The Lifeboat

by Keith Fenwick

“Your guess is as good as mine. I have a sneaking suspicion that he is either on the space patrol ship or has gone to ground somewhere, probably his home in New Zealand. We’ll get him eventually,” Wisneski added with a conviction he no longer believed. “Uncle Sam always gets his man!” Or thinks he does, Wisneski didn’t add.

  Sue nodded tiredly. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “You are coming with us for the moment,” Wisneski said reassuringly. He did not want her to dwell on how her life would probably be from now on. It was forever changed, and he doubted she would or could ever be allowed to live life as a normal citizen again, under the present regime at least. Wisneski had no idea what had come between her and Bruce, and he decided to probe a little more when the time was right and see if there was any chance of a reconciliation. She would be much safer with Bruce.

  Four

  It had come as a very nasty shock to the Transcendents to discover that almost all their organic breeding stock, that they generally and disparagingly referred to as fleshies had been destroyed. This catastrophe was the outcome of a programming glitch in the AI they had entrusted to care for the fleshies. This population they had carefully nurtured over aeons, as a contingency, was gone in – as they now measured time – the blink of an eye. The stocks would now have to be painstakingly rebuilt before they would be comfortable there were enough fleshies to provide sufficient redundancy for their contingency requirements.

  This disaster was a text book example of what could go wrong despite the generations spent planning this ultimate fall-back strategy, and it also showed the value of making sure there were multiple contingencies and resilience built into the plan. It highlighted, too, the fundamental weakness of the AI’s programming. It wasn’t infallible and was prone to developing strange delusions which suggested a major flaw in its code somewhere.

  If there was one thing the Transcendents were relearning, it was that it wasn’t enough just to deliver their physical continuity plan. Ongoing monitoring and oversight would be required as they resurrected the programme to ensure their survival if the unthinkable happened and they had to forsake their transcendent selves and return to short-lived and incredibly slow-thinking fleshie bodies as a last resort against an as yet unknown threat to their survival.

  The other learning was that no matter how sophisticated the AI was, it was still a machine and saw things through its own lens. It must have made perfect sense to the AI to shut down the synfood plants to rid it of the virus introduced by the Celcions. (A good Skidian project manager would have made sure they were not all closed down at the same time or there was a buffer to ensure sufficient food supplies remained to feed the population while the virus was being eradicated. Additionally, no Skidian project manager would have rebooted the AI partway through such a critical process.)

  The loss of so many fleshies wasn’t the end of the world, to be fair the current crop of beings calling themselves Skidians were not the only available source of breeding stock available in this galaxy, and a replenishment programme would be a good opportunity to introduce some diversity into the remaining gene pool. Besides, as the Transcendent was forced to admit to itself, this wasn’t the first time they had suffered a catastrophic failure and probably would not be the last. It looked like one of them was going to have to take on a more hands-on management role in the future, and temporarily forsake their transcendent selves, take on a fleshie form and the limitations doing so would impose on their consciousness.

  It wasn’t all bad – there were tactile advantages to inhabiting fleshie bodies. Indeed, many Transcendents had slipped between fleshie forms and their normal selves, composed of information stored in the vast expanses of the cosmos like a program stored in the cloud so they could continue to enjoy some of the pleasures of the flesh. But even those were not really a substitute for virtually infinite knowledge and processing power and a form of immortality that transcendence gave them. Immortality – until someone or something turned the power off, which is why they had the fleshies as the ultimate contingency in the first place. Though over time, fewer and fewer of the Transcendents decanted into fleshie forms for fun and entertainment until mostly only a handful nonconformists and those on special missions continued the practice.

  It was a contradictory process to slip back into a fleshie – one of the reasons they had forsaken their flesh and blood selves in the first place was because the bodies were so physically limited and short-lived, and lacked processing power. However, now a whole new initiative had to be implemented to prepare a new crop of fleshies, just in case the Transcendents needed to decant back into them en masse, thanks to the AI having a reboot and a partial meltdown. None of them stopped to consider whether the process was really necessary in this age.

  The most recent scheme had been their most successful effort to date, but it had had a number of profound, unintended consequences across the galaxy.

  The populations on Celcious and Candour were dead ends, the Celcions mainly because some rogue members had somehow managed to overcome their programming and mount an invasion of Skid, which had required the Transcendents to intervene. The Transcendents had retaliated fiercely and all but annihilated the Celcions on their home planet, as well as completely wiping out the invasion force. That the Transcendents had ensured the Skidian fleshies won in a fit of pique at the expense of the Celcions, because the Celcions had simply annoyed them, was neither here nor there. The Transcendents wanted to make a strong statement.

  Candour was populated by corrupted beings who existed for their own pleasure and that of the Transcendents who took on fleshie forms on this planet. These fleshies were not suitable long-term vessels for Transcendents. The Transcendents might be omnipotent but this did not stop them from being snobs and wanting to avoid bodies they considered soiled goods. Only the best fleshies, properly prepared and nurtured, were good enough for them.

  The Transcendents had undertaken an analysis of the situation, and the AI’s programming had been upgraded. The machine still deluded itself it was in control and that the Skidians, whom it was designed to protect, had created it. The AI had been programmed to believe this – as the Transcendents didn’t want the AI getting ideas above its station and trying to join them in the cloud.

  The Transcendents were also worried about the whether it was right for them to have an artificial entity of pure memory dispersed amongst the stars to be seen to be directing the lives and activities of the fleshies and all their related genetic relatives in this chunk of the galaxy. In a worst-case scenario, the AI might take it upon itself to defend and protect the fleshies if there was ever a need to decant and prevent a mass download, instead of facilitating the process for the Transcendents.

  It was bad enough that just before the latest meltdown the fleshies had discovered they were genetically closely related to the offworlders, which had caused consternation amongst the ruling class, none of whom survived the famine. In fact, to all intents and purposes, the fleshies and the offworlders were the same species with very little genetic divergence. The fleshies realised the separation of the species must have been relatively recent and, which added further distress, given they considered themselves superior to all sentient species in the known galaxy. They also shared the same genetic ancestry as the Celcions and the inhabitants of Candour.

  Still, relatively few Transcendents ever chose to experience the fleshies that had been created for them, except for a few of them to breed and introduce diversity into the gene pool from time to time. The bodies might be far superior to their own, and sex was a real marvel that just had to be experienced at least once in a lifetime, but the fleshie brains were far too limited to contain more than a fraction of the processing power a Transcendent required to feel truly alive and fully functioning.

  However, at the back of their minds was always the fear they would encounter beings either far superior to themselves – whom they would have to bow before – or would encounter other challenges that would put their ex
istence at risk. While they knew they would be intellectually limiting, it seemed prudent to prepare for the worst and keep a supply of bodies to download into if required.

  After this latest meltdown a working group of Transcendents held a planning workshop to outline the next steps they should take, and as the team dispersed they implemented their plans. The appearance of an asteroid into the home system of the flesh-and-blood rootstock of their species’ continuity plan was based on, was not a random event.

  The MPU was primed, and while they were initially perturbed by the machine’s obsession with one of the inhabitants of the planet they knew as Number One, they now supported this outwardly peculiar choice as the key component in all their future planning because of how he had responded when placed under extreme – when confronted with a difficult decision that put him right out of his comfort zone; when pressured by forces so great that without the support of the MPU he would have been overrun and forced to accede; when offered an easy way out of a tricky situation, Bruce had stood firm and done the right thing. Not once but twice.

  The next step in the plan to repopulate the planet required a flesh-and-blood leader, just as the original plan had required one. The Transcendents noted a distant descendant of one of the original Skidian fleshies was available but clearly not up to the task of planetary leadership yet and possibly never would be. Maybe the offworlder the MPU was obsessed with was the one.

  The Transcendent reprogrammed the MPU and waited to see the results of its handiwork as the comet they had diverted impacted an asteroid which then hurtled towards planet Number One.

  Five

  “I don’t believe you,” Ngaio told Bruce in no uncertain terms, cutting him off as he tried to explain about the patrol ship, Skid, the asteroid and everything else going on in his very complicated world. The words tumbled out as if they were on a first date and he was trying to impress her, which in a way he was. In many ways it was simply a relief to talk to Ngaio, and he wondered why it had not occurred to him to talk to her before. Reconnecting with her might not have saved him from his current entanglements, both Skidian and human; however, she would have brought a different perspective to proceedings which would have meant he probably would not have gone off and got married to Sue in the first place. Well, that’s what he felt like believing at that moment.

  While speaking to Ngaio, even though she did not believe a word he said, something he could fix easily enough, Bruce realised he was far more comfortable speaking his mind with her than he had ever been with Sue.

  In Bruce’s view Sue, sophisticated and well educated as she was, was really quite naïve and interpreted everything that went on about her based on her own narrow prejudices. She thought she was pretty open-minded and liberal. However, by Bruce’s standards her beliefs were extremely conservative and she was largely ignorant of the world outside the United States. Bruce also found Sue’s faith, which she had inherited from her father, rather contradictory. It was based on a very narrow and almost medieval interpretation of the Bible, and very anti-intellectual in its nature. Which was completely at odds with all the Clarks themselves who were well educated and had, or had had, good white-collar jobs. At least this was how Bruce conceptualised it. Though, to be fair, Bruce could be accused of having his own prejudices, as well as a couple of chips on each shoulder.

  Despite the fact they had seemed comfortable together he had, he just realised, never felt comfortable enough to really open up to Sue with regard to his innermost thoughts and feelings. Sue also had a way of belittling his ideas and beliefs which probably didn’t help. It had never really seemed to matter at the time because he felt this was just part of the ebb and flows of an adult relationship. You did not have to agree all the time to make a relationship work; you just had to agree to disagree, compromise on various things and get on with life.

  There had to be something more, maybe their relationship had continued to be a convenience once they had hooked up again, as it had been on Skid. In retrospect, this was not the basis for a stable, long-term relationship, even if part of the reason you were together was the sprog.

  “I know you’ve pulled a few stunts in your time, Bruce Smarty-pants Harwood, but this one takes the cake!”

  Ngaio was actually pretty shaken up by the whole situation. It had not escaped her attention how Bruce and his companions seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. They certainly hadn’t turned up in a car or boat she could see. Furthermore, she was pretty sure there had been no one home when she stopped at the house, on the way to the kennels, to get some meat out of the freezer and open some windows to air it. Additionally, as far as she knew, Bruce and his new wife were not expected to make an appearance for several weeks yet.

  She appraised her ex-boyfriend carefully. Something certainly didn’t add up here. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that the younger of Bruce’s companions were quite odd creatures by anyone’s standards. While Bruce put the jug on and looked in the pantry for some UHT milk his mother always kept for emergencies, Ngaio watched as the two of them looked around the kitchen and lounge, examining various objects of interest like little kids in a toy store. It appeared they had never seen such items before, so they held some kind of novelty value. After a while they seemed satisfied. The man – Myfair? – found the television remote and pressed various buttons until a picture appeared. Apparently satisfied, he sat down on the couch and flicked through the channels until he found something which seemed to appeal to him. A rugby game, she noted.

  Leaf, the woman, seemed more interested in the ornaments on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. She picked up a number of small Wedgwood figurines and examined them before carefully putting them back down in exactly the same position she had found them. Once she was satisfied with her investigations she wandered through the house, opening doors and peering into cupboards and wardrobes, staring at photos and paintings, and checking the texture of the paint on the walls. She could have been inspecting an open home. Then she was lost from sight as she moved down the hallway. Cleary she was a lot more inquisitive than Myfair, who was practising his couch-potato skills and seemed to be waiting expectantly for something to happen. Ngaio was not sure exactly what he could be waiting for. Typical male, she thought, wanting to be waited on hand and foot. But she found it a little disturbing their collective behaviour gave her the impression they were experiencing a house and the objects in it for the first time.

  Mrs Pratt was an entirely different kettle of fish altogether. While the two Skidians seemed a bit bemused, they did not actually appear too troubled and were taking everything in their stride. In contrast, Mrs Pratt was in a state of shock, as far as Ngaio could work out.

  She was a wizened little old woman. Ngaio had no idea how old she was but she was clearly pretty ancient. Like Bruce before her, she was a little concerned about the old woman’s health as she sat at the kitchen table staring around wide-eyed but not saying much. The last thing Ngaio wanted was for the old woman to pop her clogs – this would add an extra layer of complexity if ever an explanation was required to solve the mystery of her appearance.

  That left Bruce himself – if you disregarded the baby boy. Ngaio was no real expert on babies but this one seemed unusually attentive, it appeared to comprehend everything going on around it, which was impossible of course as the little mite looked to be just a few months old.

  Bruce was, well – Bruce. She had heard he had got quite grumpy and difficult to deal with over the last few years but he seemed okay at the moment – like the old Bruce she had remembered, the one she had idolised as a teenager and maybe even for a bit longer. He was a more exuberant version of his father, who was acknowledged locally as the most level-headed, helpful man anyone could have as a neighbour. As long as you didn’t want him to pay for anything.

  Ngaio, more than anyone, understood the tough adolescence Bruce had had after his brother had been killed in a car accident – a milk tanker had collided with his brother’s car – and she knew it
had made life difficult for him as his parents came to terms with their own grief and, she supposed, a little guilt. She did not always buy into the idea people were products of their environment but his parents’ attitude towards him had had an effect on Bruce. His behaviour had certainly changed after his brother had been killed, which was not altogether surprising.

  What was surprising was his parent’s behaviour towards him. Instead of bringing them closer as a family, the death seemed to pull them apart, and it appeared that in his parents’ eyes he could do no right. It almost seemed they blamed Bruce for the accident even though Bruce was at home when it happened.

  Ngaio had not really understood all this at the time but she was sure his parent’s behaviour had contributed to Bruce getting as far away from home as quickly as possible at the first opportunity that presented itself. She could never understand how his parents, particularly old Cyril, could treat him so poorly, given how Cyril was valued for his common-sense approach in the community and highly respected for it. Her own father often sought out Cyril as an arbiter of local issues.

  When Bruce left school he had gone to university at the other end of the country which had signalled the end of their own fledgling relationship. Because she was a year and a class behind him, her parents, fairly liberal as they were, would never allow her to follow him without completing her own education. She realised now that Bruce had probably been completely ignorant of her feelings towards him. They had only ever hung out as close friends, and in many ways Bruce treated her like the little sister he never had.

  Now she thought about it, Mavis Harwood’s evident distrust of mixed marriages and Bruce’s parents’ general behaviour towards him, which had forced him out of the house, had played a big part in killing any hope of a long-term relationship for them.

  Then he had apparently got himself married, which was also odd, as it seemed to happen overnight. There was a story here, she realised, but she was not sure what to believe. The baby was real enough, though, and the spitting image of Bruce, and indeed his father at roughly the same age. There were portraits on the wall she could not remember seeing there before, of much younger but easily recognisable Mavis and Cyril Harwood standing proudly behind two little blond-headed boys. And some of Mavis and Cyril as youngsters. The family resemblance was easy to see.