Dark Tempest

by Manda Benson

  He turned back to the door-locking mechanism, pulling the short circuit away from the contacts. Using a bottle with a nib attached, he joined the broken circuits with two blobs of a blue ionic solution. Wolff took a step back, shaking an aerosol can, and sprayed the panel. As soon as the solution came into contact with the spray, a redox reaction started up, fizzling and smoking. The solvent and byproducts evaporated away, leaving a solid deposit of copper to complete the circuit. The door slid shut and Wolff melted the cover back on with a wide laser setting.

  Gathering the case and his jacket, he headed back to the airlock.

  Wolff leant into the chill air of the docking pipe. “Morran?”

  With the assistance of his vision-enchancing spectacles, Rh’Arrol’s warm shape resolved, crouched on the floor with aer knees bent over aer back and appearing to be asleep below the lip of the docking aperture.

  “Awaken, mistress of foul,” Wolff taunted, reaching down and touching the furry skin beneath the jointed neck armour. The morran recoiled and shrieked at the touch.

  “Don’t touch my neck!” Rh’Arrol warbled. “Never!” The echoes of the scream were still dying away along the length of the dendrite.

  “I wanted to ask you if you would consider looking after this case.”

  Rh’Arrol’s cilia flushed scarlet, and their beating lines were a strange spectacle to behold in the darkness. “I might.”

  “It is a drug. If I don’t come back within the hour, you may sell it for profit.”

  “You wishes it returned afterward? And how might you encourages me not to sell it before the hour is up?”

  “You don’t like it here, do you, Rh’Arrol?” Wolff struggled to pronounce the first consonant. “I give you my word that I will secure your access off this station and your safe journey to a location of your choosing.”

  Rh’Arrol’s cilia beat more rapidly, and took on a lime-green hue. The transition was quite beautiful to watch. “That offer is acceptable.” Ae reached out with two tentacles and coiled them around the handle of the case. Wolff released it, and the morran dragged it back against the opposite wall and sat on it.

  “Within the hour, Arrol.” Wolff checked his clock and went back into the Shamrock. He switched off his disruptor device as he entered the corridor.

  He found Jed sitting back on the bridge in her more familiar immaculate and fully clothed state. She’d changed her attire from the ornate black tunic patterned with red to a very similar saffron-yellow patterned one. Fringes of fine gold tassels hung from the hems and elbow-length sleeves over the thicker, tight-fitting black fabric of her trousers and shirt, and from the sash around her waist. An IR-UV mono-visor was fixed to one side of her cranial band, and her symmetrical heat-styled hair stood out bushily beneath the skullcap where it terminated just above her ears, and protruded on either side of her forehead where the cap came to a point and connected with the band above her eyebrows. The impression was one of thin severity.

  She looked at him for a moment—with a disgusted sort of expression, he thought—but said nothing then looked away.

  Wolff felt a sudden fear–he might well smell of conurin. Jed had a very salient sense of smell, as he’d noticed already. He hadn’t touched any of the stuff, but that wasn’t to say that dust carried on the air hadn’t permeated his clothing.

  His fears were dispelled when the Archer spoke. “Your enquiries bear fruit?”

  “No, I could learn nothing. The potentate of this station is a despotic fool.”

  “I would not know. I trade not in this part of the system, but in the Kuiper stations where the raw ores are mined and the ships assembled.”

  “He controls his subjects.” Wolff paused, trying to find a lucid way to express what he’d seen. “He inflicts terrible pain on those who cross him, a pain in the mind, as if he’s psychic.”

  Jed turned to look at him, and he was delighted by her expression of disgust and the foolish disgrace he’d made of himself before her. “Are you not aware of the Pagan Atheism doctrine of Steel and Flame?”

  “That was what I told him, but I have seen it with my own eyes. I have felt it. He unleashed his power on me when I dismissed what I saw as illusion.”

  “The Universe is a rational place governed by cardinal law. All force comprises energy or matter, flame and steel. There are no psychic, no telepathic, no omniscient, nor magic. Such are the drivel of imbeciles.”

  “I myself refute such idiocy, but I saw what could only contradict logic.”

  “What did you see, Gerald Wolff? What precisely?”

  “He had a Lunatic on the ground in agony with one glance, myself and the—morrans—untouched, then I, crippled by a blinding, deafening pain. And then the morrans.”

  Jed took only a second to compose herself and her reply. “The subjects can be explained quite simply. A small circuit is implanted into the brainstem. It can be operated remotely, and when it is it discharges a current into the central nervous system—an effective neural whip. You do not have such a chip, and this also explains how they were affected while you were left untouched. I imagine the pain that afflicted you was caused by ultrasound of a particular frequency, which disrupted your brain function. The morrans either have circuitry implants operating on a separate signal or their brains require a different frequency to cease proper function.”

  Wolff looked at her levelly. “Oh.”

  Jed stared straight back into his eyes. “See that it is perfectly simple, Gerald Wolff, if you are prepared to apply some lateral thought.”

  Wolff stood and turned his back on her, standing before the viewport and staring out at the inside of the shield. She was laughing at him, inwardly. Good. He’d given her a false sense of security. After all, he had her conurin.

  His glance lit upon some objects lying on the console. He recognised some of them as belonging to Taggart. Jed was doing something behind the seating. Slowly, so as not to alert the Shamrock, he reached out with the fingers of his left hand, and swept one of the small devices from the console into his jacket pocket.

  “Have you seen this book before?” she said when he turned.

  Wolff looked at the small tome, bound in a dark and worn cover engraved with a stylistic image of an owl in a flowering tree. “It’s the Teachings of the Pagan Atheist, is it not?”

  “You might do well to read it!” Jed snapped, and she threw it onto the bridge seating.

  “I cannot read.”

  Jed’s face took on the twisted expression of incredulity. “How can one not read? You can speak, can you not?” Her voice was filled with derision.

  “I can’t recognise the symbols and relate them to spoken words. I was never taught.”

  “But the computers! Computers use syntax based on words! How is it that computers will obey your commands? How do you even input those commands into a computer when you cannot read or understand them?”

  Wolff shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You are an irrational idiot,” Jed dismissed him, as though being an irrational idiot was some kind of constant that should be applied where Cardinal Laws and Steel and Flame did not provide adequate explanation.

  Wolff glanced at the book again. “So who was the Pagan Atheist, and what does he or she say?”

  “Nobody knows who the Pagan Atheist was.” Jed sneered. “Only that it existed more than four thousand years ago.”

  “It existed?”

  “It need not have been a man.”

  “A morran, then?”

  “Fool! Morrans were not known to man four thousand years ago! A computer!”

  “I know computers,” said Wolff, “and computers do not write religions.”

  “It is not a religion! Sit you here, oaf!” Jed pointed vehemently at the seating and picked up the book. “Look here,” she continued, opening the book at the first page. “These words do say, One cannot live honourably by a Code, unless the code was derived and written by oneself.”

  “And that’s the first lin
e of the book?”

  “Yes! Can you not see that is what is written here?”

  “I can see only lines and marks upon a page. One cannot live honourably by a code unless the code was derived and written by oneself? But doesn’t that mean ‘heed not what I have to say, and make up your own instead?’”

  “Yes, it does! That’s the point of it! I see you are not completely stupid!”

  “But isn’t it supposed to be about Steel and Flame and all of that? Isn’t that a bit contradictory? It’s like a disclaimer stating the whole book’s duff.”

  “Pagan Atheism is oxymoronic. That’s the very root of it. The whole point of Pagan Atheism is to be rational and to believe only what you know and have proven to be true. Steel and Flame is the next line.” Jed leant over Wolff to read it, and ran her finger patronisingly under the words. “I will not be deceived and corrupted by His lies. I will be of Steel and Flame, of all logic in its purity, and He cannot touch me with his feeble words and sentiments.”

  “Who is he? And what does that mean?”

  “He is never named in the book and is always called the Antagonist by those who read the Teachings. The Antagonist is just someone who tried to deceive the Pagan Atheist with His words and illusions, things that are not real proven truths. The Pagan Atheist believed only what he or she knew to be true and what he or she knew was just and was right, and He could not corrupt the Pagan Atheist.”

  “So Steel and Flame means to believe nothing unless you see proof?”

  “Steel and Flame means matter and energy. It is the central tenet. The universe is made of matter and energy, nothing more, and is thus rational. To be of Steel and Flame means to be incorruptible of mind. To be of Steel and Flame is to evaluate objectively, to question everything, to know only reason, and through reason, to see truth.”

  Jed’s finger rested at the bottom of the second block of writing, above one final block. “That’s two. There’s a third one here.”

  “They’re called paragraphs,” said Jed. “They are this first, second and third great quotes of the Pagan Atheist. The Third Quote says, Humanity is Nature’s pinnacle. Knowledge is the one true ambition, Equilibrium the one true harmony. It means that through knowledge, questioning and understanding, the Pagan Atheist achieves absolution. Through reflection, meditation, understanding and acceptance, the spiritual aspects of Pagan Atheism are attained. A respect for scientific discipline, the forces of the Universe both living and inert, and the acceptance and understanding of Equilibrium.”

  “What’s Equilibrium?”

  Jed’s eyes widened. “Surely you are not so uneducated that you know not Equilibrium?”

  Wolff shrugged. “I must be.”

  Jed sighed, dropping the book back on the seat. “Everything in the Universe is in equilibrium. Equilibrium keeps this circumfercirc from disintegrating and crashing into Satigenaria. Equilibrium keeps stars burning and ecosystems in balance. Equilibria keep you and me alive. Equilibrium is the state of balance in the mind of man and probably something you have yet to experience.”

  Wolff stretched out his legs and sighed. “Well, thank you for that insight, Jed.” He turned back and indicated to the door to the main corridor. “I’m going back out. I’ll see you later.”

  * * * *

  Jed stood as he left the bridge, watching him retreat into the corridor while feeling a satisfying disdain.

  I think not.

  Chapter 7

  Confrontation

  Thee who purges strength from the stronger,

  He who bites the hand that feeds him,

  Might tarry, beggar, a little longer,

  And face the wrath that speeds him.

  “You said you were going to get me a ride out of here,” Rh’Arrol complained as ae followed Wolff down one of Carck-Westmathlon’s corridors.

  “Yes, but the ride doesn’t leave until later. In fact, nothing can until the ion storm’s over.”

  “So where do you go now?”

  “To see that horrible castellan again.”

  “What does you want to look at him for?”

  “Rarrol, when I said see, I meant speak with.”

  “My name is Rh’Arrol, Wolff.”

  “I know I communicate vocally, but that pronunciation does not work with my vocal cords.”

  Rh’Arrol gave him a pained look. “Arrol, then, if you insists on compromise.”

  Viprion met them in the passageway outside the garden. “Ah.” His voice dripped with forced ingratiation. “I was just about to eat. I wondered if you would join me.”

  “What about the seignior?” Wolff cast about the garden as though the man might be hiding behind a cactus.

  “I’ve locked the door through to my office. He can’t open it unless he’s in one of his more lucid moods.”

  This didn’t make sense to Wolff. He had gathered that the seignior’s temper was volatile, but he didn’t see how this might affect whether or not he could unlock a door. “I’m not hungry. I’ve just come here to find out why Taggart plotted a course for this circumfercirc.”

  “Then perhaps you might like a change of clothes, and to use the private bath we have here for the use of the higher-calibre denizens of Carck-Westmath.” There was a hint of mockery in the castellan’s voice.

  Wolff regarded him, awkwardly. “Not if you’re going to be in it at the same time.”

  “Carck-Westmathlon!” Rh’Arrol rasped from where ae stood behind Wolff.

  Viprion arched his eyebrows. He gave no acknowledgement of having heard Rh’Arrol’s remark, not even sparing the morran a glance. “There is little else to be done while we await the passing of the ion storm. In some cultures it is common for educated discussions to be carried out in bathing halls.” The expression the castellan made at Wolff seemed to suggest that by declining, Wolff admitted that he was not capable of supporting educated discussion.

  “Yes, well, in my culture it’s considered unhygienic to bathe in other people’s dead cellular matter. And I did hear somewhere that females can get pregnant in such a way.”

  Viprion flared his nostrils and pursed his lips, suppressing laughter. “Citizen Wolff, I am not a female, and unless I am very much mistaken, neither are you.”

  Wolff pushed his face forward toward the castellan. The man was roughly the same height as him, although of much slighter build. “You’re hiding something, Viprion, and it’s not a sexual identity crisis!”

  Viprion stepped back, casually pulled a neutron pistol from his belt behind his back, and aimed it at Wolff’s neck. “If you want to be vulgar and uncouth, Wolff, I think you should know that I can be vulgar and uncouth much more efficiently than you apparently are able. Now get back into my office.”

  Wolff staggered through the door, dropping his case and tripping over it. He trod on one of Rh’Arrol’s tails and the morran screamed, eliciting a cold glare from the castellan. “Sit!” Viprion indicated a chair on the opposite side of his desk, and Wolff sat on it.

  Viprion sat. He rolled his eyes in their dark sockets in a disparaging way, and hid the weapon back under his tunic. “What is in the case?”

  “None of your business,” said Wolff.

  Rh’Arrol, crouching in the shadow under a cabinet in the corner, made a squeaky groaning sound.

  Viprion dumped the case on the desk and lifted the lid. His eyebrows rose fractionally. He unwrapped one of the cubes, slowly and methodically, without tearing the paper, and slid the waxy, ivory-coloured lump into his mouth. He chewed slowly, grimacing and pacing across the room, and when he turned and spoke, his tongue was coated with the chalky substance. “This is of good quality. How does a criminal such as yourself come into possession of such conurin?” He pirouetted slowly, the soles of his shoes scuffing the floor. “Ah, the Archer’s ship. Now why would an Archer, clan member of one of the purest lineages alive, allow halfBlood scum, patron of urchins,” Viprion said, and glared at the cabinet Rh’Arrol was hiding under, “to ride around in her shi
p?”

  Wolff hesitated. If he didn’t tell the castellan what he knew, he might never get back to the Shamrock. “Taggart hijacked it.”

  “Ah, this Taggart who is dead. How did you come by such information, and what are your own dealings in the matter? Did you kill him?” Viprion set his fists upon the surface of the desk and leant on them. The conurin made him champ and slaver, and the effect was not pleasant to look upon.

  “No, I didn’t, and even if I had, you would not be able to prove it. The Archer killed him, and to be honest I would not blame her.”

  “But you were among the hijacking party, and the Archer did not kill you? Indeed, she seems to let you come and go from her ship as you please, despite your felonious misdemeanours?” Viprion closed the lid on the case.

  “Not exactly. I was not among the hijacking party. I was a bail slave whom Taggart bought.”

  “Ah. A bail slave.”

  “Taggart framed me.” Wolff met the Castellan’s ridicule with a staunch glare.

  Viprion sat, leaning firmly against the back of the seat so it creaked. He picked up a stylus from his desk and began to dig its point under his nails, fingers bent over the palm at the knuckles. “This Taggart, what breed of a man was he?”

  “Stout. Not tall and fine-boned as—as you.” Wolff had meant to imply what Viprion would have called the higher-bred or Blood castes, but he didn’t see anything that made Viprion’s kind inherently higher than his or Taggart’s.

  “And what did he do?” asked Viprion, not looking away from his finger-picking. “Did he have any obsessions? Was there any object he carried with him and held dear to him?”

  “No.” Wolff frowned. “An object? What do you mean?”

  “It matters not at any rate, since he is dead now. What became of the body?”

  Wolff stared at the castellan. That was not an intuitive question to ask, and something in it suggested a morbid interest. “How is that of relevance?”

  “Because if you have it, there may still be evidence on it that may shed light upon his motive.” Viprion shot Wolff a scurrilous glance. “Unless your breed of man eats of the dead.”