The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1)

by Matthew Williams

  Nan looked suddenly perplexed. Ward’s words were by no means uncertain, and he was now being looked at like a man who was about to die. Nan’s gaze shifted to Amaru, with the same expression of hapless confusion.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “You really can’t say what’s going on?”

  “No time,” said Amaru. “But trust me, you’ll understand soon enough. Hopefully, the entire System will.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Ward was feeling it for the second time in a single day, though he couldn’t tell how much time had passed; the passage of time felt like an unbroken continuum at this point. Even so, when he finally managed to dump the info into a cache, it was akin to a spiritual experience.

  The confined server room was the nave, the tall stacks of servers were the pillars reached all the way to the apse. Standing silently beside him, Amaru was his high priest. Under her watchful eye, the data and documents flowed from him were illuminations. And the cube they poured into were the pages of the bible.

  Ward couldn’t be certain any of these comparisons were accurate. He hadn’t spent a single moment within the halls of a cathedral, and knew of them only from files he had downloaded as a student. Nevertheless, his mind found no better symbolism for this last, final act of redemption. Soon enough, the Centurions would close ranks on him and nail both him and Amaru to their respective crosses.

  Would they be remembered as such, or simply be a footnote in some annals of history that contained no other mention of their deeds?

  “Is it done?” Amaru asked.

  Ward took a deep breath and inspected the external drive. The readout on the small device indicated the files had transferred and it was at capacity. When his head stopped swimming, he answered her.

  “It took some serious work, but Constance should be able to decompress it when she finds it. Assuming the data doesn’t get corrupted over time, she should have all the proof she needs to blow the lid off Emile’s plot.”

  “Don’t suppose you can tell me who this Constance is?”

  “I can tell you she’s exactly what we need. Fucking with bad people is her specialty.”

  “Fine.” Amaru looked at the server’s open tray which sat before them. “Now you need to upload it, right?”

  “Yep,” said Ward, removing the cube from the device. “And let’s hope I don’t cause a system crash.”

  “Hurry up, get it in there!” urged Amaru.

  Ward did as he was told and placed the cube in the open tray. He slid it shut and waited as the lights on the server’s terminal began to blink and flash at him. He wasn’t exaggerating when he indicated a crash might happen. Judging from the nature of the machinery surrounding them, the servers were still running on the same hardware that had been put in when the colony had first been established. It looked like more had been added over time, though the basic technology hadn’t improved much from what he could tell. Digital machines ran on binary code, using optical and electrical components to transmit information at luminous speeds. A few petabytes of information, introduced all at once, would not go unnoticed.

  “Well?” Amaru said impatiently.

  “It’s uploading!” said Ward. “It’ll take time, but we can’t just leave it here. Something might interrupt the process.”

  Amaru looked around anxiously. “I was thinking. If we do get out of here, maybe Finch can do us one more favor. Maybe she can hook us up with some people smugglers, get us off Titan before Adler or the authorities find us.”

  “You think?” replied Ward absently, his concentration focused on the upload.

  She shrugged. “Why not? This doesn’t need to be a one-way trip, does it? If we slip out and can make it to a meeting point, maybe she can have Nan or someone else pick us up, hide us away somewhere until things get quieter. Maybe even smuggle us out of the system.”

  “Are there any hiding places left?” Ward said, looking back at her. He saw fresh sweat forming on her brow. Their confines were stuffy and more than a little warm. But it was clearly the kind of sweat that came from desperation. Her words indicated as much.

  “I don’t know. They found the facility and must know about that tunnel-access route. Finch must know other people, have more friends that are making plans somewhere else.”

  Ward checked the server terminal. The upload was moving along, now up to thirty percent. There were no indications of interruption or system errors. That at least was good news.

  “Like you said, whatever we do, Adler and his people will likely find us and kill anyone standing between him and us. We try to run, we put others in harm’s way.”

  Ward couldn’t help but sound somber as he said this.

  “I know,” Ward said. “It’s not easy. But we agreed this was the only way.”

  “Fine!” she said angrily. “But I don’t feel like waiting for it to come and get us. When can we start moving again?”

  Ward checked the terminal. Fifty percent and climbing.

  “Let’s wait until the upload hits eighty percent. Then we can be relatively sure it finishes by the time we’re gone.”

  “You sure this Constance person will find it?”

  A wry smile formed on Ward’s lips. It felt good to find some humor in their situation after all.

  “Her brother told me when she’s got the signal strength, she can get into the Cronian networks,” he said. “Might be some time before she notices, but I tagged it especially for her. She won’t be able to resist taking a look!”

  #

  The colony’s recycled air hit them in the face. It was a gust of wind, cool and refreshing. The impression wouldn’t last long, but going from the stuffy atmosphere in the tunnels to the colony proper was a big change. Ward and Amaru crawled out, one after the other, and into a scene resembling martial law.

  By now, news of the “terrorist” cell being attacked had reached the colony’s ears. People everywhere were moving with a purpose, trying to get to their homes or somewhere less public. Mixed in with all the civilian traffic, Gendarmes and search drones were moving, inspecting people and confirming their faces didn’t match the descriptions of any of the fugitives that had been reported.

  Ward stepped next to Amaru. Looking down, he noticed her right hand was extended to him. He took it in his and matched her stance. She was fighting an intense sense of panic right now, but she was hiding it well. Knowing any moment, they would be spotted and recognized, she chose to stand firmly and defiantly.

  He chose to mirror her stance and her composure. If this was it, then they would go down together, and with dignity. Squeezing her hand tightly, he stood there with her and waited.

  It didn’t take long. A drone was the first to spot them with its main cam. Its lights turned red as image recognition confirmed their identities. Quickly, several Gendarmes took notice and began to close on them.

  “There they are!” an officer yelled. “Don’t move!”

  Three officers ran towards them, their weapons drawn and trained on them, their fingers primed on triggers. Amaru closed her eyes. Ward did the same. He heard the shouts passing between the three officers as they approached.

  “Be careful. They’re armed!”

  “Good job, Jeremiah,” Ward heard Amaru whisper. “You turned out to be okay after all.”

  Ward would have laughed. Somehow, it wasn’t the time.

  “Thank you,” he muttered.

  It all happened so fast, yet so slowly.

  First there was a loud thunderclap, causing Ward’s eyes to snap open. He was surprised when he looked down to see he hadn’t been hit. The gunfire wasn’t met by any sudden searing pain or a splash of blood. He turned to Amaru, who seemed shocked she wasn’t bleeding either. Together, they looked around aimlessly for the sign of the gunfire, and the officers were doing the same.

  “What the hell?” one of them said.

  The next thunderclap caused the closest officer’s helmet to split open. A bright spray of viscera followed. Immediately, all the surviv
ing officers looked back to Ward and Amaru, their guns raised. Ward didn’t even hear the next reports of gunfire. They all were completely silent to him as the muzzles flashed and the slugs departed their barrels.

  There was no pain, just the sudden feeling of being completely deflated. Ward’s body fell, landing on the ground next to Amaru. The last images passing through his mind were of Amaru, next to him, looking entirely peaceful as she slipped away into the dark.

  Forty

  [You’re certain?]

  [Yes, sir. Absolutely,] replied Adler. [They defied our expectations and attempted to return to Huygens. We lost track of them for a few minutes, then they turned up in the main colony. We had eyes on them as security closed in.]

  [You were sure they were fatally shot?]

  [We made sure of it,] Adler said with a grin. [For a moment, it looked like they might try to surrender. But we took out one of the officers just to make sure. They thought Ward shot at them and took them both out.]

  Emile breathed a sigh of relief. Things hadn’t gone precisely according to plan. Amaru’s treason had been revealed and Ward’s cooperation had been less than what they had hoped for. Still, all the countermeasures had proven to be effective and they had managed to achieve containment. All told, things had unfolded in accordance with all the scenarios they had run. He supposed he might have hoped for more.

  [The information, then, it can never fall into the wrong hands?]

  [No, all those who knew about its existence are now dead. The information will be destroyed the moment Ward’s remains are processed.]

  [That’s good to hear. Get your team together and report back here ASAP. We must be prepared for any potential fallout.]

  [Yes, sir.]

  The image of Adler faded from his field of view, quickly replaced by the face of Chaput. He perked up the moment Emile established a link with him.

  [Is it ready?] Emile asked.

  [Yes, sir. The program has been installed and is ready to execute on your order.]

  [And Pinter has no idea it’s there?]

  [There’s no way he could,] Chaput said confidently. [It makes use of the secured connection you had be establish to him. But its existence is beyond any information he has access to. By the time he’s aware of it, it will be too late.]

  [Excellent. Stand by.]

  Emile pulled down the overlay, continuing on his way until he reached the Heilig room. Pinter was running another one of his nostalgia programs, a scene from twenty-first century Europe, judging from the surroundings.

  As soon as the outer doors closed, Emile found himself standing in a small patch of greenspace. Before him stood a long, squat building of the kind the people of Earth called neo-romantic architecture. He spotted Pinter standing at the top of the steps, leaning against a large column.

  The old Formist looked decidedly pensive, and more than a little distressed.

  Emile wondered how much he could have learned since their last conversation. It really didn’t matter at this point, though. Any concerns he had would be addressed in one stroke. When Emile mounted the steps, Pinter addressed him.

  “Hello, Pota,” he said crossly. “I have been expecting you.”

  “Were you, Dādā? Why is that?”

  “Because I’ve been looking through the data you gave me access to. I’ve noticed some disturbing things.”

  “Oh?” Emile feigned interest. “Such as?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Pota. I know you attempted to obstruct my access to certain areas of the network you created. I pushed my way through some of your firewalls. I found evidence of things, distributing things.”

  “I see,” Emile said. He turned to look out at the field beneath them. To their left was an extensive park, through which numerous simulated individuals walked freely. Emile did have to admire the attention to detail. He knew only his grandfather truly remembered how people of this period dressed, spoke and acted. He had no doubt the people standing below him were entirely faithful recreations.

  “I thought I would offer you the chance to tell me what it is you’ve really been doing.”

  Turning away from Pinter, he placed his hands behind his back and issued a flat challenge. “Just what is it you think you’ve found, Dādā?”

  Pinter’s tone hardened, distress giving way to anger. “You sent Doctor Lee on an errand to inspect the Jovian and Cronian systems, but not for the reasons you claimed. And you weren’t keeping the information to yourself to protect me. You were trying to hide what the two of you were up to from me!”

  “Correct,” Emile replied. “You were deliberately being kept out of it, on my orders.”

  “Why? Because you didn’t want me to know Lee was actually assessing these worlds for possible terraforming?”

  “Also correct. But also because of how we planned to go about ensuring these worlds would be depopulated in time. We had to make sure our plans to acquire them wouldn’t be blocked by inhabitants refusing to leave.”

  Pinter leaned in closer to him. His voice sounded suddenly grave. “Pota, what have you done?”

  “What you could not, Dādā. In spite of all your talk and all your grand plans, you were never a man of action. Doctor Lee and I have put things in motion which will allow us to turn Mars into a paradise, and within our lifetimes. And you, Dādā, will receive all the credit. As the man who founded our society, it is your vision that will be credited for Mars’ transformation.”

  He turned to face Pinter, who looked like a man standing face to face with a demon. Emile ignored this and called up his overlay again. Chaput appeared in a display window, ready and waiting. Emile quickly issued his parting words.

  “It is regrettable, though, that you won’t live to see it. But then again, most great men don’t live long enough to see their dream realized. You might say this is a romantic end.”

  Pinter stuttered. Too late, he realized what was happening, he tried to reach out and take hold of his grandson.

  “Now!” Emile ordered.

  Pinter screamed. His hand stopped short of taking Emile by the neck. Faster than Emile’s great ancestor could react, the trillions of subatomic particles forming Pinter’s non-corporeal body were torn apart. Like a dispelled phantom, Pinter disappeared from existence. Emile stood on the steps, looking at the empty space that had once contained his grandfather.

  “But of course,” he added, “if anyone should ever learn the truth, we’ll make sure the blame falls squarely on your shoulders. A man who wouldn’t accept the death of his spirit, forced to live in simulated realities until his program eventually broke down. As soon as we found out what you were doing, we made sure you were deleted.”

  Emile smiled at the thought. Such a contingency plan wouldn’t be without its share of frustrations and losses. But he had to be prepared for anything.

  Looking to Chaput in his visual field, he issued new orders. There being no requirement anymore for privacy, he issued his orders verbally.

  “Initiate protocol Pinter Chandrasekhar. Make sure all information pertaining to Lee and his proposals leads back to him. Then scour the system. I want to make sure all traces of Pinter’s program are erased.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chaput replied.

  Emile stood and waited for the simulation to end. As soon as Chaput had scrubbed this particle file from the archives, the scene disappeared, replaced by an empty room. Emile breathed a sigh of relief. He had never cared much for his grandfather’s recreated settings. Despite the sophistication with which they were rendered, they all seemed so, bygone. Like Pinter, getting rid of them seemed like necessary maintenance.

  Just another sacrifice to ensure the future unfolded as they had planned.

  Epilogue

  The observation lounge was strangely quiet, for a change. Ordinarily, the people who assembled here would take advantage of the fact they finally had some downtime, and the ability to talk to people about things other than quotas, the day’s hauls, or purity reports. Mostly, people
just gathered round and tried to think of amusing anecdotes to share.

  This time, however, Guernsey found everyone clustered around the room’s one monitor, an unusual occurrence. As something none of the inmates had control over, the monitor always remained on, pumping in the latest news and developments from the System. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave two shits about what it had to say.

  And yet, anybody who happened to be off duty appeared to be fixated. Labra and Jordan were there too, even Muscovy, miraculously not in solitary or the medbay for a change. Guernsey sidled up to them and asked what was going on. “What the fuck is so interesting you people are paying attention for a change?”

  No one answered immediately. Guernsey looked to the monitor and listened as the simulated newscaster continued to talk in her pleasantly upbeat tone.

  “. . .from a DNA scan confirming the identities of both parties. Local authorities indicated the two escaped from a terrorist-held facility, moments after it became engulfed in a firefight with unknown attackers. The terrorists in question were a group known as the Children of the Sky, a militant organization apparently separate from the Centimanes –”

  The image changed to a series of stills and video from various locations across Titan. A shot-out place underground, some bodies lying in the street and covered by blood-stained tarps, and a series of people being hauled out and arrested.

  “What’s this all about? Some people got killed in the Outer Worlds? How’s that news?”

  “Fuck’s sakes, Tim,” whispered Labra.

  Guernsey shrugged. “What? What the hell is going on?”

  Turning to him, Jordan explained. His words were slow and tortured in coming. “Tim, you know how Ward was on Titan, well, he . . .”

  “What?” Guernsey demanded. It didn’t need to be said. The pieces were already falling into place. The job he had been offered, the one-way ticket off the Rock. The proposition that seemed too good to be true.

  “Oh, shit.” he breathed.