Chaos Cipher

by Den Harrington

  ‘There are people around here,’ said Daryl, ‘like the Lewis family who want that crypto to make this place an Atominii competitor.’

  ‘Well,’ Enaya shrugged, ‘if that’s what the majority want then naturally we’ll become one, but until the syndicates decide together to agree on it, then Lewis will have to keep dreaming. Besides, Agent Twain may not be all that good. This anonymous investor could be trying to test us and stir trouble. We have to be careful. Greed is a real divider of interests.’

  There were voices echoing through the room now, and footsteps lightly and quickly pattering towards them.

  ‘Coordinator Enaya?’ Dak yelled.

  ‘Right here,’ she called, walking back inside.

  She saw Dak moving behind the stone pillars looking around and asking administration operators and gardeners if they had seen Enaya Chahuán when someone pointed to the veranda where she stood with Daryl.

  ‘Enaya,’ Dak said, his face taut with an attempted smile, ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘Goodness, Dak,’ she chuckled, ‘you’re running around in this weather. Slow down, what’s wrong?’

  A moment later Sonja Jenner and Boris Isaac also arrived holding the infant’s life pod between them as an almost presentation.

  ‘We found a signal coming from Onyx Waters,’ Dak began to explain. ‘So I thought I’d go out and take a look around.’

  ‘I thought Onyx Waters was raided by Blue Lycans?’ the senior coordinator said from Enaya’s right side.

  ‘It was,’ Dak confirmed. ‘We thought there might be survivors beaconing for help.’

  ‘We weren’t wrong,’ Sonja spoke.

  ‘What do you have there?’ Enaya asked.

  Together they rested the pod gently on a nearby table and opened the capsule. Enaya seemed ambivalently occupied on the device as she stepped closer and discerned at last the sleeping child within.

  ‘A baby?’ she said in almost a whisper.

  ‘Not just a baby,’ said Boris with ironic enthusiasm. ‘He’s an Olympian Genetic.’

  She put her fingers gently on the fabric and leaned in to listen to the child’s irregular feather light breaths.

  ‘The mother?’

  ‘Deceased,’ said Dak wearily. ‘We think. We don’t even know if the woman was the mother or…I don’t know. She was dead whoever she was.’

  Enaya Chahuán looked anxiously back at her friend and advisor Daryl and the older man stepped close and ran his Quantic-W arm device over the baby.

  ‘A tail?’ he said in disbelief. The man held the sleeve of his arm over the child and optically magnified the phenomenon onto the material. ‘Well I’ll be god-damned. A Gene-freak!’

  Enaya started to become febrile. ‘We can’t have an Olympian Genetic here Dak.’

  ‘I know’ said Dak. ‘They’re globally banned; I thought they were all banished from the Earth?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Enaya added indignantly. ‘You said you found a Blue Lycan? I heard they were Olympian warriors.’

  ‘Enaya,’ said Daryl gently ‘this causes a bit of a problem. It’s pitiful that this infant is a victim of parricide and doubly so to be in this new situation. But if this child is detected...’

  ‘I’m very aware of the consequences.’ Enaya said bluntly.

  ‘We can’t put him back…’ Sonja said. ‘I won’t do that.’

  Enaya gently closed the pod again and sealed the child into his silent cocoon.

  ‘Here’s the problem,’ she said carefully, then turned to face them with a remorseful countenance. ‘Daryl and I were just discussing that our mines are running dangerously low. The resources we supply to the Atominii are what stop them from making a military playground out of this place. That’s what sets us apart from other precariat zones.

  ‘Recent calculations show our yield will only last another fifteen years and the miners say the machines are going slowly. If the Atominii realise this…’

  ‘Then we’re fucked!’ Daryl came in.

  ‘No need to be salacious,’ said Enaya, ‘but yes, fucked would be a way of putting it. That gives us fifteen years of keeping the Atominii nations and Titan cyber-soldiers off our backs.’

  ‘So if they find out about this,’ said Daryl pointing at the life pod. ‘If they find out we’re providing political asylum to a Gene-freak they’ll show no restraint,’ and Daryl shook his head slowly and repeated, ‘no restraint.’

  ‘How will they see him if they’re never here,’ Sonja argued, ‘it’s not like they have people from the Atominii come visit our city. They see us as impoverished scum.’

  ‘Also,’ Dak added, ‘don’t we have them electro-magnetic defences based in the surrounding elevator towers for the mines? The moment those Titan nanomes come hovering around here they’re fried almost right away. And we’ve got drone-hunters on the peripheries in the Novus. They can’t spy on us, right?’

  ‘It’s not a guarantee, and you know it,’ Enaya countered. ‘But listen, like I said, let the collective will of East B’One decide.’

  ‘I intend to make an appeal,’ Sonja said decisively, stepping forward to retrieve the life pod. ‘I’ll make the appeal and end it to the Federation for you to publish on the Q-net for consensus.’

  ‘No,’ said Enaya shaking her head.

  ‘Why not?’ said Sonja, growing hostile.

  ‘Because the integration should be natural if there is to be one.’

  ‘What do you mean natural?’ Boris asked.

  ‘How many times must we publish an appeal to welcome a new member to our city?’

  There was a pause and Dak answered for them.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Never,’ Enaya repeated. ‘The child is an Olympian and I admit this is a strange situation, but if you start treating him like this situation is any different from the start then you’re going to draw unintended negativity. And there is nothing in our constitution about fostering an Olympian Genetic into the city.’

  ‘So what?’ asked Boris, ‘we just pretend like he’s normal?’

  ‘If you want him to survive and fit in quickly,’ said Enaya, ‘then yes. There are hundreds of thousands of people here; got to bet not all of us are open-minded.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t fit in?’ Dak asked.

  ‘Cross the bridge when you come to it, the democratic decision should not come down to whether or not we should bring the child in. It should come when discussing what to do about difficult situations as they occur, like getting rid of a menace to our society. Until then…let’s not presume him to be a menace.’

  ‘But he’s an Olympian specimen.’ Boris tried.

  ‘No,’ Enaya disagreed, ‘he’s a baby, and if we abandon him we also abandon our own humanity. I don’t think there will be many who disagree with that statement here. I don’t believe people are born with original sin, I certainly see no evidence of people born to be evil, if we don’t do this we’re denying him a chance.’

  Sonja stepped in and put her arms around Enaya, hugging her firmly she thanked her for her advice.

  ‘It’s what I’m here for,’ she smiled softly.

  *

  Once the message was out, Dak had overheard various people asking about the child. He’d even been approached by familiar faces he’d seen around the city’s vibrant cultural hubs, smiles he’d seen in the Minerva Meadows.

  ‘It’s true,’ he’d tell them in droves. ‘Yes we found a kid in the abandoned areas, can you believe it?’

  ‘Move it guys c’mon let them get home.’ Boris was shouting as he pushed forward and cleared a path for Sonja and Dak.

  ‘No Gene-freaks!’ A voice hollered. ‘I’ve seen what those bastards can do!’

  ‘Hey pipe down!’ Another called, ‘we welcomed you and yours, Cerise Timbers is an open door society! If you come in peace, you’re welcome to stay.’

  ‘No root, no fruit!’ Another called, starting an optimistic chant that brought a warming smile to Sonja.

  ‘Hands t
hat can build and plan,’ said another.

  ‘Come on move out the way guys,’ Boris kept yelling.

  The few who had heard about the baby, those most curious, were recent migrants from the Atominii. Many still had their implants showing, their heads freckled with optical contacts and one or two metallic data-points. Some had cybernetic eyes, cruelly deactivated by the Atominii once they were abandoned and left to Cerise Timbers to reactivate, a job many of the hospitals struggled with since the painful deactivation burned out neural paths. As for those who had been in Cerise Timbers much longer, their interest was minimal, their curiosity passive, their need for sensation already satisfied by their own experience and modest comforts. They did their part to dispel the rabble.

  Dak and Sonja slipped out of the daylight, down into the subway where trains and auto-vehicles circulated freely throughout the city. Dak was already calling the nearest unoccupied car from the nearest parking lot and it swerved racing onto the curving subways and broached swiftly into the parking bay, slipping between one of two other vehicles. Vehicles were not common in the city and only about two hundred were in circulation, since the trains and gondolas were most efficient.

  Dak took Sonja by the wrist and guided her through the crowd clinging protectively to the baby in the life-pod. A few people already leaving one of the cars stared in confusion at the small crowd bustling by them, and intervened to protect Dak and Sonja when one or two became hostile.

  ‘You shouldn’t be bringing Olympians here!’ One of the old Titans had yowled.

  ‘Back off!’ Boris shouted, his big arms pushing out aggressively. ‘Just back off. You don’t like it? Take a fucking hike back to the boarders, Titan!’ Boris hissed the last word to stress the irony. But it had flown over the man’s head, a wit lost on his vehement prejudice for the so called Olympians. ‘See if they’ll take you back, yeah?’

  ‘Its fine,’ Dak assured Sonja, as Boris stepped into the vehicle with them.

  ‘There are always one or two idiots no matter where you go,’ Boris smiled nervously as he settled in.

  The vehicle took off as Dak voiced their address, and Sonja watched from the window as one or two of the old Atominii gatherers were left shuffling around the parking bay.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ she sighed. ‘Those people come here looking for something better. An alternative life. Still they can’t imagine it without their old prejudices. It’s like they don’t realise how their last civilisation shaped their views.’

  ‘Took me a while to see through the fog Sonja,’ Boris reasoned, biting his nails as he watched the Titans vanish into the reaching sub-roads beyond the windows of their vehicle. ‘For some people it’s pointless to see pastures when you don’t understand their purpose. They have to learn, y’know. I guess for some it takes longer than others.’

  ‘And you?’ Sonja said.

  Boris smiled faintly.

  ‘I can come around to living a different lifestyle. I was a rich man once. Poverty taught me to be dynamic.’ Boris turned his head dryly and said, ‘I just hope you’re right about the Gene-freaks. Because if you’re not it’ll be on all our heads.’

  *

  It took only a few minutes to drive back. Their habitation complex was a multi-storey building amassed with sweet smelling flowers and overgrown with viands and ivy. The interior corridors were clear of plant life, and not a drop of litter lay on the floors since communal spirit had been developed to respect the space they had worked for. The air was cool inside and carried with it the various smells of boiling vegetables, herbs and rice. They heard the voices and laughter of other inhabitants echo through the hallways; they heard foreign languages, the zip and grind of a remote control car. One of the delivery drones buzzed above them on its way to deliver something. The laughter of kids roared and squealed in the distance, the muted sonic beats crackling from a nearby ghetto blaster.

  Strips of electric light panels vertically lit every corner and doorway, and as Dak and Sonja reached home the door’s proximity sensor detected their quantics and opened automatically.

  The main room was rounded with the shape of the building. A panoramic window strip opening the view of the outside habitats allowed daylight to slant in, catching silvery motes in the air. They had a busy place, filled with a jumble of hand crafted gifts from the Minerva Meadows, delicately cut shapes carved of different kinds of wood, dream catchers dangling from the ceiling, canvases with colourful fine arts and crafts. They even had a collection of old books stacked in towers all around. They had circulated through the city from person to person, many of which detailed anatomy and some of which involved cooking. The books were tagged for their open source library; others were just spare unwanted papers. Mostly, the city’s Q-net catered for their contextual information when more was needed, but physical books were a treasure in Cerise Timbers. Dak was as happy as the next person to pass books on and receive new titles as and when they circulated. Sometimes a book collector would call by, keen to seek out new titles designated to his address and offer him alternative titles in exchange.

  A doorway led outside to a communal garden that was half way up the building, and a stairway leading further up the garden head at the very top. Even now he could hear the faint trawling and voices of gardeners collecting legumes and potatoes and preparing the soil for another seeding. Their home had several chairs and stools, an open worktop for knives and cutting tools and a mat that could be unrolled into a graphene stove that heated on contact with pans. He’d left a stack of washing which still needed taking out to the spin-basins.

  ‘Home at last,’ Sonja breathed, setting the electronic lock on the door.

  They set the baby onto a living room sofa and Dak opened the casket and peered at the child again.

  ‘I don’t know why we found you little man.’ Sonja said softly. ‘Some secrets do bind people closer.’

  -6-

  13 Years Later

  With steady articulation, the Erebus drifted into earth’s shaded penumbra; a lambent shuttle falling in towards the cylindrical spike of the Orandoré orbital station. The Solar Navy Alliance had been expecting the return now for close to a decade, back when the ship was first detected returning home. Coherent communication transmissions traversed the network, operators coordinated correct docking procedures with the International Orbital station Orandoré, taking over the ship’s auto-pilot. Guidance AI from the station needed to hack the ship and guide it around to follow the geostationary rotation and chase down the docking hatch, probably the most cumbersome part of the job, but no station operator here would disrepute their own part as insubstantial to the station’s AI, as synergy was all inclusive.

  ‘Trajectory agreed. Mandating new vector regulations.’

  ‘Stand-by boosters.’

  ‘Vector regulations set. Meridian compellers locked.’

  ‘Periapsis set, tethers engaged.’

  ‘Docking clamps are a go, ready to receive.’

  ‘Copy HQ. Manual trajectory disengaged. Auto-pilot functional. Scanning azimuth alignments. Alignments agreed.’

  ‘Data-coherent calibrating. Stand-by ten seconds.’

  ‘Window confirmed.’

  The Erebus rolled until the Earth hung directly above it and its nose pitched into one of the twelve lit docking station arms of the Orandoré station, pushing forth on the stable docking clamps. Huge solar panels tilted to orient the roll engines backwards and an umbilical walkway extended to the shuttle, a magnetic mouth connecting to its side.

  A great rush of pressure blasted into the Erebus’ airlock port, equalising apparently a damaged conduit that had depressurised inside the ship, an expected occurrence from the station, which had raised the atmospheric pressure in the umbilical in readiness for the event. Thick films of cosmic ice and grit shed from its fuselage and door, which wheeled back into the Erebus shell for the first time in two-hundred comparative Earth years, (in relative space-time, it had only been shy of a year for the Erebus and her c
rew.) Jets of spray fired out to wash away radioactive particles charged in the cosmic exposure. There should have been a rapture of applause awaiting the returning Chrononauts’ historical adventure, but instead there was an investigation team, preparing themselves for the worst.

  ‘Major damage to the anchors and stabiliser arrays,’ an operator reported. ‘Looks like a tear, part of the ship’s external riggings torn away. Some superficial hull repairs have also been carried out on the fuselage. It looks like the crew deliberately cut parts of her away. What a mess...’

  Sweeping scans revealed three potential life forms on board. Two revivable entities were in deep freeze, but one had thawed out three weeks early to wonder the ship. Colonel Max Elba had been through an intensive three week series of training exercises for this, preparing his crew for a variety of potential scenarios. He had once been part of a growing culture of impoverished migrants surviving systemic racism in the precariat zones of the Megalo-Britai’s capital, Londonii. Most of his youth he’d spent savaging scraps of the old world from the flooded city beneath the Atominii for gold, circuits, batteries, data-documents, or fighting off cyborgs and rival gangs trying to occupy storm shelters. With a hard life behind him he saw no harm in joining up for Syridan, they were always keen to take on meat shields for their various Peace-Keeper projects across the old world of Europe, and one way or another Max Elba swore he’d give his life fighting on his feet and not starving in the gutters anymore. Joining the enemy was a common route that he knew had no real honour, but not everybody had the physical capacity to make it too and when it came to his strength he held himself in high regard.