by Alex Lamb
Mark rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, whatever.’ He glanced at Will. ‘Nice to have you back. You don’t mind holding off on the party, I take it?’
‘Will shouldn’t eat yet,’ said Ira.
Will belatedly discovered just how incredibly hungry he was. He couldn’t have eaten in days. His mouth filled with saliva.
‘The med-bay will have a lot more work to do if he stuffs his face,’ Ann warned. ‘We need to shut down his security first.’
‘And then cake?’ said Mark.
Will’s stomach growled. He was about to acquiesce to removing his security blocks simply to get them all to shut up when reality abruptly stalled. Everyone’s faces froze. The dome rippled overhead. Then, slowly, the cake turned black and grew several mismatched hands, each grasping outwards as if from quicksand. Will found himself standing in a room full of smiling mannequins. Everything went deafeningly quiet.
Will’s skin chilled as panic overtook him. He reached out and touched Ann’s face. His hand slid through her cheek as if it was warm slurry. When he drew his finger out, her tissues slurped back into shape.
‘What’s going on?’ he shouted at the walls.
He walked to the hatch but found it no more real than Ann’s face had been. His couch was solid, as was the floor, but little else. He didn’t even want to try touching the black cake. Will clutched his head as flashes of his existence on Snakepit started unpleasantly reasserting themselves. He hadn’t been rescued. Nor had he made it to the starship. Instead, he’d found his way into the clutches of Balance. And what the god had in mind for him was entirely unclear.
15.5: IRA
At Snakepit’s heliopause, Ira dropped warp and called for the others to join him in helm-space. Palla appeared, looking gaunt. She’d taken responsibility for Mark’s care while his body remained in a feverish coma. That care was taking its toll.
Ira dearly wished he could tell the poor girl to give it up. Not the care itself, but her reasons. Mark was never going to forget his marriage for her, not even at the brink of death. She could no more prove her value to him than he could heal himself. However, to acknowledge that would be to give voice to the unspeakable obvious and offer more harm than cure.
Ann reopened her link from the ark without providing video. Ira struggled with fresh concern for her.
‘This is it,’ Ira informed them. ‘We’ve arrived.’
‘It’s creepy quiet,’ said Palla. ‘Are they all just running on stealth?’
‘Only if they expected us,’ said Clath. ‘Which I kind of doubt.’
Palla shook her head. ‘Then what’s going on?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Ira. He turned to Rachel. ‘He’s your husband. You ready for this?’
Rachel nodded without speaking. For her, he suspected, the misery of her new life couldn’t get much worse. Reaching Snakepit would at least bring closure.
‘It sucks that Mark’s not awake,’ said Palla, ‘but this is what we came here to do. Take us in, Captain Baron.’
The Dantes slid gingerly inwards, encountering not a whiff of enemy presence. The world ahead of them grew slowly. Remote cameras indicated a healthy Photurian biosphere with none of the decay markers they’d grown to expect. The atmosphere was a fraction richer than when they’d measured it last, but to all intents and purposes, the world was unchanged. The system was as silent and traffic-free as an abandoned city and just as inviting.
‘I’m getting gravity wobbles,’ said Judj. ‘Somebody’s out there but I can’t see a damned thing.’
Then, about five AU from the star, they received synchronised tight-beamed messages from several directions at once. In none of those directions lay any sign of a visible ship. If anything, that suggested the presence of cloaked weapons, ready to fire.
The message came with a video feed. Will Monet appeared wearing an archaic military uniform, complete with shoulder braid and ludicrously oversized medals. A flag of orange stars against a field of curving black and white bands filled the space behind him.
‘Photurian vessel,’ said Will darkly, ‘the might of the Willworld is tracking your ship. Depart immediately or face obliteration.’
‘Ohmygodhesalive,’ said Rachel. The words fell out of her in a single sob.
Ira stared at the vid, stunned. It was so long since he’d last set eyes on his old friend. He’d assumed Will was either dead or subsumed into the planet. The sight of him wearing that ridiculous uniform came as a blunt shock. If Will was alive with access to ships, why hadn’t he come home? When they left Backspace, Ira had expected the surprises to be over, not for them to get worse.
‘Drop warp,’ said Palla quickly. ‘Send him a greeting.’
‘The Willworld?’ said Judj.
Ira swallowed and sent a reply. Alarm bells kept ringing in his head.
‘Will, this is Ira Baron-Lecke. It’s good to see you, old friend. We’ve come to rescue you, if you still want it. Or at least to open communications. Ship verification codes follow on this signal.’
He passed the message back on every vector he’d received a pulse from, and sent another burst directly at the world itself.
‘Get ready to retreat,’ said Palla, ‘just in case. Judj, check for targeting coverage.’
The second time Will appeared, eight minutes later, he looked genuinely angry.
‘Photurian vessel,’ Will snapped, ‘I see that you’ve been engaging in soft combat again as well as testing my frontiers. Your continued aggression will not be tolerated. Depart and do not return, or face the consequences.’
He saw no joy or astonishment in Will’s face at the sight of his rescuers, just hatred. What in hell’s name was happening here?
‘I guess he didn’t like our verification codes,’ Judj observed.
‘I’m reversing our vector,’ said Ira. ‘Heading out slowly.’
‘Agreed,’ said Palla. ‘Okay, Ann, you’re up next. We’ll see if you’re any better at reaching him. Get ready to broadcast.’
‘What about Rachel?’ said Clath.
‘I stay hidden,’ Rachel replied. Ira glanced at her. Her face was grey with distress. ‘Will thinks I’m dead. Whatever is going on here, it’s clear he believes we’re some kind of trick. Revealing me now is only going to strengthen that fear. I have to wait.’
‘Will,’ said Ann, ‘this is Ann Ludik. It’s really us. We’re backing off. But you should know, it’s not been easy for us to reach you. We had to come in via the Depleted Zone. That’s why our vector probably looks wrong to you. The Photes have blocked us for years and we may not get another chance. We’re resending codes, this time with redundant validation tags.’
Ira felt a grim certainty settling on him. There wouldn’t be another chance. If Will had come to represent a second existential threat, they’d boser his world before going home, regardless of the risk.
This time, the reply came faster, suggesting ships closing in.
‘Photurian vessel,’ said Will, a look of unhinged rage on his face, ‘I don’t know how or when you acquired those character templates, but I’m not fooled for an instant. My disgust only deepens. Leave faster.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Clath. ‘What does he mean – character templates?’
‘I’m not sure it matters,’ said Palla. ‘And I’m not even sure that’s Will. Whatever has happened here, he’s either deluded or he’s been hacked. I’m glad Mark’s not awake to see this.’ She paused to think. ‘Okay, my turn. Ira, increase warp by twenty-five per cent, please.’ She opened another message to the Will-thing.
‘Willworld, this is Palla Muri, Social Accountability Officer for the GSS Edmond Dantes. We have received your formal request for us to vacate your stellar neighbourhood. We will do so, but be warned: we are operating under conditions of persistent interstellar war with the Photurian Utopia. This will be Galatea’s one and only attempt to establish contact with you. Ignore our attempt at diplomatic engagement and you’ll be on your own.’
And under fire, Ira thought darkly.
More minutes dragged by before Will’s next reply. ‘And who are you supposed to be?’ he crooned, leaning forwards. This time he looked more curious than angry, while less sane than ever. ‘I don’t know your face. I didn’t dream you.’
‘I think we may be dealing with some sort of memory failure or psychosis,’ Ira warned. ‘It could be cybernetically informed schizophrenia.’
‘I’m reading more local gravity distortions,’ said Judj. ‘There are cloaked ships closing. Big ones.’
A few seconds later, another message from Will appeared. This time, he was leaning back in his chair, staring at them with wide, unblinking eyes. He had a silver baseball bat in his hands.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘You will not retreat. Power down your drive instead. A diplomatic dialogue will be carried out as per your request. It’s great to see you, GSS Edmond Dantes, it’s been a long time. But be warned, this system is raided frequently. I’m uncloaking a defensive detail for your protection.’
A dozen weirdly stippled replicas of the Ariel Two appeared around them as their quantum shields deactivated. All of them were within weapons range and supported by clouds of thousands of warp-enabled drones. The ships were moving already, positioning themselves in a shell configuration with the Dantes at the centre.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ Will assured them. ‘These ships are forming a defensive mesh in case the Photurians threaten us. Let us begin our discussion. My diplomats will be with you shortly.’
‘That makes me feel so much safer,’ said Judj as he scanned the firepower still aimed in their direction. ‘He’s totally put my fears at rest. I mean, who doesn’t want a defensive escort with all their weapons pointed inwards?’
Ira stared at the image of his lost friend’s face and wondered what in seven hells they’d stumbled into.
15.6: WILL
Will gripped his head and groaned as the full implications of his capture sank in. This, apparently, was where Glitches ended up. He’d fought Balance and lost, just like every instance before him. Maybe the planet would eventually wise up and start using copies of Moneko instead. But why had the memory mutilation stopped? He’d been one minute short of opening his mind up for surgery. So why the delay?
While he sat there on the edge of the couch, staring at the frozen figures smiling all around him, Balance appeared, baseball bat and all. He sat lazily in his swivel-throne, glaring with eyes like boser beams, his body taut with a suppressed capacity for violence.
‘Not bothering with masks any more?’ said Will, more than a little disturbed.
‘The masks are for my subminds,’ said the god. ‘You’re talking to the real deal. Lucky you.’
Will regarded his captor. He looked even more crazy and exhausted in person than he did in his videos.
‘Why?’ said Will. ‘Aren’t you going to split me open like all the other Glitches?’
‘Other corrupted instances, you mean?’ said Balance. ‘Yes. Eventually. But first I have some questions that you’ll be able to answer better with your mind in one piece.’
He clicked his fingers and a vid-window appeared. It held a view of an odd-looking bullet-shaped starship.
‘Do you know what this is?’ said Balance. ‘It coincidentally appeared just after I shut down your cheap little viral assault on my orbital systems.’
‘Presumably, it’s a ship,’ said Will, startled.
‘It sent these,’ said Balance. He opened a comms window and played the messages he’d received.
Will watched and began to understand what had happened. Of all the Glitches, appearing and dying across the Willworld in their dozens, he was the one lucky enough to be alive when a rescue mission actually appeared. Balance’s demolition of his mind had been suspended because this had happened.
‘They’ve come to get us,’ Will blurted. ‘They finally came!’ Hope opened inside him like a delicate flower.
‘No doubt that’s what I’m supposed to imagine,’ said Balance. ‘Somewhere in that tiny, screwed-up head of yours, you honestly believed that by simulating a rescue, I’d throw away decades of research and investigation?’ His voice slowly rose. ‘That I’d ignore all the pieces of evidence I’ve gathered, every painstakingly constructed model of the actual past and throw them away for this … fantasy? This shitty piece of wish-fulfilment?’
‘Listen, Balance—’ said Will.
Balance leapt to his feet. ‘Balance is my title!’ he shouted. ‘My role. My name is Will Kuno-Monet, and you are Cuthbert,’ he sneered. ‘The fourteen-thousand-nine-hundred-and-seventy-third clone to have that thrillingly original nick. A little rogue instance.’
Will refused to be cowed. Real lives were at stake aboard that ship, not merely threads.
‘Please, you’re not thinking straight,’ Will urged. ‘I’ve been inside your mind. You’re trying to hold on to sanity so hard that you’re driving yourself crazy. I’ve seen it. I was trying to help you fix it.’ He pointed at the floating window. ‘That ship is exactly what it looks like,’ he said. ‘It’s our ticket home. Please believe me.’
‘This is home,’ said Balance, pointing a quivering finger at the floor. ‘I’ve heard your story. Let me tell you another. The last time the Photurians attacked this world, they pretended to be IPSO starships. I was cautious that time. I was surprised. I kept quiet, but some of your kind, the broken chaff that keeps clogging my substrate, sent messages to that fleet, making it easier for them to approach. Millions of threads were lost in that attack. I’ve been clearing out the knock-on Cancerous infections in my system ever since. And now, gosh! Here’s a new attack that goes even further. What a surprise! Only this time, there are archetypes ripped straight out of soft-space all over their arrival message. And the only way they could have got hold of them would be if someone gave them to the enemy. That someone would have to be a thread so desperate to leave that they’d actually cooperate with Photurians. The sort of thread who consorts with Cancers. A thread like you, Cuthbert.’
‘Listen to yourself,’ said Will. ‘You’ll say anything to hold on to the idea that your past is what you want it to be. But the Transcended put us here. They made this happen. We saw it happen. We felt it.’
‘You may remember that garbage,’ said Balance. ‘I most certainly do not!’
‘Have you ever asked yourself why?’ said Will. ‘Why every single Glitch this planet turns out recalls the same damned thing? You have that memory trap you keep baited down there in the Underlayer. It’s a pretty convincing replica of what I saw. How did you ever build that if it didn’t happen?’
‘With hard work and thorough interrogation,’ said Balance darkly. ‘It took me years to figure out how to infect the surface memory of bugs like you. Before that, my methods were clumsier. You see, after I crack you open each time, there’s not much left to read. Your code is protected. Fortunately, I get lots of tries. That means you have a choice. You can either tell me how the Photurians captured those archetype templates, or I can squeeze the answer out of you.’
‘Why keep belief-hacks duplicated across your infrastructure if you’re so convinced you’re right?’ Will shouted. ‘Answer me that! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?’
The look of blank incomprehension on Balance’s face spoke volumes. At this level of representation, at least, the god had no idea of what he’d done to himself. The belief-hacking had all happened at the subconscious level under the shield of his own denialware. He’d been desperate to hold on to sanity and his blindly stomping agents had silently done the rest.
‘Why are you even running denialware?’ Will shouted.
Then he realised there’d be no answer. The first rule of denialware would be to ensure that Balance himself knew nothing about denialware.
‘Desperate gibberish will not save you,’ Balance sneered. ‘Know this: I plan to understand how this theft took place, either with or without your help. The phoney ship will be examined and t
hen dismantled. If you won’t help then you can watch. Your reactions may be informative. Afterwards, I will take you apart process by process to see what makes you tick.’
The god vanished, taking his throne but leaving the video windows running.
16: ENTRAPMENT
16.1: MARK
Mark awoke in his cabin on the yacht, weak and trembling. By the quality of the syrupy light oozing through the windows, it was apparently the middle of the afternoon. Thankfully, his headache had subsided. He dressed as quickly as his struggling virtual fingers would allow and staggered out onto the deck.
At first, everything was so quiet that he wondered whether the Transcended had dumped him into another puzzle simulation. Then, when he reached the lounge, he found a note waiting for him, rotating above the piano.
Mark: if you wake, join us in helm-space. Palla.
Mark blinked himself across and found the crew engaged in avid debate. Filling the view-space behind him was a close-up of Snakepit and several nestships.
His cheeks flushed as he clued in that he’d missed the approach. A surge of anger at the Transcended followed close behind. He’d been cheated of his moment – the one the whole mission had been about. Score one petty victory for the galactic gods.
‘We’re here already?’ he croaked, and wondered how many days he’d been unconscious.
Heads whipped around at the sound of his voice.
‘Mark!’ said Palla, stepping towards him. ‘You made it.’
‘What happened?’ He rubbed his head.
Palla filled him in. As she explained, Mark’s confusion grew.
‘No blockade at all?’
‘None,’ said Palla. ‘No traffic indicators. No warp-light. Nothing.’ She glanced anxiously at Ann’s view-window, but the ex-goddess had nothing to add. ‘And now apparently Will is alive and armed, but for some reason he doesn’t recognise us as people.’
‘Wait,’ said Mark, waving his hands. ‘He’s alive? After all this time?’
‘That’s what it looks like, but that’s the only good news. He thinks we’re Photes. We’re surrounded and outgunned – for our own benefit, supposedly.’
