over her right shoulder.

  “You must be looking extra hard.”

  “I’ve heard there might be a wonder out here.”

  The old lady cackled. “Let me help you back to your Bug. It’s not safe this far out for someone like you.”

  “I think I’ll stay a while, at least to sundown. Does that happen out here?”

  “A curious fellow, aren’t you?”

  “Why hurry back to what I already know? It took a long time to get here, so I’ll stay for a while.”

  “Two hundred and seventy-two years, that’s what the spirits say.”