The Immortal Game (Rook's Song)

by Chad Huskins

  We can see so much! Vision! Incredible vision! Through these eyes, we see strange colors, and even stranger readings of those colors. Oscillating microwave emissions bouncing all over the cockpit, electromagnetic energies, infrared, and light control—yes, light control! The Ianeth can absorb ambient light to enhance its—his—night-vision, and can then dampen it so that it isn’t blinded. And the sounds…good God, the sounds we hear!

  It’s all so much that we almost miss the vast network of systems that hold tight to identity, punctuated by an intense search for logic and reason. His is a mind made for meddling, all right. He is compelled to seek truth through deception. That is, he seeks truth by searching for lies first and then weeding them out: whatever is left, he reasons, is Truth. There are whole subroutines dedicated to this process, and it stems from…

  Ohhh…now that’s interesting. Yes. Remarkable. The alien circuitry mostly amplifies decision-making and the ability to seek patterns, and, since this one is (was) an engineer, his imtech was put there to help him plan and construct, while subsystems were of course dedicated to combat; Bishop’s secondary and tertiary imperatives. But that’s not what’s so remarkable.

  Deeply embedded inside this alien, we find a lie. We do not know what this lie is yet, for it is buried deep in a hard drive—a biological one—and yet has such imperative to it that it stands above all other objectives. This idea…it’s not just something that was programmed into him, no. We can see that it is hardwired into him in a way that can only have come through the natural evolutionary process. The lie is as much a part of him as the Cerebs’ predilection for the number four, or for the human need to be loved.

  A mind made for meddling, indeed, but more so than we might’ve guessed. Now, there is even more increased blood flow to Bishop’s complex brain. In humans, increased blood flow can indicate there is active lying taking place. Is it the same for all sentient beings?

  The lie. It’s surfacing. Rising from the depths and expanding across the alien’s entire brain, incorporating itself into the matrix of all decision-making processes. But why? What’s going on here that we don’t—

  “Something’s fishy here,” Rook says.

  At his side, Bishop glances at him. How much does he see? the alien wonders. “Fishy?”

  “Yeah, uh…hinky. Strange. Ya know, weird.”

  “Like what?”

  Rook adjusts their pitch and yaw, and heads for a spot underneath the closest of the giant spheres floating above the eastern hemisphere. Coasting, he puts the Sidewinder in geosynchronous orbit around the space station, hoping to hide behind it. “I’m getting weird readings from the…” Rook looks over his instruments again. “That’s not right.”

  “What isn’t?” How much does he see?

  Rook gives him a brief sidelong glance, then stares out the forward view. “The seekers. They’ve disappeared from all scopes.”

  “That’s interesting.” Does he see it?

  “It’s not just interesting, it’s impossible.”

  “Why impossible?” Can he see it? Can he see clearly?

  Rook looks at his scanners again. “Hold on,” he says, running his fingers over the main keyboard. He brings up several holographic command boards, sifts through them, finds the ones he’s looking for and runs a diagnostic check. “Systems seem to be running fine. So do the sensors, but…” He trails off, taps a few more keys, muttering. “Doesn’t make sense. Spectral analysis shows no emissions. But the Cerebs wouldn’t have used stealth, they don’t believe in it. It’s too beneath them, they believe their resources are always superior.”

  “They adapt,” Bishop says. “We know that they have the ability to adapt to change. Perhaps they’ve evolved since their encounter with you.” He thinks, Can he see the real enemy?

  “But not that way. They adapt by recalculating their resources, making the perfect plan of attack to account for stealthy opponents, but they only do that by leaving their opponents no means of stealth. Nowhere to hide. We know that by their tactics and by their own admission. It would debase them to lower themselves to either human or Ianeth standards of war. They’re calculators, not deceivers, and they’re very proud of it.”

  Does he have the Sight? Bishop thinks, watching Rook as a professor might watch a potential prize student. “And so?”

  “So, the sensors aren’t on the fritz and yet there’s no sign of any seekers, skirmishers, or warships. So where the hell did the seekers go, the ones we just detected?”

  Bishop stands up from his seat. “I’ll go outside and run a check on the sensor arrays. Perhaps one of the dishes is misaligned and detected false readings in another area.”

  Rook watches him go, and for a moment, we sense a great swell of disappointment inside Bishop. The alien is letdown by the revelation. He had hoped that Rook would prove a more worthy ally, but as it appears now, he may have to reconsider his—

  When his ultra-sensitive cochlear implants pick up the faintest sound of the particle-beam pistol charging and being aimed at his head, the alien feels…relief? Bishop’s face rarely moves, his people’s mouths remain mostly still as the guttural noises that was their language was emitted from a large set of vocal cords deep within, and they never smiled. However, we have a feeling that if Bishop could smile, he would right now. “Very good, friend,” he says, turning back to Rook. “Very good.”

  The human is looking at him intensely, with something between anger and fear. The pistol in a tight tactical grip, and it is trained on Bishop’s head. In these tight confines, we can be sure that Rook does not feel like that is far enough from the powerful alien. “What did you do?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” the alien counters. “Take me through it.”

  Rook snorts. “What the hell is this?”

  “Just take me through what you just discovered.”

  The human glances around the room, suspecting a trap, perhaps many of them, then looks back at Bishop mistrustfully. “I just ran a keystroke and command recall of the ship’s entire system. The ship’s AI said that there was a backfeed of energy off our own exhaust—one of the sensors was realigned to detect the energy off our own wake.” Bishop remains still, says nothing. “There never were any seekers, you forged that energy signature just now, had us detecting our own exhaust.” Bishop says nothing. “What the hell is this? You’re sabotaging me now? What are you?” Bishop says nothing. “Are you working for the Cerebs? Why would you do that?” Bishop says nothing. “Answer me.” Bishop says nothing. “Answer me!”

  Finally, the alien resigns himself to doing something rather uncomfortable. “I want you to know that what I am about to tell you is very difficult for me. It would be difficult for any of my people.” Rook remains still, watching him carefully. “You’re right, I did forge the energy signature to fool you into thinking we had incoming seekers.”

  Rook winces, shakes his head in befuddlement. “Why?”

  “Because I have to see if you possess the Sight.”

  “What the hell is the Sight?”

  “How to explain it?” Bishop looks away from Rook for a moment, running through what he’s learned about the human species by accessing the Sidewinder’s archives—the music, the art, the culture, all of it informing him on how to approach this matter delicately. “My people believe in duty above all things. We believe in strengthening our people, and our own empire, but to do that we must continually train ourselves to beware the agents of deceit. We seek the truth of the universe by applying the Sight—the ability to see lies is the ability to see the truth.”

  “You better start makin’ sense, pal—”

  “According to your ship’s databanks, on your planet, your governments employed certain computer experts, called ‘white-hat’ hackers, to continually try to hack into the government’s own systems to expose weaknesses, yes?”

  Rook looks around the cockpit, still anticipating a trap, using his own saboteur’s eyes for something he’s missed. He nods slowly. “Sure, I g
uess.”

  “As an engineer, I am in great part a scientist. A proper scientist, as your people eventually discovered, is one who seeks to weed out every falsehood in order to uncover the truth, not to determine what the truth is first and then spend the rest of one’s life trying to prove their preconceived notions. In order to do this well, we have to apply certain tests, and weigh the results. We call this application the Sight. Often, certain members of our society would attempt to overthrow the government, if only to see if it could be done, to expose the weaknesses, you see. They were considered patriots, and revered even by the governments they attempted to overthrow.” He adds, “That is our chess game. It’s how we keep our minds sharp.”

  “You’re still not making any sense. Why would you do this to me if—”

  “I did it to see if you possess the Sight, because you are a friend. An ally. Understand? A worthwhile friend is someone who has the Sight, while anyone without the Sight is not worth one’s time”

  “You were…testing me?”

  “Yes. As I have done these last weeks. As I will continue to do, as long as we are together. I will be a good friend, and search for any weaknesses in you, be they physical or mental. I will lie to you, sometimes often, sometimes not for weeks on end. I will attempt to lull you into a sense of complacency, and feed you disinformation.” Rook’s face turns to one of confusion, then disgust, and finally rage. “Do not look so astonished, this is our way.”

  “Your way?” He looks ready to breathe fire. “I could kill you for that! You had me thinking we had seekers right on our—”

  “But you figured it out. You remained calm, and you applied the Sight. Thus, you were able to identify the deception. More importantly, you identified the source—me—as unlikely as that should seem.”

  Rook blinks a few times, mouth hanging open. Eventually, he finds words. “You said…you said you’re going to keep lying to me, keep deceiving me and trying to sabotage me and my ship?”

  “That’s what friends are for, to make you stronger.”

  “This is what you do to your friends? You willfully lie to them and try to dismantle their lives—”

  “We do. And at least we’re honest about it. This process of social interaction long ago integrated itself into our society as a kind of social pact. It’s how we operate. Only by exposing the weakness of a friend, or an enemy, or an empire, can we make ourselves stronger, more perfect. It hones us, and makes sure that we never lose focus of the Sight. The Sight must be applied in all things.”

  Rook keeps the weapon trained on the alien. “How…how do I know that you’re not lying to me right now?” he says. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of…of…Cereb deception? What if they’ve programmed you, like a sleeper agent?”

  “You don’t know, but by asking that question you are already practicing the Sight, and I both commend you and bask in the glory of your application of it.”

  “This is insane.” Rook blinks disbelievingly, as if by doing so he may wake from a dream. “If…if this is true, then why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I told you, it is difficult for my people to discuss.”

  “Why?”

  “It is very awkward because to mention it…well, to mention it, it breaks a certain code of etiquette. Once you are aware that I’m actively trying to deceive you, then the deceptions…they can become less potent. Because you are expecting them, you see them more easily, and it doesn’t train your mind as well as it should.” Bishop nods towards the holographic chessboard, still floating behind Rook. “It would be like me telling you my next move. It isn’t fair to rob you of the chance to discover it on your own.”

  “But then you can’t…wait…wait! Hold on!” Something has just occurred to him. “A second ago, you said that you’ve been playing these games on me already. Meaning this wasn’t the first time?” asks Rook. The alien says nothing. “Well, what were they? What were the other decep—” Then, it dawns on him, and his nostrils flare. “Oh…oh, I’m supposed to guess, is that it?” He chuckles mirthlessly, and a second later it turns into another one of his mad laughs. Rook hasn’t cackled like this in a long time, not since before the final encounter at Magnum Collectio. This is all just too much. Aliens and their ridiculous cultures, he thinks. Then, slowly, a few more things begin to dawn on him. An endoergic coupling that kept burning out a week ago, a series of fuses that kept blowing out in the circuitry bay, and then today, with the electrostatic energy influx that kept burning out all the quantum capacitors…

  “I can see you’re putting some of the pieces together now.” The Ianeth makes another human-like shrug. “A pity the revelations stem from my confession. I’ve robbed you of the glory of the thought’s inception, and the exercise of working it out for yourself.”

  “This…this is insane! We’re supposed to be on the same side here! Partners! Partners don’t do this to one another!”

  “If they wish to be strong, they do. If they are truly friends, they will.”

  “We’re…” Rook trails off again, his face turning red. “You…you bloody moron! We are the last of our people! You an’ me! If you play games of sabotage with my ship, we can’t rightly fight the Cerebs, now, can we? Not if the whole damn ship is comin’ apart because of your games!”

  “If our friendship cannot survive the lies, if we are both unable to apply the Sight adequately—”

  “Both? You expect me to reciprocate in this ridiculous game of—?”

  “—then we are not worthy to survive at all.”

  Rook finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head. “Wait, say that again. Say that again. You need to repeat yourself because I swear heard something else.”

  “If our friendship cannot survive—”

  “Shut up, I heard you the first time!” Rook turns and throws his pistol against the flight controls, temporarily upsetting the harmony of half a dozen holo-screens. Then Rook runs a hand through his hair, scratches his beard, starts pacing and fuming. He leans against the fire controls for the particle beam and spits out a curse, then kicks the base of the seat. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening to me. It’s bad enough that I…” He thinks about Badger, what he sacrificed to make it this far. “I thought I had someone. A real partner. What is this? What are you?”

  “I think you need to understand, this is part a paternal instinct in my people—a natural game we play with our children, to teach them about the world and to keep their wits about them—but also part of something we do on a more subtle, sophisticated level with our adult friends. It has a term, you might call it, ah, deception play.”

  “Christ,” Rook whispers, running his hands over his face. “Just when I think things are looking up, it turns out I’ve got a traitor on my crew!” He is fuming, fighting to keep control. The old paranoia from back in the asteroid field threatens to rear its head here.

  “I am no traitor. It is instinctual for my people to test the Sight of each other on occasion, and the instinct is so deeply embedded that it often happens without forethought or planning—”

  “Yeah, well, your people were morons!” Rook roars, suddenly rounding on the alien. His face has turned a dangerous hue.

  “You really shouldn’t be so upset. In many ways, this is conducive with your own philosophy.”

  “What the hell’re you talking—?”

  “An opponent sharpens the mind. Those were your words, were they not?”

  “Opponents aren’t the same as friends. You trust friends—”

  “My people believe relationships are more complex than that. A friend may become an enemy at times, and an enemy may become a friend at others. It happens frequently, the forging and breaking of alliances. Nations learned all about it. This is as much a part of evolution as natural selec—”

  “Friends teach other about compassion—”

  “I agree—”

  “They teach each other about commitment, and endurance, and perseverance—”

&n
bsp; “And blind spots,” Bishop puts in.

  Rook blinks, incredulous. “Blind spots?!”

  “How else will you learn about your weaknesses?”

  He blinks again. “Well, genius, if you ever do spot a weakness in my duties, you could try telling me what you—”

  “Telling you teaches you nothing. As well tell the sword to sharpen itself. Only pressure and heat temper the steel. Only using it makes the hilt fit the hand over time.”

  Rook takes a deep breath, tries once more to collect his calm. “Listen to me, amigo, and listen closely. This is my ship, got that? My ship! And you don’t mess with her, understand?” He walks over to Bishop, gets an inch from his massive face. “Are we clear on that? You can play your little games when we’re off this ship, but when we’re on it, the games flippin’ stop. They stop! Got it? I cannot be worried about both you and the Cerebs, got that? I can’t be worried that something’s going to go wrong on my ship, or that the readings I’m getting are falsified! The deception play doesn’t exist on my ship, do you understand? Do you copy?!”

  Bishop is unmoved. Eventually, though, he nods and says, “Compliance.”

  Rook sighs heavily, and turns away. “Good enough. Now get outta my sight.” Bishop turns, and starts towards the cockpit’s exit, when Rook realizes something else. “Hey, wait.” The alien turns back to him. “You said ‘compliance.’ But you also said that this deception play, it goes all the way to the core of your people. It’s instinctual, in your DNA?”

  “Affirmative, friend.”

  “So does that mean…when you just said compliance…?”

  Bishop holds his hands out, a gesture of conciliation. “If I told you, would you believe me, knowing what you know now?”

  He thinks about it, then produces the only logical answer. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.”

  “This is as it should be, Rook. There is an old saying where I come from: ‘Trust no one. Especially a friend.’” The alien lets that hang in the air between them for a few seconds, then nods courteously and says, “I have a few more things to check on.”