by Alex Lamb
‘Turn off the ray and face the wrath of the High Church!’ Rodriguez countered. His face broke into a beatific smile. ‘I was confused when I first laid eyes on that monster,’ he told the crew, his voice taking on the sing-song tones of a sermon. ‘For a moment, my faith wavered. For our enemies, so thick in sin, to be handed so great a weapon horrified me. Had God abandoned us, I asked myself. I could not see what he intended. I even wondered for a moment if the general here might have been right all along! Then when Tang brought us to this spot, I understood. The Lord has merely raised the stakes again, my children! He wishes the Galateans dead and, in return, he will give us their ship! We must be fearless! We must act in his name regardless of the threat to ourselves! If that means we risk the Earth, then so be it.’
Rodriguez pointed a quavering finger at Gustav’s chest. ‘You cannot win,’ he intoned, his sanity clearly at breaking point. ‘Your career is already over. Put down your gun and submit before God!’
There was a coughing sound from Gustav’s right. A red stain spread across Rodriguez’s snow-white ship-suit. The disciple’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at the wound and touched it with his outstretched finger.
‘Oh,’ he said, and promptly died.
Gustav turned to see Lieutenant Gul staring at the dead man, his gun hanging from his limp hand.
‘I don’t want to risk the Earth,’ Gul said simply.
Gustav snapped into action. ‘Commander Lee, follow my orders, please.’
Lee’s hands flew to the control board. ‘Suntap deactivated, sir. Retreat and surrender orders have already been sent to the fleet.’
Gustav exhaled and the tension went out of his body. He would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so exhausted all of a sudden.
‘Prepare to deliver our command codes to the Galatean captain with my compliments,’ he said and slumped into his seat.
19.5: WILL
Will watched the Earther ships pull away with mingled elation and relief. Something about the battle had weighed heavy on his heart.
‘Broadcast from General Ulanu,’ said Hugo.
‘Put it up,’ Ira told him.
Ulanu’s long, sober face appeared. ‘Captain Baron, we surrender unconditionally. Furthermore, you should know that Admiral Tang, the man who ordered both the attack on your world and your ship, is dead. Please regard all Earther forces that remain as non-threatening. I have given the order for our troops to be removed from the surface of your planet, but that may take some time.’
Cheering erupted aboard the Ariel Two. The crew broke out of their couches and hugged each other. Rachel and Will embraced.
‘You did it!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘You beat them.’
Ira grabbed Will’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Will,’ he said. ‘We owe this to you.’
Will shook his head. ‘We owe it to the help we got.’
Ira cocked an eyebrow. ‘I think your Transcended friends would disagree.’
Hugo shook Will’s hand. ‘Well done,’ he said, a little shyly. ‘Whatever happens next, at least we know we achieved this much.’
Will nodded and smiled.
Ira clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, people, it’s time to reply. The good general is waiting.’
Will took a deep breath and spoke. ‘Tell him we accept on one condition.’
‘And what’s that?’ said Ira.
‘That General Ulanu comes to our ship. I want him with us for the job we’re doing next.’
Rachel looked confused. ‘What do you mean, Will? It’s over, isn’t it?’
Will sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. The Transcended charged me with convincing my species to change. I haven’t even started yet.’
Ira peered at him. ‘You want to go to Earth.’
Will nodded. ‘You don’t have to come with me. I can run the ship with SAPs. It’ll be less efficient, of course—’
Rachel grabbed him by the waist. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’
Will looked to the others. Hugo grimaced, something of the old pain surfacing in his eyes.
‘If they will suffer, I wish to see it,’ the scientist admitted.
Ira considered for a second, then nodded once. ‘Okay. Let’s go and talk to the Prophet.’
19.6: GUSTAV
Gustav waited patiently as his docking pod crawled out to the aperture that had appeared in the side of the alien vessel. He watched the monstrosity looming in the monitor window with all the calmness he could muster. If it was his fate to lose, he was determined to do it with dignity.
The last few hours had been some of the hardest of his life. He’d asked himself a dozen times since he surrendered if he’d made the right choice. He’d given in to the genetic racists. Was anything worth that? His decision would affect not only the people of Earth, but in all likelihood their children and their children’s children. Yet, even so, a struggling Earth had to be better than no Earth at all. Gustav refused to risk genocide, even if that made him a coward.
The price for his decision, it appeared, was to become a prisoner of war – a token in an unpleasant political game. Gustav was ready for that. He would turn this twist of fate to his advantage if he could and use it to bargain on behalf of his people. Maybe being so close to his enemies meant he could find new ways to fight his people’s economic oppression.
The pod locked home. Its door slid back to reveal the interior of another pod just like it. Will Kuno-Monet floated there in a ship-suit, apparently unarmed.
Gustav was surprised to see one of his adversaries so exposed. He’d expected treachery or violence, but not this. That was why he still carried his executive automatic. It sat in the bottom of his pocket, waiting. It occurred to him that he might take the initiative and use it now. However, he was not so much of a fool as to initiate new violence on the Galateans’ own ship. Not yet, anyway. He’d let the Galateans bring him to their habitat core first, before deciding whether to use it.
‘Hello, General,’ said the roboteer.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Monet.’
Monet gestured at his own pod. ‘Please, step aboard, there’s quite a long way still to go.’
Gustav floated over the threshold and hovered next to the Galatean. As the door shut behind him, Gustav felt an episode of his life ending with it. He breathed deeply as the pod gently accelerated into the bowels of the alien ship.
‘I’ve prepared one of the secondary habitat modules for your personal use,’ said Monet. ‘It’s just next to the one where we’re keeping the prisoners from the rescue of the Nanshan. You’d be surprised how many commandos your people left behind.’
Gustav’s spirits dipped a little further. ‘Am I to assume, then, that I too will be a prisoner here?’ he said.
Monet shook his head. ‘No. Far from it – I want your help.’
‘I can’t imagine what with,’ said Gustav.
‘To help arrange your planet’s unconditional surrender.’
Gustav shut his eyes. Of course. He was a fool to have believed even for a moment that the Galateans would restrain themselves as he had done. He wondered how long it would be before a g-ray was pointed straight at Bogotá. He tried not to feel sick.
The pod ride ended at another airlock.
‘Please, after you,’ said Monet.
Gustav steeled himself and pushed through the doorway into a circular tunnel. It opened onto a near-spherical chamber that had been laid out as an extremely spacious and comfortable cabin. The standard Kingdom fleet bunk bed and wash cubicle bolted to the floor looked ridiculous surrounded by so much room. The Galateans had also set up a desk with a computer console for him. It was better than Gustav had expected. Nevertheless, it was still a prison cell.
Gustav smiled wryly. ‘Far nicer than my current accommodations. I am very grateful for your attention and good treatment, Mr Monet, but I will have to disappoint you. I have no intention of betraying my world or my people.’
Monet fixed him with an oddly penetr
ating glance. ‘I am seeking your help,’ he said, ‘and I’m prepared to ask nicely. If you’re prepared to cooperate, you will find me to be surprisingly flexible.’
Gustav snorted in amusement, recognising his own words. ‘Yes. An interesting reversal of fortunes since our last conversation, is it not?’
Will shrugged. ‘Last time we met, you left me to be tortured while you came here to subdue my world. I will not do that to you.’
Gustav frowned. ‘You misjudge me,’ he said. ‘I was not given a choice. I had no desire to leave you to the High Church, or to come here.’
‘We all have choices, General,’ said Will.
Gustav curled his lip. ‘How quaint and naïve of you to say so.’
‘Is it?’ Monet replied darkly. ‘Then I shall be quaint. I will explain to you what I intend to do and then give you a choice. You can either help me, or you can refuse. If you refuse, no harm will come to you. I will release you on Earth, unharmed.’
‘You seek to threaten me by delivering me into the custody of the Prophet,’ Gustav remarked dryly. ‘No such luck, Mr Monet. My fate is already sealed. He will reach me wherever you set me down.’
Monet looked unimpressed. ‘I have no desire to threaten you in any way. I’ll land you wherever the hell you like when this is over. In the meantime, why don’t you listen to what I have to say before assuming I’m playing some kind of mind game with you?’
Gustav spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. It couldn’t hurt to listen.
‘Speak, then,’ he said, arranging his features into an expression of polite attentiveness. ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’
‘I’m going to take this ship to Earth,’ said Monet. ‘I’m going to broadcast the truth of what we found to the entire planet. And then I’m going to demand they replace the Truist government with one that will cooperate with the Transcended. Ideally, I’d like you to lead it.’
Gustav laughed in his face. ‘Be your puppet, in other words. Why, Mr Monet, I’m touched. But let me ask you – what in God’s name gave you the impression that I’d be prepared to be Galatea’s lapdog?’
‘I’m not looking for a lapdog,’ Monet replied coldly. ‘And I chose you because you’re the one Truist I’ve met who appears capable of seeing reason. You specifically said you believed the people of Earth should hear about the aliens. That’s why I told you the truth that day in the cell.’
‘The truth,’ Gustav sneered. ‘You told me that a race of ancient extraterrestrials had decided Galatea should win the war. I still find that rather hard to swallow.’
Monet folded his arms. ‘Perhaps I didn’t explain myself properly. The Transcended are not interested in our wars. What they want is an end to governance based on ignorance, and for our species to accept genetic modification and use it wisely.’
‘The same thing,’ said Gustav. ‘You still expect me to believe that an advanced race condones genetic racism?’
‘What’s racist about modification?’ Will snapped suddenly.
Gustav stared at the Galatean and then shook his head sadly. ‘Can you really not see it? You who were bred to talk to machines? Humans should not be tinkered with like farm animals, Mr Monet. Because there will always be the designers and the designed. The owners and the slaves.’
‘The Transcended have let us live precisely because it does not have to be that way,’ Monet retorted. ‘The requirement for our survival is for us to change without resorting to that.’
‘Then what are we changing for?’ Gustav demanded. ‘If your Transcended are so interested in social justice, then we cannot be changing in the name of commerce or power. So what is it? What’s wrong with simply having justice between humans?’
‘Because it doesn’t last!’ said Monet, exasperated. ‘Look at us.’ He threw his arms wide. ‘Why are we even fighting? We’re destroying ourselves. Think what your precious humanity expends its energies on. Exactly those things you claim to despise: blind faith and callous exploitation. The same behaviours that have crippled us for our entire history. They’re what ruined the Earth, for crying out loud! And did your people learn anything from that? No! The only force you could find that was strong enough to bind yourselves together was something even more brutal than what you had before.’
Gustav’s hackles rose. That was a little too close to the truth for comfort.
‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t it?’ said Monet. ‘Thanks to technology, we live in a time when one ignorant man has the power to destroy millions with the flick of a switch. And unless human nature changes, there will always be powerful people who choose ignorance.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Gustav bitterly. ‘It’s poverty that creates fanatics, not human nature. And it’s inequality that causes poverty. The genetic modification you’re talking about is inequality. It binds inequality into our very cells.’
‘Then how come Galatea hasn’t destroyed itself in a blaze of injustice?’ Monet demanded.
‘Because it’s rich!’
It was Monet’s turn to laugh. Once again, Gustav considered killing him.
‘Galatea’s not rich!’ he jeered.
‘Isn’t it?’ Gustav snapped back. ‘How else would you describe a world where everyone has more food and living space than they can possibly use? Where robots wait on you hand and foot!’
‘I’d call it desperate. On the world where I grew up we had to cooperate because the alternative to pulling together was death for everyone.’
Gustav’s almost spat his reply. ‘You naïve little man! What do you suppose the Earth has been like since your ancestors left it to rot?’
‘If it was so damned bad, why did your people build warships the moment you pulled yourselves together?’ Will snarled, his hands shaking. ‘Warships which you used to attack worlds that bore you no ill will.’
‘To break the cycle of poverty! Or are you going to tell me that Galatean traders had no intention of exploiting our population?’
‘Yes!’ Will shouted, his face red with anger. ‘What the fuck would we want the Earth for now? You left us in the fucking lurch back when you started murdering each other and we learned to do things for ourselves. There’s no one on Galatea who’s interested in exploiting the Earth. We’re too busy trying to stay alive. Earth and Galatea are not the same. Your air never ran out because someone forgot to close a valve. You never saw a city crushed to death in a sandstorm. The Earth is still cosy enough for you to squabble over it. Your supposed suffering stems from the fact that you let people believe in bullshit without suffering the consequences. Well, guess what? Game’s over.’
‘Yes! The game is over, Mr Monet,’ Gustav shouted back. ‘So at least have the courtesy to admit the real reason why you’re going to take over the Earth rather than blaming your actions on some aliens you have never spoken to!’
Will’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You doubt me? After all this, you still don’t believe in the Transcended?’
‘Would you, in my shoes?’ said Gustav, disgusted. ‘Where’s the proof? I spent two years studying the Relic and I never heard a word of what you claim. For all I know, you stole this ship along with that artefact you found. You ransacked the Relic and now you’re making up a convenient story to justify your revolting intentions.’
Monet stared at him long and hard. The silence stretched. Then the Galatean spoke again.
‘Give me that gun in your pocket, General.’
Gustav tensed. ‘Why?’
‘I want to show you something.’
Gustav pressed his lips together. It didn’t look like he had a great deal of choice. If Monet could scan him without his noticing, there were probably a dozen concealed weapons pointing at him right now. He slowly removed the weapon from his pocket and passed it reluctantly to the roboteer.
Monet took the gun. To Gustav’s surprise, the Galatean pressed the barrel against the tip of his own thumb.
‘Watch,’ he said, and fired. His bl
ood spattered across the immaculate decor.
To Gustav’s astonishment, Monet’s eyes never wavered. No pain registered on his face. The roboteer held his ruined hand out before him. The top of his thumb was nothing but a ragged mess of blood and bone.
‘Look at it,’ Monet ordered.
Gustav dragged his eyes away from the Galatean’s fierce gaze and stared. New flesh was growing out of the ruined tissue at incredible speed. Gustav’s skin crawled as he watched the new digit swell and quiver. This was not the work of Galatean modding. This was something else.
‘They remade me, from the inside out,’ said Monet, tossing the gun idly aside. ‘Now do you believe me? Or are you going to convince yourself that I stole the means to rebuild my body, too?’
In a moment of ugly comprehension, Gustav realised that the roboteer had been telling the truth, at least as he saw it. The aliens really were on his side. Monet’s escape from the prison at New Angeles was suddenly a lot easier to understand.
But if Monet was to be trusted, that meant the suntap really was poisoned. And the Earth had been under threat from the moment he, Gustav Ulanu, had assembled the very first one. His mind cowered from the implications. Apparently his words to Rodriguez had been more pertinent than he’d realised. They were already at war with an advanced civilisation. They had been for years.
Gustav drew an uneven breath and met Monet’s eyes once more.
‘Temporarily, at least, you have convinced me,’ he said, as evenly as he could muster.
His mind struggled to create a more mundane explanation for the thumb. There were plenty he could think of – psychotropic drugs sprayed on him as he’d entered the ship, holograms, a prosthesis. None of them had the ring of truth. Why would the Galateans bother to arrange so elaborate a ploy? And none of them had known he’d bring his automatic on board. He had to assume the Transcended were real.
It was therefore also highly likely that Monet believed everything he’d said about their intentions for mankind. Peace through genetic engineering still sounded like a lie to Gustav. So what did they really want? Clearly, they weren’t bent on the destruction of the human race. With ships like this at their disposal, they could have achieved such a goal already. Nor did their intention appear to be to protect the human race, as the policy they were requiring looked certain to dissolve the definition of humanity altogether. They must want humanity alive for some other purpose.
