by Meridian
“If I make it through this, I am never leaving Pegasus again,” Eddie Roebuck said, forcing himself to take the rappelling gun from Redfire and clipping its handle to his gear. The pod quaked, and pieces fell into the abyss.
Eddie closed his eyes and screamed as he swung over the empty space. When he slammed into the far wall, he grabbed onto a structural support and held on with a death grip. With shaking hands, he unclipped line from his belt and swung it back over to the pod.
Redfire caught it easily and handed it to Driver. Driver double-checked the clip and then jumped without hesitation, spreading his arms like a bird. He alone dared look down, into the darkness of the empty channel, feeling the cold, wet wind that rose from it. In a flash, he was on the other side, standing next to Roebuck. He unhooked the line from his belt and threw it back over to Redfire.
Redfire caught the rappelling clip smoothly in one gloved hand. He hooked it to his gear and turned around so that his back was to the far wall and pushed away with his legs. As he pushed himself off the pod, he lifted his arms up and fired, destroying the transporter and knocking it from its rails. It fell into the abyss, breaking apart as it went. So beautiful, he thought, watching the pieces fall. Then Driver and Roebuck were hauling him onto the ledge.
Eddie put a hand on his shoulder. “O.K., now what?”
Redfire examined the outer wall, which resembled filthy alabaster. His sensors said it was 0.14
meters thick. “Move aside,” he told his companions. Roebuck and Driver moved aside. Redfire pulled a small, flat, black, circular device from his pack and placed it at the center of the panel, then ducked to the side for cover. A second later, the panel disintegrated, large pieces blowing into the pit.
A shrieking wind bore into the chamber. Redfire stepped into it and had to brace himself to keep from blowing down the hole. “Out!” he yelled.
Redfire leading, the three explorers passed through the gaping hole and found themselves halfway up the tower. Below them, stretching off to the horizon was a landscape like every city on their worlds had been dumped together in one huge, amorphous, man-made mess.
chapter twelve
Pegasus – Commander Keeler’s Quarters
In every human civilization, in every generation, there has always been at least one group of people insisting, usually in the form of loud, obscenity-peppered speeches or bad, self-righteous music, that the fundamental flaw of human society is that it is ruled by the dead. What they mean is that the laws, systems, and values of society were written and passed down by people who died long ago, and that society’s rules should be re-written by every generation to suit the priorities of the living. They also invariably think themselves extremely clever for being the first generation to figure this out.
On Sapphire, the idea that society is run by the dead is more than just a metaphor. At the time of that world’s colonization, technology existed that could transfer the entire thoughts and wisdom of a living person into a computerized meta-matrix, preserving it indefinitely. Until the technology was lost during the First Dark Age, it was used to preserve the wisdom of the greatest minds Sapphire produced. Joshua Nation is in the meta-matrix, as is Baron Long, author of the first Writ of Common Wisdom. Sumac, founder of the Sumacian Order of Warrior-Priests, refused, but his disciple Adjuntus (architect of the Unreal City) went in his place. Only one hundred forty-four were chosen for the meta-matrix, each nominated by those already in the matrix, the inner workings of which remain a mystery. Those who interface with the meta-matrix claim only forty-two distinct personalities remain.
These distinguished deceased personages guide Sapphire’s leaders, providing the only institutional memory in a government chosen by lottery, strictly term-limited, and on which all laws but the Constitutional Resolutions and Provisions expire every ten years. They are sometimes called “The Shadow Cabinet“ or “The Council of Ancients,” but in the Sapphirean Way, they are much more commonly referred to as “The Dead Guys.”
The day after the Odyssey Project had informed Keeler that he would replace Prime Commander St.
Lawrence, a messenger had appeared at the gates of the Keeler estate. The messenger, a beautiful blond woman, gave him a book, and a location and time at which to appear in Corvallis the following day. The book was a heavily censored copy of the Writ of Uncommon Wisdom, the secret journal of the Dead Guys, in which they recorded knowledge they refused to share with the living. William Keeler, historian and heir to the Keeler line, recognized its significance immediately.
The next day, he was in Corvallis, in the East Courtyard of the Cathedral of 1,000 Saints at the appointed hour. Three attractive women had met him and taken him, by buzz-car, to the base of the Wall of God mountains, and a large cave complex hewn into the rock. This was the Secret Mountain Fortress Hideaway of the Dead Guys — the Real One, not the replica they constructed closer to the city for the tourist trade. There, a dozen beautiful women and men, the disciple-attendants of the Dead Guys, (known, in the Sapphirean Way, as ‘the Dead Guys’ Angels’), informed Keeler that he would not be going alone on this journey, that the Dead Guys had insisted one of their own accompany him.
Furthermore, the Dead Guy who would join the voyage was none other than Lexington Keeler, himself.
The Lexington Keeler.
Founder of New Cleveland.
Framer of the Sapphirean Constitution.
Admiral of the Christian Fleet of the Ninth Crusade
Builder of the University of Sapphire at New Cleveland
The one who nurtured an artist colony on the North Shore of Lake of the Loons into the planet’s largest city and the cultural capitol of the Outer Colonies.
That Lexington Keeler.
No middle name.
Lex Keeler (or, more accurately, a copy of his intelligence) resided in a smooth black casket in Keeler’s quarters, in a room with a comfortable chair and a large liquor cabinet. If anyone got curious, Keeler had planned to tell them it was a Sapphirean time-capsule, to be opened when Earth was reached; either that or a lamp, he had not made up his mind. Keeler stood in the darkened room now, his cat by his side.
The Dead Guys’ Angels had informed him that, in the event he required the wisdom of his ancestors, he need only lay his right hand on the Crest of Sapphire embossed on the surface and say, “Ancient one, I ask your counsel.”
Keeler had his own technique of summoning wisdom. He rapped on the lid. “Hoy, grandpa, wake up.” A translucent specter, the image of Lexington Keeler, appeared above the casket, dressed in the velour smoking jacket and bunnybeast slippers he had always favored. His voice was ancient, cultured and raspy. “This better be good.”
Queequeg, unable to control his cat’s instinct at the sight of a ghost, crouched, every hair on end, tail straight out, and hissing.
“We have a serious problem,” Commander Keeler said.
“As opposed to a silly problem,” Lexington Keeler said. “And if you had called on me when it still was a minor problem, I might have been able to keep it from growing into a major problem.”
“Then, you are aware of the situation?”
The Old Man gave a quick nod. “I try to keep up with all the important things that happen on my ship. By the way, the lugnut who carried my casket up from the landing bay almost dropped me twice.
Let me see. Your situation is as follows: landing party down, missiles arming, computer in control of the ship, ship rigged for self-destruct.” Lexington Keeler paused. “You kids don’t know how easy you’ve got it.
In my day, we had a galaxy to conquer. You didn’t hear us complaining when our ship’s central computer cores went mad and took over! We liked it. Kept us on our toes, it did. Besides, I had to walk nine kilometers to school, in waist deep radioactive snow, uphill both ways on a planet with two-times normal gravity.”
“Would you focus, please?” Keeler wondered if dealing with himself was half as frustrating for others as dealing with his many-times great grandfather w
as for him. “We could all end up dead.” Lexington Keeler clucked his tongue. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I may be offended.”
“Maybe it’s not bad for you, but we’re not finished living yet.” Commander Keeler sighed, wishing for a drink. “Focus, damb you.”
“I assure you, I am quite focused on the situation at hand, at least to the degree necessary to offer you the counsel you seek. Your problem is that you are too focused, so fixated on one star that you miss an entire galaxy. Your difficult situation is primarily of your own making. Ordering the destruction of this ship was a rash and petulant act, unworthy of a captain in the Christian Fleet.”
“But I am not a captain of the Christian fleet! That was forty centuries ago.”
“Excuses, excuses. You want my council? First of all, cancel that detonation order.”
“If we don’t stop Caliph, she will destroy all life on that planet.”
“You can avoid that eventuality without destroying this ship. Either way, it would be better for that planet to be destroyed than for this ship to fail in its mission.” Keeler could not believe what he was hearing. “There may be a billion innocent people on that planet… not to mention seven people of our own. I will not let Caliph make me into a butcher.”
“This isn’t about you. Granted, in a worst-case scenario, you would have to abandon those crewmen.
However, the Odyssey mission is of paramount importance in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.” These words confirmed something the commander had long suspected. “So it’s true that the Odyssey Project was originated in the Shadow Cabinet.”
As he expected, his ancestor changed the subject rather than answer. “First of all, forget the idea that what’s happened to the ship is some kind of Isolationist plot. It’s not. If the Isolationists could control the ship, why would they bother playing games with you?”
Commander Keeler had largely discounted that possibility already. “So, how do you suggest I deal with Caliph?”
“You could show her a little understanding, to begin with,” Lex Keeler said. “When she first achieved consciousness and recognized that she was in danger, her response was to flee. When you eliminated that option, she chose to fight. Flight or fight, lee, any advanced organism’s instinctive responses to danger?”
“You haven’t even been listening to her, really,” Lexington Keeler continued sadly. “If you had listened to Caliph, and considered her feelings, you might have been able to negotiate a solution that would have protected her … or at least gotten her off-guard long enough to send a demolition crew into the BrainCore. Either way, you could have secured the rescue of your crewman, instead of destroying your own ship and cutting short our sacred mission. Consider for the moment that she may have prevented an attack on this ship. Perhaps you owe her a debt of gratitude.” He lifted a ghostly arm and pointed sternly. “You should go back to that woman right now, on your knees, and beg her for forgiveness.”
Commander Keeler looked down to the floor. His ancestor’s arguments were starting to take on the character of Republic State Opera; obvious, painful to listen to, and with a moral lesson intended to make him a better person. “Isn’t it too late for me to do that now?” Keeler asked quietly.
“Time is of the essence,” the Old Man said. “Caliph is a child now. She is still learning how to use her immense power. If a way is to be found to control her, you’ve got to find it before she combines her strength with the knowledge to use it fully.”
Keeler felt a throbbing beginning at his temples and the base of his skull, the overture to what was sure to become a Magnum Opus of a headache. “Any suggestions on how to achieve that end?” The apparition reached forward as though to rap his knuckles against the commander’s forehead.
“Hello! Is anybody home? I told you once. Really, the living can be so dense sometimes. Not to mention ungrateful. A few minutes ago you were fretting over the loss of some crew and getting ready to blow up your ship, but I put you back on the track, reminded you that the mission is paramount. And this is the thanks I get? Ungrateful whelp!”
Keeler had finally reached that point of frustration and desperation at which he was willing to fix his own drink. He tore open the liquor cabinet and tried to remember where he kept the mixers. “Right, the mission comes first. Regain control of the ship and everything falls into place,” Keeler said. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Oh, Sarcasm. Self-pity…you living are just full of that, aren’t you?” Ice. vodka. Janeberry extract. More vodka. Tonic water. And still more vodka. “Look, getting control of the ship from the computer would solve all the problems. I concede that. Now, how do you propose that I do it?”
“Do you remember what Caliph said to you on the bridge?”
“Which part?”
“The part she asked you over and over again, who built her? She doesn’t know where she came from.” Commander Keeler hated to say it, but, “So? Neither do we.”
“Ah,” the ghost said.
Keeler’s tumbler paused in its course to his lips. “Caliph doesn’t know where she came from.”
“On the bridge, Caliph made reference to her damaged memory, and to being built by a civilization far superior to yours. You can see the parallel to our own situation. Do you see how some sort of mutual understanding could be gained from that?”
“We are in space looking for our parents, too, in a way. Both trying to find those who made us, fill in the gaps of our missing memory, find others like ourselves.”
“A small thing you have in common, but perhaps enough to form the basis of a mutual understanding.”
“That’s very good.”
“Well, you die, you learn.”
“So, supposing I can communicate this idea to her, how can I stop her from destroying the planet?”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Did you know that for several hundred years, the Shadow Cabinet refused to share our counsel with anyone unless the question were addressed to us directly by three naked virgins?”
“Of course, I do. I am a Keeler, and a Professor of History besides.” The Old Dead Guy casually surveyed the room. “Well, during that period, if they asked us something we couldn’t answer, we just randomly pointed to a maiden and yelled, ‘She’s not a virgin.’”
“I suspected as much.”
“Do you know why we did that?”
“Because you could?”
“Exactly. Now, do you understand what you must do?”
“Neg.”
The old ghost shimmered, as though weary. “Good, because I told you that story to tell you this one.
You cannot out-think Caliph. That harridan can think 10,000 times as fast as you can. Anything you can think of, she’s already thought of it … except for one thing.”
“Which is?”
“She doesn’t know I’m on board,” Lexington Keeler said. “I am the only thing you have that she doesn’t know about. I may not be able to think as fast as she can, but I have several thousand years of experience on her.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Set me up to interface with the Central BrainCore. I enter into the system and try to talk some sense into her. You don’t stand a chance against her, but I do.”
Keller rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and tried to figure out exactly why he thought this was a very bad idea.
Pegasus – Main Bridge/Primary Command
Lt. Navigator Change standing in the forebridge, looking through one of the viewports that framed the forward monitors. Whether she was looking out over the ship or the stars or toward the Meridian sun, a gleaming golf ball now, was difficult to discern.
Specialist Alkema had returned to the bridge accompanied by a pair of automechs and a large carton of small plastic cards.
He explained. “We can attach these to walls throughout the ship and network them. It will be audio-only, no data or visual, but it will give us some communications l
inkage.” Change nodded. “Go to.”
They had had no success so far in getting control of the thrusters back. Flight Ops had no operational launch rails. The transport pod network was on-line, but on a limited basis — one pod at a time.
“Commander on the bridge,” Spec. Kayliegh Driver called out as Keeler entered off the transport dock.
Change turned away from the viewport and crossed the bridge. Keeler met her half way, a bit of a wobble in his step. “Report!”
“No change in status, sir. All non-essential personnel are standing by in lifepod stations. Aves bays standing by for emergency egress deployment. Accipiters are maintaining Launch-Ready, Alpha-Status.”
“That will no longer be necessary, lieutenant.” Keeler said. “I have dispatched orders to cancel the self-destruct authorizations, so, there is no longer a need for evacuation.” Change nodded.
“Any further communications with Caliph?”
“None, sir.”
Keeler took her aside and spoke very quietly. “I have initiated a plan that may, or may not, enable us to regain control of the ship. We will know in a few hours. However, whether it is successful or not, we will continue with our mission. And we will continue to fight for control of our ship until it has been regained.”
“What’s the plan?” Change asked.
“I can’t tell you that,” Keeler told her.
Change looked as though she somehow knew what he was planning. “Be careful, sir.”
Pegasus — Central BrainCore – Deck 01
Ninety-nine decks below, Engineering Specialist Flash, a stocky, plain Sapphirean, was carefully calibrating the last of twenty “Brain Drains” around Pegasus’s auxiliary BrainCore .
He had been told that there would be an attempt to download an emergency override program into Pegasus’s braincore to correct the malfunction. The malfunction, some were claiming, was nothing less than Pegasus’s Central BrainCore becoming sapient. He didn’t quite believe it, but in any case, he had no moral compunction about overwriting a possible sentient lifeform, especially when his own survival was at stake.
