by Isaac Hooke
There were more compassionate methods of execution, naturally. Disintegration used to be one of the favorites. Electrocution and stinging, a close second and third, with spacing a far fourth. But the spike was reserved for crimes of high treason. Anyone who crossed the Council was automatically guilty of that.
The light globes flickered and a frigid current kissed Graol's epidermis. The touch brought his focus closer, to the energy bars that sealed him inside the cell, and to the murky water that gave him buoyancy.
Around him, everything was silent.
Silent as death.
It wouldn't be long now.
The Shell had awakened the councilors, and Graol had appeared before them. Because of his apparent sympathy for the humans, Species-87A, they had probed his mind extensively. He concealed much under the mind torture, but not everything, and the councilors learned of his continued love for his human daughter, and his willingness to sacrifice the world for her. He was a danger to the Satori, the councilors concluded, because of his misplaced sympathies. He was to be executed, and the human clone was scheduled to be lobotomized.
As a precaution, the Council also voted in favor of executing all the other Satori involved in the Species-87A surrogate project upon their return, regardless of their outward disposition and previous rank, including Javiol, the Satori who was Jeremy. Fhavolin hadn't been too happy about that.
The satoroid jailer rotored over to the energy bars. Graol almost expected to see some sort of symbol on its metallic torso, but there wasn't one of course.
"Visitor," the satoroid transmitted.
Graol shifted slightly, trying to peer past the edge of the cell. He was melded to the steel wall behind him via his sucker-capped lower appendages.
Fhavolin, leader of the Council, jetted into view, her pear-shaped torso moving in and out like a pumping bellows, her tail whisking, her cilia rippling. Her lower appendages were folded beneath her, and her stinging tentacles trailed along behind, the feathery fingers slack. Twelve eyes watched him from the visible side of her torso.
Graol didn't want to look at Fhavolin. Didn't want to be reminded of what he was. He wished he could just shut his eyes, or turn around, but his lidless, 360-degree vision allowed him no such luxury.
"What's the matter, Graol?" Fhavolin transmitted. "Can't stand the sight of your own race anymore?"
Graol immediately cleared his mind.
Fhavolin's Upper Lens eye-stalks twitched. "You guard yourself well. Would that you had guarded yourself better during the Questioning."
"What do you want?" Graol responded.
"The Shell has informed you of the time of your execution?"
"It has."
Fhavolin relaxed her tentacles, and let all twelve float around her like seaweed. "When I and the other councilors shut out your quadmind and debated your fate, I argued against execution. I told them that you had gone through an incredibly stressful experience. That your sympathies were still with the Satori, not Species-87A. Was I wrong?"
Graol shifted his lower appendages, loosening his suckers so that he climbed the wall until he was slightly above her. Looking down on her. "You all read my mind. Do you doubt your findings? Do you doubt your abilities? You were wrong, Fhavolin. I'm more 87A than Satori now."
"I've never believed that any of the 87A surrogates were beyond saving," Fhavolin said. "Why do you think I spent so much work on you after you returned that first time? I could have left you to The Shell. I could have returned to hibernation. But I stayed. Though you screamed and ranted, I stayed. It took a full month to decondition your mind and undo the brainwashing of the alien simulation. Did the Return therapy truly fail? Did I fail?"
Graol and Fhavolin had been mates a long time ago. Perhaps she had cared for him once, but not anymore, and if Graol had lips he would have grinned smugly. "You did fail, Fhavolin. More than you know. It's probably a good thing the councilors voted to execute the others. Especially Javiol. He's madder than I ever was. To think, you actually wanted to reward him."
Fhavolin clenched her lower appendages. "Do not play this game, Graol. I can still defy the Council. Demonstrate to me that your four-brain is with us, and I will let you go. You will be stripped of your name, rank and class, and your psyche transferred to another body in secret. Your current body will be executed, but you will live on. Prove to me that I was successful with you."
At one point Graol had considered doing that very thing—permanently transferring his psyche not into another Satori, but a human. In the end he'd decided against the action. Humanity might still need him up here.
Graol expanded his torso in contempt. "Prove that you were successful? Did you read my thoughts just now? Can't you see what I am inside? There's nothing Satori left."
"Graol, I just want to—"
"Tell me something," Graol said. "Let's say I let you defy the Council, and allow you to transfer me to another body without their knowledge, as you ask. What happens to the 87A female?"
Fhavolin studied him blankly for a few moments, as if not understanding the question. "She must be de-brained of course."
"Of course." Graol had expected as much. "Why are you so bent on saving me? So you can feel justified in sparing Javiol too when all this is over? Is he your new mate? Or are you just trying to clear your conscience so you feel less guilty about destroying the last remnants of another sentient race?"
Graol searched her mind, and found unguarded images of her and himself together, images accompanied by a Satori emotion that could best be described as contentment. She was showing him what she wanted him to see.
"I still love you, Graol." Fhavolin projected the human word for love in his head, because there was no equivalent in the Satori language. There were words for mate, companion, compassion, even pair-bond, but none for love.
"What do you know of love?" Graol sent the human word right back at her.
"I have played with the 87A surrogates. I understand their emotions well enough to know what it is I feel for you."
Graol remained absolutely motionless. It was a trick, he knew that. She didn't love him.
Manipulation. It was one of the first skills both humans and Satori ever learned. The races were alike in that respect.
He delved deeper in her mind and, using a sudden psychic-force, he pried open one of the locked doors she kept hidden away inside. Her tentacles jerked in surprise. He saw images of her and Javiol engaged in the Satori mating process, which was a little like frantic jellyfish sex.
"He is your new mate, then," Graol said. "Or he was. That's why you wanted to reward him so badly. Wanted to share in the riches, did you? Well, he won't be getting any reward except the spike now."
Fhavolin's algal glow became an outraged scarlet. "Leave it alone, Graol."
"Yes, that's entirely what this is about," Graol said, going for the kill. "You want to convince yourself that Javiol can be saved, don't you? If you can save me, then you can save him too, even if it means going against the will of the Council and hiding his consciousness in a different body. You'll expect him and I to be forever in your debt of course. Maybe you'll put us in the bodies of the other councilors. Your rivals Thason and Maol, perhaps? I almost want to go along with you, just so that it'll come as a complete surprise when, two months down the line, Javiol's new body stings you to death. No, Fhavolin, you don't love me. You weren't successful with your Return deconditioning. You can't save me because there's nothing left to save. And you can't save Javiol. I'm free of the Council and its machinations. I refuse to be your puppet any longer."
Fhavolin's scarlet glow became a calm blue once more. She bobbed in place, swiveling so that her rearmost eyes regarded him. "Good-bye, Graol."
"Will you attend my execution?" Graol said.
Fhavolin straightened her lower appendages, forming what looked like a long, smooth trunk—the Satori body-language equivalent of "no."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The execution was to take place right there
in the confinement bay.
It was to be an automated execution, with no observers but The Shell and its servants.
At the designated time, the energy bars flicked off.
Graol attempted to access the wall panel interface with his mind, wanting to turn the energy bars back on, but he couldn't get past the system firewall.
The two satoroid jailers that were to be his executioners came forward and wrapped their steel tentacles around him, obscuring the central quarter of his 360-degree vision. Graol didn't struggle, knowing it would only make matters hard for him.
The robots floated Graol over to the execution spike set on the pedestal. As he got closer, the carvings in the metal became clearer. He saw pictures of Satori pinned like insects on display, bodies deflated from fluid loss, tentacles dangling lifelessly beneath them. Inscribed beneath the pictures were symbols that represented the compressions and pops of the Satori language, words that brought a tingle to Graol's epidermis: "Through me pass the final Gate."
The robots rotored him up and over the spike, and hovered there, waiting for The Shell's command. The top of his body skimmed the ceiling.
"Any last thoughts?" The Shell projected.
"I have more data for you on the planetary flyer, Shell," Graol replied on a whim. "Have your Servants escort me there, and I'll give it to you."
"You have no data at this point that I cannot obtain myself after your death," The Shell answered. "The Council has authorized a full de-braining."
"I'm going to enjoy blasting your neural core to smithereens," Graol said.
The Shell issued an incoherent stream of stuttered tweets. The A.I. equivalent of laughter.
"Enjoy your death, Graol," The Shell said. "I look forward to recording and compartmentalizing all your thoughts and memories. Your life should prove an endless source of interesting datagrams. Not many with your existential quirks exist in this galaxy. I will enjoy reviewing your data for years to come."
The satoroids began the slow, inexorable spiral of death.
Graol could see the spike clearly beneath him, its tip approaching in deadly greeting. The satoroids had trapped his upper body in their grasps, but left the bottom half of his tentacles, and his lower appendages, free to move. He desperately ran the wispy fingers of his tentacles along the spike's surface, but he couldn't find purchase, and the descent continued unabated. He splayed his starfish-like lower appendages wide, wanting to delay contact for as long as possible.
When the spike's tip was only an inch away, he slammed his lower appendages closed, and squeezed the metal with all his strength. Only the tip was sharp on that spike, and he got a good grip on the engraved surface below. He managed to halt his descent.
For a few seconds.
The whir increased in pitch as the satoroids boosted the power output to their rotors. The iron tentacles tightened around his body. The descent began anew, and when Graol felt the sharp stab of the tip in his flesh he splayed his appendages wide on reflex, releasing the spike.
He slid downward with a sudden jerk, but the satoroids quickly compensated, reversing their rotors. It wouldn't do for him to die faster than the prescribed torturous speed.
The pain was excruciating as that spike dug deeper into the suckers of his lower appendage. He wanted to thrash about, but the satoroids held him tight, and any movement only worsened the pain. He held back a vocalized scream, not wanting to give The Shell that pleasure.
Through the pain, he felt regret, and he wasn't sure which hurt more, the spike, or failure.
For it to end here, like this, when he'd come so close to saving Ari. So damn close. It was a tragedy.
Pain.
The spike had completely pierced his lower appendages now, and in moments the tip would poke through to his gastric cavity. Once that cavity was pierced, the satoroids would pause to allow his stomach acids time to leech into his torso and burn away his insides. The ultimate torture.
Pain.
He remembered the promise he'd made to his human wife. "Destroy the world if you have to," she'd said. "Destroy everything. But you bring her back."
He remembered his answer. "I will. I swear it."
He slammed his lower appendages around the spike once again, and fresh agony sparked through his body as the tip dug into his shifting muscles. He ignored the urge to let go, and squeezed hard.
I will. I swear it.
He pushed down on the spike through the pain, and rose an inch.
The rotors of the satoroids whirred faster. The steel tentacles tightened around his torso. Both machines were trying to drag him back down.
Graol kept two appendages in place so that he wouldn't plunge, and he shifted the grip of the remaining appendages higher. He pushed up again, and climbed another inch along that spike. He sucked more water into his torso, countering the tightening vise of iron tentacles.
I SWEAR IT.
The satoroid engines were droning loudly now, and those tentacles dug trenches into his epidermis.
Graol shifted his grip upward and pushed once again. His body shook from the effort. But he pushed.
He rose another inch.
He'd lifted himself entirely off the spike now. He still felt the throbbing pain, but it was no longer intrusive.
Not letting go of the spike, he shifted his body to the left so that he was clear of the tip. He drew the satoroids with him so that the rightmost hovered just above the spike.
Graol abruptly relaxed his grip.
The robots were still rotoring downward at maximum speed. All three of them plunged. The iron tip rammed into the rightmost satoroid's rotors before the thing could compensate.
A muted CLANG-CLANG filled his auditory organ as the rotor tore apart, and Graol felt the vibrations pass through the steel body into his own.
Its engine now dead, that satoroid no longer offered Graol any resistance. He pulled himself lower down the spike. Sparks flashed in the water as the tip embedded deep inside the satoroid. Its iron tentacles abruptly loosened and the damaged robot dropped away.
The second satoroid squeezed him even harder now.
Graol spun left, then right, trying to shake the thing off. Forget the prescribed death speed, it was crushing him here and now...
Graol jetted out all the water he'd sucked in and whipped his tail, sending himself and the satoroid spinning toward the confinement cell. With his torso deflated, those steel tentacles squeezed precariously close to his quadbrain.
Graol started to black out. His already banded 360-degree vision became an ever shrinking sphere, its edges indistinct.
He neared the cell's verge and immediately accessed the mind interface with his waning consciousness.
The firewall was finally down.
"Override," he projected weakly. "Graol-52-70-32-144. Reactivate."
The energy bars turned on. He was close enough for the beams to slam right into the satoroid. Parts of the robot disintegrated instantly.
Its grip weakened, and Graol sloughed the iron tentacles from his body. His vision snapped back in triumph.
The tailored virus he'd uploaded to The Shell alongside the archival data from the microchip was finally taking effect. It was a little surprise he'd been working on for the past few months. He hadn't been sure he'd actually go through with it even up to the end, when he'd interfaced with the Farm console, but now he was glad that he had.
"What have you done?" The Shell transmitted. "Services system-wide are failing. Graol, you must undo this."
"System-wide?" Graol said. "No, Shell. Only services involving your consciousness are failing. Autonomous ship functions are still running. For now."
He jetted toward the steel-rimmed exit. Yellow blood seeped from the wound in his lower appendages, while the depression marks in his torso bled black ink. Four of his eyes had been crushed.
But he would live.
A stream of stuttered chirps filled his mind as The Shell laughed.
"I know where you go," The Shel
l said. "But you are too late. My servants will be the last of my consciousness to fail. They are de-braining your precious Species-87A female at this very moment."
Graol ceased all motion.
He'd taken too long.
Ari! Dear maker, no!
He swam through the corridors at full speed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Graol reached the Farm and barreled inside.
He swept past the hulking bodies of the developing Xeviathi, toward the rearmost section where the humans were grown.
A satoroid hovered over Ari's open pod, surrounded by a red cloud.
Graol felt suddenly sick. He slowed, not wanting to provoke any abrupt actions that could cause Ari irreparable harm.
He entered the red cloud near the satoroid, and his gustatory senses detected the tang of blood.
Ari's head came into view.
There was no further harm that could be done to her.
The entire top-half of her head had been sawed off, the brain included. Probes had been stuffed into the exposed gray matter.
The world would never know her sweet smile again. Nor her infectious laugh, her twinkling eyes, her dauntless spirit.
She was dead.
In a fit of rage, Graol wrapped his stinging tentacles and lower appendages around the satoroid. He squeezed. Pain from his wounds shot through his body, but he ignored it, and he just squeezed and squeezed in his madness.
And though his body shook with an angry strength he'd never felt before, he couldn't make a dent in the robot's shell.
He released the satoroid when he realized it wasn't fighting back. Its rotor wasn't even spinning.
The robot had ceased functioning some time ago.
Graol flung the metallic shell away and went to Ari's body. He cradled his tentacles around her.
Ari. My daughter.
The Satori would pay for this.
All of them.
He had promised to destroy a world to save her, and he felt that vow metamorphosing to one of vengeance. A world would still be destroyed, there was no doubt about that.
He lowered his tentacles so that he could peer into her face one last time.
