by Rupert Segar
The Emperor was sitting on a chair opposite, leaning slightly forward and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Is there anything you would like? My wives can be very accommodating and these two … well, I cannot even recall their names.” As the Kargol king spoke the two females moved back, kneeling either side of Art, heads bowed compliantly.
“But first, to business. I need to know a little more about you. Where were you going with my little ship and what were you going to do when you got there?”
Art looked at the smiling face of the king of a thousand worlds and wanted to tell him everything. He felt obliged to obey his Emperor. Art was daunted by his surroundings. He was overwhelmed to be on board the Orion with its vast encapsulated worlds. He glanced at the two females and was overcome with lust. He was sure he had a huge erection which everyone could see. His mind told him he wanted to do whatever his king asked him, so he could become a loyal servant. With his body, he wanted to impregnate both the females, over and over until his yearning was sated.
Art began to marshal his thoughts. He had to corral his passions for a moment and cage his feelings of loyalty so he could find the words to tell his King everything. He stopped and thought of the questions he had been asked and, despite his intention to reveal all, there was nothing.
“I, I … I can’t remember,” stuttered Art, devastated at his inability to remember any detail. He knew who he was, or thought he did. But the events of the preceding two months seemed to elude him. Art would recall an impression but as he pursued the glimpse of memory it would slide away from his grasp. “I am sorry!” he said truly meaning what he said.
“You useless mountebank,” said the Emperor kicking at the simian ape who had reappeared at his side. “Too much, too much.”
“Your Excellency,” wailed the creature. “Give me time, my Lord.”
“You’ve already wasted my time,” snarled the monarch. “Now, find out what I want to know or you’re both out the airlock together.”
Art felt a pang of loss as the Emperor strode out of sight. His chances of pleasing his king were receding. He could not see the women either. Then he felt a hand caressing his belly. With a great deal of effort he looked down and saw four long fingers sliding over his abdomen: four fingers and a scar where a thumb should be.
Something clicked inside Art’s head and the veils of illusion slipped away. Click: the chair and table vanished, instead Art was lying on a metal crib. Click: there was no sunshine on the back of his head, instead he could feel his pilot’s widgets connecting to some external sensorium. Click: the trees and skies of the Temperate Zone were chopped down, instead he saw the blood splattered walls of a medical interrogation cell.
Art felt a shudder of revulsion as the long fingered, scarred, thumb less hand scuttled over his skin. His memories began to flood back. The amputation of thumbs he recalled was the mark of the poisoner medics: the twisted technicians who, right across the Empire and beyond, tortured and interrogated suspects. The long limbed, simian shaped human was an inquisitor. He reached over Art’s stomach to press a syringe block into his arm. A bundle of micro tubes bled off blood from Art’s arm and some reversed the flow pushing different coloured liquids back into the pilot’s veins. Art felt his libido rising again.
“Now for Sonya, now for Gertie,” gibbered the ape like creature caressing the control panel beside the crib. “Playtime for pilot. Pleasure before pain.”
Pornographic images leached into Art’s mind. The two females re-appeared but this time they were near naked and in a sexual frenzy. There was a blur of breasts and thighs, mouths and crevices. Art closed his eyes in ecstasy. He felt engulfed by desire, every part of his body was tingling and he was building towards a climax. Suddenly, all at once, the smorgasbord of fleshy eroticism disappeared and so did Art’s libido.
“This is not real, Art,” said a familiar voice but without the usual metallic twang. “It is an illusion”
“Ship, is that you?”
“No, Art. I am just a bundle of engrams encoded into your earpiece and some of your widgets.”
“But is that you, ship? I mean are you like the pod?”
“No, Art. I am not the entity you call the ship. Think of me as a bundle of pre-recorded messages combined with a few heuristic engrams and safety devices.”
“O.K. but, Einstein damn it, why did you have to interfere now? I was just getting to the good bit.”
“I don’t think so. Open your eyes and look down,” said the voice.
Art prised his eyelids apart and saw the simian shaped man tapping his now flaccid penis with one long fingered hand, holding a laser scalpel in the other. As he shoved and poked Art’s penis the creature moaned, grumbled and slavered.
“Oh, by the way, I have counteracted the inhibitors and you can move now,” said the voice.
In one forceful lunge, Art reached across with his left hand, pulled out the syringe block from his right arm and plunged it into the man’s neck. The creature squawked with surprise but was abruptly silenced as Art grabbed the laser syringe out of his hand and stabbed it into the simian’s eye socket. A spurt of blood splatted the wall, adding to the patina of biological stains.
“… and I increased your adrenaline levels, if you had not noticed.”
Art was standing beside the crib feeling sick. With grim determination he pulled off the various tubes and wires attached to his body. He was naked but that wasn’t why he felt vulnerable.
“Did you stop me telling the Emperor about the ship and Yelena and everything? I mean that was the Emperor wasn’t it? Not part of the fantasy.”
“As far as I could tell, the Emperor, the Kargol King, ruler of a thousand worlds was not in the interrogation cell with you, although he may have been present as an external projection from …”
“OK” said Art cutting short what he suspected could be a very tedious conversation. “But how come, if you’re just a bundle of engrams, you can cause me temporary amnesia?”
“Not the engrams but one of the security devices,” said the voice with a touch of arrogance that sounded very familiar. “Would you have preferred to have been able to tell the Emperor what he wanted to know?”
“No, no, for Einstein’s sake, Yelena, Becki and Lea would have been next on the dissecting table. No, I realise how close I came to betraying everything I believe in. I’d heard about medical interrogation but I never realised how a few chemicals and a sensorium can completely delude you.”
“It was the use of the sensorium that brought me on line,” said the voice in Art’s head. “Now, what do you want to do because I don’t expect you can have this much adrenaline running through your body indefinitely?”
“Well, first I could do with finding some clothes.”
Chapter 25: Devastation from space
A single world orbited a mediocre sun in an otherwise planet less solar system at the edge of the Chimera sector. The world had been christened Devastation by voyageurs many of whom made pilgrimage to the planet using the grey oval doorways scattered around the galaxy.
One hundred thousand kilometres above the surface of the planet, a tiny ball of white light flared into existence, travelling at 25 thousand kilometres an hour and rapidly expanding until it was 500 meters in diameter. Inside the balloon of intense energy a vessel appeared and the balloon burst. Flux washed around a ship like waves in a storm tossed sea. However, the disturbance rapidly diminished as flux capacitors soaked up the excess energies. The ship was left travelling in a geosynchronous orbit above Devastation, although none on board knew it by that name yet.
“That’s pretty impressive ship,” said Yelena sitting in one of the three pilot seats in the main cabin. She was plugged into the ship’s sensorium, which was unlike any she had ever experienced. “I can’t believe that you’ve jumped two light years and emerged at precisely the spot I asked you too. We’re just 5k away from the object and closing slowly.”
“I aim to give good service,” said the ship’s voi
ce with a slight metallic twang.
“O.K., ship, can you display where we are at the conference table and Becky and Lea can join in the conversation?” said Yelena unbuckling her seat belt and getting up without waiting for a response from the entity they called “ship.”
The three humans on board sat around the circular table while the alien entity projected an image of the planet and the orbiting object they were slowly approaching.
“This is Chimera 6,” said Yelena to Lea and Becki. “As you know, we decided to start with this system because we spotted the object.”
“You mean the ship spotted the object,” said Lea.
“I was plugged in,” objected Yelena.
“We both saw the unusual discharge of energy close to the planet,” said the ship, “and that is when we decided we would start with this system.”
“Hmmn, I think we need to have a chat about our priorities,” said Lea. “Are we here to rescue Art or are we looking for the ship’s alien mummy and daddy?”
“Guys, the ship has a plan, don’t you ship?” chipped in Becky trying to defuse the conversation. “But we have to find the royal fleet first.”
“Exactly,” said Lea with a sarcastic tone. “If we’re presuming the Emperor is heading for the same seven solar systems we’ve tagged, we should start at Chimera 1 not Chimera 6.”
“We don’t even know if the fleet has reached the Chimera sector yet,” said Yelena. “So starting at 6 and working back makes sort of sense, and then there is the object. There was an intense burst of tachyons that we picked up 20 light years away. It was only when we got to within five light years we were able to see the system more clearly and then, two light years out, we picked up the object. Ship, what can you tell us now?”
A striped ball appeared above the table. It was next to and exactly the same size as the holo image of the planet. The two projections were turning together in time. Nice touch, thought Yelena. The planet moved out of the vision field as the picture expanded leaving the object clearly in view. It was a wafer thin oval of grey smoke.
A table of figures appeared beside the image and the ship’s voice summarised the details. “It is just below geosynchronous orbit yet it is keeping its position exactly above the same part of the planet, which suggests it is in a powered orbit but there are no signs of any emissions. No, correction, I am detecting flux ions, the level is low but it is increasing slowly.”
“Is it safe or should we back off?” asked Yelena.
“If I remember rightly,” said the former librarian, Lea, smugly, “flux ions are quixotic particles that barely interact with anything. They come in two flavours, left handed and right handed and they are associated with black holes and time displacement.”
“What it is to be a know-all,” said Becky rolling her eyes but smiling at the academic. “But, maybe that explains the tachyon burst.”
“Whether we are showered in flux ions or tachyons, you may rest assured you will all be safe within this vessel,” said the ship. “What Lea said is correct.” Lea tipped his head towards the ships hooped hologram while smiling at Becky. “According to the records we acquired from the Quintox Library …”
“Borrowed,” said Lea, “otherwise it’s stealing, a lethal offence on Willow.”
“…borrowed from the library,” continued the metallic voice, “flux ions are associated with twinned black holes that have a mismatched temporal synchronicity.”
“temporal what?” spluttered Becky, her reporter’s instinct railing against the ship’s verbal superfluosity.
“It means two holes, two different times,” explained Lea, saucily adding “If you want a demonstration, see me after class.”
“There’s only one arse hole round here, and that’s you,” retorted Becky.
Yelena laughed then posed her own question, “Is this a natural phenomenon, a type of black hole we’ve not seen before, or is it artificial, a construct?”
“It is definitely not a natural black hole,” said the ship, its holo image pulsing.
“How do you know?” asked Yelena.
“Because there are three more of them, down on the surface of the planet.”
Chapter 26: Truth or Dare
Art discovered a medical technician’s uniform in one of the lockers in the small changing room outside the interrogation cell. He stuffed his inquisitor’s body into the locker. Methodically, he had explored the area looking for any instruments he could use as weapons or tools. He selected a laser cutter, possibly used for amputations, and an injection gun which he loaded with the strongest sedative he recognised from the man’s extensive pharmacy. The laser scalpel he decided to leave in the interrogator’s eye socket.
He devoured the inquisitor’s lunch. Clearly, the man had been devoted to his work and ate at his dissecting table. The thought brought back some of Art’s queasiness. The sandwiches tasted like a combination of soap and salami, but he bolted them down knowing he needed the energy. Thankfully, the interrogator’s drink consisted of plain ship water, one hundred percent pure and tasteless. Swallowing, the last mouthful of food he decided to talk to the thing in his head.
I am not very happy about the ship putting you in my brain, he said. Along with the rest of humanity I have a very good reason to fear AIs and computers with personalities. Now there one planted in my head.
I am just a bundle of engrams encoded into your earpiece and some of your widgets. I am here to protect you.”
OK, I am grateful for what you’ve done so far, but no more interfering with my memories or hormones or whatever, without asking first.
“I agree.”
+
Art stood before the closed door leading out of the changing room. He had no idea what was beyond the door and was summoning up his courage to find out.
“I don’t suppose you have any special trick that can help me see what’s on the other side of this door?” Art asked talking to the empty room.
“No, I am sorry. I cannot even see the door,” said the voice inside Art’s head. “I am designed to interact with sensoriums.”
“Well, you’re not much use to me then, are you?”
“Get us to a pilot’s seat, or even and engineering post, and we will see.”
Art knew he could not stay where he was for much longer. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for the inquisitor. Art was not convinced he even knew where he was. His interrogator’s illusion had him on board Orion, the Emperor’s fleet ship, but maybe that was just part of the deception. He could be in a military detention centre or, worse still, a scientific research institute; the sort of place political prisoners went into and never came out. There was only one way to find out and that was to open the door.
Hesitantly, Art place his hand on the handle and paused when, abruptly, the door was pulled open from the outside. Standing there in the corridor was the head librarian, Chung Wang, flanked by two security guards. Art had encountered the autocrat in the vast Quintox Library when he had tried to arrest Art, Yelena and Lea. The fat librarian was the last person Art expected to see, He was crestfallen. So much for his escape plans.
“What’s the matter man?” said the head librarian. “Don’t stand there like a jackanapes. I have come to assist in the interrogation of the traitorous pilot.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Art suddenly realised the fat librarian had no idea who he was. Then he remembered the ship had changed his appearance and his tell-tale dreadlocks were much shorter, brown and tucked up underneath the borrowed medical cap. Art stood dumbstruck unable to believe his luck.
“Are you deaf as well as stupid?! Take me to Dr Izal!” shouted the red faced autocrat pushing past Art. “You two guards remain outside while I deal with the traitor.”
Art looked at the guards who looked back at him then smartly turned about to stand guard, their backs to the wall either side of the doorway. Art closed the heavy door and followed the wobbling librarian into the interrogation cell. The overweight bureaucrat stood by
the empty metal crib, casting his piggy eyes about, clearly bemused.
“Where is Dr Izal? Where is the criminal pilot?”
“I’m right here,” said Art plunging the end of the injection gun into the side of the librarian’s fat neck. The rotund academic boggled at Art, his mouth moving speechlessly, and he began to topple. Art shoved Chung Wang backwards with all his might and the massive librarian fell on his back in the crib. The metal stays and springs groaned and complained but held his huge torso.
Five minutes later, the head librarian, Chung Wang regained consciousness. He could not move. With an effort he looked down at his obese body and saw no restraints. His eyes moved to the right and he saw an injection bock taped to his wrist. Then a voice came from the left.
“Ah, you’re awake then,” whispered Art grinning maliciously. “Time for a game of truth or dare.” Art made a show of fiddling with the injection tubes, turning this tap and that, then igniting a laser scalpel. “Your choice: either tell me the truth, or dare me to remove your appendages, beginning with these,” said Art indicating the man’s groin. With a stinking blast of flatulence, the head librarian soiled himself.
Half an hour later, leaving behind a heavily sedated fat librarian, Art pulled the door closed. Standing on the corridor between the two guards, he took a deep breath to clear the stench from his nostrils. Looking ahead, avoiding the gaze of the sentries, Art gave them his orders.
“Dr Izal and the head librarian say they are making some progress: slow but certain. They are not to be disturbed under any circumstance, by order of the Emperor.”
Both guards had groaned quietly at the prospect of an extended sentry duty but they snapped to attention at the mention of the Kargol king. Art looked about and was reassured to see the bulkheads of a spaceship. Despite the fat librarian’s obvious fear of the slightest torture, Art did not entirely believe what the man had said. Leaving the guards to their duty, he walked off along the corridor to the right, only because it was longer than the corridor to the left. Art felt buoyed by his deception and was tempted to whistle a tune as he walked but resisted.
