The Deplosion Saga

by Paul Anlee

  Either option could very well lead to prison or death.

  If I attend and things get out of hand, I could shift away—he thought. Of course, doing that would alert Alum to his so far secret mastery over the shifting technology.

  How would that help, except to buy a few days or weeks? If Alum found out that I could shift without the aid of supporting machinery, he’d never stop until he’d hunted me down.

  It was impossible to make a rational decision with so little information. I guess I better go. After all, if Alum already knew my real identity, he wouldn’t have sent a note to invite me to a meeting. Would he?

  * * *

  Greg/Darak sat in the reception area outside Alum’s office. The last time he’d sat waiting for a leader of a sovereign nation was with Kathy, some twenty years ago.

  The threat had been clearer then. They’d had all the facts they needed, the beginnings of a sound plan to deal with the problems presented by the Eater, and years ahead of them before things got to a critical stage.

  Now, he was alone and facing...he didn’t know what.

  He’d known Alum since the Head of the YTG Church was a young boy. And he’d known the boy’s spiritual father, the Reverend LaMontagne, much better than the son. Alum had always been a strange individual, aloof, communicative in unexpected bursts of curious intellect or lengthy philosophical monologues and not much else. It was easy to forget he was in a room until he delivered some odd insight to the conversation.

  Greg chuckled to himself. Maybe we’re not so different, after all. Everyone had considered him and Kathy strange as well. Darian, too, for that matter. The geekiest of the geeks, and that was saying a lot.

  But Alum was odder than any of them. As a boy, he’d lived much of his life as if he were dreaming, never quite fully there.

  Kathy thought the boy’s lattice might have been slaved to the Reverend’s, but she didn’t try to penetrate LaMontagne’s security to prove it. She and Greg had been too busy trying to save humanity to worry about the perversities of yet another preacher, especially one so close to dying.

  There’d been no doubt Alum was a genius. His political commentary had always been insightful. Even as a teenager, his analyses demonstrated wisdom beyond his years. There’d been questions around his earliest public activities; he would have been too young to have carried out some of the actions attributed to him or claimed in his name.

  It was clear that Reverend LaMontagne had initiated the secretive personality that would become ‘Alum.’ The boy had simply been too young to have accomplished all of the things claimed in his name.

  Huh. In retrospect, the joining of the names “Alan” and “LaMontagne”, or “Al” and “LaM” into “Alam” or “Alum” seems obvious. Coincidence? I think not.

  It was rumoured the Reverend himself was responsible for the death of Virgil Hartland at the G26 meeting so many years ago, and that he’d detonated the nuclear missiles over their launch sites rather than over their purported targets. Who knew what other acts, heinous or heroic, had been committed in the name of Alum, and by whom?

  In the long run, those acts didn’t matter so much; they were overshadowed by the destruction of the Earth, Alum’s opportunistic replacement of the intended colonists with his own people, and his usurping of authority in the asteroids.

  Greg had nothing but circumstantial evidence, but he suspected that Alum hadn’t just taken advantage of the ensuing chaos when the Eater escaped its confinement, but had actually precipitated those cataclysmic events resulting in Earth’s premature demise.

  If that was true, Alum was responsible for Kathy’s death.

  Greg detested the man more than he feared him. He yearned for revenge. But Alum was in charge here and, as much as Greg hated to admit it, he might be humanity’s best hope for survival in the asteroid colonies.

  As far as Greg could tell, almost everyone on the asteroids believed in Alum. They adored him. No matter how much Greg wanted justice, removing Alum from power or killing him would not bring Kathy back, and the resulting chaos might lead to millions more deaths. Hadn’t enough people died already?

  Greg hadn’t noticed his hands forming tight fists until they began to ache. He opened his fists and tried to calm down. Only when Alum became superfluous to the colony’s survival would Greg have his revenge. Until then, he needed to appear cooperative, like any other adoring fan, and he needed to keep his real identity hidden.

  “Mr. Legsu?” The receptionist’s voice broke Greg’s reflection.

  “Alum will see you now.” She gestured toward the open door to the inner sanctum.

  Greg’s knee joints cracked as he stood up. He inhaled deeply. He’d been sitting tensed up for too long. He shook his legs and stretched his arms.

  “I’ve never met our Leader in person,” he explained to the young woman. “I guess I’m a little nervous.” He laughed and she smiled indulgently.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “He doesn’t bite.” She smiled and gestured for him to go through the open door.

  He straightened his clothes and stepped into the official offices of the Head Administrator.

  Alum looked up from a report he’d been reading and rose to greet Greg.

  “Ah, Mr. Legsu. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Greg had met many world leaders during his time as Chief Scientist of the Vesta project, yet he’d never felt so uncertain of himself as today.

  He recognized signs of the strange boy, and the stranger teenager, in the confident face of the surprisingly young man in front of him. He hoped Alum didn’t recognize anything of Greg Mahajani in the altered face and mannerisms he’d chosen for Darak Legsu.

  Greg/Darak crossed the room and shook Alum’s outstretched hand. At the last moment he realized Alum might recognize something as insignificant as the way Greg Mahajani shook hands. He altered the characteristic tightening of muscles in his hand before he clasped the other man’s.

  Alum didn’t appear to notice anything familiar in the handshake. He invited Greg/Darak to sit and took a seat behind his desk.

  Greg’s chair was comfortable enough, but the stiff cushions matched the Spartan furnishings of the rest of the office. Even this place, where the Head Administrator worked, contained few luxuries.

  The floor was tile, the same material as the wall covering, formed from crushed asteroid rock and resin. A small, decorative carpet covered the bare floor in front of the serving table that occupied a space along one wall. The desk was laminated fiber composite, among the earliest cellulosic construction materials produced in the colonies. A single, modest-sized painting, likely a favorite brought from Earth by the previous Administrator, decorated one wall. The other three were bare.

  “No doubt, you’re wondering why I asked you here,” Alum began.

  Greg elected to say nothing, feigning the face of a doe-eyed follower of the Church.

  Alum kept him waiting uncomfortably long, letting the seconds tick away before breaking into a laugh.

  “Don’t worry, you’ve done nothing wrong,” he said. “In fact, your most recent work came at a most opportune time.”

  “W...which work is that?” Greg asked timidly. The tremor in his voice was only half faked.

  “Your Vacationland simulation. It was brilliant. How long have you been working on it?”

  Greg sensed the trap. If he said it was since coming to the asteroids, it would alert Alum to his hidden computational powers. But if he said he’d started it on Earth, it would make Alum wonder how an Earth-dweller could anticipate one day working with Cybrids.

  Fortunately, Greg had anticipated the line of questioning. “It started out as code for a standard inSense entertainment I was toying with on Earth.”

  “So, you’ve been working on it for a while?”

  “Years. But people here aren’t into that kind of thing and I didn’t want to throw the code away. After I arrived, I started wondering about adapting it for Cybrids. They may not be
people, exactly, but they must be interested in doing something besides working all the time.”

  “How did you know it would work for them?”

  “I didn’t, really. I assumed it would. I mean, from what I read, their processing concepta are modeled on the human mind. So it makes sense that they would’ve included some of our perceptual input, as well.”

  He let the last sentence hang in the air. He hoped he hadn’t played it up too much. It was plausible that an engineer with Darak’s background might be enthusiastic about Cybrid cognition but he didn’t want to overdo the performance.

  Alum cleared his throat. “Normally I wouldn’t approve of this particular interest. I do hope you’ll remember not to let your enthusiasm run away with you in the future. Yes?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir…uhh…Reverend,” Greg replied uncertainly.

  Alum smiled graciously. “You may call me Alum. Everyone does.”

  Greg made himself squirm uncomfortably and return the smile. “Thank you. Alum. I was always into that kind of thing back home, I mean, on Earth.”

  “Well, as it turns out, it was useful this time.”

  “Useful?”

  “Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard we are curtailing the presence of Cybrids in the habitats. They are to be confined to service corridors and outer space.”

  “I remember you said that last week during your Sunday broadcast.”

  “I’m pleased you watched. I am compassionate toward all, even those who are not God’s creatures.”

  “We can only follow Yeshua’s example.” Greg thought it wise for Darak to say something confirming his alignment with the YTG Church’s beliefs. It seemed like something a person like Darak would do.

  Alum’s face formed brief, microscopic frown lines. “We must, all of us, model our lives after those of our Lord to the best of our abilities. Vacationland might be useful. It might help us with the Cybrid Problem.”

  Greg could hear the capitalization. He wasn’t aware there was a “Cybrid Problem,” at least not with the previous Administration.

  “I’m glad you find Vacationland useful,” he replied. “But I didn’t know we had a problem with the Cybrids. I thought they served Yeshua’s plans for our people.”

  “Generally, they have done as they have been directed. However, it was a mistake to provide human-like personas to them. Their work could be done equally efficiently using simple conceptas. They are an abomination.”

  “Yet a necessary one.” Greg regretted the words the second they left his lips.

  Alum peered at him. Greg imagined waves of suspicion beating against his already-shaky composure. “I mean, their capabilities are required for making new habitats,” he hastened to add. “Not that they have to think they’re people.”

  Alum relaxed. He smiled, as if to ensure Greg his apology was accepted. “Nevertheless, they do think they’re people. They’re mistaken, of course, but that’s what we have to work with.”

  “And you think Vacationland might help?” Greg prodded, trying to move the conversation back to safer ground.

  “Yes. We particularly like how you paralleled ordinary daily human activities, with equivalent Cybrid activities, such as eating while the Cybrids are recharging. We think the environment may help calm any residual resentment the Cybrids have toward our segregation order. If we give them an environment in which they can pretend to be human, they won’t be so envious about not being able to mingle with real humans.”

  Greg had only intended for Vacationland to be stimulating entertainment for the Cybrids, not for it to be used to placate them or to lull them into accepting an unfair and unequal status.

  “Is that the Cybrid Problem you were talking about, their envy of humans?” he ventured.

  “It’s not much of an actual problem yet, only one God has permitted me to foresee. Fortunately for us all, your Vacationland provides a lovely way to forestall any such issues before they become a serious issue. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.” Greg put his hands on his knees and leaned slightly forward, as if to stand. Darak would likely conclude the interview was over with Alum’s gratitude expressed; Greg wasn’t so sure.

  “There’s more,” Alum waved him back into his chair. “First, though, I have a small test for you.”

  “Oh?” Greg asked, as he settled back into the seat.

  That’s when he felt the tingle of lattice induction plates in the base of his skull. People with normal dendy lattices interfaced with the plates through communication clusters that formed in that region of their brain.

  Ever since ingesting the DNND lattice enhancement virus, Greg had no need for induction plates. He was certain Alum didn’t either. Their own fully functional interfaces overlaid their cerebral cortices just underneath their skulls. Greg might know that about Alum, but Alum could not have known it about Greg, at least not as the Darak alias.

  The induction plates commanded Greg’s lattice to open for communication. What? They shouldn’t be able to do that; they’re only allowed to request a channel. Someone must’ve altered the request function into a more aggressive form.

  He would’ve defended himself from the command, but he knew Darak could not be expected to have that ability. He had little choice. He sequestered the vast majority of his capabilities behind an impenetrable firewall that he hoped would be undetectable from outside, and opened a portion of his lattice to the command channel.

  As fast as the channel opened, Alum came rushing in behind it. He pushed a scanning virus into the exposed part of Greg’s lattice. The virus ran through Greg’s brain, laying bare his concepta, reporting on his persona.

  Greg’s deepest thoughts, memories and beliefs were exposed for Alum to review, or so the Leader would think. In the millisecond interval the induction plate command had given him, Greg reconfigured his lattice so that the only exposed thoughts were those that belonged to his Darak persona. It wouldn’t withstand too much probing but he hoped it would be enough to appease Alum’s understandable curiosity about Darak.

  Greg shook his head. A normal person, such as one he wanted to portray Darak as being, would have felt a second or two of confusion, nothing more. He made his body, and the part of his mind open to Alum, behave as he thought the invaded Darak would.

  “What kind of test?” he asked. The person Alum thought he was probing would not have sensed the lattice intrusion.

  Alum rubbed his chin. “Hmm, perhaps there’s no need for that today.” He seemed satisfied with the result of his search.

  Greg/Darak feigned a light confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

  Alum pressed a button on the phone on his desk. “Charlene? Would you please bring coffee in for Mr. Legsu and me?”

  He regarded Darak, a question implicit in his gaze.

  “Oh. Cream and sugar, please,” Greg/Darak replied.

  “Cream and sugar, please, Charlene. And maybe a bit of brandy. I suspect Mr. Legsu here may want to celebrate a little.”

  Greg had no idea what was happening. Celebrate?

  “Thank you, Alum. That’s very kind. What are we celebrating?”

  Alum grinned broadly. “Your new career, Mr. Legsu. I want you in charge of producing all future Cybrid simulations.”

  9

  John Trillian had no trouble finding the lab cluster that housed development of Cybrid CPPUs—Concepta/Persona Processing Units. Millions upon millions of inactive nanotech silicene brains were warehoused there, each carefully catalogued as to the intellectual and psychological makeup of their original human template.

  The cluster was in one of the two science tunnels drilled 180 degrees away from each other underneath the crust of the asteroid, Vesta.

  The two tunnels were some fifty meters in diameter, far narrower than standard habitats or service corridors, and the individual labs branched directly off the central passageways. One could easily walk the wide, bright central hallways to exchange information with nearby neighbors or take a short el
evator ride to a loop tunnel, where loop trains could transport you all over Vesta within a few hours.

  The tunnels widened every few kilometers into park-like areas with a wide variety of food services and shaded seating beside tree-lined babbling brooks or lily-laden ponds. For the few million scientists and support staff on the original Vesta project, it had been the nicest facility they had ever worked in. Many thought they’d died and gone to heaven.

  The original plan had been to have an extensive science and technology program in the colonies. At Greg and Kathy’s insistence, people with scientific training had been over-represented in the original colonist population. To their surprise, Reverend LaMontagne had supported their efforts to build an excellent science and technology base on Vesta. In the early years, Vesta scientists were crucial in ensuring the survival of the colonists.

  That was before Alum’s coup.

  The tunnels had been designed to house tens of thousands of research programs. They now sat mostly empty following the forced evacuation of the original colonists by the YTG Church takeover.

  Security forces loyal to the church had swept up the majority of Earth-appointed scientists and returned them to the home planet. Alum’s plans had little room for so many independent-minded critical thinkers. A week after the security sweep, those who had been forced back to Earth were all dead.

  Alum ordered the majority of Vesta’s lab facilities to be shut down and their systems set to sleep mode. He did, however, permit the Cybrids to continue their weekly cleaning, maintenance, and security checks. Being largely unused, the labs remained pristine, and the work they’d once hosted was forgotten.

  The fully outfitted labs retained a vast array of complex instruments and materials necessary to conduct experiments in physics, chemistry, biology, and a host of interdisciplinary fields. On discovering this, John Trillian rushed in as eager as a child in a candy store.

  For the several months after presenting his concepta-virus proposal to Alum, he selected a handful of random semiconductor “brains” from the millions in storage and conducted thorough examinations on them.