Empire's End

by Chris Bunch

  The faint idea bloomed to understanding in Kea's head. Power… Fuel. Wars had been fought over it. Hundreds of thousands had died on oil fields. Power… Weapons. Hundreds of thousands more had died in the nuclear fires of the past. Power. Wealth. The greatest fortunes—and families—had been founded on its gold. He looked around the room at the others. Each in his or her own way understood. Even the lowliest grease monkey would have understood. You did not come to space… and stay… and not understand these things. Kea looked at Murph: Jock's face. Clown face. But somehow oddly solemn. Vasoovan: Pink features paler than he'd ever seen. Big predator's grin. Tentacle curling and uncurling. Ruth: Eyes alight. Red tongue-tip flicking out. And himself.

  He wished he could see himself.

  "Uh… Doc…" came Murph's voice. Throaty. "What do you call this… uh… stuff?"

  "A good question, Murph," Fazlur said. Kea didn't blame him for sounding so pedantic. "It's the opposite of matter in our universe. But we can't call it anti-matter. Because we already have anti-matter in this universe. Perhaps we should express it in its simplest terms." He turned to Ruth. "Something commercial. Recognizable even to the ignorant. I find it always helps when I make my presentations to funding boards."

  "Easy." She shrugged. "If it isn't anti-matter, exactly… then it's new anti-matter. Stress the newness, somehow."

  "How about Anti-Matter Two?" Kea suggested.

  "I like it," Ruth said. "Simple."

  "Anti-Matter Two… Yes. That'll do. Very very well. The heading will get their attention." Fazlur was satisfied.

  "What I like," Murph said, "is it fits real nice on the side of a building. AM2." He drew the symbols in the air: AM2.

  "How sure are you about this, Doc?" Vasoovan twittered. "You got proof?"

  Fazlur rose, turned from them, and looked up on the screen at the curtain of fire. "I'm sure. Very sure. And I have the proof. But it is not absolute. And in this, my friends, we must be absolute. Otherwise…" He turned back, the fire raining on the screen behind him. "There are those who would kill to control this. You must realize this."

  Fazlur stared at them hard. One by one. He came to Kea. Richards thought of the Bargetas. The other great families—and fortunes. And the opportunity and threat they would see in AM2. The issue was control. The Haves against the Have Nots. The man was right. The Haves would attack with lawyers, writs—and assassins. Kea nodded. He knew. As did the others.

  "If we want any rights—bound-in-steel guarantee rights—to our discovery," Fazlur said, "we must make that proof patentable. A patent so strong that no one can question our rights."

  "How do we get proof, Doc?" Murph asked.

  Fazlur pointed at the screen. "We have to go in there to get it," he said. "And come back again."

  Kea had never heard silence so thick. There was no argument. No heated questions: Can it be done?… Are you sure?… What if?… The struggle was within each of them. They all knew Fazlur would answer; Yes. I am. I don't know… I've never been there before. Kea swallowed. He looked at the screen. He saw the gentle fire rain, the billow and curl of space, as alluring as any woman he'd ever known.

  He… Just… Had… To… See.

  That line again: "The stuff dreams are made of."

  Kea cleared his throat, startling the others to life.

  "I think we should go," he said.

  it was a place like the other.

  but not familiar.

  it was…

  not.

  i don't like it.

  why?

  i don't know.

  is it colder?

  no. but i'm… cold.

  is it darker?

  no. but i can't… see.

  what's wrong, then?

  i'm…

  lost.

  A juddering into normalcy. They all looked at each other, dazed. Ruth's hand crept toward Kea's. Fazlur saw it. An odd light came to his eye. Then the screen caught his attention. "We're on the other side," he said quietly.

  Kea looked up. The remotes were panning along the rear of the ship. The curtain of fire was behind them.

  Destiny I was through.

  "Reckoning by the discontinuity," Murph said. Voice crisp and professional. "On time-tick…"

  Vasoovan's twitter was modulated: "Check. Coordinates… x350… Proceeding…"

  "Half power…" Kea broke in. "Drive steady. All functions normal."

  "Readings… positive on the port sensors, Doctor," Ruth said. Calm.

  "Course starboard nine now… Thank you, Ruth. A little less on the data stream, please… There you go."

  Fazlur's fingers flew across his key unit, monitoring the incoming data. He nodded. Yes. Yes. And yes. Then he keyed out. "I think we can go home now, Captain," he said. Formal.

  Murph nodded to him. Stiff. "Thank you, Doctor." Then; "Vasoovan. Set the course for XO… We're going home."

  It came as a spot on the screen that blazed the colors/no colors of this strange universe.

  An infinitesminal spot.

  "Murph! Eleven o'clock!"

  "What the crap is it?"

  "Dunno. Pint-sized moon, maybe."

  "Don't look too close."

  "Naw. Not real close. But maybe we oughta—"

  Two bodies approached in space. Composed of mass. Potential of that mass. And gravitational displacement.

  But one was the stuff of one reality.

  One another.

  Opposites attract.

  What do double opposites do?

  The explosion took Destiny I midships, cutting it like a shark ripping into fat-bellied tuna.

  Fifteen died.

  Five survived.

  The gods of this place were kind to the fifteen.

  Kea came awake. It was dark and bloody. Acrid.

  There was no pain.

  Numbness.

  He heard voices.

  "All dead." A wail.

  "There's us, Murph! There's us. We're alive."

  Me too, Kea wanted to say. I'm alive, too.

  Not even a groan escaped.

  "What'll we do? Oh, God, what'll we do."

  "I'd kill you, Murph. I'd kill you if it wouldn't leave me all alone."

  "Gotta think. Gotta think."

  "It's your fault, Murph. We never shoulda come, damn you!"

  Check the damage, Kea wanted to say. The urge was desperate… Check the damage.

  He felt his lips tighten to speak.

  A wave washed in and took him away.

  He was thirsty.

  God he was thirsty.

  A voice. Ruth's.

  "Hell, I don't know. He's broken up, or something. Inside. I'm no physician."

  "What about Fazlur?" Murph's voice.

  "Who cares?" came the twitter—Vasoovan. "He got us into this."

  "Castro's worse," he heard Ruth say. "I followed the directions in the medkit best I could. The stump stopped bleeding, if that's any consolation." Her voice was cold.

  "Still out?"

  "Still out. Thank God. Those screams were awful."

  Water, Kea thought. I'm so thirsty.

  "We've got practically no rations," Vasoovan shrilled. "And very little water."

  "I say we put them both out of their misery. And we can live a little longer."

  "That wouldn't be right," Ruth said. Perfunctory.

  "Naw," Murph said. "Guess it wouldn't… Besides, long as they're out, they ain't costin' us anything. Except air. And we've plenty of that."

  The tide lifted Kea up again and carried him off.

  Pain. Waves and jabs of it.

  But it was bearable pain. And there was no numbness.

  There was still no light. Eyes… felt… crusted shut. Dried… What?… Blood? Yes, blood.

  "Jeez, this suit stinks," he heard Murph say.

  There were sounds of fastenings being opened. The clank of equipment falling.

  "Did you get back as far as the drive unit this time?" Ruth asked.

  "Yeah. W
asn't hit too hard, either. And the input to the controls checks out."

  "Can we run it?" Came the twitter.

  Kea heard Murph sigh. "I said it wasn't hit too hard. Meaning… it's fixable. But not by me. And not by anyone else here."

  Kea struggled the word out "Water."

  "Hey, it's Richards." Murph said.

  "What's he want?" Vasoovan asked.

  "Water. He said water," Ruth said. "I'll get it for him."

  "Hey, Murph," Vasoovan said. "We didn't talk about this, Murph. Last we talked, you said they ain't costin' us anything. Remember?"

  "I remember."

  Kea was suddenly frightened that a decision was being reached. And even more frightened how it would come out. Where was Ruth? Why wasn't she speaking up for him?

  Don't wait for Ruth!

  "I can fix it," Kea croaked.

  "He really is awake," Ruth said. Meaning: he heard us talking.

  "What's that you say, partner?" It was Murph. Jovial. Kea felt him move close. Imagined him peering down. "You say you can fix it? Fix the drive?"

  Kea wanted to say more. A lot more. But he hadn't the strength. So there was only one response. "Water," he croaked. Then he fell back. It was his first and final offer.

  A rustling. Then cool water touched his lips. He lapped it until he'd had enough. Perfume floated down to him, along with a voice. "Oh, darling," Ruth said. "I'm so very happy you're alive." A kiss brushed his cheek.

  He slept.

  Kea hoisted himself on his good arm to get a better view. The other was strapped tight to his body. "That's a good seal," he said. "That's a keeper. Now… lift it up and you'll see a Y-shaped impression."

  On the screen he saw Murph's suited hands do his bidding. He was crammed into a space between the drive unit and a bulkhead. "Got it," Murph said.

  "Good. You'll find a tool that matches in your beltpack. But before you open the cover… make sure you set up the shield."

  "Damn straight," Murph said as he went to work.

  "No sense worrying about cancer," Vasoovan twittered. "None of us are going to live that long."

  "Humorous," Ruth said. "How jolly you keep us all."

  Kea ignored the start-up of another bickering match. He fell back into the cot. "Get me some soup," he said. Ruth turned a deadly look on him.

  "You had your ration," Vasoovan said.

  "Soup." Kea said. He was sick. He needed more. End discussion. Kea looked up at Murph working in the drive room. When the cover was off, the next step should go pretty easy. Hunger knotted under his ribs again. As sharp as if they were broken clean. Instead of cracked.

  He lifted himself up to look for Ruth, his back barely supporting him. She was still sitting in the chair. Vasoovan was watching, enjoying herself. "Who are you to give people orders?" Ruth snarled. "Who are you to break rules and eat and drink more than the rest of us?"

  "Doesn't matter," Kea said. "Do it—or they'll make you." Hysterical twitter. "No eat. No work. Guy drives a hard bargain."

  All four of Vasoovan's eyestalks turned on Ruth. "Get him what he wants," she said. "Or we'll put you in the soup with Fazlur." Ruth did as she was told.

  Kea settled in to wait. Murph should be ready for the next little step in about four hours. Then Kea would trade yet another bit of knowledge for nourishment. And another. Until it was done. Two more weeks, he thought. And then we shall see what we shall see.

  Fazlur had died three days earlier. He'd tossed and groaned for an eternity, never quite conscious, nor quite out enough to not feel pain. No one had moved to help him, much less feed him or bring him drink. Kea hadn't spoken up for Fazlur. Why bother? They would have refused him help. Kea's bargain would not be stretched to include Fazlur. Murph, Vasoovan, and Ruth were the strong here. Kea was helpless until his injuries healed.

  Besides, in Vasoovan's predator logic of survival, Fazlur was the most expendable. "We get lucky and make it," Vasoovan had said, "we don't need him. Not alive. We got his proof. His absolute proof. All in his data file."

  "I just wish he would get it over with," Ruth had said. "I can't stand his infernal groaning. He used to sound like that sometimes when we made love. A pig." Kea had turned away from them. To his own thoughts. And sleep.

  Sometime later, Kea had come to semiconsciousness. Fazlur was groaning. The others made the noises of sleep. Then he heard movement. A softer patter of feet. The smell of sweet perfume. The groaning stopped. Abrupt. Then the soft pad of feet.

  They found Fazlur dead the next day.

  "Run him through the reclaimer," Vasoovan had twittered. "Add him to the soup." He was referring to the sort of nutrition stew produced by their own waste and the dwindling supply of plant protein being produced in the damaged hydroponic room.

  "Why not?" Ruth had said. "Make some use out of him. It seems so fitting, somehow."

  Kea had watched them lug the corpse out of the room. Hunger gnawed at him again. He heard light footsteps. Ruth's perfume. He took the mug from her without looking up. He drank. There was no taste at all.

  Poor Fazlur.

  The curtain between universes hung before them, beckoning. If things had worked out differently, Kea supposed it would have been called Fazlur's Discontinuity. He looked about the room. Vasoovan. Murph. Ruth. No one here would give Fazlur a drop of the credit. As for himself… well, he had ideas of his own. Just formulating.

  "We're ready," Vasoovan said.

  Kea struggled up. Some life was returning to his bound-up arm. He was getting stronger. Barely. "One thing more," Kea announced, "before we go through."

  They turned to him, alarmed.

  "Don't worry. The drive unit's fine," he said. "But what I want you all to remember when we get to the other side is that it's five months home."

  "Yeah? So?" From Murph.

  "So now that everything's working okay, some of you might get the idea you don't need me anymore. That the chief engineer is expendable—like the chief scientist." No protests. No offended denials. Only silence. "I took out insurance to keep us friends," Kea continued. "I fixed the drive unit, okay. But I slipped Murph a little extra task to do. An extra step."

  "Like what?" Murph demanded angrily.

  "Like I rigged the unit to go down in a couple of months. And when it goes busto, my dear companions in adversity… you're going to need me again. I guarantee it."

  Kea fell back into the cot. "Now, go, dammit!" They went.

  They found the air leak a week later.

  "It's not my fault, Murph!"

  "You were supposed to check, dammit!"

  "I checked. Not my fault, if I missed something. I'm no engineer." Two of her eyestalks turned to peer at Kea's figure, prone on the cot. His duties had been shared out among them. Kea stayed silent.

  "Let's not get into this bickering again," Ruth said. "The leak's plugged. Fine. Now, the question is, Do we have enough?"

  "Not a chance," Murph said. "Not with most of the five months to go. And—" He broke off. A long silence.

  Then Vasoovan finished it: "And four of us breathing."

  There it was. Kea had been waiting.

  "Yeah," Murph said.

  "Yes… I can see that," Ruth said.

  They all turned to look at Kea. Eight eyes upon three living forms peering at his own, air-consuming self.

  "It'd be close," Murph said. "Still be maybe a month short."

  "By then," Ruth said, "we might find other means…"

  "What about the drive unit?" Murph said. "The little trick he played on me?"

  "I think he lied," Ruth said.

  Kea smiled at them. A big, broad smile. A smile right up from the warrens of Maui.

  "Yeah, and maybe he didn't," Vasoovan said. The eight eyes turned away. But Kea remained watchful.

  "What'll we do?" Murph asked.

  "Simple," Vasoovan said. "We gotta have Kea. We gotta have you. And we gotta have me. I'm the nav—"

  Kea didn't know where the hatchet came from. It was p
ainted the slick red of emergency tool gear. The handle was short. The blade blunt. Ruth brought it down between the four eyestalks. She was a small woman, barely coming to Kea's chin. But she swung with the force of survival. The hatchet buried itself in the Osiran's brain globe. The haft protruded back—giving Vasoovan a protuberance that looked like a long human nose. Pink goo blobbed out and dripped to the floor. The tentacles shuddered, then were still.

  Ruth stepped back. She looked Murph full-on. "Well?' she said

  "She kinda got on my nerves, anyway," Murph said. "All that twittering."

  "The rations are getting low," Ruth said. "I noticed. Let's make some soup."

  He dreamed of kings. Of empires.

  Menes was the first. A crafty old devil who welded upper and lower Egypt into the first empire. He ruled for sixty years. And was killed by a hippopotamus.

  The Persians bowed before Alexander's sword. He died in a swamp. Kublai Khan got it right. He quelled the mighty Chinese. And died of old age.

  The Romans pushed the bounds of the known world and beyond. They fell to thieves on horseback.

  Elizabeth was fine. The best of them all. She was the dazzling acrobat of the monarchs. Kea sometimes wondered why she hadn't killed her sister sooner. Instead she bore the threat of deadly plot after deadly plot. The romantics said it was deep, sisterly feeling. Kea believed it was simply because Elizabeth hadn't thought it was time.

  He had learned much from these people during those long hours of offwatch reading. His interest was not casual. The nature of the powerful had confounded him. He had been smacked on his ignorant blind side. Kea was determined to understand. So he had gone at it like an engineer. Taking each monarch and his kingdom apart. Putting it back together again. Piece by piece. Sometimes rearranging those pieces to see how it might have turned out. An empire, he had discovered, could take several forms. It could be crown and throne. Altar and blood sacrifice. An army standard with its accompanying secret police. A presidential seal resting on stolen votes. A company logo above a penthouse suite. But they all had one thing in common: an idea. An idea of a perfect life. Real, or promised. And for the idea to work, it had to satisfy from top to bottom. Starving masses do not praise their monarch's name on Feast Day.