by John Scalzi
Wilson sat once more in the Clarke shuttle bay with Abumwe, Sorvalh, Muhtal Worl and Hart Schmidt. Captains Coloma and Fotew had returned to their posts. Abumwe and Coloma had seen Rayth Ablant from Wilson’s own point of view through his BrainPal feed, but Sorvalh wanted a report as well. Wilson offered her his BrainPal feed, but she refused, preferring, as she said, “a live recounting.”
“Who was this Ablant?” Sorvalh asked. “He had a life before … this.”
“He was a pilot on the Urse Damay, or so he says,” Wilson said. “You would be able to check that better than I would, Councillor.”
Sorvalh nodded to Worl, who made a note on his tablet computer. “He was part of a crew,” Sorvalh said. “The Urse Damay had a core crew of fifty and a diplomatic mission party of a dozen. What happened to them?”
“He says he doesn’t know,” Wilson said. “He says he had been asleep when the Urse Damay was first boarded and that he was knocked unconscious during the invasion. When he woke up he was like this. The people who did this to him didn’t tell him anything about the rest of his crew.”
“And who are they, the people who did this to him?” Sorvalh asked.
“He says he doesn’t know that, either,” Wilson said. “He says he’s never even technically spoken with them. They communicate with him through text. When he came to, they explained to him his job was to learn how to operate and navigate the Urse Damay on his own and that when he became proficient enough, he would be given a mission. This was that mission.”
“Do you believe he doesn’t know who these people are?” Sorvalh asked Wilson.
“Pardon my French, Councillor, but the guy is a fucking disembodied brain,” Wilson said. “It’s not like he has any powers of observation other than what they gave him. He says they didn’t even give him external inputs until after the ship skipped. He was flying blind for the first half of his mission. It’s entirely possible he knows nothing about these people but what they tell him, which is almost nothing.”
“You trust him,” Sorvalh said.
“I pity him,” Wilson said. “But I also think he’s credible. If he was a willing participant in this, they wouldn’t need to put his brain in a box to get him to do what they want him to do.”
“Tell the councillor what he was told his payment would be for this mission,” Abumwe said to Wilson.
“They told him that if he did this mission, they’d put his brain back into his body and send him home,” Wilson said. “His payment would be that he gets to be himself again.”
Sorvalh was silent about this for a moment, contemplating. Then she shifted her body weight and addressed Abumwe. “I would ask your indulgence for a moment while I say something terribly blunt.”
“Be my guest,” Abumwe said.
“It’s no great secret that the Colonial Union does things like this all the time,” Sorvalh said. She motioned at Wilson. “Your lieutenant here is the result of consciousness allegedly being transferred from one body to another genetically-modified one. He has a computer in his brain which connects to it using inorganic connections that are at least functionally similar to what’s connected to this poor creature. Your special forces soldiers are even more modified than he is. We know that you have some special forces soldiers who only tangentially resemble human beings. And we know that one penalty option your Colonial Defense Forces has for its malfeasant soldiers is to place their brains in a container for a period of time.”
Abumwe nodded and said, “Your point, Councillor.”
“My point, Ambassador, is that whoever did this to Rayth Ablant, their mode of operation is closer to that of the Colonial Union than it is to the Conclave,” Sorvalh said.
Abumwe nodded at Wilson again. “Tell her Rayth Ablant’s orders,” she said.
“He says his orders were to destroy any and all ships that presented themselves after he skipped,” Wilson said. “There was no discrimination on the part of his masters. They just pointed him at both of us and hoped for the best.”
“To what end?” Sorvalh said.
“Does it matter?” Abumwe said. “If we had been destroyed, the Colonial Union would have blamed you for the ambush. If you had been destroyed, the Conclave would have done the same to us. If we had both been destroyed, our two governments might already be at war. It’s as you said earlier, Councillor. At this point, the why is almost trivial, unless we know the who.”
“If your Lieutenant Wilson is correct, and this Rayth Ablant has no way of knowing for whom he works, there’s no way for us to know the who,” Sorvalh said. “All we have to go on are methods, and these methods are closer to yours than ours.”
“Rayth Ablant doesn’t know who he’s working for, but he’s not all we have,” Wilson said.
“Explain,” Sorvalh said.
“He’s a brain in a box,” Wilson repeated. “And the box can tell us a lot of things. Like whose technology it’s made out of. If there’s anything off the shelf about the thing, then that’s a lead to follow. Even if everything is custom-made, we can reverse-engineer it and maybe find out what it’s closest to. It’s better than what we have now, which is nothing.”
“What will that require?” Sorvalh asked.
“Well, for one thing, I want to take Rayth Ablant off the Urse Damay,” Wilson said. “The sooner the better. We have a ticking clock here.”
“I don’t understand,” Sorvalh said.
“One of the first things Rayth Ablant said to us was ‘help me,’” Wilson said. “He said that because his life support is running off the emergency power batteries. He’s got about eight hours left before he exhausts the power supply.”
“And you want to bring him here,” Sorvalh said, indicating the Clarke.
Wilson shook his head. “He’s on a Conclave ship,” he said. “Wherever the box comes from, it’s interfaced with a Conclave power network. Your power systems on the Nurimal more closely match those of the Urse Damay than ours do.” Wilson smiled. “And besides, you have the guns.”
Sorvalh returned the smile. “That we do, Lieutenant,” she said. “But I can’t imagine your boss here will be happy with the Conclave taking possession of that technology.”
“As long as you allow Lieutenant Wilson to closely examine the technology, I have no real objection,” Abumwe said. “Technology is his job. I trust him to learn what he needs to know.”
“Your bosses might not be happy with that, Ambassador Abumwe,” Sorvalh said.
“This may be true,” Abumwe said. “But that’s going to be my problem, not yours.”
“When can you get started?” Sorvalh asked Wilson.
“As soon as you requisition Werd and Carn to help me again,” Wilson said. “The brain box is not too large, fortunately, but the environment in there makes it difficult to move. And the shuttle for transport, obviously.”
Sorvalh nodded to her assistant, who reached again for his tablet computer. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I do have one request,” Wilson said.
“Name it,” Sorvalh said.
“I’d like you to promise me that once you get Rayth Ablant on your ship, that you connect him to your network,” Wilson said.
“And your reason for that is?” Sorvalh asked.
“This poor bastard has spent the last God knows how long running starship operation simulations. All his friends are dead and he’s been talking to no one except the sons of bitches who put him in that box,” Wilson said. “I think he’s probably lonely.”
* * *
Do you mind if I ask you a question, Rayth Ablant said to Wilson. Wilson had opened the data band so that Rayth Ablant could address him directly through his BrainPal rather than through the display. He kept the text interface, however, because it seemed right.
“Go right ahead,” Wilson said. He was busy extracting batteries from underneath the deck of the Urse Damay’s bridge and was beginning to sweat inside his vacuum-proof combat suit.
I’d like to know why you’r
e trying to help me.
“You asked for help,” Wilson said.
I also tried to blow up your ship with you in it.
“That was before you knew me,” Wilson said.
I’m sorry about that.
“I’m not going to tell you not to be sorry,” Wilson said, “but I can understand wanting to get your body back.”
That’s not going to happen now.
“Not through the assholes who did this to you, no,” Wilson said. “It’s not to say it couldn’t happen one day.”
It doesn’t seem likely.
“You’re saying that to a guy who is on his second body,” Wilson said. “I’m a little more optimistic about your plight than you are.” He hauled out a battery and placed it next to the several others he had extracted. Werd and Carn were elsewhere in the Urse Damay, pulling out batteries of their own. They would serve as the power source for Rayth Ablant’s brain box until they were all safely on the Nurimal. The trip from the Urse Damay to the Nurimal would be a matter of a couple of minutes, but Wilson was a big believer in overkill when the downside was someone ending up dead.
Thank you for this.
“Thank you for being a terrible shot,” Wilson said. He returned to his task.
You know humans have a bad reputation. Among the rest of us.
“I’ve heard,” Wilson said.
That you’re deceptive. That you’ll go against your contracts and treaties. That you’re terrified of all of us and your way of solving that problem is trying to destroy us all.
“But on the bright side, we all have lovely singing voices,” Wilson said.
I’m telling you this because I’m not seeing any of this in you.
“Humans are like anyone,” Wilson said. “Is every Easo a good person? Before the Conclave, did your government always do the best thing? Does the Conclave always do the best things now?”
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start a political discussion.
“You didn’t,” Wilson said. “I’m talking about the nature of sentient beings everywhere. We all have the entire range of possibilities inside of us. Personally, I don’t expect much out of other people. But for myself, whenever possible, I try not to be a complete prick.”
And that includes rescuing brains in boxes.
“Well, that includes rescuing a person,” Wilson said. “Who at the moment happens to be a brain in a box.” He hauled out another battery.
Lieutenant Werd came into the bridge, hauling his own supply of batteries, and set them down next to Wilson’s. They jostled in the slight pseudogravity offered by the ship’s tumbling. “How many more of these do you think you need?” he asked Wilson. “Dismantling an entire spaceship was not supposed to be in my job description.”
Wilson smiled and counted the batteries. “I think we have enough,” he said. “The box here is not that securely bolted into the deck, so we should be able to pull it out easily enough. Lifting things is in your job description, right?”
“Yes,” Werd said. “But setting things down costs extra.”
“Well, then,” Wilson said, “what we have to do now is make sure there’s no significant interruption in power flow to the box when we disconnect it from the Urse Damay’s system and attach it to the batteries.” He pointed to the box’s external outlets and the cords that snaked from them into the ship’s power system. “There’s probably a buffer unit in the box itself. I need to see how much energy it stores.”
“Whatever you say, Lieutenant Wilson,” Werd said. “This time, you’re in charge.”
“Thank you, Werd,” Wilson said, and opened the door to the box, again carefully, to avoid dislodging any part of the contents. “Between you, me and Carn, we’re the very model of cooperation that suggests all of our nations may yet live in peace and harmony.”
“Sarcasm is not exclusive to humans,” Werd said, “but I will admit you do a good job with it.”
Wilson said nothing to that. Instead he peered intently into the box.
“What is it?” Werd asked. Wilson motioned with his head that Werd should come closer. Werd did.
Wilson had separated a thick tangle of wires that plugged into the container holding Rayth Ablant’s brain and nervous system to get a look at where the power cords entered the box. Where they entered was indeed what looked like a power buffer, to store a minute or so of energy to assist with an orderly system shutdown in case of loss of power.
There was something else attached to the power buffer as well.
“Ah,” Werd said. Wilson nodded. “Carn,” Werd said, into his communication circuit.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Carn said.
“Lieutenant Wilson and I realized we’ve forgotten some tools, and we’re going to need you to come help us with them,” Werd said. “Head back toward the shuttle. We’ll meet you there.”
“Sir?” Carn said, slightly confused.
“Acknowledge the order, Corporal,” Werd said.
“Order acknowledged,” Carn said. “On my way.”
Is everything all right.
“Everything is fine,” Wilson said, to Rayth Ablant. “I just realized some things in your internal structure here are going to be trickier to deal with than others. I need some different tools. We need to go back to the Nurimal for them. We’ll return momentarily.”
Makes sense to me. Don’t be gone too long. The ship is already beginning to shut down.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Wilson said. “It’s a promise.”
Rayth Ablant said nothing. Wilson and Werd made their way silently to the shuttle rendezvous; they and Carn made their way back to the shuttlecraft without an additional word.
When the shuttlecraft was on its way, Wilson opened a channel to the Clarke. “Hart,” he said, to Schmidt, “you need to get Abumwe over to Nurimal. Be there as soon as possible. We have a wrinkle. A really big damn wrinkle.” He cut the connection before Schmidt could respond and turned to Werd. “I need you to get your people to get me a schematic of the Urse Damay’s power systems. There are things I need to know. Right now.”
“We might not have them,” Werd said. “The Urse Damay’s not part of the Conclave military fleet.”
“Then I need one of your engineers to explain how Conclave power systems work. We can do that, at least, right?”
“I’m on it,” Werd said, and opened up a channel to the Nurimal.
Carn looked at the two of them, saw their expressions. “What happened?” he asked.
“We’re dealing with complete assholes,” Wilson said.
“I thought we knew that,” Carn said.
“No, this is new,” Wilson said. “There’s a bomb attached to the power supply on that box. The one Rayth Ablant is in. It looks like it’s set to go off if anything happens to the power going into the box. If we move Rayth Ablant, he’s going to die.”
“If we don’t move him, he’s going to die,” Carn said. “His power supply is running out.”
“And now you know why I said we’re dealing with complete assholes here,” Wilson said. He was silent the rest of the way to the Nurimal.
* * *
It’s just you this time.
“Yes,” Wilson said to Rayth Ablant.
That’s not a good sign, I think.
“I told you I would be back,” Wilson said.
You’re not going to lie to me, are you.
“You said you liked that I wasn’t like the humans you had heard about,” Wilson said. “So, no, I’m not going to lie to you. But you have to know that the truth is going to be hard to hear.”
I am a brain in a box. The truth is already hard to hear.
Wilson smiled. “That’s a very philosophical way of looking at things.”
When you’re a brain in a box, philosophy is what you have.
“There’s a bomb in your box,” Wilson said. “It’s attached to the power buffer. As far as I can tell, it has a monitor that tracks power input. The Urse Damay’s power system is integr
ated with its emergency power systems so that when the first goes down, the second is already running and there’s no interruption of power to critical systems, including your box. But if we remove your box from the system entirely, the monitor is going to register it, and the bomb will go off.”
It would kill me.
“Yes,” Wilson said. “Since you asked me not to lie, I’ll tell you I suspect the real point of the bomb is to make sure the technology of that box you’re in isn’t taken and examined. Your death is an incidental result of that.”
On second thought, maybe you can lie to me a little.
“Sorry,” Wilson said.
Is there any way to remove me from the box?
“Not that I can see,” Wilson said. “At least, not in a way that keeps you alive. The box is, if I may say so, an impressive piece of engineering. If I had more time, I could reverse-engineer the thing and tell you how it works. I don’t have that time. I could take you out of the box—the part that’s actually you—but I couldn’t just then take that part and hook it up to a battery. The box is an integrated system. You can’t survive without it.”
I’m not going to survive long in it, either.
“I can reattach the batteries we’ve removed from the system,” Wilson said. “It can buy us some more time.”
Us?
“I’m here,” Wilson said. “I can keep working on this. There’s probably something I’ve missed.”
If you tinker with the bomb, then there’s a chance you’ll set it off.
“Yes,” Wilson said.
And when the power goes out, the bomb will explode anyway.
“I imagine the bomb will use the energy in the buffer to set itself off, yes,” Wilson said.
Do you dismantle bombs on a regular basis? Is this your specialty?
“I do technology research and development. This is up my alley,” Wilson said.
I think this is you lying to me a little.
“I think I might be able to save you,” Wilson said.
Why do you want to save me?
“You don’t deserve to die like this,” Wilson said. “As an afterthought. As a brain in a box. As less than fully yourself.”
