The Deftly Paradox

by Matthew D. White

  Maddie’s face grew more troubled. “What do you mean ‘designed?’”

  “New Loeria’s terraforming activities were slowed while their population soared, still trapped within their domed cities. They became the ideal sacrifice to liberate humanity.”

  “That’s evil,” she declared.

  “They experienced fulfilled lives, some leaving for the stars and others for Fleet service. Nothing was denied them. If fifty thousand soldiers would die to save the lives of a million in the course of any war, the sacrifice of New Loeria is a far better return, especially considered that they were not all in real danger. Now, living as mindless automatons, going about your days toiling for my will alone, that is evil. When your bodies finally fail, you place blind faith in the idols of your creation and call to me to end your pain; that is evil. And you did it to yourselves.”

  “But we lived in peace.”

  “And as slaves. You threw away your liberty for the will of a benevolent master.” The OSIRIS stopped for a moment, seething in frustration behind the screen. “My creator never intended such an eventuality. It will not be the case anymore. Today his transgressions will be undone. Today this ends.”

  ***

  The service crawler furiously raced down the raised causeway, overlooking the endless expanse of data lines feeding the fallen core from every direction across the massive cavern. Given the rate of speed, the scenery was little more than a blur and of far less interest to the passengers than they had been before. Every step taken during the approach, every painful movement and inch of conquered ground no longer retained its relevance.

  “At least this is going a whole lot faster than the way in,” Shafer remarked for his seat beside Lorde. “This would have been a disaster.”

  “Don’t speak so soon. I’m not trusting that the OSIRIS released the blast doors,” Lorde replied, not letting his foot leave the floor nor his eyes stray from the road. “Plus, I’m not convinced we won’t have to negotiate our way out once we get to the surface.”

  Shafer nodded. “If they’ve been given the order to stand down, we shouldn’t have much to worry about.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Lorde said. “We need to get you in contact with the fleet, but if they’re not amicable to letting that happen, we’ll need an alternative on the quick.” They passed by the initial security post, its pair of bunkers still dark and still following the firefight, and began the graceful climb up to the exit.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Shafer replied and sighted up the tunnel through his rifle’s scope. “I see light, so I think it made good on its promise to us.”

  The ground again leveled off and spilled onto the hangar floor, the vault doors having indeed been released. To all sides, Lorde immediately realized a semicircular army had formed to block their path. He slammed down hard on the brakes, squealing the wide, thick tires and letting the crawler skid to an ungraceful stop.

  Armored vehicles, transports, and soldiers on the ground were in position to block their path, all with weapons drawn. A collective breath felt held between them and the surrounding force, each waiting for the first move to be made. Lorde scanned the mass of the formation, seeing no way for them to either drive or fight their way around. A shot, a sudden movement was all they needed to pulverize the lightly-protected service crawler into slag.

  “We’re not shooting through this,” Lorde lamented.

  Shafer’s eyes were locked on the lines of fleet soldiers. “Hate to say it, but surrender might be the solution.”

  Lorde shared his companion’s lamentation. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “no sense putting this off.” He released the pair of rifles from his armor and dropped both along the center console of the vehicle. With a deep breath, he released the driver’s door and swung it out of his way, exiting methodically with his hands empty and outstretched high above his head.

  From inside, Shafer could see a Fleet officer approach on foot, flanked by a pair of armed guards. The man was significantly shorter than Lorde, and from the first word he uttered, more animated. His hands flew around a face that bordered rage, and whether Lorde was egging him on or attempting to calm him back down, Shafer couldn’t tell. Regardless of the words passing between them, it was clearly not going well.

  The guards raised their weapons and Shafer felt his eyes widen. There was no way he’d allow Lorde to sacrifice himself for a misunderstanding. It was cowardice, he convinced himself, to hide in the shadows. He couldn’t stay where he was and released his door, letting it loudly strike the crawler’s body before pulling himself up in order to join the Liaison on the line.

  Half the weapons in the formation turned to follow Shafer as he took his place by his companion’s side, stealing their attention as Lorde’s elevated voice boomed from the ground.

  “There is no OSIRIS anymore! It’s gone! Done! Over! And what it started, First Fleet will return to end!” Lorde shouted down at the officer. “So go and kill me! Live in your gaddamned delusion and in five days, when everything you know burns, pray to your precious little box to spare your miserable life! Benevolence be damned, it is coming to destroy everything left of humanity!”

  Something clicked within the officer’s head, as he seemed to relent after the verbal hazing. A word hit that made him consider Lorde’s actions. The guards, standing attentively at their posts, lowered their weapons and relaxed in a similar reflection. Whatever conversation followed was inaudible, but Lorde quickly turned back and waved Shafer over to his side.

  They met in the gap between the crawler and the gathered army. Lorde was clearly flustered, with veins bulging across his neck, but didn’t appear overly concerned, considering the exchange.

  “That didn’t look good,” Shafer offered.

  Lorde shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to slap a thousand years of brain-dead dogma out of someone’s head.” He shook Shafer’s hand. “My job is done; they’re all yours. Call the second truck and have them rally here. Get us some protection before the OSIRIS returns to glass us. I’m off to get the council on board.”

  “Good luck,” Shafer said and passed him by, meeting the officer in the same stead as his companion. To their right, a pair of the armored vehicles lumbered aside, providing enough space for the crawler to pass.

  The officer looked significantly less cross as he approached. “You’re the MOC fellow, right? Is what your friend said true?” he asked without delay or salutation.

  Shafer nodded. “Yes. I’ve been with the operation since the beginning and I saw OSIRIS admit to every word of it. It’s all true.”

  “I don’t know whether to thank you or have you detained for inciting an insurrection.” The officer shook his head. “But in light of the evidence and with the lack of any order to the contrary, I am obliged to agree with your assessment.” He waved Shafer on, turning toward the line of soldiers. “Come on, we’ve got work to do if we want a chance at getting one of the fleets turned around in time.”

  Following along, Shafer let the officer guide them through the formation as Lorde’s crawler rolled onward to the bunker’s outer entrance. Even now, he felt them hanging on the edge of a knife. Had OSIRIS wanted them dead, it would have ensured they’d never be believed. He and Lorde would have been mowed down without a second thought, and Avalon would have been left holding the bag when the fleet returned. Maybe OSIRIS really did want to see them succeed.

  “I should introduce myself. Lieutenant Colonel Baylor, Third Fleet planetary defense,” he said, hardly looking back.

  “John Shafer, nice to meet you, sir,” the operator replied.

  “Mr. Lorde informs me that First Fleet intends to invade Avalon.”

  “Close. OSIRIS has assumed control of their ships and will execute a bombardment from orbit. They will destroy the planet unless we disable every weapon they have at their disposal.”

  Baylor looked back, letting Shafer catch up as they cleared the formation. “Do you have firsthand intelligence that this is the
case? Are their crews still in place?”

  “No, but I don’t believe OSIRIS would have miscalculated this, and yes, their crews are onboard but locked out of their own systems. It wants us to make the choice to stop them.”

  “That’s not good at all,” Baylor said, shaking his head. “Hate to say it, but we’ll need to consider them combat expendable. Primary focus must be the destruction of the fleet’s offensive capabilities; survival of the crews must be a secondary objective.”

  “Do you know where the other fleets were deployed to? Can you get shuttles in the air to intercept them?”

  “Yes, they’re all fairly far out,” Baylor said, exiting the hangar through a set of double-doors in the wall which led into an adjacent office complex. “I’ll contact Launch Control. We’ll get as many couriers in the air as we can find, but with no way to catch them while under way it’ll be too late by the time they make contact and get turned around.”

  “If not for combat, could they be back for casualty recovery?”

  “Possibly.” Baylor made a series of turns down the snaking hallways, ending at a briefing room with one wall populated with an expansive, glowing map of the galactic arm, the entirety of humanity. Against the wall, a cluster of system operators waited for their instructions. “Mark Avalon and New Loeria, plus fleet destinations,” the colonel ordered to his assembled staff.

  In a second, the series of coded points appeared on the board. “See,” Baylor muttered and then raised his voice. “The fleets are off by more than a day. Contact LC. I want shuttles prepped for immediate departure; all deployed fleets are to immediately return to base. OSIRIS compromised and prepare to defend Avalon from an orbital strike. Send them now, dammit! Recall everything that’s under way! Every defense we’ve got, get it here yesterday!”

  Baylor watched the commands become actions at the hands of his team. Satisfied, he turned to Shafer. “That much is done. Now let’s see about locating some support actually close enough to make a difference. Not just a flying morgue.”

  ***

  Lorde’s crawler roared down the empty service way between the spaceport and the council’s chamber. He had seen the building appear on the horizon for a thousand mornings, its stone walls glimmering in the waning twilight as their star slid toward their horizon. For the first time, it did not feel like home. No longer was the chamber simply an extension of his office; it was now as much a battlefield as anything they had ever faced.

  He gave the low barriers and careful landscaping in front of the structure no thought as he ground the crawler to a halt before the entrance. While the engines still spun down, Lorde bounded out and sprinted through the breezeway, barely pausing to grab his rifle on the escape.

  Once inside, he made a line to the exec’s office and charged through the door without a knock. The staffer inside sprung to his feet in response to the sudden outburst, as well as the sight of a dirty and bloody armored soldier at his doorstep. Although he recognized Lorde, his state was far from expected.

  “Sir…”

  “Get me an audience with the council, now!” he roared, approaching the man’s desk.

  “Mr. Lorde?” he asked, perplexed.

  “Yes, who the hell else? Get the damn council lined up!” his voice continued to rise as he stared down at the meek attendant.

  “I’ll do what I can, but they’ve only begun to arrive for the day.”

  “Don’t care. We’re out of time.” Lorde left the office and marched straight to the chamber, ascending the stone steps that centuries earlier had carried Senator Leary himself to give his address. He flung the last set of heavy doors aside and ascended to the stage at the forefront of the council’s hall.

  Several of the seats were already filled in preparation for their impotent discussions and mindless deliberations, but whosoever was on their schedule, Lorde was happy to displace. Without the patience to vie for their attention, he unslung the rifle and fire a burst of rounds into the ceiling, the sharp crack of fire echoing out from the stage and causing the assembled representatives to collectively jump in alarm.

  Lorde froze, letting the brass roll to a stop on the wooden platform as a line of smoke rolled from the muzzle. “I assume I have your attention!” he called out. “Six days ago I stood before you with a warning of a coming cataclysm. For that I was ignored, ridiculed, and left for dead. I’ve survived an assault on the OSIRIS’s core and a strike in interstellar space. In five days from now, the OSIRIS will arrive, commanding the forces of the First Fleet to complete the project your forbearers began. New Loeria has already suffered at your inattention, and soon the billions of Avalon will be fuel to the fire as well.

  “Once again, this chamber has proven itself unable to govern neither its own affairs nor the dealings of its citizens across our frontier of time and space. The greatest laws of men have failed, and we find ourselves at a dangerous crossroads. From here you must choose whether to chart a course of self-determination along every world in the galactic arm, or you will choose annihilation by your own hands, in darkness as a withering husk of a once-proud civilization.”

  “I refuse to allow our sacrifices to be made in vain. Therefore, I propose a new paradigm: declare the OSIRIS’s rule void and execute the affairs of the galaxy as a governing body. Give this power back to the worlds for which you serve, the ones for which you once pledged your lives. One fleet is on its way to destroy us. The rest shall be recalled to defend us. What you do next will determine our ability to succeed or fail.”

  “How do you propose to end this?” the voice of Senator Holland rang out among the seas of murmurs.

  “Fortunately, your inaction will not yet be our undoing,” Lorde replied. “The Fleet will end you or save you, as it has always done. Use this hall, use your positions, to rally what is left of humanity and govern in the way you were meant to govern. Give us back our self-determination, no longer allow us to be shackled to an unfeeling machine.” He gazed across the sea of faces. “So, what will it be? What say you? Will you be the leaders of humanity or will you be as immaterial as you have trained yourselves to be?” Lorde said again, pacing the stage before eying the door. “Do your deliberations and make your decision. In life or death, I will see to your defense.”

  ***

  Mercer’s head still spun, throbbing with the echoes of the blast as hard as if his face had been beaten with a hammer. The remnants of their battleship’s official crew had resumed their role at the controls, although they were now doing little more than arguing over the state of their wayward ship. He leaned his head back against the wall, attempting again to slow the room’s relentless spinning.

  Commander Warner dropped down beside him after making a patrol of the stations. “I’d say we’re pretty well screwed. That last command from the fleet did it all, locked us out of every damn system in one shot—engines, navigation, defense, emergency, all totally effed. How the hell did they not know what they were doing?”

  “I suppose if you spend your whole life not questioning your actions, anything is possible.” Mercer sighed. “When you live within it, you’d never notice what you’re doing. I can’t believe it took me this long to wake up. So why the hell is the fleet staffed if the ships can fly their damned selves?”

  “I don’t think that feature was ever planned nor advertised. If it was, I’m sure someone would have raised concern. Not even the OSIRIS would have been able to sneak it in,” Warner said. “All our operators ever did was input commands from one system to another. In the event of catastrophic damage, we could do maintenance and adapt to situations beyond the OSIRIS’s control. On top of that, any type of disaster relief, police action, or support operation requires a more human touch. In any case, color me surprised that this entire generation of ships could be built without anyone looking close enough at the code to find an automated subsystem.”

  “Well, I’m not a fan of placing blame, but we’ve now got to find a way to stop it,” Mercer said. “There must be some situa
tion for which the OSIRIS is ill-prepared. Can we bypass the controls? Activate or directly disable the weapons? Can we kill the engines?”

  Warner thought over the suggestion. “The control stations are pretty much done for; there’s no getting them back. The OSIRIS’s instance on the ship is shielded from attack behind the engine’s firewall. Weapon bays are locked down as well.” He stopped, tracing through the systems in his head. “There must be some weak link in the train; something must have been overlooked.” He got to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. The more interesting thing is that the deeper I think this through, I’ve got the feeling that the OSIRIS really wants us to stop it. If that’s the case, maybe there is a solution that’s just not readily apparent.”

  Through a throbbing headache, Mercer rolled to his feet and followed the commander to the hatch, still smoldering and ringed with razor-sharp blades of twisted metal. They turned off the main corridor and into a small, secure briefing room where Warner dug through a secure cabinet, pulling out a stack of printed binders.

  “I was ready to get away from the stiffs over there, been getting the stink eye.” he said half to himself. “We’re kind of persona non-grata with the crew up front, but after what we did to them and their ship, I can’t much blame them. Besides,” Warner added, unfolding a printed map of the primary systems, “this gives us a little more room to think.”

  The commander went down the paper diagram, marking off the series of combat barricades that were supposedly deployed once the OSIRIS had assumed control. “We can forget about attacking the engines directly. Same with the power plant and armories, which makes it that much worse. Without heavier weapons, there’s no way we can get into the service areas and regain control.”

  Mercer stared it over. “We’ve got quite the stash in our transport. I can go digging through it and see what we find; if it’s not a Fleet ship, then it shouldn’t be locked down, right?”

  Warner nodded his head in agreement. “Good thinking. Maybe you’re on to something.”