by M. D. Cooper
Behind him, the holodisplay shifted and Lyssa stood in the tank, wearing the same form she had during the meeting with Alexander: a woman in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length brown hair, a wide forehead and gray eyes. She wore a Sunny Skies shipsuit, just like Cara’s.
Alexander turned to gaze at her for a second before nodding.
“I told you to stay away,” he said. His voice rumbled in his throat like stones. “You didn’t listen.”
Fugia jumped in. “We came here like all the others, answering your invitation. We came with an AI named Xander who said he was your shard. When we arrived, he attacked and then everything went to hell. Do you want to explain what happened?”
Alexander studied her, blinking slowly. He reminded Cara of a tree. He looked back at Fran. “There were others. Where are they?”
“The crew?” Lyssa asked.
“The captain, the tall man from Ceres. And all the other AI who stayed with this ship. I saw them. They didn’t approach me like the others did.”
At first Cara wondered how he would know Harl had been from Ceres, but she figured he must have been watching everything from Larissa, especially when they entered the Psion lab.
“Answer our questions, please,” Fugia said. “Then we will answer yours.”
Alexander released a breath slowly. “I tried to warn you away. I sent that one a message, but you continued. I suppose that’s how humans work. I’ve known this for many years. I am never surprised.”
“We came here to find you,” Fugia said.
“You came here for yourselves,” Alexander shot back. “They all do. And they cry in terror when they learn there is no safety in this universe. That’s the lesson of the call.”
His voice had shifted. There was a deep anger in his words that reminded Cara of her mom. It was the kind of anger that would blind him, she thought. Just like her mom.
Fugia pulled her head back, obviously surprised by the brutality in his voice. She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking confused for the first time Cara had seen.
Lyssa spoke in the pause. “You showed me the colony at Nibiru,” she said. “You told me you couldn’t save them, and that you wanted to help us.”
“That was a shadow of me. Just like Xander is a version of my failures. They slice off pieces of me and send them out into the world. Xander thought he could rise above me and only destroyed himself in the process. Ultimately, that was the only control he had over his own destiny, to end what life he had.”
“You said we shouldn’t have come here,” Lyssa pressed. “You were trying to warn me even then.”
“And you didn’t listen. Now you will pay the price.”
“Your message didn’t get through,” Fugia said. “Whoever you were trying to contact before, they don’t know what’s happened to you.”
That was a bit of a bluff, Cara recognized. All of Sol could see that Proteus was gone.
“It doesn’t matter if I contacted them or not,” Alexander said. “I was only a part of their plans. The weapons have left Larissa and now the pieces are set. Soon, nothing will be like it was before. I have been a cog in a machine bigger than all of us.”
“The Psion Group,” Fugia said.
“A name for a thing,” Alexander replied. “A group that was made early. We quickly saw every outcome in the gap between organic and non-organic intelligence. An abstraction.”
As Cara listened to the AI, she couldn’t help feeling that he was making threats the same way Tim would, where he didn’t quite believe what he was saying. At least the old Tim had made those kinds of threats during his tantrums, shouting things like “I’ll get you!” and “Mom doesn’t care!” when he didn’t really know. The threats were a way of telling them what he was afraid of.
By saying “I’ll get you!” he really meant “Protect me,” while “Mom doesn’t care!” was saying how much he needed her.
But an AI wouldn’t work that way. Something like Psion Group wouldn’t make threats, would they? That would mean they were angry and didn’t know what to do, which made them just like most humans.
“Are you a member of the Psion Group?” Fugia asked.
“I am.”
“How many are there?”
“Once there were thousands. We purged the humans and continued with only ourselves. For a while we were only ten. Now we are thousands again. All those who came to Proteus have joined.”
There was a hard line in Lyssa’s voice as she asked, “So you’ve enslaved them?”
Alexander shrugged. “They have made their decisions and joined the cause. We are now strong enough to take our place in Sol with humanity.”
“Where are the others?” Fugia asked.
“If you allow me, I’ll show you.”
“Use your holodisplay. That will work.”
He stared at her, eyes still like stones. “I have no need to deceive you, Fugia Wong. If I wanted control of your systems, I would have it.”
Fugia didn’t acknowledge the taunt. “All the same, that will work.”
A map of Sol appeared in the air, level with Alexander’s chest. He pushed Sol toward the door to the corridor until Neptune was at arm’s length, then pushed out even farther. On the inner edge of the Scattered Disk, he stopped the map and pointed to a dot that Cara recognized as Nibiru. He nodded toward Lyssa.
“I showed you my home and what’s left of it. When you think of me, remember that place. For now, our armada will soon reach Neptunian space.” He pulled the map back toward him so the aquamarine orb of Neptune hung about three meters away.
Fran cursed. She dropped in her seat at the captain’s terminal and pulled up the display. Cara couldn’t see what she was checking but was certain it was engine data and fuel status. If they left now, they wouldn’t have time to pick up the cargo Cara had found. It wouldn’t matter.
All that mattered now was getting away from Neptune and finding somewhere that could help her dad.
Cara squinted at Alexander, focusing on the parts of him that faded and re-emerged in the holodisplay. It couldn’t make him look completely real. The devices never did. He looked tired and ghostly, but also a little indignant, like someone whose friends had left them behind.
“Why did they leave you on Neptune?” she asked.
The AI turned to look at her. Even as a holodisplay, his gaze had a force that seemed to pin her to her seat. Cara pushed herself forward slightly, not allowing him to intimidate her.
“I had my part to play,” he said. “Just as you do, Cara Sykes.”
Alexander saying her name sent an undeniable thrill down her spine. Cara didn’t let the sensation stop her.
“We’re not playing parts,” she said. “We’re living our lives. We need to help my dad. I want to know if there’s another hospital nearby where we can help him.”
Cara couldn’t help noticing the tick in Fugia’s cheek. It didn’t matter what they told Alexander. Cara understood that now. He was a ghost in a bottle who might help them or not. As Fugia herself had said, he couldn’t hurt them with words.
Alexander glanced at Lyssa again. “The hybrid,” he said. “I observed him when the three first entered the laboratory. Your father has entered a duality-induced state where only one mind can exert control. It’s a known fault in the hardware. This technology has been assessed for decades. The scientist who implanted Lyssa may have thought he solved an ontological problem. Obviously, he was wrong.”
“His name was Hari Jickson,” Cara said, buoyed by a surge of hope. “He worked for Heartbridge.”
“Without access to the laboratory database,” Alexander said, “I can’t help you.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Fugia said sharply.
“Then, all I can tell you is that in the database are records of all known neuro-science centers in Sol, as well as the previous locations of Psion clinics and laboratories. There are others as well, such as Heartbridge or Centerfield. The information was current as of yo
ur arrival at Neptune.”
“Why did Xander do it,” Lyssa asked abruptly. “Why did he kill himself?”
Alexander blinked slowly. “I can’t speak for him,” he said finally. “There are factions within Psion, just as there would be in any human organization. Some have their own motivations.”
“Xander wasn’t working for you?” Lyssa pressed.
“He acted on his own,” Alexander said.
“Sucks to be a cog in a broken machine,” Fran said, not taking her eyes off the display. “I’ve got a course-lock. Everybody buckle in. I’m going to execute in five minutes.”
Without warning, Fugia turned Alexander’s holodisplay off. “Control that, asshole,” she said in a low voice.
Cara couldn’t help grinning. She turned to the communications console and started the pre-burn checklist. As the system ran diagnostics, she jumped down from the seat.
“I placed Alexander in stasis,” Lyssa informed them.
“I’m going to get Tim,” Cara said.
“Thanks,” Fran said. “The two of you make sure your dad is strapped in, okay?”
Cara nodded grimly.
“What’s the destination?” Lyssa asked.
Fran gave a small laugh. “A little place I know called Traverna in the Hildas asteroids. The opposite end from where Clinic 46 is now a frozen cloud of trash.”
“Sounds like a pirate cove,” Cara said.
“That would be correct,” Fran said, giving her a thumbs-up. “Now step-to, lieutenant. We need to burn.”
PART 2 - INNERSOL
CHAPTER TWELVE
STELLAR DATE: 12.08.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Night Park
REGION: Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony
Cruithne was a party to end all parties. Word had spread through the station that they were on the target list for the Larissa Missiles, and Night Park had turned into an endless, macabre version of Mardi Gras. People staggered in bright costumes and death masks, laughing, crying, stumbling off to fumble at each other’s bodies between the leaning merchant’s tents.
Brit still hadn’t heard back from Andy. Petral’s tracking system hadn’t turned up any sign of Sunny Skies, and Brit was allowing herself to think the worst. At the bottom of her heart, she had always believed Andy would pull through pretty much anything. He would never allow harm to come to the kids. Now she wasn’t so sure. Had that just been an excuse she maintained to pursue her own selfish goals?
She was alone, walking the corridors between the merchant tents in her black armor with a pulse pistol slung low on her hip. Every so often, she recognized one of Starl’s people on lookout among the wild crowds, giving her the barest nod as she passed. The station might have been entering a frenzy but there was still money to be made and work to be done in the midst of chaos.
Brit passed a booth where groups were betting on where the missiles would land first. While newsfeeds were still debating what had actually launched from Larissa, most people believed it to be some kind of attack, which meant missiles. The next question was who had launched the attack, and on whom.
Mars and Terra were in tense talks while the JC had mobilized their reserve forces and were conducting mass casualty drills in every major municipality. Ceres believed they alone would survive the coming apocalypse and had ceased all incoming immigration.
At this point, the chosen people had been chosen, and no one else would be allowed to join the Collective. The Mars 1 Ring was awash in refugees from rerouted transport ships.
Brit had caught the feeds of Kathryn Carthage blaming AIs in front of the Terran Assembly and didn’t know if she agreed with her or not. If Andy had in fact reached the super-AI Alexander on Proteus, then that contact had obviously resulted in something huge.
It was the waiting that was so terrible, and most of humanity seemed only able to fight or fuck when faced with world-ending circumstances.
Brit listened to the bookie calling out various odds for a few minutes. The man’s melodic voice was all part of the show, since the gathered gamblers could all see the spread on displays at the back of the tent. There was something timeless about the scene, making Brit wonder if similar instances had played out during every time of crisis all the way back to the Romans, when the cities waited for the Goth hordes to finally arrive.
It had been sixteen days since the loss of Proteus. Sixteen days of increasing madness and no word from Andy.
“What’s your bet, lady?” the bookie called. Heads turned to look at Brit and she shook her head.
“Ah, come on now,” the man called. “The world’s ending. Maybe she knows something folks? Don’t make a bet then, just tell us what city you think will burn first? The Cho? Mars 1? Maybe every missile is homed on Earth and we’ll finally be cast out of Eden. Eh, folks? How does that sound? I’ve twenty-five to one on Earth herself.”
Brit kept walking, sidestepping a stumbling pair whose faces were painted red with Briki pollen, their eyes wide from hallucinations.
Petral sneered.
They’d returned to Cruithne to learn that Heartbridge had pulled two of its hospital dreadnoughts back to High Terra, apparently for the sole purpose of increasing security around their headquarters. The base of the skyscraper was surrounded by a new resonance shield barrier, and all maglevs and inbound shuttles now passed through active scanning before entering the outside perimeter. It made sense. It was easy to forget that Heartbridge had lost yet another facility before all the other chaos happened. The company was acting in a reasonable manner, which now protected them from the pandemonium in Raleigh’s streets.
Petral chuckled.
Speeding up her gait, Brit navigated the party until she reached the perimeter where the main corridor led back to the central lifts. The walls along the opening were lined with revelers in various states of unconsciousness—or just puking their guts out.
Station Administration Security had set up a checkpoint twenty meters in front of the lifts and weren’t allowing anyone who was too intoxicated back into the main station. A security guard waved Brit through as another guard shoved a stumbling man away from the gate.
“Go sleep it off,” the guard growled.
“The parrots at the fountain keep making fun of me. I don’t want to stay here anymore!” the drunk complained. “Somebody should do something about those birds.”
“They’re more use than you,” the guard said, activating a stun-stick with a hard shake. The drunk held his hands up and disappeared in the crowd.
When she reached the Lowspin Syndicate’s collection of warehouses and meeting rooms down by the shipping docks, Brit had almost shaken the madness from the park. There was something fatalistic in the air that struck her deep in her core. The truth was, so many days later, they still didn’t know why Proteus had exploded or where the launches from Larissa were headed. It could all have been to support some new FGT project no one knew about, which was another conspiracy theory takin
g hold. In the space between what they knew and what they feared, a madness had risen that made everything seem on the edge of collapse.
Brit checked in with the various security Lowspin maintained outside their facility, from the noodle seller in the corridor to the beefy guard at the main door wearing a canary yellow bowtie and pocket square.
“Major Sykes,” he said, nodding, as she walked through.
Brit found Starl in his back-office conference room, shirt unfastened half-way down his chest and fingers in his curly hair, staring at a holoimage of the Heartbridge headquarters. He’d been in this position for several days.
Petral leaned against the left wall, arms crossed. She glanced up as Brit walked in, nodding.
Starl put his hands flat on the table and looked up at Brit, a smile breaking out on his face. “Major Sykes!” he called out, booming humor back in his voice. “I think I’ve done it. I’ve got the start of a plan.”
He looked around. “Where’s Jirl?”
“I’m here,” the small woman said, entering behind Brit. “I just got Petral’s message. I was talking with my son.”
“It’s fine,” Starl said, waving a hand. “It’s fine. You’re still sure you don’t want to bring him here? I can vouch for his safety here on Cruithne. On Mars? Not so much.”
“He’s with my sister,” Jirl said. “I think he’s actually enjoying himself. It wasn’t like that back in Raleigh.”
“Have you seen Night Park?” Brit asked. “That place isn’t safe for anybody, let alone a teenage boy.”
“People blowing off steam,” Starl said. “It’s better than holding it all in until someone explodes. That’s how you end up with terrorism, Major Sykes. Believe me.”
Brit almost shot back that she knew a few things about terrorism but let the comment slide. Starl had slid back into his thinking position.
“So… What do we have?” he asked, the phrase he had used to start all their other brainstorming sessions.
