The Serene Invasion

by Eric Brown

  It was still there, a narrow premises with chrome chairs and tables set outside on the sidewalk. She entered the café and saw that the table in the window, where she had sat ten years ago, was vacant. She ordered a mocha and was immediately flooded with a slew of memories. She found herself fighting back the tears at Bilal’s betrayal. She stared through the window at the crowds passing by oblivious outside and wondered what Bilal was doing now.

  She had adapted quickly to life on Mars. Of course she had had Kapil with her, which made all the difference. They had married within a year of settling in the city of Escarpment, and had soon found themselves with a network of friends, the core of which was Geoff and Sally Allen. She had always been a survivor, but had always needed to have the safety net of friends — in the early days the children who lived with her at Howrah Station and later on at the wilderness city. The first few years on Mars had been eased by Geoff and Sally’s warmth, which had gone a long way towards banishing the pain she felt at what her brother had tried to do to her.

  At first it was as if she had excised the incident from her memory; she had not allowed her thoughts to dwell on New York and Bilal, had not even discussed the incident with Kapil.

  Then, shortly after the birth of her son, all that had changed; it was as if she had reached a place of safety from which she could look back with impunity and consider what had happened all those years ago.

  And, surprising herself, she found that she did not hate Bilal for what he had tried to do. Despite the hurt that she still felt, she pitied him. He had been driven by motives unknown to her, motives imparted no doubt by the organisation for which he worked. Slowly the idea of tracking him down and confronting him had taken root and grown, to be dismissed at first and then, latterly, to be considered as a very real option if she wished to move on. She wanted to put the incident behind her, find out just why he had done what he had done, and perhaps learn if he’d had time to regret his actions. She thought that that would be unlikely, but she was curious to find out nevertheless.

  She was curious, too, about how the Serene might have censored, or even punished, her brother. He had committed a crime directly opposed to the Serene’s regime on Earth, had sided with the Obterek, and she wondered what punishment, if any, the Serene might have seen fit to mete out to Bilal.

  She finished her mocha and realised that the anguish she thought she might experience here, a recapitulation of the confusion and fear she had gone through ten years ago, had failed to transpire. Smiling to herself, she left the café and walked south towards the rearing skyscraper where the Morwell organisation had its headquarters.

  She strolled in the sunlight with crowds of smiling New Yorkers. There was a carnival atmosphere in the air, and she might have been forgiven for thinking that there was some special event towards which the citizens were heading, a concert or arts festival.

  She stared around her at the smiling faces. Many people here were so young that they had never known a world without the influence of the Serene; others were old enough to recall the old times, and to cherish the new.

  As she turned along the street on which the Morwell tower stood, she thought back to what Nina Ricci had told them at the Allen’s party. It was odd, but she had never really questioned the motives of the Serene; she had seen the beneficial effect of their intervention in the affairs of humankind, and felt disinclined to ascribe any motive other than altruism. So she had no idea exactly what she and thousands of other human representatives did in the obelisks, but so what? And as for what the Serene were doing on the outer edges of the solar system…? Again, she felt disinclined to enquire; she trusted the Serene, and left it at that.

  But, she wondered now, shouldn’t she feel just the slightest curiosity?

  She recalled an argument she’d had with the prickly Nina Ricci. Ricci had just been elected to the legislative assembly of Mars and was understandably full of herself. They had been at one of the Allens’ monthly parties, and Ana had said something about the effect of the Serene being wholly good. Nina, whose clinical intelligence and thick skin inured her to the criticism of her peers, had turned on Ana and snapped, “What an ill-considered statement, Ana. How can you say that when you are not in full command of all the facts?”

  Ana had blinked, surprised at the vitriol in the Italian’s tone. “But I’m basing the statement on what I have experienced of society and how it’s been affected by the arrival of the Serene. Anyway, what facts might I possess that would make me think otherwise?”

  Nina had smiled her insufferably self-satisfied smile and said, “Until we understand the motivations of the Serene, we can only make partial and ill-formed judgements. Stating that the effect of the Serene has been wholly good is dangerous.”

  Others at this point had entered the argument, and Ana had taken the opportunity to slip away from the group.

  Since then, she had wondered increasingly at the motives of the Serene — but for the life of her could only discern the benefits of their intervention.

  She stopped on the sidewalk and craned her head to take in the enormity of the tower before her. It rose dizzyingly, and she experienced a kind of vertigo as she strained to see to the very summit of the glass-enclosed needle. At the top, tiny at this distance, was the rotating Morwell Organisation symbol, an entwined MO surrounded by laurel leaves — a touch which Ana thought either crass or ironic.

  She wondered if she would find her brother unchanged in ten years; would he still be the same brash, materialistic, Serene-hating businessman she had encountered last time? Or might the intervening years and his experience of the Serene have worked to mellow him?

  She stepped through the sliding glass doors and crossed an atrium the size of an arboretum — which it resembled, with its overabundance of potted palms and leafy ferns.

  She found the reception desk and approached a smiling, uniformed woman in her twenties with the beauty and hauteur of a catwalk model.

  “I wonder if you might be able to help me? I’d like to make an appointment to meet Bilal Devi, Mr James Morwell’s –”

  Smiling the woman interrupted, “I’m afraid that James Morwell is no longer associated with the Morwell Organisation.”

  Ana blinked. “And his personal assistant, Bilal Devi?”

  “One moment, please…” She turned to a softscreen on her desktop and played long fingers across its surface.

  She looked up, her smiled fixed, and said, “My records show that Mr Devi left the Organisation almost nine years ago.”

  The information surprised Ana. “He left? Ah… do you have any idea where he might be found?”

  The receptionist’s smile became sympathetic. “I’m sorry, no, Ms…?”

  “Devi. Ana Devi. You see, Bilal Devi is my brother and I am trying to find him.”

  The woman appeared sympathetic. “Perhaps…” She glanced at her screen again. “What I can do is refer you to Personnel. There is a chance that they might be able to help.”

  Ana thanked the woman who stroked her screen, tapped her fingers in a blur, then looked up at Ana and said, “If you go to the Personnel office on the fiftieth floor, Helena Lopez will see you at once.”

  She thanked the receptionist again and made her way to the elevator pods.

  On her ascent to the fiftieth floor, Ana wondered why Bilal had left the Morwell Organisation. It was too much to hope that he had seen the error of his ways, she thought; more likely that he had been sacked — a demotion organised by the Serene?

  The head of Personnel turned out to be a motherly woman in her sixties who listened to Ana’s story with a sympathetic smile, then referred to a softscreen.

  “Here we are… Bilal Devi. He resigned his post as James Morwell’s PA in August 2037, just after James made an attempt to kill himself.”

  “Do you have any record of where my brother went, or might be now?”

  “That kind of information is not kept on our records… But I know someone who knew Bilal around the time of h
is resignation. If you would care to wait while I…?”

  “Of course.”

  The woman murmured something into a throat-mic, waited for a reply, then smiled across at Ana. “Ben will be down shortly. Can I get you a coffee?”

  Ana thanked the woman but refused the offer of a coffee; she was feeling hyped enough at the idea of speaking with someone who knew her brother at the time of his resignation.

  She looked at the woman. “You said that James Morwell attempted to kill himself?”

  “More than once, I’m told. Of course he didn’t get far… but could you blame him, with a father like Edward Morwell?”

  Ana shrugged. “I don’t know anything about…” she began.

  “He was a tyrant, believe me. I worked here when Edward Morwell ran the ship. Ruthless? And the way he treated his son… Rumour is that he beat James daily. The poor man never recovered. Ah, here’s Ben.”

  Lopez made the introductions and Ben Aronica hitched himself onto the desk and nodded at Ana. “I knew Lal. Not that we were close, but we worked on various projects. He was driven, and worshipped James. When the boss tried to jump off…” Ben raised a forefinger above his head… “the company logo, Lal brought him down. We were all watching. James began spasming well before he reached the plinth. It was… pathetic is the only way to describe what happened.” Ben shrugged. “James stood down after that, then vanished not long after. I’ve no idea where he is now.”

  “And Bilal?”

  “He resigned a few days after James attempted to kill himself.”

  “Do you know why he resigned? Did he give you a reason?”

  “I’m sorry. He never said.”

  Ana took a breath and said, “Do you know where I might be able to find my brother now, Mr Aronica?”

  Ben smiled. “He went back to India, to Kolkata.” He rolled up his right sleeve and accessed his softscreen implant. “And I might even have his address.”

  Her heart beating wildly, Ana watched him stroke the screen.

  India… she thought; he went back to Kolkata!

  Ben said, “Here it is. We were in contact for a while, eight years ago. He sent his address, though of course he might have moved on since then. He was at 1025 Nanda Chowk,” He looked at Ana. “I hope that’ll be some use.”

  Ana beamed. “I can’t begin to thank you…” she began, before something caught in her throat.

  She thanked them again and made her way from the Morwell Organisation skyscraper, elation filling her chest. The sunlight greeted her as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and the people of New York seemed to be smiling with her.

  She made her way to the Times Square obelisk and booked transit to India.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN MIAMI, JAMES Morwell purchased a Porsche 600 horsepower speedboat, moored it at the exclusive Simmons’ Marina, and stocked it with provisions sufficient to last a week. He wondered, while ferrying the cartons aboard the boat, what might have happened had he attempted to set off without food and water: would the boat refuse to start, or would he find himself going in circles and arriving back at the marina, his bid to end his life thwarted once again?

  He recalled considering this form of suicide many years ago. He even wondered if, in the year lost to drug and alcohol addiction, he might have made a similar bid, and failed.

  He wondered how the Serene would quash his attempt to end his life this time.

  He set off at midday and headed south, then set the boat on auto-pilot and retired to the galley. There he cooked himself what he hoped would be his last meal, chicken kiev with roast potatoes, washed down with a bottle of champagne. He carried the tray to the foredeck and, as he sailed steadily away from the Florida coast, sat in the sunlight and ate.

  By the end of the meal, and the bottle, he was a little drunk.

  As the sun went down he returned to the galley and carried his provisions, box by box, to the foredeck. There he stacked them on top of each other until he had every scrap of food, and all the canisters of water, waiting to be despatched.

  The question was, would the Serene allow him to jettison the provisions?

  He stood beside the rail and considered the darkening ocean, then reached out and pushed the topmost carton. It tumbled over the side and splashed into the sea. Smiling, he pushed the second box and, encouraged, lifted the third and fourth and pitched them over the rail. Then the last box went over, and the final canister of water, and he laughed aloud in triumph and staggered below-deck to his berth.

  The following day he sat in the light of the sun and stared at the horizon as the boat carried him south.

  He wanted to die, but he had no desire to suffer the painful effects of starvation. To this end he had brought a supply of heroin, and when the first hunger pangs griped him, he injected himself and slipped into oblivion.

  He had no recollection of how many days elapsed; one day phased into another, a long stretch of stupefied euphoria. His world consisted of the dazzling sun and the scintillating sea, the up and down motion of the boat as it rode the swell. At some point he must have switched off the engine, or the boat must have run out of diesel, as it sat becalmed on the ocean, laved alternatively by sunlight and moonlight while he sprawled on a mattress on the foredeck and laughed insanely to himself.

  Kat came to him in his dreams, and in his waking hallucinations, offering a solicitous hand — and Lal showed himself too, always sneering.

  He passed in and out of consciousness, in and out of periods of clarity, and during the latter he wondered if, truly, this time he might have beaten the Serene.

  He was a thousand miles from civilisation and any hope of succour; he had no food and water… He must surely now be close to death?

  Had a week elapsed, two? He was weak; he could hardly move from his prone position on the mattress. It was all he could do to raise his head and stare out across the calm waters of the ocean.

  He saw flying fish glint in the air, and porpoises arcing from the sea in graceful parabolas.

  The same day he made out another silver-blue glint across the foredeck. At first he thought that a flying fish had flopped aboard, but as he raised himself onto his elbows and stared, the glint expanded.

  He wondered if this were yet another hallucination. A featureless blue figure sat cross-legged before him on the foredeck, serene in its motionlessness. He smiled at his choice of words. Serene? Very far from… But what did it want?

  He sat up, his head spinning, his vision blurring. The figure stared at him; at least, its smooth, featureless headpiece looked in his direction. At last a voice sounded in his head, calm, neutral, soothing. “We want, James Morwell, exactly what you want.”

  He blinked. He certainly was hallucinating — but, unlike the other visions that had haunted him, this one was welcome.

  “And what is that?”

  “An end to the regime of the Serene in this solar system, and… your annihilation.”

  He stared at the pulsing blue figure, its depthless innards swirling with a dozen shades of lapis lazuli. “My annihilation?”

  “Is that not what you have been attempting for ten years? Is that not why you are here, aboard this boat, in a futile attempt to end you life?”

  He bridled. “Futile?”

  The Obterek sat like Buddha, calm, unflappable. “Futile, because the Serene would not allow you to kill yourself.”

  He laughed. “But how could they stop me this time?”

  “You would be found, rescued, brought back from the brink of death. In fact, as we speak, a liner has been diverted and will arrive to effect your rescue in a little under three hours.”

  He felt pain and despair well within him. “No!” he cried pathetically. “No, not this time!” He shook his head. “I want to die! You can have no concept of what it’s like to be denied…”

  He hung his head and sobbed. He tried to stagger to his feet and pitch himself overboard, but he was far too weak to even climb to his knees.

  The Obter
ek sat silently, watching him.

  He said, almost pleading, “What do you want? Why are you…?” He stretched out his hand to the being.

  “We want to help you, James Morwell. We want to assist you in your desire to kill yourself.”

  He stared at the blue creature, not daring to laugh for fear of insulting the Obterek and sending it away.

  He whispered, “You can do that? You can help me kill myself?”

  The being inclined its head. “We can do that.”

  He leaned forward, eager. “Then do it! Now! Kill me… I’ve had enough. I want nothing more than to be allowed to die.”

  The Obterek sat impassively, staring at him with its featureless face.

  “What?” Morwell whispered, fearful now that the creature would not carry out its promise.

  “We will help you die, James Morwell, but in return we require your assistance.”

  “My assistance? What could you possibly want from me?”

  “We want you to help us assassinate someone — and in so doing bring about the beginning of the end of the Serene in the solar system.”

  He stared, open-mouthed, and it was some time before he marshalled his thoughts and asked, “How would this be possible? Kill one person, and bring about the end…?” He shook his head. “And what of the Serene charea?”

  “It is possible if we use you, James Morwell, if we — if I — inhabit you, take you over. If I became one with you, a tiny part of you, I would go undetected by the Serene. Then we would be able to approach the subject, and inhabit her. We would for brief second be in control of the subject, and be able to guide it into what the Serene call the takrea…”

  Morwell repeated the word, excited by what the Obterek had told him.

  The blue being said, “The takrea is the obelisk on Titan. It is the… quantum engine… if you like, that powers the charea in the solar system. I carry within me the means to destroy the takrea, and so cease the rule of the charea, and so free the human race at last and set it on its true course.”