by Lee Bond
Veo checked his speed. “Ten, fifteen minutes once we’re out of Port. New regulations passed while you were in the hospital; maximum intercity speed is just shy of two hundred. It’s about time.”
Snorting, Scoom rolled his eyes. “Domino effect. Guillfoyle blows up the spaceport, pacifists and conservatives have a collective heart attack, start passing all kinds of loony laws. How does how fast someone drives have any correlation at all with that Traitor’s activities is beyond me.”
Veo took the bait. “See, I expect stuff like this from you, Scoom. You don’t have kids. In my neck of the woods, there are speed freaks zooming around –on the ground, mind you- in excess of three hundred. Add to that some of those bastards’ve got pilot licenses, and it gets worse. Why, just a month ago…”
Garth closed his eyes and listened to the oddly vehement-yet-friendly argument Scoom and Veo had concerning the nature of freedom, rights, and privileges.
A History Lesson from a Foreign Devil
Chairwoman Doans examined the ‘young’ man before her, relishing the opportunity to see him in full health; the last time they’d met, he’d been severely injured, presumably drugged and no doubt uncomfortable in the presence of herself and the OverCommander.
The change a mere two weeks had wrought in the man was disheartening, to say the least.
According to documentation, Garth Nickels was somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five Trinity standard years old. Or thirty thousand thirty-five. It depended on which particular truths a person chose to believe.
No matter his calendar age, Nickels was of average height for a non-Latelian, possessed dark hair, ice blue eyes, firm jaw, good teeth and a predisposition towards smiling that Alyssa wouldn’t buy now or pick up later for half-price. A man that smiled that much was obviously planning on mayhem. He carried the years of service to Trinity well enough, she supposed, though after so many terms in the Chair, she’d learned to recognize the telltale signs of weariness.
Infuriatingly, he showed no signs of having been through a catastrophe. Alyssa admitted she’d rather been hoping that part of Sullivan’s report had been optimistic rather than truthful.
In fact, if she hadn’t seen him with her own two eyes and had Vasily for corroboration, Alyssa would doubt he’d ever been anywhere near the Spaceport that night. In retrospect, she was beginning to understand Doctor Sullivan’s interest in studying Nickels for medical research. The man’s recovery was, dare she think it, miraculous.
“It is very impertinent to stare at someone who is twice your age in that way, Sa Nickels.”
Garth put an indignant hand to his chest. “Check your facts, Madam Chairwoman. I’m the oldest living thing in known space. Older even than Trinity.”
Alyssa frowned as though she’d licked a particularly sour lemon. “I didn’t bring you here to discuss your claims. I think they’re epic proclamations of horseshit, you insist that they are the truth. In either case, I imagine the two of us together are stubborn enough to survive in deep space through sheer willpower alone.”
Garth burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Doans was a funny, funny woman. Dictators were the worst sort of leader; they were incapable of learning from their mistakes. All that power and all those glorious Regime proclamations sank in deep. At least he had gotten his act together. It’d just taken a lot of innocent people dying and a very serious warning from a supergalactic telepath, but he’d done it.
Alyssa examined Garth with a steely eye. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he and Vasily had shared a secret after she’d left the hospital room two weeks ago, and that was something she didn’t like. She also suspected –not that she’d ever admit it, not to anyone, not even Vasily- that Garth’s claims of being from thirty thousand years in the past might be true. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was … something about the man.
She wanted to snap her fingers as the realization crashed into her. Sitting in the same room as Garth Nickels was like being near The Box. He exuded age, just … with less majesty.
The Chairwoman also didn’t like all the charitable work the man had done. It put the Latelian Regime under a very strong, very harsh spotlight; the Office of the Chair had never really been in a position –or inclination- to go beyond the smallest of offerings for those put out by tragedy or similar loss. People died and awful things happened. It wasn’t for the Chair to make the pain and suffering go away but Garth Nickels was making her Office look … weak.
Garth’s non-Latelian-Latelian employee Herrig DuPont had done a masterly job of hiding the bulk of the donations and cash gifts by routing them through an absolutely inspiring number of institutions, but in the end, Chair accountants had found every last penny. Beyond offering to pay for fully seventy-five percent of a new spaceport, Garth Nickels had shelled out over two billion dollars, ensuring that fifth cousins got a bit of money for their loss.
That -in addition to both his fiendishly impressive showing in the ring and his survival of the Spaceport fiasco- had catapulted him directly into the public eye. Everyone in the system knew who Garth Nickels was, and there was nothing she could do about it. Alyssa would’ve preferred to avoid something like this at all costs, but now that it’d happened, she could use his ignorance over his status to her advantage.
Eventually, she spoke. “Tell me, sa, what did you do with your time in hospital, beyond aggravating a learned doctor and acquiring a medical enterprise merely so you could manipulate him?”
Garth tried to relax but couldn’t. Hours and hours and hours of footage told the same story: a Chair being friendly wasn’t a friendly Chair at all. It was a Chair waiting to stab you in the head and drink your brains. “I read, Si Chairwoman. As much as I could about my new home.”
As with everything Garth had done in hospital –from the exact harsh words used at Doctor Sullivan to the frequency of his bowel movements- Alyssa knew precisely how he’d spent the bulk of his waking moments. Of which there had been many. All told, it seemed the man needed two hours or less of sleep every day, and even then, if he went sleepless for a few days, he simply grew irritable. God soldiers, who carried a veritable ton of cybernetic enhancements, needed eight hours on a consistent basis or they went as mad as a normal person did from sleep deprivation. “Did you learn anything interesting, sa?”
“Loads.” Garth nodded pleasantly. If the Chair was going to be friendly, he was going to be cordial. “I learned that no matter how much money you throw at some organizations, they won’t budge. As an ex-Specter, I would’ve loved to sink my teeth into the God Army’s raping and pillaging of heathen systems all over the place. That sort of stuff would’ve been interesting to read, I bet.”
“Indeed.” Alyssa replied coolly. She was still furious over that; had she not learned of it, Vasily would’ve authorized access to those most dread files. All out of curiosity over what their newest citizen would’ve done with the truth about those age-old conquests. “Anything else about our fair system catch your interest?”
A great many things had captured and held his interest for hours on end. Or would’ve, had he not been certain that every byte of data streaming onto his Sheet was being mirrored somewhere else. To that end, he’d been forced to memorize ‘important’ data, and then pretend to read something else whilst going over the good stuff on the screen of his mind’s eye.
It’d been a huge pain in the ass, especially since it’d seemed that Doctor Sullivan had psychically known when his patient was trying to remember a thousand page document on protean technology instead of being unusually absorbed in a breakdown on shubin mating practices.
Garth nodded assiduously. “Oh yeah. This place is awesome. You guys have got a really interesting history.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Like your protes, for example. Now that is a story I bet probably only a handful of people in the system know properly.”
“Do tell.” Alyssa wanted to fidget, wanted to scream command codes to activate her inner office defense systems, wa
nted to obliterate Garth Nickels where he sat. She’d been too late to prevent Nickels from accessing historical data concerning protean technology and by the time she had been made aware of it, he’d already consumed the voluminous reports and moved on to something else. Even if he’d only picked out a few salient points, he was the first Offworlder in thousands of years to know anything at all about protean tech.
She was inordinately thankful that certain elements of protean tech weren’t to be found in any journal, document, file or random doodle; some things were only meant to be word of mouth.
Garth leaned back in his chair and smoothly crossed his legs. “I find it fascinating that we’re in a system where everyone flinches at the mere mention of religion, theology or even curse words, yet the true origin of the word ‘proteus’ finds its beginnings in a creation myth. One so old I doubt anyone in the entire expanse of Trinityspace, The Cordon or Latelyspace knows how ironic it all is. Except possibly Trinity, who’s sense of humor tends to run more towards blowing up whole planets than actual ha-ha sort of stuff.”
Against her better judgment, knowing Garth was trying to reel her in, she leaned forward, interested. He was right, of course; no one knew where the name came from, just that it existed. For five thousand years, it’d just been a word. “You have my attention.”
Garth pointed at the oversized proteus at the Chairwoman’s forearm, wishing he could pull it from her arm and examine it properly. There were secrets there, deep, powerful secrets. “That is referred to in technical journals as the Prometheus Device and is, if the chain of evidence is to be believed, as old as this system. Meaning it wasn’t invented by any of the original colonists. Five thousand years ago, the tech hadn’t been in this league. Not by a longshot. It doesn’t say where you guys found it, and I’d love if you told … no?” Garth chuckled at Alyssa’s pinched face and continued. “Anyhoo, once you guys figured out how to make more –kudos, by the way, on being able to figure stuff out from first principles, you guys are insane at that- you just called them Prometheus machines. Then protheus. Then proteus. And now, we have the even more diminutive and ubiquitous ‘prote’. I don’t think you can go much shorter than that.”
“And how does this relate to a … what did you call it? A creation myth?” Alyssa’s forehead wrinkled of its own accord.
“Prometheus isn’t just a cool sounding word, Chairwoman. It’s a name. The story goes that, at the very beginning of time, there were these beings called Titans. Titans were … Titans were sort of… well, they were Elder Gods, you see. Entities of immense and mystical powers that were here before Mankind was even an inkling of an idea. Long story short, they were thrown down from their places of power by their children, who were regular old Gods and Goddesses. I couldn’t tell you what the distinction between elder Gods and plain vanilla gods is, though, sorry.”
Alyssa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Logically, rationally, she knew Garth’s story was just that: a story. It held no truth. There were no beings possessing ‘magic powers’. There couldn’t be. If there was even a kernel of veracity to the beginnings of this creation myth, it was most probable that these ancient ‘Titans’ of his had been Offworlders in possession of supremely advanced tech, and that their defeat at the hands of their children, these so-called ‘Gods and Goddesses’ had been as a result of a war. “Go on.” She said, forcing bemusement into her voice.
“Anyways, these people were responsible for, um, creating people.” Garth held up a hand when Alyssa visibly flinched. “It’s a story, Si Chairwoman. That’s all. Like I was saying, the Titans were defeated and their children ruled the earth. They kept Mankind ignorant and enslaved. Forced to worship and idolize an entire pantheon of Gods and Goddesses, there was, if you believe this sort of thing, little hope that they’d ever amount to anything. They were little more than grubs scrabbling in the dirt, terrified of their betters.”
“But they had one thing on their side. Or, I should say, a Titan named Prometheus.” Garth smiled inwardly when Alyssa shifted again. “Now, Prometheus was a big fan of Humanity. Saw us for what we could become, and he was always running around trying to help us out. Zeus –who was the head honcho, you can think of him as Chairman, if you like- loved sacrificial offerings. He continually demanded the best of everything from his people, leaving them with table scraps. One day, Prometheus played a trick on the guy: he left two offerings. One was beef –shubin- wrapped inside an animal stomach and the other was bones covered in fat. A magical trap, choosing one or the other would lock Zeus into being able to have only that type of offering for eternity. So either the mean god chose the less palatable looking offering of sustenance or the super-cool choice that was all crummy bones. Zeus – who might’ve been a god but he was also a guy and all guys are basically idiots when confronted with a choice between vanilla and chocolate- chose the fat-covered bones and was immediately bound by his choice. Because of Prometheus, Humanity would finally find the sustenance they needed to prosper. In retaliation, Zeus stole the gift of fire from the people, throwing them into a Dark Age. Prometheus stole the fire back and thus, Humanity was once again uplifted. In retaliation for this betrayal, Zeus bound the Titan to a rock with unbreakable chains, and every day, an eagle flew from the heavens to eat his liver, and every night, it grew back.”
Garth gestured wide with his hands. “Like I said, pretty interesting, right? I mean, here we are in a system immune to Dark Ages, and you guys are all walking around with Prometheus Devices on your arms. It’s a crazy connection, I admit, but the moment I saw the name, I couldn’t help but think of that old creation story. Funny thing, though; no matter where I looked, no matter how deep I tried to dig, I couldn’t find a single solid bit of evidence to explain why Latelyspace has never suffered a Dark Age.” He paused, looking significantly at the Chairwoman’s prote. “I mean, it’s almost like Prometheus is here, keeping the fires –or in this case, technology- working for you and no one else.”
Alyssa schooled her countenance as never before. Impossible! Either Garth Nickels possessed an intellect very nearly bordering on the infinite or, –as much as she positively loathed the idea- his hoary old creation myth, while sounding like he’d made it up on the spot, had in fact somehow influenced the name of the device on her arm. No one outside the Chair suspected that the Prometheus Device, or the First Engine, were responsible for their immunity to the Dark Ages. She’d seen the parallels of Garth’s implausible tale from the start and it discomfited her in ways she couldn’t express.
They owed no one thanks, no one fealty for their impossible survival. They might’ve found the device and the main, they might’ve figured out how to make more, but it’d been them. No one had given them anything. They had taken.
Alyssa laughed, uncomfortably aware it sounded hollow. “Interesting tale, sa, but I did not call you here to tell me bedtime stories.”
“All right, then,” Garth replied lazily, “why don’t you tell me why I am here.”
“What are your intentions?” Alyssa smiled with all the friendly wattage she could muster. Internally, decades of political training and instinct died from shock and there was still the uncomfortable knowledge that Garth didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. Technically, it was only fair, as she felt the same way towards him, but she was the leader of an entire solar system while he was just … just a man.
“My ’intentions’.” Garth gestured behind him to Veo and Scoom. “You sent these guys out to get me just so to find out my five year plan?”
“I dispatched those two men to ensure nothing untoward happened in the hospital, sa.” Alyssa went to flash some data to Garth, and frowned for a long, shaky moment; she’d automatically treated him like a native, even when he was, well, the enemy. Shaking her head at an unruly subconscious, she sent the footage to the wall-Screen behind her.
On the Screen, noted actress–turned-pop-star Indra Sahari was being mobbed by a horde of eager reporters desperate for a sound bite for the afternoon go
ssip shows. All twelve of her bodyguards struggled mightily to maintain a level of safety without physically thrashing any reporters. Eventually a cameraman got a little risky with his remote-controlled, hand-sized hovercam and got a fist the size of a spaceship to the side of the head.
As expected, chaos erupted instantly, and the video shoot turned into a collage, mainly consisting of close-ups of fists, elbows and knees as the bodyguards waded into the crowd. The footage stopped abruptly when one of the guards grabbed hold of the offending camera and actually bit it in half.
“Christ on a cracker!” Garth’s eyebrows shot up off the top of his head. “Did he eat it?”
Ignoring Garth’s indecorous statement, Alyssa answered. “Only half of the device was consumed. He was taken to the hospital for a stomach pump, but only after being sedated from a distance. I’m told they recovered a piece of the camera, several cash tokens, and someone’s mostly digested pinky finger. Indra Sahari is very popular. But,” Doans turned the Screen off, “that’s not why I showed you the footage, sa. What you saw there is barely an indication of what’s going on in the streets with these newshounds.”
“Paparazzi.” Garth supplied. He’d run across the word ‘newshounds’ during his reading and he thought it was a stupid word. Apt, sure, but Latelians –while being brilliant across the board- were absolutely pathetic at coming up with names and words that sounded cool. Newshounds. Bah.
“I’m sorry?” It was Alyssa’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Back on Earth, it got to the point where paparazzi –photographers and cameramen- would do anything to get the story. The juicier the better. Naked pics of celebs doing weird things to one another were great, brought in big dollars. Got so bad people started getting killed. Famous people back in my time were notoriously unstable roughly two thousand percent of the time and they went bendy if pushed.”
“Yes, well,” Alyssa made a note to slide that word into public use, “as I was saying, that was quite tame. We’re a robust people, sa, and unafraid to get physical.”
