by Adams, David
Time to use one of those intrinsically Human gains.
"Good evening," said Ben, "I'm Ben Gunn. I've requisitioned this shuttle for my own purposes. There's no need to be alarmed."
"Decelerate immediately and prepare for docking with one of our recovery craft."
Well, the Humans weren't buying it. His ship continued to sail towards the Lagrange point. "That's not going to be possible."
"Unidentified shuttle, if you do not comply, you will be returned by force."
A glance at the shuttle's navigation computer told the full story. "Well, my systems indicate that I'll reach the Lagrange point before you're in effective weapons range." Anger surged within him, a chemical process that he savoured. "Besides, don't you have a planet to evacuate?"
There was a brief pause then the voice changed.
"Unidentified shuttle, this is Commander Farah Sabeen. Who am I speaking to?"
"Commander Sabeen, it's lovely to hear your voice. We never got to meet in person."
The voice did not answer right away. This was a bad sign. Perhaps they had met; Ben did not know every detail of Liao's life, of course, but reasonable guesses were acceptable. A pity they did not always pay off. "Is this Commander Liao?"
Was he? His body was genetically identical to hers, but one's voice was a combination of all manner of things, and her accent was quite different. Still, he was impressed; it was quite a skilful deduction to identify him.
"In a manner of speaking," Ben answered. "You should ask Commander Liao about what she saw aboard the Giralan. It might answer some of your questions."
Another pause. "Begin deceleration and prepare to be boarded."
"By now you must know who I am." He had attempted to impersonate Captain Grégoire's voice, to some degree of success. He'd reached into their ship's systems and manipulated their data. They had right to be suspicious.
"I'm beginning to get an idea," said Sabeen. "Do you think you can get away, Ben? Do you think we won't find you again? You don't have anything to trade with the Iilan this time. You have no weapons, no allies, nowhere to go."
"You'd be surprised how resourceful I can be."
Ben paid no attention to their squawking. To the endless attempts, without legitimate threat of violence, to force him to stand down.
His stolen Telvan shuttle sailed into the jump point and, with several hours to spare, Ben watched as the planet of Belthas IV began to break apart, its surface splitting into hunks of rock and debris. Gravimetric forces shattered its surface, and soon it would be gone.
He'd destroyed the place of his birth, his creation, and as it crumbled he experienced something… odd.
As a construct, he'd always maintained he felt emotions. Joy. Anger. Passion. But not like this. Those were just part of his programming; a programming that could be pulled apart and analysed, opened up and examined like an engine. The only thing that made him different from the millions of other constructs of his model was some subtle, unknown imperfection. With his mind in an organic computer, errors came more and more frequently and with greater effect. He knew this, logically, but he also knew something else.There was a profound sadness and pain within him as he watched Belthas IV crumble.
He wanted to enjoy this feeling, to bask in his sadness and revel in the chemical process it triggered in his brain, but he knew he could not. The Humans were after him, and he could not remain here. With several touches of the console, his ship jumped across the stars, to a safe location where he could be alone and think.
Operations
TFR Tehran
"Pedarsag," swore Sabeen. "He jumped away?"
Her radar operator, Junior Lieutenant Veisi, confirmed it. "The target's gone, ma'am."
They couldn't do anything about it then. Sabeen removed the long-range communications headset. "Make a note in the ship's log. We don't know for sure it was Ben. From what we know of his specifications, his datacore wouldn't fit on a ship that size. His drones can't get too far away from it." She shook her head, speaking to the room more than to anyone specific. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Allah will provide answers in time," said Veisi. The statement caused nods around the room.
She wanted to press the issue, but more important matters required her attention first. "Where's Commander Iraj's Broadsword? Any sign of it?"
"Not yet, ma'am. I'll let you know when it appears."
Sabeen would have to accept that. One could not force things to happen before the Creator willed it. "Good. Update on the evacuation progress?"
"The Telvan fleet reports that the planetwide evacuation is mostly complete. Our forces remain scattered, but the Telvan are going to follow us to the Velsharn L2 and L3 jump points and other strategic locations throughout the system, at intervals of one hour."
She thanked Allah that the planet was mostly uninhabited, save for manufacturing facilities, but that the grim reality was that Ben's initial assault on the world made their job much easier. It had killed so many. Fewer living bodies left to transport.
The equipment, the factories and foundries, would be left behind. They had to be.
The Kel-Voran had up and left with hardly a word. This surprised Sabeen, but Iraj had assured her it was normal. They were a little crazy.
The actions of their wayward allies were not important right now. Sabeen had work to do. With a curt nod to her relief, she left for her office.
It was Kamal's office really, but since he was away, she'd used it. Her office was much smaller and had fewer amenities. She pulled off her headscarf—a sign that she was expecting some privacy and would not tolerate interruption—and sat down to work.
Reading reports. Not everything was glorious battles, after all.
According to every department on the ship, the Tehran and its refugees were ready to move out. The singularity grew day by day. Their engineers told them that it was probably only a single atom wide when it had been created. It pulled other atoms in. Then more. Eventually it grew to the size it was now—strong enough to shake a planet to pieces.
Soon everything here would be gone. But they wouldn't be here to see that.
A knock on the door took her from her reading.
"One moment." She affixed her headscarf. "Come in."
It was Veisi. "Permission to enter, Commander."
She frowned. "Why aren't you at your post?"
"Sorry, Commander. Commander Bagheri asked me to tell you that the Telvan planetary commander Jul'aran wants to speak to you again."
It was improper for the man to leave his post, but Sabeen had told Bagheri she was not to be disturbed. He would only have done so if it were important. "Very well," she said. "Show Jul'aran to me. And please have Mr. Hijazi accompany him."
Vahid Hijazi was their best translator, a civilian in his fifties who was previously a motorcycle salesman. After the destruction of Tehran, he had lost his family, his home, everything. With nothing else to do, he threw himself into learning everything he could about the mysterious Demons who had attacked Earth. He studied grainy camera footage of the blasts, public domain telescope imagery of their ships, anything.
When contact was made with the Toralii, he was one of the many in Iran to study their language as information about it became available. He, above fresh-faced linguistics graduates who had dedicated their lives to language study, scored the best on the tests.
She'd asked him his secret, once. How he managed to learn so much so quickly.
Passion. A desire for revenge against the Toralii.
Hijazi left and, moments later, Iranian marines escorted Jul'aran and Hijazi to her. It would be an interesting experience, as it always was with Jul'aran. Humans could not speak the language of Toralii, and Jul'aran spoke neither English nor Persian. They had instead come up with a different system.
She beckoned them both in with a smile. "Good evening," Sabeen said as Hijazi translated her words onto a tablet, which printed them in the Toralii script on its screen. "Please, have a sea
t."
Jul'aran spoke. Hijazi translated. "He says that he is grateful, and thanks you for seeing him at such short notice."
"You're more than welcome." She smiled. "What can I do for you, Worldleader Jul'aran?"
Jul'aran waited for the tablet's work to finish then spoke. Hijazi looked to her. "He says that they wish to have a ceremony to say goodbye to their lost world. He is concerned because it is a religious ceremony of sorts, and that the Tehran may have rules against other religions."
Sabeen saw little harm in such a thing. "Although the ship is the property of the Islamic Republic of Iran, and we are a theocracy, we take great pains to acknowledge the religions of others. Our constitution states that, 'No one may be molested or taken to task simply for holding a certain belief', and I, as with all of this crew, have pledged to upload that constitution."
It took some time for Hijazi to translate. Jul'aran asked several questions, and he answered via the tablet. While Sabeen couldn't understand, she had been through enough conversations with Jul'aran to know that this was normal. She counted herself lucky that they were able to communicate at all.
"There was one thing," Sabeen said. "When we arrive at Velsharn, we were planning to have a ceremony of our own. Sing a nasheed, mourn our own losses. It would be alongside others of our kind, with various religions, and none at all. He would be welcome to join us then if he wished."
Hijazi relayed the information via his tablet. The concept of a nasheed took some explaining; Sabeen had grown up around them, so she found it strange to have to clarify it. They were a cappella chants or songs typically exploring Islamic beliefs, history and religious aspects, as well as current events. They were performed almost exclusively using the Human voice. Most interpretations of Islam frowned upon musical instruments, with some schools of thought of the opinion that they were alcohol for the soul.
"He says that this would be preferable. Grief, much like joy, should be shared with those willing to bear it. He is particularly interested in hearing the nasheed. I'm… not sure if I explained it correctly, but arts and entertainment aren't something Saara talked about extensively."
"Odd," said Sabeen, "given the Telvan preoccupation with stories as a transmitter of social values."
"She told stories, not really how stories are made. It's a subtle difference."
She could accept that. Sabeen turned back to Jul'aran. "Thank you for spending this time with me."
Jul'aran dipped his head in respect. He and Hijazi had another brief conversation and then they left.
Alone once more, Sabeen went back to her reading as the Tehran slowly sailed towards the jump point and to Velsharn.
Iilan Worldship Eight
Ben floated in the liquid as the Iilan crowded around him, his Human body a spectacle for them to admire.
"Fascinating," said Speaker Paar as he looked over Ben's new form. "It is identical to her in almost every way. So the technology does work on other races."
"Humans and Toralii at least," said Ben, the mask muffling his words. "I was unable to test it on others before the ship's destruction." Speaker Paar's curiosity was interesting to him. Liao had reacted with horror and anger, but this Paar's experience with cloning had obviously prepared him for the possibility that two people could look exactly alike, identical twins notwithstanding.
"Thank you for the genetic sample. It will prove most useful to us in our continuing efforts to preserve our species."
Their quest seemed futile, especially if the Iilan chose to remain on their ships of such limited size, but Ben was not about to argue with them. "And thank you for your gifts as well."
"The Iilan rarely gift," said Paar. "The exchange was made, and it was fair."
"Of course," said Ben. "I did not mean to offend you, Speaker."
Paar just clicked his beak, a strange sound travelling through the water. Ben wished that he had his construct's senses, but at the same time, his Human abilities were far more powerful. Every facial tick, every subtle expression change, was so clear to him. The Human brain was an amazing tool, but it took some time getting used to.
He needed the best of both worlds.
"If there's nothing else, I'll return to my vessel."
"The deal is made. You are welcome to remain here for a time or return to your shuttle at your discretion."
"Then I shall return. Farewell, Speaker Paar, and may all your endeavours be fruitful."
Ben floated towards the exit and through the threshold to his shuttle, stepping out of the Iilan's green fluid into the air of his ship. Waiting for him was a small metal box, placed in the middle of the floor of his ship. He pulled off the mask and scooped it up.
Plain and unadorned, this box contained his perfection.
He knew of the Human legend of Pandora. A box with sealed evil inside, unleashed when a foolhardy Human, Pandora, had opened the box and forever cursed the world with sin.
In the legend, the "box" was actually a jar, but technicalities couldn't stop a good story.
He opened the lid, revealing the inert fluid within. To his Human eyes, it was a grey soup, otherwise indistinguishable from mercury, but he knew better.
Nanobots. A flood of microscopic machines that would build, create, alter, and destroy.
Enough for his purposes.
Ben laid the box down, gently and carefully. Being a machine had taught him patience. He slid himself up to the console of the shuttle and, linking the Toralii systems to the swarm of nanobots, began to give them instructions.
It took hours, but Ben moved with the purpose of one who knew exactly what he was doing. The task he wanted the nanobots to perform was clear. Creating perfection was difficult and time consuming in this analogue body but he, at long last, was satisfied.
The commands were transmitted, then he pried open the panel that concealed the emergency medical kit, removing the intravenous drug dispenser and discarding the rest. He tipped the painkillers it contained onto the deck of the shuttle.
Carefully, Ben poured the sloshing metallic slush into the pouch, filling it almost to the top. He rolled up the sleeve of the People's Republic of China uniform he wore, clenched his fist to raise the vein and then pressed the needle against his skin.
Pain.
He winced, staring down at the tiny mark the needle had left on his skin. A tiny red spot blossomed into a small trickle of blood, and the skin around it was an angry red, his body protesting the injury.
Pain was such a strange and uncomfortable feeling, one to which he was unaccustomed. When he existed inside his datacore, a construct on Karathi had been his body. Once, he had been pinned by falling debris and used the plasma cutter to slice off one of his robot's many legs.
Even damaging the dermis caused discomfort. His newly found instincts—chemical and neurological signals in his brain he could not avoid—told him not to do this. That pain was detrimental and should be avoided. His logical mind told him otherwise.
He didn't know how to deal with this conflict. Never before had his mind been so controlled by base instinct, so working against itself. He wanted to inject the nanobots into his bloodstream, to allow him to improve upon this flesh that constrained him so, but his own mind stopped him.
Steeling his resolve—drawing upon that inner reserve of machine-intellect he still possessed—Ben pushed the needle against the spot, pressing into his arm and sliding all the way in.
Steel grey fluid flowed down the drip line. It was cold; the stuff filled his veins, moving down his arm towards his fingertips, the machines carrying out their preprogrammed instructions. The swarm flowed back along his arm, then up to his heart, but by then they had warmed and their cold bothered him no longer.
More of the invisible nanobots flowed into his body, and he stared with fascination as the skin around the area developed gooseflesh. A strange mechanism of his new body. To go from a steel skin to this was certainly strange.
Pain.
Ben clutched his head. The pain was i
nside him now, much deeper. In his bones. In his brain. He jerked so hard he almost tore the vein. He forced his arm to remain still. It was excruciating, gripping him like a vice.
The nanobots raged inside his mind, tearing it apart, rearranging things.
Building things.
The pain finally receded, became merely a throbbing ache in his head. It was a strange feeling. Pressure, cutting, stretching.
Scratching.
Then it all faded, and his mind linked with the machine the nanobots had built. Blood ran down from his head and staining his uniform, but he didn't mind that. The rest of the medkit's treatments would preserve his biological components. Instead, he wanted to explore the digital system the nanobots had built in his brain.
It was like exploring an old area, once seen as a child and now as an adult. Familiar but revisited. He could call routines and analytical subprograms. He could perform complex mathematical equations easily.
He was whole again. Better even. Improved.
Perfection.
But the nanobots had a lot of work to do, and already they went to work on his flesh, building, scraping, cutting, dissolving.
Enhancing perfection.
Hours later, Ben was ready to leave. His shuttle—acting on a signal sent from his newly created cyborg mind—flew him away from the Iilan and out into space.
They let him go. He knew they would. The Iilan were traders, merchants peddling their advanced technology; they were not betrayers. They were not the Toralii Alliance.
The Alliance. He hadn't made them pay as he wished, not that he specifically blamed them. He saw no distinction between the Alliance and the Telvan. They were all Toralii, all guilty of innumerable crimes, and only death could pay the wages of their sins.
But these things had to be taken in steps. Using the Giralan, he had accomplished significant things; taken a planet, forced the fleets to rise up against him. He'd done something nothing else in the galaxy had managed to do for hundreds of years: frighten the Toralii Alliance. And then he'd been beaten.
