The Android's Dream

by John Scalzi

  “Hey,” Takk said, his first words to Archie since he was dragged back into the room. “What is that in your hand?”

  Archie looked up. “It’s a book,” he said.

  “What is it made out of?” Takk asked.

  Archie held it up so Takk could see it. “Plastic. You hold it in your hand, and the heat from your body powers the optical imager to project the pages.”

  “So, plastic,” said Takk. He could handle a little bit of plastic.

  “Yeah,” Archie said, and went back to his reading.

  After several minutes, Takk’s now-awakened curiosity got the better of him. “What’s the book about?” he asked.

  “It’s a book of poems,” Archie said, not looking up.

  “What kind of poems?” Takk asked.

  Now Archie looked up. “You actually care?” he said.

  “I’m just as bored as you are,” Takk said.

  “They’re prophetic poems,” Archie said.

  “They tell the future?” Takk asked.

  “Sort of,” Archie said. “It’s more like they suggest things that could happen, and it’s up to us to decide what to do about it.”

  “Why are you reading them?” Takk asked.

  “Because I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do next,” Archie said, turning back to his book.

  Takk was taken aback. “You’re on a religious quest?” he asked Archie.

  Archie shrugged. “I suppose I am,” he said.

  Almost instantly Takk was overcome with a rush of affection for this little human. The Ftruu was a difficult passage for any young Nagch. The Nagch were a people who thrived on family and tradition; tossing young Nagchs out to experience the universe was a paradoxically isolating experience for most of them and made them yearn to return to their homes and rituals (a fact not in the least lost on older Nagch).

  Takk had been on Earth for a better part of two years; he’d come there because it was the planet that had been randomly selected for him to visit two Nagch years prior—just enough time to learn to read and speak English. He’d been given a transport ticket and a small stipend and told not to return until his Ftruu was completed.

  In that time, Takk had largely consorted with scumbags; his stipend was small and his visa was tourist, and being unencumbered by the worries of sin he had no qualms about working under the table for questionable people and their even-more-questionable aims. However, it did leave him with a general perception that humans were spiritually bereft beings. Takk understood that Earth was positively littered with houses of worship and that people were always claiming that their god of choice wanted them to do one thing or another. But in his personal experience the only time he heard people invoke their deity was when Takk was about to beat the hell out of them or turn them into a snack. And even then, more than half the time they invoked defecation instead. Takk found that inexplicable.

  And thus, Archie McClellan became the first human Takk had met who actually appeared to have a religious component to his personality—or at the very least a religious component not motivated entirely by fear of imminent injury or death. Meeting someone with a religious impulse activated a dormant section of Takk’s personality very much like a turned-on faucet expands a desiccated sponge. Takk advanced on Archie enthusiastically. Archie quite understandably flinched.

  “Tell me about your quest,” Takk said.

  “What?” Archie said.

  “Your quest!” Takk said. “I am on a religious quest also.”

  Archie looked at Takk skeptically. “But you’re doing this,” he said, sweeping his arm about.

  “So are you,” Takk said.

  Archie blinked. Takk had a point, there. Archie glanced down at his book, which had turned its optically generated page thanks to his flinch, and his eye caught the poem there:

  Lo! The screw turns, yet the direction is not set

  Those who teach may let learn, and those who learn, teach

  When we pass beyond what is left but what we tell?

  We may yet reach from beyond to turn the screw once more.

  Among the scholars of the Church, who liked to use study of the stanzas as an excuse for barbecues and the consumption of beer, this was one of the minor “exhortation” stanzas, encouraging Church members to share information with each other so that Church aims could be accomplished further down the line. Direct, simple, and uncomplicated, like the stanzas encouraging good hygiene and flossing (which were generally followed) and the avoidance of fatty foods and—ironically for the alcoholic Dwellin—too much imbibing (which, given the beer-fueled cook-outs, were not). These were generally regarded as the least interesting of the prophetic poems, for much the same reasons as the layout of dietary laws in the Pentateuch failed to set afire Jewish and Christian theologians.

  Right here and right now, however, Archie McClellan felt his eyes bulge and the Empathist impulse—that creepy feeling that Dwellin really did unintentionally connect with something larger, whether he meant to or not—flared in his chest like heartburn. Archie was already clearly and sickly aware that he was a dead man walking; after about the 30th time Acuna pressed that vending machine button Archie reconciled himself to the idea that the rest of his life would be counted in hours and that at the end of it he was likely to be a snack for the monstrous alien that was now asking him about his religion. And yet here was a fragmentary bit of wisdom—scrawled by a consumptive hack decades back, but even so—telling him that even when he was gone, there was still work to be done.

  Archie looked back up at Takk, who was standing there, still rather too close for Archie’s comfort zone. “Can I ask you a question?” Archie said.

  “Yes,” Takk said.

  “Aren’t you going to have to kill me soon?” Archie said. “Isn’t that what you’re watching me for?”

  “I think so,” Takk said.

  “And you’re going to do it,” Archie said. “If Acuna walks through the door right now and says ‘Eat him,’ you’re going to do it.”

  “Probably,” Takk said.

  “And yet you suddenly want to be my friend,” Archie said. “Doesn’t that strike you as—I don’t know—kind of strange?”

  “No,” Takk said. “If I had known about your religious quest earlier, I would have wanted to know about it then, too.”

  “If you knew about it earlier, it would have gotten me killed,” Archie said.

  “It’s going to get you killed now,” Takk said.

  Archie opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I have no good argument against that,” he said.

  “So you’ll tell me about your quest,” Takk said.

  “I think I will,” Archie said, and waved his hand over the optical control that increased the size of the book page large enough for the both of them to read.

  “Have you read this?” Jean Schroeder waved an old-fashioned paper book of Dwellin’s prophecies at Rod Acuna.

  “No,” Acuna said. He was bored. “Most religious books are incompatible with my line of work.”

  “It’s completely ridiculous,” Schroeder said. “It’s like Nostradamus, hung over and in free verse. Complete bullshit and they made a religion out of it anyway. A well-off religion, I might add.”

  “What do you want me to do with the geek?” Acuna said.

  “I want you to get rid of him, of course,” Schroeder said. “I know who he works for and I don’t have any questions for him. You can add him to that other pile you have in your trunk. That one expired where you’re sitting, incidentally.”

  Acuna shifted in his chair and looked down at the rug on the floor, which featured a large dark blotch. “You might want to get rid of the incriminating bloodstain,” he said.

  “In a few days I’m going to be running this joint, by which I mean the entire planet,” Schroeder said. “I’m not worried about a bloodstain. Besides, we’re leaving in about three hours. Narf has generously invited you and me and your flunky to come with him to Nidu for his corona
tion ceremony. Actually he’s invited me, but it makes sense for you and your flunky to get off-planet, too, so you’re coming along for the ride. And you’ll even be able to pack your guns, since we’ll be going on an official Nidu diplomatic vessel. Diplomatic immunity is a delightful thing.”

  “What about Creek and the woman?” Acuna said. “I sent you the information on where they are. How are we going to get them?”

  “We aren’t going to get them,” Schroeder said. “The Nidu military are. The ship our friends are on just happens to make a stop at Chagfun, which is a Nidu colony. The local military will pick them up there. The military will hand them over to Narf, whose ship will make a stop at Chagfun for that purpose before heading on to Nidu. The heir apparent seems to trust Narf, but by the time Narf gets to Nidu, the ritual will have been opened to other clans. Narf is going to waltz his way right to the throne.”

  “That’s really fascinating,” Acuna said. “But I couldn’t possibly give a shit. What I want is Creek.”

  Schroeder grinned. “Pissed off at being beat up, Rod?”

  “Mildly,” Acuna growled. “A broken wrist, a busted nose, and then getting the shit kicked out of me for a second time in one night because I went after him. Yeah, I’m a tad pissed. Once you have the girl, you’re not going to need him anymore. I want you to give him to me.”

  “You’re going to have your walking garbage disposal take care of him when you’re done, I assume,” Schroeder said.

  “No,” Acuna said. “Takk likes his food alive and in one piece. That’s how he’s going to get the geek. Creek’s not going to be that lucky.”

  Creek followed the crew member who had retrieved him up the stairs and onto the bridge of the Neverland, and was presented to Captain Lehane, who was conferring with his navigator.

  “Mr. Toshima,” Lehane said, shaking his hand. “Glad you could come up for a visit.”

  “Thanks,” Creek said. “One doesn’t usually turn down an invitation by the captain to visit the bridge of a starship.”

  “No, I guess one wouldn’t,” Lehane said.

  “And while I’m flattered and fascinated,” Creek said, “I am wondering why I was extended such an invitation.”

  “Ned Leff informed me that you had agreed to fill in for our ceremony but that your luggage and uniform had been left behind, so I told him I’d help you out,” Lehane said. “I’m the wrong branch of the service but some of my officers served in infantry. So I thought I’d have you drop by so I could size you up, as it were. See from which of my officers you might borrow some duds.”

  “Here I am,” Creek said.

  “Indeed,” said Lehane. “Sam tells me you were with the 12th Infantry, 6th Battalion.”

  “I was,” Creek said.

  “That’s a hell of a thing,” Lehane said. “Not many of you made it back in one piece.”

  “No,” Creek agreed. “No, not many of us did.”

  “Do you still keep in touch with any of them?” Lehane asked. “I knew Colonel Van Doren pretty well once he left the service.”

  Creek furrowed his brow. “I keep in touch with a couple,” he said. “Who did you say you knew?”

  “Colonel Van Doren,” Lehane said. “Jim Van Doren.”

  “I don’t think I knew him,” Creek said. “Our colonel was Jack Medina. Tough old son of a gun. Held off rebels with his sidearm.”

  “That’s right,” Lehane said. “Sorry. Got my battalions mixed up.”

  “No problem,” Creek said.

  “Brennan,” Lehane said. One of the bridge crew peeled off from his station and came to the captain. “You were in infantry,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Brennan said. Lehane looked at Brennan and Creek together.

  “Close enough,” Lehane said. “You might need a minor alteration on the pants. I’ll have the ship’s seamstress come ’round to your cabin. Brennan, would you be so kind as to lend Mr. Toshima here your dress uniform?”

  “Anything for a survivor of the 6th,” Brennan said, saluted Creek, and sat back down.

  “That’s service,” Creek said. “Remind me to note that on the ratings slip at the end of the tour.”

  “The crew members who served know all about you being on the ship,” Lehane said.

  “That sounds ominous,” Creek said.

  Lehane smiled. “I doubt that,” he said. “Let’s just say that you’re likely to find a substantial number of your drinks on the house.”

  “Thanks, but I prefer to pay,” Creek said. “All the other guys here fought in the same battle I did.”

  “I was hoping you might say something like that,” Lehane said. “It’s good character. Have you been enjoying your trip so far?”

  “We have,” Creek said. “My fiancée and I just got back from visiting Caledonia. New Edinburgh is absolutely beautiful. Debbie is thrilled our luggage got lost because it’s giving her an excuse to stock up.” Creek wasn’t entirely sure Robin would be thrilled at the picture he was painting of her as “Debbie,” but there was no reason to stick too close to the real-life script.

  “Caledonia is beautiful,” Lehane agreed. “A lot of tourists are disappointed because New Edinburgh isn’t tropically located, but it’s my favorite stop on our itinerary. It’s sad that we have to cut short our stay here—and at Brjnn, too—in order to get Chagfun into the schedule. We only have a day at each, and just one day at Chagfun as well. Although that doesn’t bother me terribly.”

  “You don’t sound very excited about Chagfun,” Creek said.

  “I’m not,” Lehane admitted, in a rush that felt as if he were allowing a dark secret to be pulled out in the open. “It’s a terrible place, you know. Bad things happened to us. Bad things happened to the rebels. And in both cases the Nidu were to blame. They’re still there, of course. The idea of taking one of our spaceships back into that space knots my gut.”

  “And yet Ned says you lobbied hard for the Neverland to take these men to Chagfun,” Creek said.

  “I did,” Lehane said. “If anyone’s going to bring these guys back into Hell—even for a vacation—it should be someone who’s been there before. And who knows the way back out again.”

  “I think I like you, Captain Lehane,” Creek said.

  “The feeling’s mutual, Mr. Toshima,” Lehane said. “You’re a survivor of the 6th. I imagine you know what it’s like to take men out of Hell.”

  “I do,” Creek said. “Some of them, anyway.”

  Brian let his consciousness float before the informational edifice that was the Church of the Evolved Lamb’s computer network and tried to figure out the best way to break in.

  Earlier in the day, Brian had noted with satisfaction that his older brother had swatted back the Nidu attempt to reclassify Robin Baker as property and rammed the ruling right down their lizardly throats. Brian had burst with fraternal pride as he read the judge’s ruling; Ben had always been the smart one in the family and had a special knack for sneaking up behind people in an intellectual sense and then whacking them in the skull, which is exactly what had happened here. But Brian didn’t think the ruling was close to the end of it. People who were happy to argue that a human has as many rights as an alarm clock were not likely to be stopped by a judge. They’d be after Robin again soon enough, and Harry along with her. Brian felt that it was his mission to find out how, stop it if he could, or at least inform Harry about what to expect.

  By dint of Harry’s security clearance, Brian knew everything the UNE knew about the situation, which was not enough to help him extrapolate what the Nidu would do next. There were two other players who had information Brian didn’t have and that he needed: The Nidu government itself, and the Church of the Evolved Lamb, who through Archie McClellan had been keeping tabs on the entire situation.

  Brian read up on both, which in this case meant accessing the complete information about both in his databanks, a process which took a couple of seconds. He was not entirely surprised to find two significant points of conn
ection between the Nidu government and the Church. The first was that the Android’s Dream sheep was a breed of sheep designed by the Church (or more accurately, its genetics labs, which were part of the overall Hayter-Ross corporate structure) for the Nidu government at the behest of the UNE government. Even more accurately, it had been designed for the auf-Getag clan prior to their challenge for the Nidu throne years back. This was an interesting bit of trivia; it showed the UNE had placed their bets on the succession long before it actually went down. Designing an entirely new breed of sheep took time.

  The second is that the construction of the Nidu computer network currently in use had been contracted out to the UNE—the auf-Getag clan’s way of scratching the back of those who had scratched theirs. The UNE in return subcontracted the job to several companies—two thirds of whom, including the managing subcontractor LegaCen, were companies within the overall Hayter-Ross corporate umbrella.

  The specifics of the computer system were not available (of course—they were Nidu state secrets), but the general gist of the computer system was that it allowed the Nidu Fehen complete access to and control of every network-enabled computer and appliance in Nidu space. And they were all network-enabled; by Nidu law, if it had a processor, it had to be attached to the network. Lesser but still Orwellian levels of access were provided by the Fehen to other Nidu higher-ups, who it goes without saying were entirely loyal to the Fehen. This was all in the service of total, centralized control; in this technologically centered age, a rebellion that relied on paper was not a rebellion that would get very far.