The Orphaned Worlds (20 page)

‘Only organic emissaries are permitted – the mechanical must return.’

‘I am Emissary Horst’s escort,’ Reski began. ‘There can be no exceptions,’ said the voice. ‘Safety is assured aboard this vessel. Escorts are not required.’

‘And of course, you are to be trusted in this regard.’ ‘We insist on it.’

The droid turned towards Robert. ‘Looks like you’re on your own. Watch out for the hospitality drinks.’ Then it smoothly turned end over end and without another word floated back the way they had come.

‘Enter, Emissary Horst.’

Inside, the walls had fluted surfaces in shades of green that had a slick translucence with a hint of fluid and rippling membranes beneath. Perhaps the Godhead’s vessel employed living tissue, he speculated. Perhaps the entire ship was a living creature – he had heard that such things existed in the starry expanses on the far side of the Indroma Solidarity.

‘Follow the lights, Emissary – they will guide you.’

Three narrow passages branched off from this chamber but only one had small amber symbols pulsing on the soft textured floor. The passage colour changed to dark, shiny blue, the same as the large curved chamber he soon arrived in. Long ribs spread out from the ceiling and there were curious concave tiles underfoot. The chamber was oval and divided in two by a transparent wall beyond which a strange pale creature floated, as if in water. It had a squidlike, multi-tentacled lower torso yet the upper body was vaguely humanoid, a chest narrowing to a neck and a bulbous hairless head. Two large eyes stared from a mouthless face while several other eyes were dotted around the shoulders and upper chest. A pair of thin arms hung listlessly by its sides, each with a rudimentary hand. The skin looked waxy, soft and pale, and said little about the creature’s bone structure.

‘Welcome, Emissary Robert Horst,’ said a smooth, calm female voice. ‘You are aboard a postulate-craft of the Godhead, and I am the Intercessor.’

The pale creature’s face grew a mouth as Robert approached and other details appeared or changed. Ears that emerged from the temples then migrated down to more familiar locations, a nose that pushed out of the centre of the face and went from conical to humanlike even before nostrils appeared, and arms that thickened while on the hands the stubby fingers divided and lengthened. It was as if this strange being was like a mask being moulded from within.

Robert maintained his composure as the transformation took place, while trying to grasp the sense and possible meanings of the term ‘postulate-craft’. A postulate was an idea or proposal put forward without self-evident proof, like a
Gedankenexperiment
. So what did that say about the basis of this meeting?

And did this creature have anything to do with the Legion Knight’s ambush?

‘I am deeply honoured by your invitation, Intercessor,’ he said. ‘We would have arrived sooner had we not been attacked by a hostile vessel which we managed to overcome at some cost. I wonder … if you were at all aware of the attacker’s presence here?’

To Robert’s amazement, the Intercessor’s form suddenly convulsed and distorted, its pale, soft skin rippling, swelling and parting as easily as if the body were made of something pliable, even gelatinous. The Intercessor divided into three forms identical to the original, and swam around each other for a moment before drawing closely together. Waxy flesh merged seamlessly and a new form coalesced, a blocky torso with a long, arched and eyeless head ending in a pointed beak. A deep grating voice came from the ceiling just above the transparent wall.

‘The purposes of violent intruders hold no relevance for us. You have come a long way from the Prime Stratum, Emissary Horst – we are keen to hear the Construct’s message.’

In other words, we do not discuss our motivations with lesser creatures
, he thought as he gave a polite bow.

‘Intercessor, I am here not just on behalf of the entity known as the Construct but also on behalf of certain fellow members of my species who are trapped between brutal powers that have no regard for anything other than their own aggrandisement.’

He went on to briefly sketch out the discovery of the warpwell on Darien, the involvement of the Hegemony and their Brolturan proxies, and the vulnerable situation of the Darien colonists and their Uvovo allies. He then laid out the Construct’s position, its ancient alliance with the Forerunners, its contention that various unsolved massacres and destructions in the lower tiers were carried out by agents of the Legion of Avatars, and the belief that the Legion Knight that dispatched the earlier droid to Darien would try again and perhaps succeed. If the Legion of Avatars were to escape from their aeons-old prison, the consequences for the galaxy would be catastrophic and would percolate down through the tiers of hyperspace, a poison that would then spread to other galaxies.

‘So I have come here at the Construct’s behest to ask for help,’ Robert said. ‘The Construct proposes that the Godhead put pressure on the vestigial civilisations of the Deep Tracts to work together to combat aggression and ensure the confinement of questionable elements to the depths …’

At this, the Intercessor’s form again melted, split into three and recombined into an odd spiderish thing whose lumpy back sprouted dozens of tentacles ending in mouths or eyes, straining towards Robert, pressing against the transparent wall.

‘The Construct asks for much and assumes much.’ This time it sounded like several voices speaking in unison. ‘What part would the Construct play in this arrangement? What advantage would accrue to the Godhead?’

‘With the Godhead’s influence improving security across the Deep Tracts, the Construct can redirect some of its midlevel forces to the Prime Stratum, to the planet Darien to seal the warpwell permanently. The Legion of Avatars’ last chance of escape will be gone for ever and the Godhead will never have to face them.’

The eye-and-mouth tentacles shrank back into the bulbous torso, which lengthened and divided into the three slender squid creatures. Two of them swam off to the side and began to spin and dance around each other, rising and falling in spirals. The third, now resembling a large anemone with a single eye amid a crown of waving tendrils, stared straight at Robert.

‘Your message must be considered, Emissary Horst,’ it said in a flat, slightly lethargic tone. ‘Now we would know more about your origins.’

Robert frowned. ‘Me or my species, Intercessor?’

‘The untutored vulnerabilities of your species are clearly visible to our preceptors, like the empty overseer device in your head. Humans are adopting artificial intelligence implants in the belief that it will enhance their outlook and their skills, or even the measure of their pleasure, when in fact it is a system of control. Yet your implant device is inert – did you tire of its domination and deceit?’

Smiling, Robert recalled the companion he had once had, Harry, modelled on a character from
The Third Man
, a twentieth-century monochrome movie, and realised that he missed his wry wit and mock-cynicism.

‘To be completely honest, Intercessor,’ he said, ‘I had a long and rewarding friendship with my AI companion, until I came to the Garden of the Machines where the Construct had it removed. I understand the reasons and the risks of the Hegemony learning too much, but I still regret his removal.’

Beyond the glassy wall, spots and bars on the trunk of the anemone-Intercessor began to glow in various colours.

‘This is to be expected,’ said the Intercessor, sounding more alert. ‘The you of now bears the burden of decisions and consequences, which is why I would know the origins of the you of now.’

Robert’s eyes widened as he absorbed the meaning of the query.
Decisions, consequences and burdens
, he thought, uneasily aware of where such lines of enquiry could lead.

‘I may not be able to offer an objective estimation of my personal development, Intercessor, but I suppose I could mention that I have been a senior negotiator and diplomat, at least prior to my promotion to ambassador …’ The Intercessor made no comment so he pressed on. ‘I have been privy to many policy decisions and high-level mediations, bringing opposing parties to the negotiating table, finding common ground and ways to overcome grievances without violence …’
Except in the case of the Yamanon Domain where all those summits, stratarms surveys, and independent verifications turned out to be a fig leaf for a military action that was going to happen, whatever the Dol-Das regime said or did
.

The Intercessor drifted closer to the transparent barrier but otherwise remained silent. Robert sighed.

‘I have to admit that not all my decisions have led to satisfactory outcomes – my wife would certainly attest to …’

‘Your wife?’ The Intercessor’s form narrowed while its single large eye suddenly subdivided into six, all focused on Robert. ‘Is this wife some kind of life-soul partner?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Yes, that is so.’ ‘Do you have offspring?’

In his mind he saw Rosa’s body lying face-down and motionless against the Legion Knight’s underside. He kept his face composed.

‘We had one, a daughter. She is no longer alive.’

The Intercessor’s eye cluster subdivided again into more than a dozen, all regarding Robert with unwavering intensity.

‘What was the manner of her death?’ said the creature.

Relating the circumstances was never easy, no matter how many times he had done so, but he steeled himself to march through it once more. He tried to explain how she had been part of a political group opposed to the Yamanon invasion and how they attempted to blockade a combined Hegemony–Earthsphere battle fleet with a handful of unshielded smallcraft. ‘But then the ship she was aboard was perceived as a threat by a Hegemony warship commander who opened fire, destroying the vessel …’

‘What is the record of the Hegemony response to similar countervailing demonstrations?’

‘Intolerant and brutal, sometimes resulting in fatalities.’

The Intercessor’s eyes gleamed. ‘So your daughter and her companions knew the risk when they willingly ventured forth into the warship’s path.’

‘I’m sure they did,’ Robert said, frowning. ‘But what does this have to do with … ?’

‘So they were reconciled to their fate, consciously deciding to embrace the possible ending of their lives …’

‘A moment please, Intercessor! None of them believed that they would be fired upon …’

‘When hazards are clear, responsibility is total, awareness is inescapable …’

‘This is not so,’ Robert said, striving to stay polite. ‘They believed that restraint would be exercised, that they were safe in a neutral port …’

As the exchange had progressed, the lesser sub-Intercessor had grown steadily more agitated, its long body contracting, the tendrils around its head shifting down the dumpy torso while the eyes separated and moved apart. By now, the torso was losing its shape and the eyes were drifting in random directions.

‘Power restrained … is a lesser power.’ The Intercessor’s voice wavered, broke into several tones. ‘They knew what they faced … voluntary … embraced their ending …’

‘No!’ Robert cried. ‘She wanted to live!’

In the next instant, the pale amorphous mass of the Intercessor convulsed, as if struck, then abruptly split apart into a shoal of little squid creatures. There was an explosion of activity – some of them darted away in all directions while many huddled together in three main groups that eyed each other and warily kept their distance. Then the pair of sub-Intercessors, having ceased their dance, swooped down, mouths gaping hugely to swallow. Most of the small squids eagerly swam into the maws and as they were absorbed the two sub-Intercessors grew.

Robert watched in a kind of mystified fascination, and recalled a painting he once saw in the National Museum in Berlin, a sur-realist work by the twenty-first-century artist Arbeiter, entitled
The Dance of the Selves
. It depicted a lone figure lying slumped in a bare room while masklike faces, each with its own expression, tore away from his head and flew around the room. Robert began to wonder if the Intercessor’s species consisted of group minds with some kind of biomorphic symbiosis, like the Utlezyr, a species wiped out by the Sarsheni during their domination of the Indroma worlds.

The two partial Intercessors, now enlarged by their harvesting, stalked the remaining strays, unaware that one of them had sneaked round to the glassy dividing wall. Robert smiled as it swam up against the barrier, its single dark eye fixed on him.

‘Emissary Horst, you must listen – they wanted to live! …’

The thin, wavering voice was cut off as a pale tentacle snatched its owner back into a dark, toothless maw. There was no chewing. The mouth closed up and melted into pale, pliable flesh as the two partial Intercessors merged, rippling, flowing. A moment later, the Intercessor once more floated before him, whole.

‘You have been most patient, Emissary Horst, and while our consideration has been quite thorough we require a further period of cogitation. If you return to your vessel we shall inform you of our conclusions within one hour.’

And with that the audience was over. The Intercessor undulated away to an opening at the rear and was gone, leaving Robert to mull over the bizarre, almost incomprehensible encounter as he retraced his steps.

‘A remarkable account,’ said Reski Emantes. ‘So, in essence, you laid out the Construct’s negotiating position to the Godhead’s representative, then proceeded to have a stand-up shouting match that resulted in your premature return to the ship.’

‘If you generalise it any further, you can make it sound as if I punched the dividing wall, perhaps even fired off a weapon. Would you like to try?’

The droid Reski Emantes magnified the image of the Godhead vessel on the main monitor.

‘It would not be possible to exaggerate the irreparable damage you have inflicted on this mission,’ it said. ‘How could an experienced diplomat lose control so badly?’

Robert had no answer, at least not one that he wanted to voice at this time. Yet that strange affray had been more due to the partial-Intercessor’s reaction than to his own loss of temper. Almost as if the shattering of its group-mind consensus was triggered by something in his responses. But there was no way of really knowing exactly what connotations or associations were aroused by his words.