The Deplosion Saga

by Paul Anlee

  “And open myself to Your RAF generators?” Darak countered. “I don’t think that would be wise until after the People have judged.”

  Alum held His hands up in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Your unwillingness puts us at an impasse, I’d say.”

  “Likewise,” Darak said, and pretended to consider alternatives. “How about this? If Brother Stralasi agrees, You can take his Familiar there and I’ll follow one of his tracking particles.”

  Alum’s brow twitched and then rested. He smiled broadly.

  “You’ll remain apart, separate from Heaven?”

  “For the most part, yes. It will suffice for me to see it,” Darak said. “I can give You the parameters for a sensory interface, if You’d like. You can provide the rest.”

  Theoretically, that would give Darak enough information to complete the physical specifications for Heaven, if he could get the time to compute them. Then he’d be able to confront Alum in His new home.

  But that wasn’t his only goal.

  Distraction is also part of the game—he thought. Keep Alum focused on this and buy Darya and Darian time to do their work.

  “Agreed!” Alum said.

  The Living God and Stralasi disappeared. He left behind the minimal set of parameters that Darak would need to follow.

  Darak integrated the data with his own interface, took a quick breath, and sent two QUEECH messages.

  To Darian, he sent, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “More than ready,” Darian responded; he was already on his way to the Alumitum Administration tower.

  And to Darya, “On my way to Heaven. Begin your attack.”

  “Godspeed,” Darya replied, and sent an image of a teapot in solar orbit somewhere between Earth and Mars.

  Darak laughed. Russell’s teapot! You couldn’t resist a touch of irony. Godspeed, indeed, along with other things that don’t exist, like teapots in solar orbit somewhere between Earth and Mars.

  In his long life, the best laughs and the best therapeutic moments had been those shared in the most dire and often least appropriate moments.

  He shook his head at her wry humor and shifted.

  13

  “Quite an accomplishment, Brothers!” said the Angel guarding the entrance to the Administration building. He did not mean it in a good way.

  The deep, rich voice startled Stralasi, even though he’d expected it. What he hadn’t expected was humor. He dropped to one knee.

  Rather uncharacteristically, Darian took a knee beside him.

  “Merely a misunderstanding, my Lord,” he explained.

  The Angel smiled a coldly beautiful and threatening smile.

  “You seem to attract them,” he said. “Misunderstandings, that is.”

  “In this particular case, it was no more than an unfortunate byproduct of Brother Stralasi’s zeal,” Darian answered. “The other instances were simply misfortune and misadventure.”

  He stood up and pulled a reluctant Stralasi upright alongside him.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” the sagging monk whimpered.

  Darian glanced at his companion. “As I said, my Lord, a simple misunderstanding.”

  “It seems your associate’s inexperience may have led him into some sort of impropriety of doctrine,” the Angel suggested.

  “Oh, no, my Lord!” Darian feigned being aghast. “I’m sure there was no impropriety involved. My friend may have uttered an ill-chosen word or two but nothing more, I’m sure.”

  Stralasi felt nauseated, which was an understandable, natural fear response triggered by watching Darian engage in a life-threatening argument with an Angel.

  No, something else niggled at his mind. He checked in on his Familiar self.

  That’s odd.

  His Familiar was no longer in Eso-La. It would seem that—this couldn’t be right—Nem had left the universe entirely. Taken to Heaven by Alum?

  The Good Brother focused his attention fully into his Familiar’s perspective. Yes, Nem was now alone with the Living God in another universe, and presently looking out on Perfection.

  Darak Legsu wavered into partially-synchronized existence beside the Familiar’s body.

  Back in the other universe, next to Darian Leigh, a very human sigh escaped Stralasi’s human body.

  Darian eyed the Good Brother.

  “Are you okay, Brother?” he asked, genuinely worried.

  Stralasi waved off the concern. He forced himself to shut out the incredible live feed that was streaming into his integrated consciousness from his Familiar part and focus on the pressing business at hand. He could synchronize with the Familiar’s experience later.

  “A summons to meet with the Proctor is not what I desired after my first week here,” he managed to answer.

  He pushed back his shoulders and smiled his bravest smile.

  “But, as you say, I’m sure it’s all a simple misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up.”

  Stralasi turned back to the Angel and gave a deep bow.

  “My Lord,” he said. “I hope to return to preparing this week’s lesson soon but, right now, I suspect we are about to be late for our meeting. I don’t imagine the Proctor would look favorably on that.”

  “I suspect not,” the Angel said and turned his impassive face forward again.

  Dismissed, Stralasi and Darian hurried through the main doors and up to the floor of Proctor’s Office.

  The receptionist stood waiting for them as they stepped off the elevator. The silent judgment that narrowed his eyes to horizontal slits replaced the usual courtesies. Without a word, he turned and ushered them down the hallway toward the appointed room.

  Stralasi bowed his head and followed obediently.

  Darian, apparently equally oblivious to the social cues and to the weight of the meeting they’d been summoned to attend, casually regaled them with his usual stream of incessant chatter.

  While chattering on and on without pause about nothing of import, he gently released the transport wasps, one by one, from out of his sleeve.

  When the trio arrived at the threshold of the office, the receptionist stepped aside to let the two men enter, softly closed the door behind them, and abandoned them to their fate.

  The bald, shiny head presenting itself to them from the other side of the desk only emphasized the severe look on the man’s face that eventually deemed to look up and acknowledge them. A brusque twitching of the man’s hand indicated the visitors should sit.

  They sat.

  Images of all the times he’d summoned members of his community for a “corrective consultation” whirled unbidden and unwanted through Stralasi’s imagination.

  The Proctor clasped his hands together and leaned forward. He peered into Darian’s and Stralasi’s eyes, each for a few seconds, without a word.

  When Stralasi could stand it no longer and looked away, the Proctor glanced at his notes and began the interview.

  “Brothers, we’re less than a full week into classes and already you have a complaint against you,” he stated as a matter of fact. “Usually, our students allow a little more leeway before deciding an instructor is unbearable.”

  He read the complaint, which was now floating in a prominent display on his desktop, out loud and in full for the benefit of the visitors. At the end of the message, he swiped the document to the side and turned his stern stare to the two men opposite him.

  “So, tell me, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “Uh...uh,” Stralasi stuttered.

  “We are at a bit of a loss, Proctor,” Darian answered. “I, for one, can’t agree that those particulars form a reasonable basis for a complaint.” He blinked innocently.

  “At a loss, are you?” The Proctor answered.

  “No idea,” Darian answered.

  “Hm. I’m sure! Well, let’s examine them point by point,” the Proctor said as he leaned over his desk and drew the window with the anonymous complaint a little closer.

&
nbsp; “This Lecturer was intensely dull,” the Proctor began. “Not that that’s a crime,” he noted, looking up briefly. He didn’t smile.

  “It goes on to say, ‘He used words I’ve never heard in any Alumitum lecture. Words like integration asteroids and Cybrids. And rebellion.’”

  The Proctor pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at Stralasi.

  “Now, I realize things are different on the Frontier and this is your first time teaching in the Alumitum,” he said, “but must you stir up fear of rebellion in your first class?”

  “That was spoken only as a warning, Proctor,” Stralasi sputtered. “As cautionary counsel that one must never disregard one’s duty to mindful prayer.”

  “Ah, yes. Prayer,” the Proctor replied. “The missive also states that you failed to begin class with a suitable prayer until reminded by your students. Again, I realize this is your first assignment but surely you are not so long or far away on the edges of the Realm that you forgot your own training, here at this very Alumitum. We don’t need to recommend a refresher semester or two, do we?”

  Stralasi’s eyes darted anxiously about the room while he sought an appropriate response.

  A refresher? After centuries of indoctrination and training? The stigma of being ordered to a retraining semester at the Alumitum would destroy any hope of a career on Founding worlds.

  The Proctor walked over and looked out the window. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clasped loosely behind his back, humming.

  Confused, Stralasi turned to Darian, who sat suspiciously quiet, eyes closed and in apparent concentration.

  Stralasi gave him a nudge with his elbow.

  “Eh? He’s not done yet, is he?”

  Darian opened one eye.

  “Pay attention,” Stralasi hissed.

  “I am.”

  Stralasi waved his chin toward the Proctor, still humming by the window.

  “He threatened to send me for retraining!”

  “Yes, and..?” Darian prompted.

  “It’ll end my career!”

  “Proctor,” Darian raised his voice to catch the head administrator’s attention.

  The man turned slowly, as if in a daze.

  “Yes?”

  “Is anyone’s career in danger today?”

  “No,” the Proctor answered, “only the universe.”

  He turned back to the view.

  Jaw agape, Stralasi’s eyes moved back and forth between the other two men. Darian was sporting a silly grin.

  “What have you done?” the monk demanded.

  “Only what was necessary,” Darian answered. “I set up a little loop in his lattice to keep him occupied while I work.”

  “Loop?” the Proctor asked.

  “No matter how long he stares out that window, he’ll think he’s only been there a second or two,” Darian explained.

  Stralasi stared at the Proctor.

  “Do you mean to say you have control over his mind?”

  “I do,” Darian answered. “I control his perception, his thinking, and what he does.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Stralasi said.

  How many times has he done that to me?—the Good Brother wondered. How often have I been in his power?

  It didn’t seem right. It wasn’t ethical. He’d watched Darak control Angels and Cybrids but that was different. Angels and Cybrids were, basically, machines. The Proctor was a human being. But what did that say about his own integration with his Familiar? Wasn’t his Familiar a machine as well? Yet, as a part of his integral self, wasn’t that as much a part of his human identity as his biological self? He wasn’t sure he could identify any difference.

  Darian shrugged.

  “Don’t get yourself worked up. For the moment, it’s nothing but a convenient trick that allows me to concentrate on penetrating Alum’s node without the distraction of keeping up this charade.”

  Stralasi’s eyes blinked rapidly.

  Charade?

  He’d been so caught up in their act that he’d almost forgotten it was all fake. He rubbed his eyes, let his head flop back, and looked at the ceiling. He exhaled gently but fully, counted to two, and let his lungs refill.

  “So what do we—”

  Darian held up a finger, silencing the monk.

  “If you don’t mind, Brother. This next bit I’m working on is a little tricky.”

  Stralasi’s mouth clapped shut. He walked over and stood beside the Proctor, peered into the man’s vacant expression, and felt lost and useless. Again.

  * * *

  The transport wasps left the shelter of Darian’s sleeve one by one and lit out on their own. They knew where they were headed and would find their own best route.

  Days earlier, the memories Darian had studied in the neural traces of Trillian’s brain provided a clear picture of the floor plan of the Alumitum Administration Tower. More importantly, there was a blueprint of the ventilation ductwork shared between the Proctor’s floor and the one above that was occupied by Alum’s local CPPU and support machinery.

  Darian programmed relevant information into the bugs’ brains. After that, all he had to do was set them loose and track their progress over the QUEECH comm channel while they navigated their way up to the top floor of the tower. Child’s play, but he devoted all of his attention to it just in case his direct intervention was needed.

  The wasps made their way to a return air grill near the floor of the machine room that housed Alum’s local node, the closest point they could convene as a group without risking detection. The target device sat at the edge of a pure cube of nanostructured silicene the size of a small floater vehicle.

  In every one of Alum’s other nodes throughout the realm, the QUEECH comm device was internal to the node. Except this one. Trillian had selected and isolated this particular device himself, and had personally managed its maintenance in order to avoid integration directly into the silicene lattice of Alum’s node.

  Trillian, the original Trillian, had needed to keep this device accessible from outside. His escape plan, should he ever need one, was to make an excuse to visit the node and leave a specific program with the maintenance Cybrid for the next routine cycle. The program would prime the Cybrid to act as a conduit for the Shard to access this comm device, a direct link to Alum’s node. To guarantee accessibility, he’d installed one of his own maintenance Partials with a back channel command and a control module to remain in place with the device.

  Darian’s wasp transports and their cargo of QUEECH-hacking Spyders were now within a few meters of that very same Cybrid.

  An admirable plan, Trillian, but it’s not going to be fast enough for us—Darian thought. We can’t wait for the next maintenance cycle. We need immediate access.

  He sent one of the wasps through the ventilation grill to survey the room. It flew along the floorboard, passed behind the Cybrid, and landed on top of the Cybrid’s spherical shell.

  The Cybrid didn’t raise any alarms. If it had noticed the bug, it wasn’t acknowledging the fact.

  Through the wasp’s feed, Darian saw Alum’s silicene node sitting about fifteen meters away in the center of the room. Optical cables snaked along the floor from nearby cabinets and into the device.

  Cables that connect it to cameras and microphones all over the habitat—Darian remembered.

  Trillian’s memories, not mine.

  Many of the cables led to sub-processors that ran the habitat machinery. From there, Alum’s sub-mind could coordinate the power supplies of all six habitat tunnels that ran the length of Vesta. Lights could be turned on and off, heaters or coolers could be activated, air and water circulating pumps could be sped up or slowed down. Everything, from systems that affected the ecosystem to automated personal transportation vehicles, could be controlled from this node.

  This local node is the brain, and Vesta is the body—Darian mused. I wonder how much of the lattice is devoted to conscious thought and how much to
autonomic functions.

  Trillian’s memories provided no direct insight on that topic.

  From the outside, the unassuming node looked harmless, like any other piece of innocuous machinery. Looks, in this case, were deceiving.

  From here, Alum could cast complex local RAF fields as big as the entire asteroid of Vesta. And the RAF generators that studded the exterior of the asteroid were capable of much more.

  From here, He could tear reality apart, from one end of the solar system to the other. We have to get in, but we have to do it carefully.

  He checked Trillian’s memories and found nothing more about local defenses protecting the node.

  Surely, Alum wouldn’t leave a node unprotected. Rather careless of Him.

  Then again, what need would Alum have for high-level defenses within the religious center of the Realm? Macroscopic attacks would be easily detected and defended against. With two Angels on duty outside the Tower, any conceivable internal threat could be dispensed within seconds. Anything that got past the Angels would be dealt with directly by the Living God.

  That left the microscopic and nanoscopic.

  The room looked spotlessly clean, aside from the normal traces of dust in the air. Did the Cybrid Partial clean daily or weekly? Luckily, the room lacked HEPA filters on the return air ducts.

  If we’d had to get past Class 100 conditions, that would’ve been a problem!

  He initiated an approach program in the exploratory wasp and highlighted the top of the QUEECH comm device as the landing zone.

  Might as well try the simplest approach, first—he thought. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

  The wasp, carrying its tiny Spyder passenger, lifted from the top of the maintenance Cybrid and headed toward the node in what Darian hoped was a natural-looking, slightly erratic pattern.

  It buzzed across the chamber, unhindered.

  Five, ten, twelve meters.

  Could it be this easy?—Darian wondered.

  The feed from the bug disappeared.

  Darian switched his attention to one of the wasps waiting in the ventilation duct and reviewed its observations.

  The explorer wasp had approached the target. The maintenance Cybrid stationed at the edge of the room didn’t move. Darian half-expected the Cybrid to snap out a small butterfly net on the end of a specialized tentacle or whip out a can of insecticide. But it didn’t. Instead, a green laser light pierced the air from a corner of the room. The wasp and its QUEECH-hacking Spyder passenger were vaporized instantly. In the Proctor’s office one floor below, Darian jumped.