The Dark Imbalance

by Sean Williams

  “Has the Commonwealth of Empires been affected?” De Bruyn asked.

  “No. That continues to puzzle me. It is such an easy target, and so close to the focus of things. I would’ve thought it would be riddled with the enemy.”

  De Bruyn nodded to herself, agreeing with him about the COE’s vulnerability but not really surprised that it seemed to have been spared.

  “And I hope you’ve taken my warning about the system’s ring,” he said. “We’ve lost five ships in there, that we know of. Four others are incommunicado. With the little information we’ve had to go on, it’s hard to say why this is happening. Given the conflict within the system at the moment, the likelihood of a ship being attacked simply because it is not recognized by another Caste has risen dramatically. It is possible that the ships were attacked out of paranoia. It’s hard to know for sure.” He paused. “It may not have anything to do with the ring itself at all. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, and until we do know for certain what’s going on, I advise you to stay away from it.”

  De Bruyn had been doing just that, not because of Trezise’s warning, but because Roche herself had stuck to more distant regions of the system.

  “Could the enemy be hiding within the ring?” she asked.

  “No, it’s too thin—thinner than even the most meager of atmospheres. Add it all together and you get enough for a medium-sized gas giant or two, but spread out so far it amounts to practically nothing at all. The Heresiarch still hasn’t worked out where it came from, but that’s a low priority at this point. He’s only concerned because he’s obsessed by navigational anomalies. With a ship that big to look after, even the slightest snag could be disastrous. You know, I think he spends all his time—”

  “Look, Salton,” she interrupted, “was there an actual reason for this call?”

  “I always have a reason, Page. You know that.”

  “Would it have anything to do with the information I requested?”

  “No,” he said. “But I do happen to have that as well.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Can I have it?”

  “It should be coming through with this transmission.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but kept her annoyance in check.

  “Thank you,” she forced herself to say, but not without a hint of sarcasm, and not before checking that he was telling the truth. He was. As soon as the data transfer was complete, she would get rid of him.

  “But before you go,” he said, irritating her still further by seeming to read her thoughts, “can I ask you a small favor in return?”

  Here we go, she thought “Which is?”

  “That idiot Murnane is thinking of letting Exotics onto the council. Obviously that would be a dangerous idea, even if they were allowed only an advisory or associate status. Things are complicated enough without adding more interests into the mix. If we can’t guarantee our own safety—as the downfall of the Espire-Mavrodis Coalition demonstrates all too well—why should we make ourselves responsible for anyone else’s?”

  “Unless they can help you more in return.”

  “Which is exactly what I think Murnane is hoping for. But I for one am skeptical.”

  She refrained from commenting on his motives. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “Well, I’m presuming that you are following Morgan Roche as she gallivants across this forsaken system. That seems to be your mission in life, after all.”

  “You could presume that,” she said, thinking: But you’d be wrong.

  “And I happen to know that her mission is to reconnoiter the Exotic Castes to see how they are faring against the enemy. But we both know this is a waste of time. Everyone is performing badly against the enemy—be they Exotic or Pristine.”

  The data had arrived. “What’s your point, Salton?”

  “I need a reason to keep the Exotics off the council, Page. You can help me find that reason.”

  “I can?”

  “You’re out there, among it all. You’re seeing it firsthand. You can give me the flip side to Roche’s reports. She makes it sound like the Exotics are suffering as much as we are—which may be true, but I’d prefer if it wasn’t quite so obvious.”

  “Why not, if it’s the truth?”

  “That’s just the point I’m trying to make. We should ignore it because it is true. It has to be deliberate. What’s the biggest problem in Sol System at the moment? It’s not the enemy—although I don’t doubt their presence is being felt in a thousand small ways: disrupting communications, sabotaging procedures, corrupting information, and more. Even without the enemy, even if everything ran smoothly, there’d still be chaos: there are simply too many people! And when these people start fighting among themselves, the situation inevitably worsens. We’re balancing constantly on the precipice of all-out mayhem; only the most super- Human effort stops us from doing the enemy’s job for them.”

  “So you figure that if there are less people, things might improve?”

  “Of course! Reorganize and integrate our resources, limit the number of governments to a manageable number, reduce the council’s active concerns to a feasible few, and maybe we’ll prevail. Given that the majority of people here are Pristines, and that apart from a few exceptions the enemy seems to target Pristines, wouldn’t it be better if everyone else left and let the Pristines sort it out?”

  “With you in charge, no doubt.”

  He laughed lightly. “I knew I could count on you to see my reasoning,” he said. “And if my proposal goes through the council, hopefully others will too.”

  “So you want me to lie about what’s happening to the Exotics?”

  “No; I just want you to balance the scales.”

  “It amounts to the same thing,” she said.

  “It’s all about how you put it, Page. How else do you think politics works? Give me the right words and I could move entire solar systems.”

  “Not if there isn’t anyone listening to you.” She found it hard to imagine greasy Salton Trezise, known for so long as Auberon Chase’s lackey, being a force in his own right in something like the IEPC. “Is anyone going to be listening to you, Salton?”

  “I have the ear of several councilors,” he said. “Enough to make a difference.”

  “Why do you need me, then? Why not use the council’s own agents?”

  “Because your reports will help discredit Roche’s. That’s a cause to which I know you will apply yourself.” He chuckled softly to himself for a second. “Look, even discounting personal grudges, Page, this will benefit us both. Think of the enemy—the common enemy. They’re the ones we’re ultimately after—not Roche, not Murnane. If we can do what we want to do while at the same time achieving what we need to achieve, then we approach success. Ultimately the ends do justify the means, and, as we’re in this together, we might as well use each other to the best of our abilities. I’m not naive, Page; I know you’ve used me to suit your needs.”

  “I would never call you ‘naive,’ Salton,” she said soberly.

  “Good,” he returned. “Then let’s start working together, because together we can do some damage—to the enemy, and to those who oppose us.”

  And to each other, she thought. But all she said was: “Okay, Salton. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He was silent long enough for her to suspect he might have gone, even though the line was still open. That suited her. A beacon had begun to flash on the fighter’s main display, indicating that a ship had just entered her region of the system. She didn’t know if Trezise could tell where she was by tracing which ftl drone had detected her replies to him; maybe the broadcasts traveled from drone to drone in a complicated chain, not just via a single one direct to the receiving stations on the Phlegethon. Either way, she was glad he seemed to think she was still hot on Roche’s heels. If he knew where she actually was, he might reconsider his deal.

  The Hum ship drifted smoothly toward Kindling, looking like a cross between a sailing ship a
nd processional barge, its bulky, bullet-shaped body almost completely obscured by tapering instrument spines, crisscrossing antennae, and curved flanges that seemed to serve no actual purpose. This far from the sun, out where an Oört cloud might once have existed, there was very little light to view anything effectively. In artificial color, the vessel looked like it was painted electric blue, with highlights of bright orange and green. Its vividness was unsettling enough without its contents to consider.

  It decelerated to a relative halt and hung there, waiting.

  “I have to go,” she said to Trezise.

  “Understood,” he replied without any appreciable lag. “We’ll speak again soon, Page.”

  For once, despite herself, she hoped that this would be true.

  * * *

  The circular bridge of the Apostle was dimly lit and smelled of steel. De Bruyn sat at the lowest point of the cavernous space, surrounded by ranks of instruments like steps in an amphitheatre. Tall figures moved among those instruments, but the light was too faint for her to make them out. She half-glimpsed robes and cowls; very occasionally, eyes glinted at her.

  “We know who she is,” said the shadowy figure sitting opposite her. His face was completely obscured by the hood of a black combat suit that had been modified to give it a more ceremonial air. “But do you know who we are?”

  “You are the Disciples of Evergence,” she said.

  “And what does that name mean to you?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “The word ‘Evergence’ doesn’t appear in any language I have access to. It’s not a name, it’s not a code—”

  “It has no meaning of itself,” the hooded figure interrupted her. “It could be said to be a confluence of many essences: of convergence, forever, emerging, divergent, evolution, emergency, and even vengeance. But ‘Evergence’ is none of these things. It is a word for something that has, until now, needed no words. It has existed in silence, and will return to silence when the need for words is gone.” The ominous figure inclined its head as the echoes of his voice faded. “But I feel you do not understand.”

  “No, I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” she admitted with a shrug.

  “It doesn’t matter. Your comprehension is neither essential nor desired. We simply wish to ensure that you bring with you no misconceptions about our purpose here in Sol System.”

  “You worship the enemy,” she said softly. The words carried much more significance when said in context.

  “So it has been said,” the figure observed. “And if that is what you choose to believe, so be it.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t worship them?”

  “We do not worship,” the figure intoned. “That is all I am telling you.”

  “But you are on their side?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Morgan Roche is your enemy.” She didn’t need to phrase that as a question.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Then I believe I can help you,” De Bruyn said, feeling a catch in her voice that surprised her.

  “Really?” Was there a hint of mockery in his voice? She couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes,” she said, the word emerging as little more than a croak. What was wrong with her? Finally she had found people that suited her needs, and she seemed to be having second thoughts! But she wasn’t about to back out. Not now. She couldn’t.

  “I can help you,” she said more assertively, adding: “If you help me.”

  “Ah, I see.” The figure nodded thoughtfully. “And what is it exactly that you want from us?”

  “A deal,” she said. “We work together and we both get what we want.”

  “You would serve us?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I would work with you. For a time.”

  “How?”

  “I am alone, here. My resources are meager. But I know what I’m doing, and I have access to information at the heart of the IEPC. Give me one of your cells to command, and I will do your job for you.”

  “Which job do you think that would be?”

  She leaned forward. “With my knowledge and your Disciples, we can trap Roche. I know we can. All we have to do is cooperate, and she will be out of your hair forever. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple,” he said darkly.

  “Look, all I need is to get my hands on her,” De Bruyn said. “I don’t even care if she’s alive, just as long as I have her body.”

  “Why would you want her body so badly?” he asked.

  “Because it contains the truth,” she said. “The truth of who she is.”

  “I’ve told you once that we already know who she is,” he said. “Why not just ask?”

  De Bruyn didn’t state the obvious: how could he know anything more than she did? The rumors she’d heard—and which, she was sure, comprised the bulk of the Disciples’ knowledge— were wild and contradictory. Some proclaimed Roche as a savior, others as a traitor. De Bruyn lent none of them credence, just as she wouldn’t waste her time listening to the views of a religious fanatic.

  “Because I want to see the truth with my own eyes,” she said.

  The robed figure pondered this for a few moments, then asked, “And what exactly do we receive in turn?”

  “Apart from Roche out of the way?” She leaned back into the seat and shrugged. “What do you want?”

  “You say that you have access to the Interim Emergency Pristine Council.”

  “I have a contact—”

  “Will you give us information?”

  She hesitated. “What sort of information?”

  “The information we require.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more—and he obviously wasn’t going to until she had agreed or disagreed. An icy silence filled the air of the bridge, and again her doubts returned.

  She shook herself free of them by reminding herself why she was here. This wasn’t a grudge-match. This was about justice. Everything she had unearthed suggested that she was doing the right thing. If she was doing this for herself, why was she going to such lengths? Any sane person would have given up weeks ago—and there could be no question of her sanity.

  She was so close to the truth....

  As she waited for docking instructions to arrive from the Apostle, she’d used the time to scan the data Trezise had given her. A cursory glance had been all she needed. The records weren’t complete, but they did fill in portions of a bigger picture. They had come from the second moon around Bodh Gaya, the former capital system of the Commonwealth of Empires, where the Armada housed its Military College. Morgan Roche had served there during her training for COE Intelligence, years ago. Trezise had managed to get his hands on various reports, assessments, essays, and test scores that demonstrated how average a student Roche had been. Only in one area had she excelled, and that had been the handling of AIs. She had preferred to grapple with artificial minds rather than those of the people around her.

  Perhaps, De Bruyn thought, that might explain why she’d had so few friends. It certainly explained how she had been selected as a courier for JW111101000, the Box that had ultimately helped her escape from Sciacca’s World and the clutches of the Dato Bloc. That was one AI De Bruyn was glad to see the end of.

  But that information was not specifically what De Bruyn was after. The information she sought hadn’t been there at all. And in some ways, the gaps were more telling. All of Roche’s physical records were unavailable. Not missing or deleted: unavailable. When Trezise had asked why, he had been told that access to those records was restricted by special order VSD5278.

  De Bruyn recognized that order number. It was department shorthand for the COE’s previous Eupatrid, Enver Buk. Eupatrid Buk himself had specifically ordered those records kept secret, no matter who asked for them.

  That in itself might not have been significant. Trezise had dug back a little further, not just trying to find a birth date but any physical record at all, prior
to Roche’s enrollment at Military College. Her name was recorded at an orphanage on Ascensio, but there was little else of note: no medical records, no education reports, no informal recollections. Her application scores were on file in Ascensio’s COE Armada recruit database, along with the form she must have filled out to apply for the test, but the results of her medical exam were missing. Special order VSD5278 had cast a cloak over them, too, it seemed.

  It had taken De Bruyn only a minute or two to confirm what she already suspected: that the details of Roche’s early life were being kept secret by the government of the COE, and that this secret had been ratified by the Eupatrids past and present who had issued the special orders required to ensure that no one ever found out the truth.

  What that truth was, though, she wasn’t yet entirely sure. But she had suspicions. She had been chasing those suspicions, along with Roche, across Sol System and half of the COE in the hope that they might be verified. If Roche’s early life was being kept secret, it was entirely possible that the details Trezise had uncovered were completely fictitious. Where had Roche come from before Military College? Out of thin air, it seemed—which made her suspiciously like the clone warriors the IEPC were trying to fight.

  As soon as the idea occurred to her, De Bruyn had been caught by its ramifications. If it was true, Roche must have been planted by the enemy to seed chaos and disorder the way that they had in so many other systems. The fact that she had not, until recently, shown any destructive or even subversive tendencies did not necessarily invalidate this theory.

  De Bruyn noted that at about the time Roche enrolled in the Military College the High Human known as the Crescend had joined the COE in a partnership designed to foster trade and joint industry between the Caste echelons. Maybe the Crescend knew about Roche and had decided to see if she could be contained rather than destroyed. Maybe he hoped to bend her to his will, or at least make her an ally rather than an enemy; that might explain why he was so keen to keep her existence a secret, to the point of penalizing those who came even close to the truth, like De Bruyn. Maybe he didn’t care what happened to the COE at all, and was only interested in seeing what happened at firsthand when the time bomb called Morgan Roche finally went off.