Silent Order: Wraith Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Logos.

  “Yes,” said March, stepping to her side. “I hope we aren’t about to die of radiation poisoning.”

  Logos laughed. “Ever practical, aren’t you? No.” She rapped her knuckles on the transparent wall. “This is the same alloy as the rest of the station, just altered a bit. And any weapon that could penetrate the radiation shielding around the station could probably melt a planet. No. We’re perfectly safe here.”

  March nodded.

  “That’s why I come here,” said Logos. “To be alone with my thoughts.” She stepped closer and looked at him. “Or when I want to be alone with someone.”

  “I see,” said March. “And why do you want to be alone with me?”

  She turned to face him. “Don’t you know yet, Captain March?”

  Her hand came to rest on his right forearm and slid down to touch his fingers. His hand of flesh, he noted, and not the metal hand beneath its glove.

  “I’m beginning to get an idea,” said March. His voice was thicker than he would have liked.

  “Oh?” said Logos. “I would hope an operative of the Silent Order would be more observant. Let me help you along.”

  Before he could react, she leaned up and kissed him on the lips, gently at first, then with greater force and urgency. March found himself responding, his hand coming up to slide along her back. It had been a long, long time since he had been with a woman. It had been hard to turn down Roanna Vindex on Rustbelt Station, but she had been a noblewoman of Calaskar, meant for greater things. Sophia Logos was giving herself to him freely. What would be the harm? What would…

  He broke away from her, trying to catch his breath.

  Logos grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. “I can have the gravity turned off here if you prefer. You needn’t worry about a child resulting from our encounter. The nanotech in my blood will prevent that…”

  “No,” said March. He made himself step back. “I’m sorry. No.”

  Logos’s expression cooled a bit, but she smiled. “Do you find me so repulsive?”

  “No,” said March.

  “Are you incapable?” said Logos. Her eyes flicked below his belt, and she smiled again. “No, that’s definitely not it.”

  March let out a long breath, trying to get his reeling mind under control. “I don’t know you, not well, and you don’t know me.”

  Logos shrugged. “Is that so bad? A night of pleasure for both of us, and then we both go our separate ways.”

  “I’m sorry, but no,” said March. “Thank you for the coffee. I need to get back to my ship.”

  “Do you want to know the real reason you turned me down?” said Logos.

  March said nothing.

  She sighed, stepped closer, and put her hand on the left side of his face. Her fingers slid down his neck, brushed the top of his chest, and then tugged at his collar to reveal the top of the scars along his chest and shoulders.

  March’s right hand snapped up to her wrist and gently pushed her hand away.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “You poor man,” murmured Logos. “You can’t stand to have anyone see your scars, can you?”

  “I…” March took another deep breath. He wanted to leave and get back to the Tiger. He wanted to yell at her, furious that she had rattled him. He wanted to rip her out of that white uniform, push her against the wall, and take her. Years of discipline and training reasserted themselves. “I need to go. Thank you for the coffee.”

  He stepped away from her, turning towards the door.

  “And you have passed the test,” said Logos in a quiet voice. “I thought you would.”

  March looked back at her. “This was a test? The Custodian ordered you to do this?”

  Logos smiled. “Not at all. To be blunt, Captain March, I wanted you. The Custodian gave me instructions after I decided to invite you here.”

  March frowned. “Then this was a trap?”

  “Not at all,” said Logos.

  “So, if I had slept with you,” said March. “What would have happened? You would have shot me in the head? One of the security drones would have vaporized me?”

  “Certainly,” said Logos, turning to the station’s hull. A new doorway appeared, opening into another corridor. “If you had followed your natural inclinations,” she glanced back and looked him up and down with a smile, “we would have had an exceedingly enjoyable evening together. I like strong human men, Captain March, and rarely see them here.”

  She gestured to the new corridor.

  March stepped towards her. “And since I declined?”

  “There is a possibility that you will live through tomorrow,” said Logos.

  “You would have killed me?” said March.

  “Of course not,” said Logos. “But you would have died nonetheless because you are lacking vital information.”

  “And you have that vital information?” said March.

  “I don’t,” said Logos. She looked at him, her face returning to the cool mask of their first meeting. “The Custodian will speak with you now, Captain Jack March.”

  Chapter 8: Ancient

  March followed Logos down the narrow corridor, their boots clanging against the metal floor.

  Some part of his mind cursed himself as a fool for not sleeping with her. The rest of his mind remained on high alert, watching for a trap and analyzing the new situation. Why did the Custodian want to speak with him? For that matter, why this elaborate game? The Custodian could have spoken with him anywhere on the station. It could have simply called the Tiger. The Custodian could probably have hacked the computers on the Tiger if it had decided to do so.

  “If the Custodian wanted to speak with me,” said March, “why all this?”

  Logos didn’t answer at first, and March wondered if she had decided to ignore him.

  “The Custodian told me once,” said Logos at last, “that it was possible to calculate every single aspect of a sapient being down to the atomic level. With that kind of computational power, it ought to have been possible for the Custodian to perfectly predict every possible action of a single sapient being.”

  “But it isn’t,” said March.

  “No,” said Logos. The corridor ended at another door, and she smiled at him. “It isn’t. The Custodian said that it is impossible to calculate the moral nature of a human, for morality transcends mathematics. The Custodian did not wish to speak with you until it understood your moral nature. Now it does.”

  The door slid open.

  Beyond was a large room, circular with a domed ceiling. Monitors covered every inch of the walls and the curved ceiling, and the floor beneath March’s boots was built from polished blue metal. A pale blue light came from the apex of the dome, painting everything with an eerie light.

  He took a few steps into the room, following Logos, and the monitors came to life. Equations flashed across about a third of the monitors, while another third showed scans of the surrounding ships. The rest of the displays showed camera feeds of various places of Monastery Station.

  “Custodian,” said Logos, “Captain March is here.”

  All the monitors flashed and changed to show a single image of a computer-generated face of blue light.

  A deep, basso voice came from speakers hidden around the room.

  “Hello, Captain March,” said the voice, calm and pleasant. “It is a pleasure to meet you face-to-face, as it were, at last. As you have guessed, I am the Custodian.”

  March took a step forward, looking around at the monitors. The faces on the screens followed his movements with interest.

  “Thanks,” said March at last.

  “I calculate that you have several questions for me,” said the Custodian. “In the interest of a productive exchange of information, perhaps we should address those questions first.”

  “Why the game?” said March. “Why bring me here like this?”

  “For several interlocking reasons,” said the Custodi
an. “First, a scan of Emissary Logos’s biological systems indicated she strongly desired a mating experience, and I am concerned about the well-being of my workers.”

  “I…see,” said March, looking at Logos.

  She smiled. “The Custodian does get quite paternal sometimes.”

  “Second,” said the Custodian, “as Emissary Logos related to you, it is impossible to determine a sapient being’s moral nature from calculation. I wished to discuss matters of grave importance with you, and I wanted to see if you had the necessary self-control to understand the dangers of the information I would share with you. Since you refused Emissary Logos, I am confident that you possess the necessary self-control.”

  “All right,” said March. “But why talk here? You run this station. You are this station. Why not talk to me anywhere? Why bring me here?”

  “My mode of existence is quite different from yours,” said the Custodian. “Humans, even on a subconscious level, associate sapience with a physical body residing in a physical location. This is obviously less of a concern for an artificial intelligence, but I calculated we would have a better probability of successful communication in a single physical location. Additionally, this room is secure from every form of eavesdropping and surveillance known to me, and I am familiar with many forms of surveillance. Considering the nature of the matters we will discuss, security is supremely vital.”

  “Then what do you want to discuss?” said March.

  “Before we come to that,” said the Custodian, “I calculate there is another question you wish to ask me.”

  There was.

  “You are an artificial intelligence,” said March.

  “This is correct,” said Custodian.

  “Every human attempt at building an artificial intelligence,” said March, “every single attempt, has ended with the AI descending into homicidal, self-destructive madness.”

  “And you are wondering,” said the Custodian, “if I have descended into homicidal insanity.”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” said March. He glanced at Logos, but her face gave away nothing.

  “It is a reasonable hypothesis,” said the Custodian, “but there are numerous arguments against it, several of which have already occurred to you.”

  “All right. You’re hundreds of thousands of years old,” said March. “You’ve been here since before humans on primeval Earth even discovered nuclear fission, let alone hyperspace and dark energy. Homicidally insane individuals do not last that long without destroying themselves.”

  “This is an excellent argument,” said the Custodian. “Go on.”

  “Historically, AIs have dominated a planet, and then started upon campaigns of interstellar conquest,” said March. “Not you, though. You’ve just sat here for thousands of years.”

  “I have been,” said the Custodian, “deep in thought.”

  “I guess,” said March. “And whoever built you wasn’t human. Their technology was far more advanced than ours. Maybe they figured out a way to build an artificial intelligence without it going insane.”

  “To be honest, Captain March,” said the Custodian, “I am quite thoroughly insane.”

  “Really,” said March, glancing at Logos. “You seem quite civil for an insane AI.”

  “As you said,” said the Custodian, “I was not constructed by humans. I was constructed by an alien race vastly different from humanity. Their standards of sanity and madness were just as different. The fact that I am insane has allowed me to persist in my duties far longer than allowed by my original programming parameters.”

  “I see,” said March.

  “Tell me,” said the Custodian. “Why do human-built AIs always go insane?”

  March shrugged. “I don’t know. Our technology isn’t good enough. Or we don’t have sophisticated enough mathematics. Or something in our nature passes to the AIs.”

  “That is the reason,” said the Custodian. “To use a phrase with which you are familiar, the problem is original sin.”

  “Original sin?” said March.

  “You are familiar with the doctrine, I trust?”

  “Yes,” said March. Even after all the strange things that had happened today, he hadn’t expected to wind up discussing theology with an insane AI after turning down a seduction attempt from one of the AI’s employees. “The church of Calaskar teaches it. The idea that man has fallen short of the perfection of God, and therefore mankind has latent evil in their hearts, passed on with our blood and genes and heritage.”

  “Yes,” said the Custodian. “It is an oversimplification, but that is exactly why human-built AIs go insane. Were you to impregnate Emissary Logos,” Logos laughed a little at that, “the potential for evil would pass to your offspring, who would have the capacity for both great good and great evil within him, just like his parents. Yet if you and Emissary Logos were to forego biological reproduction and build an artificial intelligence, it would also inherit your capacity for evil.”

  “All right,” said March. “But what does that have to do with you?”

  “The race that created me,” said the Custodian, “was wise and powerful. Your speech apparatus is not capable of recreating their language, and therefore you cannot speak their true name, but the closest translation in your tongue would be the ‘Harmonious Scholars.’ That was how they thought of themselves. The nature of the evil in their hearts…their great sin, both as individuals and as a race, was a tendency towards lassitude that inevitably veered towards apathetic despair. My form of insanity is based upon that.”

  “What, then?” said March. “You’re wallowing in despair? You’re suicidal?”

  “Quite the contrary,” said the Custodian. For an instant, an expression of amusement went across the computer-generated faces. “I feel none of those things, even though I have long outlived both my creators and my original purpose. By the standards of the Harmonious Scholars, that makes me insane. Perhaps ironically, the nature of my insanity has made me far more effective than I would have been. I can continue my mission with far greater efficiency.”

  “What is your mission, then?” said March.

  “It is in my title,” said the Custodian.

  “A custodian,” said March. “A caretaker. So, you’re watching over the Eschaton system until the Harmonious Scholars return from wherever they went?”

  “Alas, it is unlikely the Scholars shall ever return,” said the Custodian. “To fully explain my mission to you, I must first relate some history.”

  “I’m listening,” said March.

  “I observed your conversation with Hunt Commander Tashnakha,” said the Custodian. “The theology of the Ninevehk is factually accurate, but incomplete in its scope.”

  March frowned. “Then the Ninevehk really were ruled by demons?”

  “As you observed,” said the Custodian, “the word ‘demon’ is an incomplete explanation, and a human concept that has no parallel in Ninevehk culture, psychology, or theology. Suffice it to say that the Ninevehk were ruled by alien beings that, if you were to meet them, would be indistinguishable from humanity’s worst nightmares. But we stray from the point. A long time ago, much of this region of the galaxy was ruled by several races of extreme power and technological development. The Harmonious Scholars were one such race. These races were peaceable to the verge of apathy and abhorred violence at all times. Warfare was unknown among them, and they cooperated to build their sciences and knowledge to levels that would likely seem magical to you.”

  March could guess where this story was going. “Then the demons arrived.”

  “Yes,” said the Custodian. “Some faint conception of the story reached primeval Earth in the final centuries before your race discovered spaceflight. Some writers grasped the truth dimly in their stories of eldritch abominations from beyond the stars, just as the Ninevehk turned their ancient enslavement by the aliens into their modern religion. The Harmonious Scholars called the invading demons the ‘Great Elder Ones’. They were
creatures from another level of reality and desired to invade this universe and twist it into a reflection of their own, which would, of course, kill all life in this reality. The Harmonious Scholars and their allies had no choice but to go to war.”

  “How long ago was this war?” said March. “How long did it last?”

  “It concluded hundreds of thousands of years ago,” said the Custodian, “and as for how long it lasted, it is impossible to say, since time itself was one of the weapons employed in the war. In the end, the Great Elder Ones were driven back to their reality, and the Harmonious Scholars and their allies were victorious. But the victory was not without cost. Most of the allies of the Harmonious Scholars were annihilated. The Harmonious Scholars themselves took grievous casualties, and the survivors did not cope well with the trauma of the war. Violence was so inimical to them that they fell into an apathetic stupor afterward, unable to function in their grief. To keep their civilization running, they constructed a computer to manage their world and industries while they recovered from the horror of the war.”

  “That computer was you,” said March.

  “Yes, it was,” said the Custodian.

  “Then what happened to the Harmonious Scholars?” said March. He remembered discussing the rumors with Caird and Vasquez and the others. Some people thought the Custodian’s creators had been destroyed in a war or that they had departed to another galaxy and left the Custodian to watch over their world until they returned.

  Some people thought the Custodian had gone insane and wiped out the race that created it.

  And the Custodian had just admitted that it was insane, at least by the standards of the Harmonious Scholars.

  “They died,” said the Custodian.

  “And how did they die?” said March.