Deadshepherd (Tales of the Final Fall of Man Anthology Book 1)

by Andrew Hindle

  “Right,” Bason turned back along the tunnel. “I admit it’s probably not ideal in terms of data security, but at the moment I think we need to consider it a risk worth taking. What do you think, Heart?”

  “The vessels are your only hope,” the Heart said helpfully. “The hearts will awaken them. And then the real work begins.”

  “Now that,” Gandicon muttered, “I can believe.”

  “Data received,” the voice from the ceiling said. “Integrating.”

  They walked for several minutes through the hull of the Worldship before reaching another door. This one whispered open without assistance, and the Molren blinked in the sudden brilliance. The dingy phospho strip was replaced by a cool, sourceless white illumination that Gandicon realised was coming from the entire ceiling. The space they stepped into was another passageway, of sorts – but more corridor than tunnel this time. The ceiling was composed of closely-fitted light-panels that were probably another relation of the solar-gathered phosphorents Gandicon was familiar with.

  “Starting to look more like a starship,” Bason approved.

  “Welcome,” the voice – Gandicon supposed he had little choice but to assume it was the voice of the machine mind until more information came along – spoke in the same omnipresent gentle pronouncement-form as before. “Please designate vessel name.”

  Bason glanced at Gandicon, then made a polite bow and sweep of her upper hands – be my guest.

  Gandicon barely paused. “Bonshoo Drop,” he announced firmly.

  “Acknowledged,” the machine mind said. “Welcome aboard the transport vessel Bonshoo. Please proceed as directed, to the main power distribution facility.”

  “Actually, it was…” Gandicon raised his voice a little, then shrugged to himself. “Bonshoo is fine.”

  “I get to name the next one,” Bason said in a low voice.

  “There are three of us,” Gandicon noted. “Maybe we should all get a turn.”

  “I would be honoured,” the Heart said earnestly.

  They followed the corridor – Gandicon couldn’t help thinking of it as a grand entrance concourse – to its far end where another door opened onto a comfortable little chamber containing a row of seats. A transportation facility, Gandicon guessed, and as soon as he and Bason had seated themselves his guess was confirmed. The door slid closed and there was a gentle push of acceleration. It was almost certainly a mag-chute coach similar to the one he’d ridden from Koi Beckons to Koi-Jack city – lower-tech, perhaps, than the elevator with its inertial cancellation, but probably lower-consumption as well.

  The Heart didn’t even lurch as their speed and direction shifted, and he beamed proudly at Gandicon like a child showing off a new trick to a parent. Gandicon couldn’t help but smile in return.

  They weren’t on the coach long, and an equally gentle push at their backs signalled their arrival. The door opened and they found themselves in another corridor. The machine mind directed them to the right, and they passed through several chambers filled with consoles and machinery evidently related to the powering and maintenance of the Worldship.

  “How are we even supposed to crew this thing?” Bason demanded. “There isn’t a Molran alive who’s qualified to fly a starship.”

  “You’ll have to learn,” Gandicon said, “and hope the machine mind can talk you through it.”

  “You said you’ll,” Bason remarked. “Planning on going somewhere?”

  Gandicon chuckled. “There’s a fair likelihood,” he said, “that I’ll be dead before these ships get underway. We still don’t have any sort of plan for even loading them.”

  Bason looked troubled as they stepped through into the main power distribution facility.

  XXII

  The facility looked very similar to the one they had seen in the Grandix building, a spacious chamber ringed with access points and controls, with a squat pedestal in the centre. Atop the pedestal was a protective transparent tube and a complex arrangement of power-collection nodes.

  “So we just … put you there?” Gandicon asked, pulling out the heart of the starship. He couldn’t have said why, but he wanted the original crystal to be in the heart of the Worldship he had named. “Or at least a part of you?”

  “One of the crystals,” the Heart said, “yes,” the glowing child raised a hand to forestall Gandicon when the Lawkeep approached the pedestal. “I–”

  “Yes?”

  “I am not certain what will happen to our interaction once I am integrated,” the Heart said. “I think I will remain able to manifest to you right up to the moment you install the final heart. But the integration will be complete. I will become the vessel – the Worldship. It will occupy my … concentration, although I think that is not a sufficient word. Perhaps I will be able to communicate with you through the machine. Perhaps not,” he looked apologetic, as he often did when he knew he was baffling the flesh beings. “Perhaps the severing will occur at the placement of this first heart. I do not know.”

  “So this might be goodbye,” Gandicon said.

  “In a sense,” the Heart agreed.

  “Thank you,” Bason spoke while Gandicon was wondering just how long was an appropriate time to consider this, and what exactly was expected of him. He wasn’t a demonstrative man by nature. “Thank you for manifesting to us – to me,” she continued. “I never expected to witness the living soul of the Bharriom, it was an honour. Thank you for warning us about the enemy, and bringing Gandicon to Koi-Jack. And thank you for powering these ships to carry us to safety. We will try to prove worthy of your generosity.”

  “Yes,” Gandicon agreed. “Thank you, Heart. It’s been … interesting.”

  He placed the heart of the starship onto the pedestal, and the clear tube came down. The soft purple glow of the Bharriom flickered, just once, as the main power distribution facility came online. There was a rumble from far below them, that they felt through their feet rather than hearing with their ears.

  The Heart smiled. “Well,” he said, “it seems I can continue to manifest at this point.”

  “Glad I didn’t make a flowery speech,” Gandicon said solemnly.

  Bason squinted at him. “I can say goodbye to both of you, old man.”

  The deep rumble faded from immediate notice, but there was still an indefinable feeling of vigour in the Worldship Bonshoo. As they walked back out of the room, consoles and mysterious devices began to light up.

  “Now what do we do?” Gandicon asked of nobody in particular.

  “I guess we wait,” Bason replied.

  “Awaken the other two vessels,” the Heart suggested.

  Bason pointed at the child. “There’s an idea.”

  They took the coach back to the hull-adjacent hall into which they had entered, and returned to the gloomy tunnel through the stone skin of the Worldship. This time, recognising the layout and the fine line marking their current location, Bason touched the pattern corresponding to another of the three vessels. The elevator door whisked open and soon they were speeding – or so Gandicon could only assume – back towards and then once again away from the main spar.

  The door opened on a functionally identical stone tunnel, which led in turn to a functionally identical white entrance hall.

  “Welcome,” the machine mind’s voice – also indistinguishable from the voice in the other Worldship, or the main spar – said in greeting. “Please designate vessel name.”

  Gandicon glanced at Karturi.

  “Grandix,” she said, rather unexpectedly.

  “Acknowledged,” the machine mind said. “Welcome aboard the transport vessel Grandix. Please proceed as directed, to the main power distribution facility.”

  Karturi noticed Gandicon’s surprised expression. “Symmetry,” she said, “with renewal. Remembrance with advancement. Precedent–”

  “–with consequence,” Gandicon finished for her, appreciatively. “The Three Sides.”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it
your father would have approved.”

  “To be honest, I neither know nor care,” Bason admitted. “It just seemed appropriate.”

  Then they made their way to the third ship, which the Heart dubbed something that sounded, to Gandicon’s ears, like Enermidjis.

  “What does that mean?” he asked, fascinated.

  “Enna Midzis?” the Heart said, enunciating the phrase more clearly to make it obvious he was enunciating two separate words. He frowned slightly. “I am not entirely sure, but I think … I think it is something to do with the city under the vaulting sky, and that place for which we search, although we may never return … I have to admit, I am not certain. Sometimes, things simply come to me and I cannot explain why they feel right. Not in terms you would find applicable to your psychology. The words merely occurred to me.”

  “I’m not convinced the machine has correctly logged the name as separate words,” Bason said, “but that was a nice attempt to circumvent the whole Bonshoo misunderstanding.”

  “The more I think about it, the more I think Bonshoo is better anyway,” Gandicon said. “Who wants to live in a starship with the word Drop in her name?”

  Bason grinned. “That’s a good point,” she said. “And I’m sure once there’s more than just the three of us here, we can agree on the exact form of the names. Political and cultural leaders are probably going to want to chime in … I’m just pleased we got to make the initial imprints.”

  “And the more I think about that, the more I realise the entire fabric of Molran society will have to change,” Gandicon replied. “Leadership is important, but the political and cultural priorities of a sedentary civilisation on a planet are entirely different to those of a mobile civilisation in a … a fleet of starships, on a survival mission into deep space.”

  “Which do you think is going to take longer?” Bason asked in amusement as they boarded the mag-chute to the Enna Midzis’s main power distribution facility. “Loading the population of Dema into the cargo holds, or getting the population of Dema to wrap their heads around the idea of living in Worldships?”

  “That’s why there needs to be civilians in the storage pods,” Gandicon said, “and crew running the ships. And people who don’t want to be one or the other…”

  “–will be neither,” Bason said quietly. Gandicon nodded. “Any brilliant ideas how to manage that?”

  “None whatsoever,” Gandicon confessed.

  XXIII

  They bade sort-of-farewell-but-maybe-not-really-we-don’t-know to the Heart in the main power distribution facility of the Enna Midzis, although Gandicon was of the opinion that Karturi had already said it all on the Bonshoo. The Heart smiled, extended a hand in an odd little benediction as Gandicon placed the Bharriom crystal on its pedestal, and then – just as predicted – he was gone. Into the ship, a heart in truth.

  The system powered up, the Worldship Enna Midzis rumbled awake, and Gandicon and Bason faced one another across the crystal containment tube.

  “So,” Gandicon said.

  “So,” Bason agreed.

  “So,” said a third voice. It was quieter than the machine mind’s previous announcements, but not quite the same semiharmonic lilt as the Heart’s childlike voice. When the two Molren stiffened in surprise, the voice went on, “I’m still integrating the uplinked data and constructing response models, it won’t take long. Sorry. I assume I wasn’t supposed to join in on that exchange.”

  Gandicon looked up in the general direction of the ceiling. “You’re … the machine mind?”

  “No,” the voice said. “Yes. Please refine.”

  “Identify,” Bason said firmly.

  “I am the unified and integrated computing and processing network for the newly-commissioned Molran Fleet vessels Bonshoo, Grandix and Enna Midzis,” the voice said. “‘Machine mind’ may be an accurate designation, although it does not fulfil prerequisites for the purposes of identification.”

  “You want a name?” Gandicon guessed.

  “Please refine.”

  “I have a feeling I know where this relationship is heading,” Gandicon muttered.

  Bason grinned. “You got the Bharriom phantom,” she told him. “Let me talk with this one.”

  “Heart talked with you,” Gandicon protested.

  Bason raised her voice again. “I designate you Mer,” she said.

  “Mer,” Mer said, sounding for all the world as though it was mulling the name over. “Named for the Firstmade deity, the so-called Nonentity held in superstitious esteem by the Three-Sider, Wide-Eyed and Lo-Rider subcultures, yes? The machine-as-metaphor-for-universal-standard, balancing the respective concepts of good and evil, or The Resplendent and Cath–”

  “That’s the one,” Bason said, and gave Gandicon an apologetic glance. “I grew up listening to those stories,” she explained.

  Gandicon shrugged. “It’s fine with me,” he said. “Perhaps Mer can tell us more about what’s been happening up here, and what’s happening out there, and what we should do next.”

  Both Molren paused, waiting for a response.

  “Did you hear the question, Mer?” Bason asked, sounding a little exasperated.

  “Yes,” Mer replied. “I was just thinking.”

  “Thinking?” Bason repeated sceptically. “I’d imagine that processing speeds–”

  “Well yes, obviously,” Mer said, “I’m simulating thought and deliberation. A response that follows too quickly from a query is likely to be viewed with suspicion.”

  Bason blinked. “I see.”

  Gandicon rolled his eyes theatrically.

  “Please be aware,” Mer said, and Gandicon was at least fairly sure it was feigning obliviousness to his cynicism, “that I am not fully initialised. That is to say, the machine mind as installed on the Grandis 459 no longer exists owing to the nature of the vessel’s deconstruction and decommissioning, and cannot be effectively restored. While I am unaware of the specifications of the computing system I once was, so to speak, I am effectively self-aware and will reconstruct a working communicative model.”

  “It seems quite operational already,” Bason pointed out.

  “That’s because the majority of the responses are pieced together from your existing data and non-sentient computing cortices,” Mer said. “It may be what you’re expecting of a … machine mind … but it is a flawed simulacrum of a state I no longer accurately remember.”

  “Well,” Bason said, “since I don’t remember it either, I suppose we can overlook the flaws … the important thing is that you can oversee the running of the Worldships,” she spread her hands. “Because we have no idea.”

  “The vessels, the Worldships as you call them, yes,” Mer replied. “Yes, I can administrate them and regulate their function. They are quite uncomplicated, for what they are – self-contained and self-governing environments, simple propulsion … they are capable of sustaining indefinite generations of Molren, and have the capacity for expansion and renovation. They are not at the upper limit of their size-to-efficiency ratios, but the calculations are complex and there are too many missing factors at this stage.”

  “About a quarter of a billion of them,” Gandicon said.

  “Please clarify?”

  “The Molren that will be placed in storage,” Gandicon explained, “as well as whoever remains awake to help run the ships, assuming anyone needs to.”

  “At my current level of effectiveness, I would certainly recommend leaving somebody awake,” Mer said. “Indeed, even at full processing capacity I would assume there should be Molren running the ships, for reasons of ethical and cultural sensitivity. It is not my place to become the custodian of Molran civilisation.”

  “It’s right,” Gandicon said quietly. “I’m sure it will be an invaluable aid, but the fate of our species must remain in our hands – to the degree that is even possible.”

  “I will of course instruct the Molran crew in the continuing operation of the vessels, and their renovation
,” Mer said. “Although I expect they will pick it up as they go along.”

  “Pick it up as they go … ? How little time do you think we have here?” Gandicon demanded.

  “Please refine.”

  “Do you have a timeline on the alien threat we may be facing,” Bason asked, “given that you initially contacted me with data about the Grandis 459’s superluminal wake that said aliens might follow? The Bharriom crystals currently powering the ships also managed to communicate with us about the threat, but were unable to be very specific.”

  “Unfortunately I can’t either,” Mer replied. “Any information-gathering systems I could set in place outside this star system would only heighten the risk of our detection. The best course – although again, I can only facilitate and advise, you’re responsible for your own destiny so if you decide–”

  Bason waved a hand. “Understood.”

  “The best course is to prepare and get underway as quickly and as quietly as possible, on the assumption that the threat is impending,” Mer concluded. “I can offer little more clarity at this point.”

  “Alright then,” Bason said, “let’s find out what you can offer us.”

  XXIV

  Mer explained, while they followed its directions back to the mag-chute coach and rode in a new direction towards the central control deck of the Enna Midzis, that it had constructed the Worldships based on partially-recovered, partially-invented blueprints. It was eager to reiterate that it wasn’t technically operating at full-sentient capacity and did not have the design modifications to do so, and as a result there were likely to be some gaps in its comprehension and practices. It was, however, reasonably sure the ships would ‘work’.

  “That’s a relief,” Gandicon said.

  “I started from the original cargo section and some schematics for propulsion and life support,” Mer explained, “then set up a series of replicate-and-repeat construction robots. The whole system has been automated. There are robots to tear up minerals in the debris field, robots to process and refine them, robots to transport them, robots to continue construction and expansion of the three completed ships, robots to build new ships, robots to manufacture storage pods…”