by Rupert Segar
Unfortunately for the rulers of the library world, the Cult of the Explorers appropriated their record and went about distributing it for free, right across the galaxy. Before the Chief Librarians could think of rights, royalties and licence fees, the explorers had copied every text and manual onto tiny cubes. If information is power, the head librarians had ceded their sovereignty without a struggle. The only compensation was that the Cult of Explorers made Willow their headquarters.
If Willow had given away its past, the head librarians were determined to make the future pay. The sector was dotted with explorer ships, each scouring the galaxy for planets still cut off by the Plague. Eventually, a log of every new discovery would be conveyed back to explorer HQ on Willow. The catalogue of newly contacted worlds was priceless. It was a detailed list of planets available for trade, exploitation or conquest.
The Kargol Empire surrounded the independent world of Willow on all sides. The library planet had been called Literary Switzerland for some reason only known to historians. To be frank, the Empire was largely indifferent to the academic world. Willow was a low tech world barely able to feed itself. However, when it discovered the intelligence treasury being amassed by the Explorer ships, Kargol agents moved in. Treaties were signed; there were grants for infrastructure projects like transport and health; and, there were unofficial payments for every high official. Most of all, the Empire was granted exclusive access to the explorers’ gazette of the galaxy.
Willow was still nominally governed by the five head librarians along with five dali lamas, one attached to each library, two chief explorers and the vice chancellor of Willow. One day, the vice chancellor announced by vid-feed that they had allied themselves with the Empire. The following day, the imperial bureaucrats arrived. All the rulers of Willow received their orders from a Kargol admiral ensconced on the top floor of the great Quintox Library. In reality, most of them had been receiving such orders for years, but in secret.
In his office, one floor below, Security Chief Danzig bristled with indignation. He had learned that four of his five assistant security officers had been double agents for years, working for the Kargol Empire. The officers, one for each of the main libraries, were the front line against outside infiltration. Yet four of them had been working in collusion with a foreign power, albeit that it was the Empire, a friendly power.
As he ran his finger around the inside of his itchy new blue collar, he had to remind himself that they all worked for the Empire now. His Kargol uniform with its solid blue collar showed he had been given the rank of general. All library staff on Willow had been conscripted into the forces the day after the coup.
Security Chief Danzig was consulting the staff records which had been downloaded to his computer terminal earlier that morning. Apparently, the absorption of Willow into the Empire had been planned long before the recent war with the Alliance, or anyone else who opposed Kargol rule. An army of military bureaucrats had been drawing up plans and keeping records for the inevitable take over. There on the screen in front of him were the details of each of his assistants. Their treachery as double agents was noted in approving tones. Each had been given a promotion to full lieutenant as a result of their betrayal. Danzig was furious.
Security Chief Danzig was not a principled man. He did not even consider himself very trustworthy or loyal. He was head of security, after all. He was just angry that no-one had thought to ask him to be a double agent.
A red box appeared on Danzig’s vid screen. It was a call from Stephan Peterson, his assistant at the Dromedary Library on the far side of the planet. Peterson had been the only one of his assistants who had not been a spy for the Empire. The young man’s image appeared on the screen. Like all the other library staff, Peterson was wearing a black Kargol uniform. Danzig noted that Peterson’s top only had two blue flashes at the collar, he was only a sub-lieutenant. Why didn’t they ask him either? Danzig asked himself. He’s as untrustworthy and shifty as the rest of them.
“General Danzig, we have two subordinate librarians caught on vid-cam writing seditious graffiti on the fly sheets of books,” said Assistant Head of Security Peterson.
“What sort of things did they write?” said Danzig, feeling slightly uneasy. Defacing a library book was a serious issue and Peterson had used the word ‘seditious,” meaning anti-Imperial.
“Oh the usual: ‘Kargol killers,’ ‘storm trooper can’t read,’ ‘books not war,’ and all that sort of stuff.”
Danzig was feeling slightly more anxious. “You’ve had other cases?”
“Yes, sir, but this is the first time we’ve caught them, or caught some of them, at least.”
Danzig had summoned up the standing orders on subversion and troublemaking. The occupying force was more liberal than he anticipated.
“Have you spoken to them yet?”
“No, sir. They’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We banged them up in separate security rooms in the basement. He wet himself when one of my officers picked up a neural stun. He was only lockin’ it up for safekeepin’, like.” The young assistant head of security laughed.
I understand why the Empire didn’t recruit him, thought Danzig. The standing orders on how to treat anti-Imperial rebels had been downloaded to every office. The man on his vid-screen had clearly never even thought to read them. Peterson was a stupid bully.
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, Peterson. You’re going to send someone nice down to his cell with a clean pair of trousers. Then you’re going to invite them up into your office and give them a friendly but firm chat. If they repeat the offence they might lose their jobs or get a fine. Then send them home to their parents.”
“Wot?” said the sub-lieutenant, almost choking. “We used to give them electric shocks for just writing in a book and these two … these two …” The assistant head of security was trying to find the right words. “They’re against the Empire.”
“Precisely!” said Colonel Danzig. “This is an occupation. We don’t want to make martyrs out of them. Be nice, and send them home.”
Chapter 10: The Wild Wood
In geosynchronous orbit high above Chimera 6, the planet called Devastation by human explorers, the alien vessel known as the Ship was shackled inside a cage made of tractor beams. The two cruisers, either side of the ship, fired their manoeuvring jets gently nudging the captured Ship back towards the portal. The kilometre-long battleship was reversing too with equal slowness. The Imperial warships seemed in no hurry to deliver their prize to the portal, or maybe their crews were frightened of provoking the alien vessel.
On board the Ship, Art felt entirely fraudulent as he made a final tour of inspection in the medical bay and the adjoining corridor. As he looked at the extra cables now attached to Yelena’s neural net and Sy Chang’s casket, Art had to admit to himself that he had no idea of what any of them did. The striped holosphere hovered at his side as he stepped over some trunking that was made up of several bundles of cables tied together. The ship had explained that the extra wiring was needed to provide more feedback from the sensorium.
“Feedback? If anything goes wrong, will you be able to stop Yelena getting hurt?”
Art addressed his question to the medibot surgeon, even though its functions were completely controlled by the Ship. The humans on board the alien vessel always had difficulty with the fact that the entity called the Ship, was made up of many parts. Mr Angry and the other six pods, the striped holosphere and even the medibot surgeon were all versions of the same personality. Then there were the sub-personalities like the heuristic engrams implanted in Art’s and Yelena’s comms links, as well as the Trojan programs secreted in computers in the great Quintox Library of Willow or the AIs controlling the Imperial Fleet. For humans the sense of identity was crucial to their existence. For the Ship, the boundaries of identity were blurred and unimportant, which is not to say that the entity did not care about its existence, far from it.
The medibot surgeon turned its small t
ennis ball sized head towards Art. One eye had a metal iris like the ship’s space doors, the other had a collection of different lenses that could be swivelled into place in front of it. The iris contracted and expanded and several lenses swivelled. Art thought the medibot, a proxy for the Ship, was being typically melodramatic.
“I shall monitor the condition of Yelena and Sy continuously. If it is necessary to sever the connection with the sensorium, I can do so almost instantly,” said the medibot.
+
In the control cabin upstairs, Art sat hunched forward in the pilot’s seat. He was more anxious than at any time since he had met the alien vessel. Yelena was in a deep coma. Art loved her despite his affair with the alien, Zeeann. He was about to go for a walk in a re-enactment of Yelena’s subconscious, constructed inside the ship’s sensorium. On top of all that, the Ship itself was being held by three Imperial warships.
“Tell me again, why I shouldn’t be concerned by a kilometre-long battleship and two cruisers who have us prisoner.”
“I would hardly say we were being held prisoner,” said the striped holosphere, hovering at his side. “We are just not resisting arrest, yet. At the moment, the two cruisers are towing us towards the portal but they are doing so with minimal acceleration. I estimate we will arrive at the gateway in four hours’ time. That is an ample period in which to contact Yelena in the simulacrum of her subconscious.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”
“You, Sy Chang and I will all be represented in my sensorium. You will be there in the same way you are present when you are a pilot. The difference is that my sensorium will create a landscape which corresponds to Yelena’s unconscious mind using some of the metaphorical images developed by Sy. We can all journey through this landscape trying to contact Yelena. If she responds positively, I can insert her personality in the landscape as well. Then it will be down to you, Art, to convince her to wake up.”
“But you’ll be in there, ship?”
“Yes, of course, you will have my undivided attention.”
“Then who’ll be out here looking after everything and making sure that the Imperial storm troopers don’t board us while were in cloud cuckoo land.”
“That will be my job,” said the big red pod hovering on the other side of the pilot’s console.
“And I’ll be keeping an eye on Mr Angry, said Carole Porter, standing next to the pod.
Mr Angry tipped his body towards the former imperial sub-lieutenant.
“You will all be well looked after,” said the red pod.
+
“Just plug in,” were the last words Art heard as he leant back in the pilot’s chair. With his eyes closed, he felt the widgets in his head engage. Art fancied he could hear the cogs turning and little contacts engaging. He knew it was just his imagination but it felt real nonetheless.
The sensorium expanded all around him. Art was flying at the centre of an enormous sphere. He could see the two cruisers towing the ship towards the grey oval portal. The kilometre-long battleship looked like a child’s toy. Perhaps the enemy was not that intimidating after all. An image of the planet was below him. Three tags identified the world as ‘Last Haven,’ ‘Devastation’ and ‘Chimera 6.’ How multicultural, he thought. Glancing outwards looking spinward, Art found himself surveying the Upper Realm. A distant star system, many light years away, became a nearby neighbour, a multi-coloured island in the sea of space.
Art was just beginning to feel comfortable with the familiar when the sensorium changed. The cool calm of outer space was overwritten with another image. The imperial warships had vanished. The ecliptic plane of the solar system became the ground which started sprouting trees. The Upper Realm was replaced with a dark blue sky and orange clouds.
Art felt himself drift downwards. His lordly overview of a forest canopy was replaced by a more confined view of closely packed trees when he found himself standing in a small clearing in a wood. A metallic man, with a narrow torso and thin legs floated down to the grass. Art had decided in advance that he preferred the entity to be present in humanoid form.
“You didn’t say anything about a forest,” said Art. “I thought we were trying to find Yelena hidden behind a wall.”
“This is Sy’s contribution,” said the smooth gold skinned automaton looking at Art with featureless eyes. “She felt a journey before we arrive at the wall would give Yelena some pre-warning. We cannot just arrive and start knocking on her door. She would suffer shock or disorientation.”
“As long as journey is just a stroll in the park and not some epic adventure,” said Art. “Where is Sy anyway?”
“She is here. Look among the trees, directly ahead.” said the entity.
Art peered ahead and saw a fabulous creature standing in between some boughs a few metres into the wood. It had Sy’s face and a bare chested torso but it was standing on four legs and had the body of a horse. She has cast herself as a centaur, said Art to himself. He raised his hand to wave to her but she turned her head. As she did so, he saw that she had filled her eyeless sockets with some bright gems. They sparkled as they caught a sunbeam cutting down through the leafy canopy. She disappeared with a kick of a hind leg and a shake of her tail.
“I think she wants us to follow,” said the entity.
Art and the metal man easily ran over the grass and entered into the wood where they had seen the centaur. There was no sign of Sy. They followed a trail into the wood for a few minutes. Art was surprised that he was not puffing for air, then he remembered, he was only in a simulacrum. Nevertheless, when he looked down at his hands they seemed reassuringly real.
They reached a small opening in the trees, although the canopy overhead was unbroken. The path seemed to have disappeared and they were both unsure of where to go.
“Ship, if you’re creating this, how come you don’t know where we are?”
“Yelena and Sy have created this,” said the metal man. “The sensorium is just passively responding to their wishes. If I took an overview, they would no longer be in control and their imagery would disappear, along with Yelena’s subconscious. Like you, Art, I have to play what I am dealt, that is if I am using the metaphor correctly.”
Off to Art’s left, there was the sound of trampling in the undergrowth. He heard a cross between and scream and a horse’s whinny. The centaur came crashing out of some bushes. She landed with her back legs between her forelegs then took off again, vaulting over a low bush on the other side of the opening.
“There’s danger. Follow me!” Sy whinnied, disappearing once more into the foliage.
Getting through the undergrowth was tough. The metal man transformed his hands into machetes and hacked away at bushes and vines to create a path. Art followed tugging at the undergrowth and pushing branches out of the way.
“What danger was she talking about?” said Art.
“I do not know,” said the golden automaton, turning his lidless and orb less eyes to face Art. “What is more, Art, I find the fact I do not know extremely worrying. However, for the moment, we have little option but to follow.”
There was a crashing sound as if a tree was being felled. Art was convinced he heard a growl and saw something black flapping in the undergrowth. Then it was gone and the only sound was the flailing of machetes as the entity cut a path through.
“If things get out of control,” said Art to the metal man’s back, “would you be able to stop what was happening?”
The entity stopped hacking and turned to Art.
“I am not sure I could. We are reliant on Mr Angry, who is monitoring the sensorium closely.” The golden skinned humanoid turned and parted the branches in front of it.
“I believe, as you Humans say, that we are out of the woods.”
They both stepped out of the gap into a wide hay meadow. When Art looked back, the forest had disappeared and was replaced by a long, straight tall hedge. Sy, the centaur, gambolled up the field through the waist high grasses.
“Did you see it, in the woods?” she said looking down at both of them with her diamond eyes sparkling.”
“I heard something like a tree coming down,” said Art, hardly believing he was having a conversation with a mythical creature. “I saw something black, flapping. What was it?”
“There was a snarling creature trying to snare my legs,” said the centaur. “I don’t know what it was or where it came from,”
“If you didn’t put it in the landscape,” said the metal man. “Then it must be Yelena’s creature. Is she trying to stop us reaching her?”
“Something is putting obstacles in our way,” said Sy gazing beyond the hay meadow. “Yesterday, Yelena’s wall of protection was the other side of this field. Now there’s a big hill there instead.”
The metal man looked at Art and asked “Round the hill or over the hill?”
Art grinned. “We’ll choose a straight line, like the Roman legionnaires. We’ll go straight over the top.”
Half way up the hill, the grassy mound turned into a stony mountainside. Art had to scramble up some rocky outcrops while Sy, the centaur, had to find a longer but less steep route. He was just pulling himself over a large boulder when he heard the centaur gasp whinny.
He rolled over the rock and landed feet first in what looked like a burial pit. He was in the middle of a stack of bones, all bleached white against the dark background of the black peat soil.
“They are mostly horse bones,” said the centaur, casting about. “But over there is a human ribcage and skull.”
There was the sound of metal grating over rock as the entity in its humanoid form slipped off the boulder and ended up on its arse in the pit. With a golden hand, it picked up a long equine thigh bone.
