“Either, both, everyone,” he replied. “I’m just musing. These people don’t even have air cars.”
“They subjugated the will of millions of people during the war,” Sorina said. “It got so bad we had to construct a machine they could not access just to defend ourselves.”
“Daedalus,” he nodded.
Athame, Prospero transmitted, on the Akanda you spoke of Daedalus finding it necessary to advance those under his charge with the data from our ‘experiment.’ It has been bothering me. What did you mean by it? Were you referring to the Abyssians?
“Negative. Those under Daedalus’ charge are the citizens of the Confederation. Daedalus predicted a war will occur with the species referred to as the Revok. In order to harden the Confederation against this technologically superior foe, Daedalus deemed it necessary to upgrade all citizens,” she responded.
Nero scowled. Sorina’s ears vibrated in the air.
“What do you mean, upgrade?” he asked.
“In order to have a chance of survival, all citizens must be made into something like what you are. You are one of the test cases to ensure the configuration of hardware and software will merge effectively with the sentient biological platforms under Daedalus’ charge.”
It took several moments for him to process what she said. “Daedalus wants to make everyone in the Confederation into Abyssians?”
“No, but that explanation is close enough.”
“With or without their consent?” he asked.
“Naturally many will object based on personal or religious beliefs, but Daedalus will not tolerate resistance. The Confederation must survive at all costs. This is the directive Daedalus was given at its creation, and it will follow it to its end. Once all platforms are linked into a quantum communications network, there will be no resistance. The Confederation will present a united front against the enemy. The Barony, along with the rest of the government, will be obsolete. The Confederation will become one, super organism under the direction of the will of Daedalus. It will be able to react to threats as no other civilization in history has. This is Daedalus’ plan.”
Nero closed his eyes. Every sentient being in the Confederation made into a cyborg, and all citizens linked to Daedalus. He had no illusions about what this was really about. Daedalus wanted to make the Confederation into a hive mind. It would mean the end of individual will, the end of choice. It was almost too horrible to comprehend.
Nero, this is insane. Freedom of the individual is the heart of the Confederation. If Daedalus does this, it will destroy what it is sworn to protect. This can’t be what it intends. It is not logical. Prospero sounded bewildered.
“Incorrect, the Confederation will change, but will not be destroyed. It will be different, but improved from Daedalus’ point of view.” Athame said.
If he allowed this, everything he could ever remember doing to protect the citizens of the Confederation would be meaningless. He couldn’t, not now, not ever. Regardless of what Daedalus’ intentions were, this was going too far.
“This cannot be true,” Sorina said with wide eyes.
“We built a machine that is now threatening to turn us all into its cyborg minions,” Nero muttered.
“Components of the whole,” Athame said. “Each citizen will be a component of the super-network that is the Confederation.”
“It’s not right.”
“Yes, Nero.” Athame bowed her head.
“Are you agreeing with me because you have to, or is that your legitimate opinion?” He searched her eyes.
Athame blinked. “It is not the worst fate. Each citizen would retain a degree of autonomous thinking to maintain flexibility in the system, but the cost to individuality and freedom of choice is unacceptably high. My home is New Bimini. It was born in revolution, and I was educated to respect the value of individual freedom.”
“So you agree, what Daedalus plans is wrong.”
“Yes.”
“But can we do anything to stop it?” Sorina sat up on the bed.
“Perhaps,” Athame responded.
It was an impossible job. How could they stop an AI whose physical location no one knew, and who effectively held the rank of Supreme Commander of all of the Confederate military? How could they begin to challenge an AI that had been self-evolving for decades? He didn’t have the answer, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
“First thing is first,” he said. “We still need to find Kaeden Faen and work out what is going on with the quarantine on this planet. Maybe something will come up while we do that might help us down the line. We can’t do anything about Daedalus from here.”
Sorina’s ears twitched, and she nodded in the human fashion. “I was able to obtain some information about the populace that might be of use. There are over ten-million sentient beings living in this city. Of those, most are Isinari, with the next most populous group being the VoQuana. There is also a small percentage of humans living here.”
Nero blinked. “Humans?”
“The census bureau on this world lists a population of around 20,000 ‘mainline’ humans living in New Harbidum,” she said.
“What does ‘mainline’ mean?”
“Mainline humans are considered those with pure gene lines,” Athame answered.
“As opposed to what?”
“That is classified information.”
He looked at her for a moment. They reprogrammed her on the Akanda to accept him in Daedalus’ place. If he ordered her to do something, she would do it.
It’s a big responsibility, Prospero said. She clearly has a will of her own. We need to be careful with this.
He nodded in agreement. The last thing he wanted to do was subvert the will of another sentient being as Daedalus did to him, but declassifying information seemed to be safe in terms of respecting Athame’s autonomy.
“Declassify all relevant information,” he said.
She nodded. “During the Cephalon-Qua Wars the Qua altered their genetic code, and those of the humans they kidnapped from Earth, in order to interbreed and save themselves from a Cephalon bioweapon. The resulting species is what we know of as the VoQuana. The VoQuana maintain their ability to interbreed with humans, though the resulting offspring is a further dilution of the Qua portion of their DNA.”
“What does that mean?” Nero asked.
“That further dilution is classified as a ‘Metaqua.’ Metaqua possess some of the same abilities as the VoQuana, but to a lesser degree in most cases. They are closer to humans than they are to their Qua progenitors, which creates the three genetic categories of VoQuana civilization: the VoQuana, the Metaqua, and the mainline humans.”
“Okay,” his frown deepened.
It’s really straightforward, you know, Prospero said. Nero ignored him.
“Why have we not known of these Metaqua before?” Sorina asked.
Athame looked at her. “Daedalus discovered them ten years, three months, three days after the Treaty of Seven. Their population was quite low at the time, as most VoQuana consider it taboo to mate with a human, though that changed over time and created a corresponding rise of the Metaqua population. Their existence was classified within days of their discovery. While they retain many of the abilities of their VoQuana parent, their appearance is far closer to that of a human, so they are better able to blend in with Solan society.”
“Do you mean they are able to read minds?” Sorina’s fingers touched the band around her neck.
“Daedalus found their category-6 abilities to be similar in nature, though different in character and intensity, when compared to their VoQuana equivalents.”
“What does that mea—wait, just answer Sorina’s question as a yes or no,” he said.
“Yes.” Athame stated.
Nero licked his lips. “So they can blend in with humanity and engage in mind-reading and control?”
“Affirmative. Daedalus felt public knowledge of this would lead to a panic, false arrests, lynching,
and other social ills. As such, the existence of the Metaqua is classified top-secret,” Athame answered.
“I can see why,” Sorina said.
He sighed. Now they had another thing to worry about. “Okay, that sucks, but we can’t worry about that right now. We need to find Kaeden. Is it possible he’s among the mainline humans you mentioned in this city?”
“New Harbidum is the only port on this planet since the Treaty of Seven,” Athame answered, “but there are ten other cities on Zov, each with a small human population.”
He felt his heart sink.
“New Harbidum has the largest?” Sorina asked.
“Confirmed.”
She caught Nero’s eye. “We have the greatest chance of finding him here. He would have to come through the spaceport, and with the highest human population being in this city that means he has the highest chance of hiding here.”
He nodded, moving over to stand between the beds. He was tired, and feeling fuzzy. It was evening, ship time, when they arrived and his body was telling him it was the middle of the night despite the sun shining in through the window. He could do with a nap.
“I guess you’re right.” He moved to sit on the bed opposite Sorina, hesitated, then made himself lie down on it with his back to her. This was no time to give in to the desire to have her beside him. They were still on a mission, though he knew that the heat of her body would calm some of the nerves rampaging through his gut. “I’m going to take a nap. Athame, you can go into standby mode if you wish.”
“Confirmed,” she answered.
He heard Sorina get off her bed, and a moment later felt her join him. She wrapped one arm around his torso and pulled herself up against his back. A shiver went through him, but rather than resist, he reached down and intertwined his fingers with hers. Her cinnamon smell drifted up into his nostrils and he smiled. After that sleep came faster than he would have thought possible.
Nero stood looking at the base of a long staircase attached to the steep wall of the massive ziggurat at the center of the city. There was a taste like battery acid in his mouth. This ziggurat had to be at least three times the size of the one on Kosfanter, and those stairs had practically killed him. A thousand steps lead up to a group of two-story tall arches supporting a dome that cast the landing below it in shadow. It lay between the main stairs and a secondary flight that connected it to the top of the second level of the building. He could see a sparse crowd of VoQuana standing in the shade, and several more climbing the stairs in either direction. Only the ones closest spared him and his party a glance.
“Don’t tell me, we’re going to the top, right?”
Sorina gave him a sidelong look. Her ears quivered in the air. Behind her Athame emerged from the taxicab and walked up to stand on his other side.
“The office of the Lugal is at the top of the structure,” she said.
“Of course it is.” He sighed and started climbing.
Sorina matched his pace. He kept his head down, watching her toe-fingers flex as they gripped every step. By the time they reached the landing he was breathing heavily and sweating in the oppressive heat. She wasn’t.
Here we go again, Prospero muttered. I’m not taking no for an answer this time. You’re doing endurance training after today.
Where? In the hotel? He leaned on his thighs and tried to catch his breath as Athame, Sorina, and half a dozen VoQuana looked on.
Fine, not the hotel, but as soon as we are off this planet.
Fine. He started in on the second staircase, his soles clapped against each step.
It was a good thing he didn’t need to talk when they reached the top. The third level, like the second, was smaller than the one below it. Here small kiosk-shops did business among two-meter tall plants with bladed, crimson leaves. The structure resting at its heart was surrounded by stone columns and had a flat roof with an ornate cornice. A pair of tall, bronze doors dominated the center with two tattooed VoQuana Guards to either side. Both were male, and each had a metal rod dangling form his dark leather belt. Nero’s ocular implants scanned the devices, detecting small amounts of thermal radiation that indicated a strong power source in their hilts.
“Laser rods,” Athame messaged him after noting his gaze. “Traditional weapons of the Maskhim.”
These are Maskhim? he asked, remembering the VoQuana he met on Kosfanter held that title as well.
“Yes,” Athame returned. “They serve as law enforcement and guards of the Lugal.”
He nodded, sizing them up. They were wiry, as the species tended to be, and had their long, black hair pulled back into a severe tail. He figured they wouldn’t prove much of a challenge physically unless they managed to overpower him with, what Athame termed their “category-6 abilities.” He wondered how Sorina’s choker device would fare if conflict arose, and shifted his gun-belt. The weight of Mitsugawa’s SGX-228 against his thigh was reassuring.
The doors split into several segments rotating independently of each other to from a kind of vent-like portal at their approach. Just beyond them, on a golden carpet, was a VoQuana standing slightly taller than Nero. His black, oval eyes had rings of green sparks that shifted back and forth as he took in the approaching group. His hair was long and bound in a tail like the Maskhim’s. He had circle and line tattoos from his neck to his feet as they did too, but his body lacked any of the muscular definition. From the way he held himself, and the set of three, black chains hanging low from his neck, Nero determined this male was of some rank or importance but not of any kind of warrior. His features were soft, though he had an intensity to his gaze that Nero surmised as reflecting a shrewd mind.
“Welcome to Zov, Abyssians,” the male VoQuana said in a deep voice with an accent that sounded like he was talking around a stone in his mouth. “And we extend our welcome to the CSA Agent as well. My name is Ameluan, and I serve as an aide to Lugal Meshara. It is my job to see that you are taken care of while in the Lugal’s ziggurat.”
“Thank you,” he said, still a little winded from the stairs. “I am Praetor Nero Graves, this is Praetor Athame, and this is Agent Khepria.”
“We were told the Lugal wanted to see us.” Athame stepped forward.
“Yes, she is eager to meet your unusual delegation,” Ameluan said.
The inside of the ziggurat, at least on this level, had smooth marble walls lit by sconces sculpted to resemble torch handles from some somarill period melodrama. Each cast a cone-shaped splash up the wall such that the corridor had the appearance of being lined by large fans of light. There was a heady smell in the air, some kind of incense that Nero’s nasal filters reported would be mildly toxic to human life in large doses.
Ameluan lead them to a room at the end of a long side-corridor built at such an angle that made it difficult to see from the main hall. The door was unmarked and opened in the same vent-like fashion as the one before. Within was a room plated in gold. Its ceiling had four arches coming together at a point hovering above the backless golden chair in the center like the hanging spire of a stalactite. Around it red pillows and carpets lay in a spiral formation. Two tattooed men he identified as Maskhim from their countenance stood on either side of the gleaming throne. Upon it, with her back held rigidly vertical, was a woman whose tattoos covered not only her body but her pearly face as well. The Lugal’s small mouth was framed by pencil-thin lips beneath a small, button nose that made her features look even more angular than the other VoQuana. Her breasts sagged, and her stomach bulged beneath wavy, dark locks streaked with gray. The silver sparks in her night-dark eyes took in each of them with a measured gaze.
Ameluan stepped in front of Nero and dropped to his knees before her with his hands spread wide on the floor. After regarding her servant for several moments she looked up and took in a deep breath. When she spoke her voice creaked like the old wooden chairs the barons favored.
“Forgive my Solan, it has been a long time since I have spoken my thoughts aloud, let alone in an alien
tongue.” She clicked her gold-tipped fingers on the throne’s armrest.
“Greetings Lugal—” Athame began.
“Silence, machine,” the Lugal hissed out. “I will not speak with a talking puppet.”
Nero glanced at Athame, uncertain of what to say or do. Neither she nor Prospero seemed to have any advice to offer.
“It’s no worry, you can talk to me,” he said after a long pause.
“You are kind, Praetor Graves,” she said, startling him as they had not yet been introduced.
The VoQuana collective consciousness, Prospero reminded him. She knows because we introduced ourselves to her man, Ameluan.
The Lugal’s eyes darted between them again. “Would that the rules your master imposes allow us to communicate in the normal fashion, but direct contact is forbidden with off-worlders, and there is no use in crying over what is done and gone. What do I owe the pleasure of a visit from an Abyssian and a CSA Agent? Has there been some problem I am unaware of?”
She’s ignoring Athame, Prospero pointed out.
“It is no matter,” she sent to him. “Take the lead.”
“This is an inspection,” he said after a long pause. “Are there any problems you wish to report?”
The Lugal shifted her gaze among them a third time. “What kind of inspection requires such a visit?”
Don’t tell her too much, Prospero cautioned.
“We require access to the local records,” he responded, glancing at Athame.
Though the VoQuana did not have eyebrows, the muscles above Lugal Meshara’s eyes contracted. “You want to see our hall of records?”
“Yes, um, please.” His eyes went to the Maskhims, but they remained as unmoving as statues. Ameluan shifted his weight back and forth as he stood beside his Lugal.
His body temperature is elevated, Prospero noted. My analysis is they know something, though that is not a surprise, considering.
“Of course we will comply with the wishes of Daedalus.” The Lugal said the name with unmasked contempt. “Ameluan will take you, but can’t you access the records directly from the network?”
Eye of the Abyss: Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 3 Page 26
