Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 6
“Any questions?” asked Krissa.
Tamika stood up. “Captain?”
“Yes, Cadet Gatchnall?”
“Then you’re saying that anything we build is doomed to be destroyed? That the Concord’s… efforts are useless? That we’re wasting our time?” That conquering my home was all for nothing?
“Tam!” hissed Nierny at her side. Everyone else in the room was gawking at her, but her eyes were fixed on Captain Krissa’s vision receptors—which seemed to be fixed on her. There was a long silence, but finally Krissa turned away.
“Who can know? But as I said earlier, this is not a philosophy course. We do our duty, Cadet, and at the moment our duty is to finish this class. So let us continue…”
Krissa returned to her lecture, but Tamika scarcely heard her. The class ended and the cadets filed out. Nierny walked beside her. “Tam, what the hell was that? You trying to get yourself kicked out?”
“I don’t know. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.” She quickened her pace and left him behind. She went through dinner and evening dress parade on automatic pilot, her thoughts as much a scrambled mess as that final display in the class. Once she was dismissed, she avoided the other cadets and headed out the Academy’s main gate and down to the little seaside park of the adjoining town. Hadley IV had the most amazing sunsets and Tamika found a bench to watch.
What am I doing here?
That was the question, wasn’t it? But what was the answer? Was there an answer? She watched as the sun touched the water, but she found no answer.
A tiny sound from behind made her realize she wasn’t alone. And the even fainter sound of servos activating told her just who it was. “Captain Krissa?” She turned her head and yes, there she was. The machine-woman was standing a meter off to her right, staring at the sunset.
“Beautiful evening, isn’t it? Mind if I join you, Cadet?”
“N-not at all, sir.”
Krissa sat down next to her, the bench creaking slightly under the machine’s weight, but didn’t look at her. They sat in silence as the sun slipped beneath the sea and then Tamika said: “I’m sorry if I disrupted the class today, sir.”
The captain made a noise which sounded like a snort. “Don’t be. It’ll do ‘em good. A new thought now and then never hurt anyone. I’m not worried about them.”
“But you’re worried about me?” Why else would she be here?
“Not exactly worried. Concerned maybe. You’re the one who’s worried, am I right?”
Tamika stiffened and frowned. “If you’re reading my mind, why do you have to even ask?”
Krissa snorted again. “No one’s reading your mind, Ms. Gatchnall.”
“But the nanites… the IMTel… It knows exactly what I’m thinking!”
“Yes, the IMTel is reading your mind, and my mind, along with a billion others here on Hadley IV, and trillions more throughout the Panhuman Concord. But when I said ‘no one’, I mean exactly that: no one is reading your mind. The IMTel isn’t someone. It isn’t anyone. It just is.”
“That’s what we were told again and again by the occupation forces back on my home world,” said Tamika, bitterness in her voice. “They said the IMTel wasn’t mind control, we weren’t being absorbed into some big super-consciousness, that we’d still be individuals, we’d still have free will. None of us believed it at first. And then we did start to believe it—and that made it worse. The fact that we did believe it made it seem all the more a lie!”
“The transition into becoming part of the IMTel shard can be confusing. I’ve witnessed it a few times,” said Krissa.
“We fought so hard against the Concord,” said Tamika. “My father died, my older brother was terribly wounded. I would have joined the fight if it had gone on much longer. When our defenses collapsed, one of our neighbors killed his entire family and then himself to avoid being assimilated. Everything I’d been taught growing up, everything I saw around me told me to fight the Concord!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks now.
“And yet here you are.”
“Yes! What am I doing here?” She sniffed and angrily wiped her eyes. “How can I be siding with the enemy? Why would the Concord even want me? Why did they choose me?”
“No one chose you, Cadet.”
“Well someone chose me! I was back on Geasey II, doing my chores at the camp, and then suddenly there were instructions in my inbox telling me to report here! Someone sent that! And when I got here they were expecting me!”
Krissa was silent for a moment, the sunset had turned the white of her machine body into a glowing orange. “That’s probably the hardest thing for newcomers to understand—hell, even those of us born to it have a hard time grasping it. The IMTel isn’t a person or a group of persons or a ruling council or a government, or an unfeeling tyrant, or a group mind. Or maybe it’s all of those things at once—or none of them. It just is. Things happen. Food gets grown, energy produced, transport systems constructed, houses and schools built, fleets and armies dispatched, worlds added to the Concord… and people recruited. But no one orders it. No one decides. No one decided to bring you here.” Tamika opened her mouth to make an angry reply, but then Krissa added: “And you could have always refused to come.”
“What? I could?”
“Of course. And you could leave right now and go home. No one would stop you. The Concord Combined Command is perhaps unique in human history in that is entirely made of volunteers—perhaps not conscious volunteers, but the IMTel would not have picked them unless they had the right mind-set and a desire to serve. Anyone can quit at any time—although few ever do. Quitting in the middle of combat can be awkward and a bit rude, but I’ve seen it happen. Damn near got me killed one time as a matter of fact.”
“You have been killed…”
“Six times.”
“But you keep coming back again. Is that… typical?”
“Not really. Almost every new recruit opts for being backed up and restored when they are inducted. They’re young and expect to live forever. I sure did. But less than half return to the ranks after the first restoration. They leave the C3 shard and go back wherever they came from. Only about ten percent come back after a second death. Six times? I’m part of a real elite, Cadet, less than one tenth of a percent go for more than two times.”
“They say… Some people say… I’ve heard that when they restore you… it isn’t really you anymore…”
“Yeah, some people say that. But until they find some way to measure a person’s soul there’s no way to tell, is there? I have all the memories of all six of those Natchia Krissas who came before me. Nothing’s missing as far as I can tell. And if my soul did flitter off to some heaven or hell after my first death, what difference does it make? I’m here right now.” She turned her vision pickups right at Tamika. There seemed to be a red glow deep inside them—or was that just the last of the sunset? “And so are you, Cadet. What will you do?”
“I don’t know!” cried Tamika, it was almost a wail. “Part of me feels that being here is the right thing to do—and another part tells me that feeling that way is the wrongest thing of all!” She paused and looked up to where the stars were coming out. Hadley was close to a small globular cluster and the fuzzy grouping was right overhead this evening. “I do like being here… the other cadets are nice people and there’s something very… appealing about all of this… But then I think of my father and my neighbors. And then today when you were talking about the collapse of the gates and it all seemed like it was pointless in the end anyway. I don’t know what I should do, Captain.”
“Only you can answer that question, Cadet,” said Krissa. “Like I said: you could walk away from the Academy, go down to the starport, and catch a ship that would take you back to your home. No one will stop you. The Concord Combined Command has over a thousand academies like this one spread out through the Concord and I have to believe that every one of them must have cadets with the exact same doubts as you. I could call up the numbers on how many quit and go home, but that doesn’t matter. We are individuals, Cadet, and what others might choose doesn’t matter a damn. Only your choice does.”
“So… so why are you still here, Captain? After dying all those times? What keeps you coming back? Do you believe in the Concord that much?”
“I don’t suppose I think about it anymore than the next person, but yes, I do believe in the Concord. Or at least in the idea of a Concord. There needs to be something here to watch over humanity. Because there are other species out there who hate us, or only think of us as food, or just want us gone because we are in their way. As individual worlds we don’t have a chance against them. Believe me, I’ve seen what they can do.
“So the Concord, or something like the Concord, is necessary if humanity is going to survive. We need to allow our civilization to grow and get as strong and as advanced as it possibly can be before the next collapse. That will give us the best chance of recovering quickly when the gates come back and getting ourselves organized before some enemy gets too strong to handle. And who knows? If we get smart enough, maybe we’ll figure out how to control the Antares gates and keep another collapse from happening at all.”
“Is that possible?”
“Who knows? Presumably the Builders knew how to do it. No reason we can’t figure it out eventually. Until we do, C3 will stand watch.” Krissa paused for a moment and then went on. “Whatever it was that called you here must believe that you would be a help to us—because as we all know, the IMTel doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Yeah, right!” laughed Tamika.
Krissa laughed right back at her. “Yeah. Right.” The machine body stood up. “It’s getting late.” She turned and walked away. Tamika got to her feet and hurried to catch up. In silence they went through the Academy gates. Tamika turned toward her quarters, but Krissa went the other way.
“I’ll see you in class, Cadet.”
“Yes sir.”
I’ll see you in class.
Batu Meets the SITAI
By Tim Bancroft
Batu Delhren hung his head as the Vard continued to berate him. He did not hear the words or, at least did not hear the exact words, for he had heard such remonstrations about his inadequacy many times before. His only hope was to sound sincere in his apologies, to offer to try and correct whatever it was he had done or the damage he had caused.
The trouble was, this time he had no idea what it was that had aroused the ire of the Vard. The dives of Moralan Down Port had been his only entertainment for several months – the Vard himself had seen to that with his punishment after Batu’s last escapade. Batu could not help but think that being confined to the city was an excessively hard punishment, even when the city was the capital of Delhren III, the jewel in the Delhren clan’s planetary possessions. Mind you, he had found a rather attractive Boromite dancer in the Spyker’s Rub...
Silence intruded into his imagination. He looked up to see the Vard glaring at him. “Are you listening to me?”
“Of course, sire,” said Batu. He put on a look of indignation.
“Then tell me what I have just asked of you.”
“Sire, I am hurt you should even imagine I would not hang on every word that comes from your lips.” The words came automatically; internally he was querying his Delhren shard interface. “MyShard: summarize what the Vard just said.”
“The Vard offered a way to clear your name, leadership of a survey to explore a newly discovered gate.”
“I am, sire, at your service and would gladly lead any expedition to a new planet.” Batu smiled.
“You are too good at covering your data queries.” The Vard sighed volubly. “Frankly, Batu, you are a massive pain in the side of this house. There are many who would wish to get rid of you.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Unfortunately, you are family.”
“Thank you, Dearest Uncle.”
The Vard winced. “I would rather you did not remind me of the closeness of our relationship.” He waved at his personal bodyguards. “They will show you to your new command where you will be briefed by the ship’s master.”
“I hope to acquit myself well, Uncle, and bring another planet into the Delhren fold. Improve our revenue stream.”
The Vard scowled. “If you do not, consider whether you should return.”
Batu bit back a retort, bowed, and backed away from the Delhren throne. A pair of grinning guards stepped out of the audience chamber with him and the doors irised shut behind them.
Out of earshot of the Vard, Batu relaxed. “What are you smiling at?” he snapped. “Take me to the ship and make sure my vardinari and travel chest are on board within half an hour. Otherwise...”
The grins grew wider. They know my threats are empty. “Of course, sire,” the guards chorused. One bowed, swept his hand to one side in an extravagant gesture. “After you, sire.”
Batu clenched his fists. No one takes me seriously. There was little else to do but hold his head high, back straight, and stalk out.
* * *
The stench made Batu choke. For a moment, he thought the transmat had been given the wrong co-ordinates. He seemed to be in a warehouse from the look of the compression crates and collapsed stacks of supplies around the walls, but it was dark and shallow pools of fetid water puddled on the uneven floor. The only light came from the transmat console.
He covered his nose. “MyShard: where in the seven ages are we?”
“We are in hold 01S-forward, onboard a scoutship. Apparently called Death is Only the Beginning, a recommissioned Sixth Age vessel.”
“That old? And what a stupid name. What about the stench, the mess?”
“The ship has a poor opinion of its crew.”
Batu groaned. Rejects, perhaps, or Mhagris. “Feral Mhagris?”
“Transmissions suggest soma controlled, yes. Not Mhagris, but natives of Tamala-3.”
Batu closed his eyes and leant against the transmit console. “Don’t tell me that, please. The Tamalair are useless; even more primitive than the Mhagris. Can you confirm, MyShard?”
“I cannot lie. Prepare yourself: the captain approaches.” The Doma-familia grade shard interface followed the warning with a nerve activation, a shivering sensation down his spine. Lights flared on around him to reveal the plain walls of a poorly maintained hold.
A doorway morphed open to reveal a slender NuHu with androgynous features, its robe and cloak in the house colors of the Delhren. Like many NuHu it had a narrow face with otherwise perfectly balanced features. To Batu’s surprise, its hair – pulled back in a knot – was gray and the lines around the corner of its intense, amber eyes suggested great age. Its stave was a bizarre mix of technology and primitive symbolism, a shriveled head held in a stasis sphere near its tip. Over its head hovered a pair of nano drones, their surfaces dirty, scuffed, and scarred.
Behind the NuHu came robed guards armed with swords, their faces hidden by bronzed helms. The primitive weave of their clothes were a stark contrast to the modern mag repeaters each held across his or her chest.
“Well, well,” said the NuHu. It took a breath and wheezed. “A real Delhren from the Delhren domas.”
“MyShard? Who in the millennia gates is this?”
A message appeared on Batu’s retina. “Nanosphere interface offline.”
There was a faint smile on the NuHu’s face. “Shall we use speech?” It turned toward the mummified head. “What’s that, my love? Oh, yes. It does not know who we are.” It glided into the cargo space, robes barely moving. The bodyguards fanned out to either side, splashing through the puddles.
Batu stepped forward. “I am Batu Delhren, nephew to the...” His mouth was clamped shut as if by an invisible hand. “MyShard, block these nanospores!” There was no response.
“Yes, yes,” wheezed the NuHu, “we know who you are. But we – we are Rayala and Rayasan, once misled by the IMTel, now pledged to the House Delhren.” It paused. “We are the Raya.”
Oh, skark. The names of the Raya were infamous. One of the renegade NuHu pair had been killed centuries ago and the survivor had fallen into a complex insanity. No one knew which one had died, so the name had remained: the Raya. What have you dropped me into, Uncle?
The transmat hummed, drawing Raya’s attention, and the pressure around Batu’s jaw eased. In the bright light from the transmat array, hazy shapes materialized, solidified, then the light faded to reveal his bodyguard with hyper-compressor transit crates at their feet. Seeing Batu threatened and surrounded, the sergeant barked a command and the squad acted as one to protect him. Their weapons lowered into readiness.
The Tamalair remained motionless. The Raya cackled. “Put down your weapons. You are guests aboard my ship.”
His sergeant, Baray, glanced at Batu before addressing the Raya. “Then re-activate our shard interfaces.”
Another cackle. “In time. I am merely reintegrating your interfaces with my ship’s... older technology – a personal shard, if you will.” The Raya turned and led the way from the cargo hold. “Please, follow me. I will show you to your quarters. Then we can be on our way.”
Baray raised her eyebrows querulously. Batu shrugged and signaled for his vardinari to fall in behind. He followed the NuHu from the hold and was not surprised when the Tamalair hung back for his bodyguard to leave. Are we guests or prisoners?
* * *
The door slid shut behind them, audibly clunked as latches engaged. “Who are they kidding?” said Batu, turning to stare at the locked doors.
“I think, sire, they are just making a point.”
A speaker crackled into life. “Guards have been posted at your door, which has been sealed for your own safety and protection during transit. This is an old vessel and you may place yourselves in danger through innocent exploration.”
“A loudspeaker?” asked Batu, incredulous.
Baray shrugged. “Well, our shard interfaces don’t work, so how else?”
