by Barry Kirwan
He nodded. He thought about the hundreds of times he’d ‘gone under’ back on Earth, surfing data landscapes and telemetry from the Ulysses, as well as the earlier Prometheus and Heracles missions to Eden. He remembered however his last few trips: Rudi’s nightmarish digi-world, and the encounter with an alien intelligence – which he now knew to have been the Hohash – buried in the data slipstream. That last little spin on the Optron had put him in a coma.
The tech guy touched a pad, and first the skull-cap, then something inside Micah’s head, began to hum. His vision turned grainy, then black and white, then black. Anaesthetized needles extended from the headband and burrowed into his skull – at least that’s what it felt like. He could still sense his own body, and knew it was tense, muscles flexed, jaw clenched. Then, abruptly, the pain ceased, and the floor fell away and he dropped into cold dark space.
He landed on a clammy floor with a squelching thump. It was just like the material on Q’Roth ships. He felt a little dizzy, but staggered to his feet. Something wasn’t right: no stars, definitely no planet – nothing. He searched in every direction, but all was black. “Exit,” he said, loud and clear. He tried it again, shouting the word. Now why am I not surprised that didn’t work? A clacking noise approached from behind him, but whichever way he turned, it was always behind, and getting closer. Eventually he stopped turning. I’m in someone else’s game. The other player halted just behind him. He thought of all the voices he could hear next, thousands of them. All of them would be welcome except one.
“Hello, Micah,” Louise said. “You’re looking well.”
* * *
Shakirvasta burst into the MCC. Sandy had never seen him panting for breath before, let alone looking dishevelled.
“We’ve … been … compromised.” He doubled over, clinging to the door handle for support. Sandy didn’t budge, but then she didn’t need to, Jennifer was at his side in an instant, helping him up. Sandy noted that Vasquez said nothing, just waited, taut as piano-wire.
Shakirvasta had been running, she supposed, unless this was all for show. However, the sweat tracks suggested otherwise.
He addressed alternately Jennifer and Vasquez, granting Sandy and Antonia occasional consolation glances. “Since we left Earth I’ve been setting up an intelligence and surveillance network –”
Sandy folded her arms. I bet you have.
“– with full cognisance from Commander Blake –”
Full, my ass!
“– including tracking every survivor from Earth. Yesterday, there was an additional person here, for several hours, first on Ramires’ ship, then in Esperantia.”
Clever to use the city’s new name so quickly. Maybe he and Josefsson are actually working together after all. But Sandy felt a gnawing in her stomach. This man was an out and out predator, a raptor, but maybe this time it wasn’t all a ploy.
“We’ve been doing some checking,” Shakirvasta continued. “When we left Earth I managed to salvage the latest Censid crystal –”
Shit! He has detailed data on the whole planet’s population!
“– and I compared its records with Vince’s own Chorizon Profiling Intel Data Crystal –”
This just gets better and better.
“– and there’s no mistake; yesterday’s visitor, one Jarvik Ardvisson, is an Alician.”
Sandy made the connection immediately, and turned to Vasquez, who had already picked up the comms link. “Ramires,” she whispered.
Vasquez nodded. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Wait!” Shakirvasta shouted. “We must assume they now know all our comms frequencies.”
Vasquez eyed him coolly, and proceeded in Spanish, which Sandy understood perfectly. “Ramires, this is Colonel Vasquez. Leave the ship now, your position is compromised. I suggest you run!”
The developing knot in her stomach tightened. Until this moment she hadn’t realised she cared anything for Ramires.
Vasquez tapped Micah on the shoulder, but there was no reaction. He continued speaking into the microphone, in English. “This is Colonel Vasquez in Ops. Code Kappa Alpha, I repeat, code Kappa Alpha.” He put down the thin mike and leant forward, studying the fluidic screen that was linked into Micah’s neural cortex.
Micah’s screen had been registering a dark snowstorm for several minutes now, Sandy realised, and Micah had been immobile. She’d assumed this was normal, but then she’d no idea what happened with these Optron contraptions. “Kappa Alpha?” she asked.
Jennifer spoke up. “It means radio silence: comms are compromised; all units execute their missions unless they hear the pre-arranged termination code.”
Vasquez slanted his head, eyeing Jennifer. “How do you know so much about mil ops. Hold on a minute,” he said, tilting his head back a little, scrutinising her face. “Your surname – O’Donnell. Are you Captain James O’Donnell’s daughter?”
Jennifer nodded, chin up.
And proud of it, too, Sandy thought, whoever the hell he was. But something about the surname snagged her memory too.
Vasquez saluted Jennifer. “One of the International Navy’s finest.”
Jennifer’s face closed up like a clam. Sandy assumed it was to avoid letting the emotions breach the surface.
“There was another hero in my family too. An unsung hero … my brother.” Her voice cracked.
A chill drilled down Sandy’s spine. No, no, NO! It can’t be. Gabriel? O’Donnell was his surname too. Her right hand automatically reached around behind her to the table top to steady herself, while the other instinctively cradled her belly. My God, she thought, I’m carrying Gabriel’s child, and this bitch is his sister? She eased herself backwards so the table ledge supported her weight.
“What’s wrong?” Antonia said.
Sandy jerked her head around, but was relieved to see Antonia wasn’t referring to her. Antonia raced over to Micah, leant over him to take a good look at his face, then almost shouted at Vasquez and the tech. “Bring him out of it, this isn’t right. I’ve watched him use the Optron before, and it wasn’t like this.”
Vasquez glanced to the tech, who manoeuvred himself in front of Micah, and began checking various wires and indicators. “Sir, I believe she’s right. We should extract him, there seems to be some kind of malfunction.”
Vasquez nodded. The tech depressed a touch panel. Micah’s body immediately arched backwards violently, his mouth sucking in a jagged breath, arms shaking spasmodically, forearms flexed and rigid as iron. Sandy watched helplessly as Micah’s face, eyes closed, contorted in pain. She’d seen her own asshole of a father die like this. “Cardiac arrest,” she said, “Jack him back in!”
The bewildered tech glanced from her to Vasquez.
“Do it”, Vasquez said. The tech punched a display icon, and Micah’s body slumped, his breathing fluttering back to normal.
“Sir,” the tech said, cascading through various screen displays and readouts, “I don’t know how, but his central nervous system has been tagged into the virtual world. It’s not supposed to happen, there are cut-outs everywhere to avoid this, but –”
“Louise,” Sandy said, flat. “Louise has him.” And this time she won’t let him go.
A stark alarm sounded, then another one. She knew what they signified. The first two Q’Roth hulks, emptied of people and supplies, had just jumped to God knew where. She folded her arms and held her elbows tight, trying not to display any emotion, but inside, her stomach churned. Run, Ramires, run for your life!
* * *
Ramires hurtled down the spiral walkway as fast as he could, careening down all nine levels, ricocheting off the sweating walls of the last Q’Roth transport. He sprinted so fast on the last level that his lungs barely kept pace, rendering his eyesight blotchy. He saw the open hatchway beckoning him, five metres away. A half-second later he felt the static on the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck that told him the ship was about to jump. With a sharp inbreath and then a guttural grunt he ki
cked off the ground and launched himself towards life, just as the scene luminesced towards a mercurial frozen death. Time slowed, and he was sure he was about to die. But he still travelled through the increasingly dense air-turning-fluid, slowly, getting slower. He was almost at the threshold, the inviting darkness almost within his reach, the brightening light clawing him backward to oblivion. He heard a voice, he was certain he did, and the deep tone could only have been that of his dead master, the last Sentinel Grandmaster, Cheveyo, who uttered two words.
Time unlocked and his body broke free and crash-landed into the dusty ground in the darkness. An ear-pummelling thunderclap rocked his sprawling body, a departing howl from the gargantuan Q’Roth vessel as it disappeared with its nuclear payload to somewhere, maybe the nearest star, but definitely not its target. He lay crumpled on Ourshiwann’s soil, his chest heaving, savouring the ground’s welcome harsh embrace, thankful for the stars up above, even if accompanied by a stinging thumping and ringing in his ears. He panted there for a full minute, arms spread wide, knees up, letting his heart decelerate.
He re-played it over in his mind. Had he really heard those words? What did they mean? Neither he, nor Cheveyo, nor any of the Sentinels were particularly religious, and didn’t believe in an afterlife. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and glanced down toward the valley and the hazy glow of the newly-inhabited spider city. He tracked across thirty degrees to the right, where he knew the stealth-coated MCC truck was located. He picked out two distant mountain tops to use as transits, checked stars to use as a third navigation aid, and set off on a fast run toward the command centre.
While he closed the distance between himself and the MCC, the words kept playing over and over again in his mind; just two words, with no explanation. Somehow, Cheveyo had secured him across the threshold, out of the de-materialising Q’Roth ship, back to life, in order to fulfil a mission. So he would do what he had been asked, no matter if he didn’t understand why.
He would protect Sandy.
* * *
Micah sat cross-legged on the floor. Louise hadn’t lingered. She’d told him to stay put, that she’d be back, and that a few things had changed. He hadn’t said anything, just watched her walk off into the darkness. She hadn’t killed him, at least. But he’d learned not to trust anything about Louise.
He wasn’t tired, since he knew that in the real world he was already in a chair – only his mind was trapped in this virtual holding cell. It was dark around him, but not completely: he could see ten metres or so in any direction – not that there was anything to see. He’d considered exploring, but had a bad feeling that he might get lost, and never be retrieved – if in fact he wasn’t already irretrievable. So he waited. Besides, during his early Optron training at the Zen centre in Palo Alto, he’d learned to meditate on the void, and this place pretty much looked like what he’d envisaged. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths, so as not to start ruminating on his imminent demise. He felt oddly calm, until he was pretty sure someone or something else was there with him.
He opened his eyes to find a Hohash in front of him, close enough to touch with his finger-tips. Its mirror face swirled with clouds of electric blues. He wondered if Louise had sent it, but that didn’t make sense, she’d probably never even seen one. The other option was that the others around his real body had somehow contacted one of these artefacts, and… But no, so far, only Kat had any luck in communicating with the Hohash, and she was lost, probably dead.
“How did you find me?” he said, fully expecting no answer. The swirling electric storm continued unabated. He decided to have a one-way conversation. Besides, as he’d once said to his Zen master, counting breaths is really boring. His fellow students had been shocked, but the tiny wizened man had belly-laughed, and said that Micah was ready to leave, while the others would have to stay a while longer.
Micah hadn’t had much contact with these artefacts, but since seeing the spider city, a burr had lodged in his mind. “Well,” he said, “what I’ve been wondering, you see, is…” he felt a little embarrassed. He coughed, and continued. “The spider city. It’s quaint and all that, and their artistic skills were clearly to die for. But the technology, it’s just not that surprising. It’s like they stopped innovating thousands of years ago. They developed a brilliantly sustainable ecological environment, built self-maintaining systems that would last millennia, and then … just sat back.”
He paused. Was this going anywhere? But he’d learned a long time ago to let his mind roam sometimes. Freud, or more probably Jung, would argue that the subconscious mind knew the target destination, and by talking it through, he’d eventually arrive.
“So, would a race driven to such technological marvels just stop like that? We didn’t. Our own love affair with technology has survived three world wars, any one of which should have sent a sensible race scattering back to their ancestral caves. And yet your masters did amazing things, and then just hung up their … whatever, and started sky-painting.” He could feel an idea beginning to resonate. He stood up, with almost no effort at all, speaking quicker, eager to find the root argument. “And another thing. Why didn’t they explore space? Staying tied to this planet was tantamount to an ostrich sticking its head in the sand, knowing other alien forces were out there.” Something clicked inside his brain. He stared hard at the Hohash.
“So how did they build you?” This had been the chrysalis-like question sheltering deep in his mind. He spoke louder, firmer, almost accusing the Hohash. “I’ve seen nothing that equates to your level of technology on the planet. Nothing that even meets your level of technology half-way.”
Then it hit him. He took a step backwards. He stared at the Hohash mirror anew. “They didn’t make you, did they? You … you found them!” His thoughts solidified into instinctive knowledge, the type of truth which needs no evidence. He knew that these artefacts must be very, very old.
Still reeling from what now seemed to be the unassailable truth, he caught his breath as the clouds on the Hohash cleared to reveal four images: Blake and Zack in a Hohash scout-ship; Sandy and the others in the MCC; Vince and Kostakis in the trap laid for Louise; and the inside of a strange ship where Louise and two others, a man and woman he didn’t know, stared towards an image he couldn’t see.
“Can anyone hear me?” he shouted, not caring if Louise did. But there was no answer. Sensor information, he figured: the Hohash trafficked in electromagnetic transmissions, and apparently could pick up any media being transmitted or recorded. He sat down again, his mind feeling tired. “Okay,” he said, “I get it. At least I get a ring-side seat.”
* * *
Zack powered up the Hohash craft, but there was no noise. Blake found it curious that the spider species, who didn’t appear to have used sound at all – he suspected they were deaf – could design equipment so quiet. The seven metre diameter ship they’d discovered two days ago underneath Esperantia was identical to the one he’d flown on Eden – the one which Pierre and Kat had been lost in. There wasn’t much spare room between him, Zack to his right piloting the vehicle, and the table-sized cubic metre nuclear device planted in the middle of the craft. He gave it a cold stare. It sat, innocent enough, but he’d seen a dozen detonations in WWIII and knew the unthinkable annihilating power it could unleash. The hammer of God, General Kilaney had once remarked, while they had witnessed from space the obliteration of huge tracts of enemy territory.
He watched Zack busy with his controls. Blake was resolved about dying, since Glenda would join him soon enough in the grand scheme of things, and would understand his sacrifice. Zack, on the other hand, was leaving behind a loving family: Sonja about to be a widow, his kids orphans.
The outside vista of the mountains evaporated, replaced by stars. The half-darkened globe of Ourshiwann appeared beneath them as they snapped into orbit. He cast an eye over the still-light Eastern crescent, its rugged mountain ranges speckled with sparse vegetation, but no cities. The spider civilisatio
n had not grown or sprawled the way humanity had, taking up every nook and cranny, digging ever deeper into Earth’s diminishing resource pockets. Somehow, the spiders had matured to a level of stability and peace undreamed of by humankind. We could have learned so much from you, he thought, though not survival.
He had to ask the question. “How did the goodbye go with Sonja?”
Zack shifted in his seat.
“You did say goodbye, didn’t you? Zack, what –”
“Don’t, boss, just don’t. It’s my life, what’s left of it.”
Blake said no more.
The com-link blurted a message. “This is Colonel Vasquez, head of Ops. Code Kappa Alpha, I repeat, code Kappa Alpha.”
“Great,” Zack said. “So we have no triangulation, no means of detecting Louise’s ship other than the Hohash, assuming they even understand what we want from them.”
Blake set his jaw. “It’s begun.”
Zack stretched his large frame back in his fighter pilot’s chair, which he’d anchored into the Hohash craft’s Spartan interior. “We’ll find her, or she’ll find us, though if I’m honest I prefer the first option.” He faced the bank of screens he’d jury-rigged into the craft, borrowed from the Ulysses which they’d brought along with them from Eden. “I reckon Ramires’ plan failed, he should have detonated by now, we’d pick that up for sure anywhere within a million kilometres.”
Blake cracked the knuckles in his right fist.
“You impatient, boss?”
He smiled. “No. I was just thinking, I never, ever even so much as slapped a girl when I was a kid. I tried never to raise my voice to a woman when I was an adult, let alone a hand, and here I am about to nuke one single woman.”
