“I want to believe you. But why would you do this? Betray your own people? That's absurd!”
“You Prrism'aarth are hard to understand. I've already explained things. There are many on Ikali who can no longer tolerate the empire's abominations. The goal of the resistance is to annihilate them, by quietly outsmarting them.”
“You must be patient with us. My people have been deceived many times. I want to believe in this, but, at the same time, I have serious concerns.”
“By now you've already been discovered. If I was here on behalf of the empire, why would I take so long to take action against you?”
“To gather information and locate other groups like ours. And mind you, I'm not admitting anything by saying this, given that it's a policy that's openly advocated by the empire.”
“Listen. If you won't help me, I'll find someone else on this planet who will. You can bet on it.”
“So why are you so insistent?”
“Because you possess a very sophisticated biological laboratory. There are no other worlds with such advanced equipment, except Ikali. And, as you might imagine, plotting from light years away has certain advantages.”
Quarkban said nothing for a moment, deep in thought. His face's scaly skin wrinkled. The features of his face resembled those of a reptile on Earth, but his physiology was very different. His yellow eyes looked directly into Vorxzion's black ones. “What's your plan?”
“You said that inside the group, your word is law, right?”
“In actuality, it's a bit more complex.”
“Yes or no?” the Ikalian demanded resolutely.
“Yes.”
“So, if you want to hear about our plan, you must first assure us of your collaboration.”
The Freemason's thorax swelled.
“I promise.”
“Great. You have experts in molecular nanobiology, right?”
“You'll find the best minds of Pristh here.”
“Excellent. And the equipment? Do you have adequate financing?”
“Let's just say it could be better.”
“I asked you because I'm almost certain that I could get you some real technological gems when the next Ikalian ship arrives.”
“So you want us to build a biological weapon?”
“We've devised specifications for constructing an artificial virus, which will be remote-controlled from a distance. But it still lacks some of the basics. That's where you come in.”
“Remote-controlled via subspace waves?”
“Exactly.”
“Amazing.”
“It's the only way to weaken the imperial framework, given that in a conventional war, as you well know, no one stands the slightest chance.”
“A virus... We had actually thought of that, but didn't have the ability to adequately analyze your biology.”
“More than a classic biosynthetic virus, this is more similar to a nano-robot in that it's capable of dismantling the host organism from the inside.”
“It would be very dangerous if it got out of control or fell into the wrong hands.”
“It won't be released until we've developed a nanomolecular antidote, and a secure means of deactivating the virus from a distance.”
“That's a great intellectual challenge!”
“No. It's the price of freedom!”
The biologist nodded, then asked: “And now, what do we do?”
“I'll be in touch, soon.”
“Of course,” said the Prrism'aarth being, before turning his back to leave. There was no form of salutation in his language.
“Doctor Quarkban!”
“Yes?” asked the Mason, caught off guard.
The Ikalian looked at him purposefully and threateningly.
“Don't try to screw me or I'll reduce you to a pile of elements from the periodic table!”
“Of course,” said the Prrism'aarth, without saying goodbye.
40
After an indefinite period in a haze, the Taahrian, laying on the floating cot in the infirmary, managed to regain full use of his body. However, he winced when he realized that he didn't know who he was. Or even to what species he belonged. He had no problem naming the objects around him or understanding that he had the ability to communicate through a complex spoken language. Some concepts of superluminal mechanics and applied subatomic physics were even clear to him. But not knowing who the hell he was, where he came from or what he was doing on board a ship, went beyond his capabilities. Then he saw three beings approach. Two of them appeared organic and one was cybernetic. He felt like he was going insane. He understood the idea of organic matter, but had absolutely no idea what to call those living things. Then the taller and more purple of the two approached him, almost touching him. Before he could remember an emotion like fear, his ears perceived a language that he understood.
“Hello. My name is Eldgh. Welcome back.”
Xnoris' technical competence, with the assistance of some suggestions from the resistance, exceeded all expectations. Not only was he able to block the subspace waves from reaching the neural processors of the Taahrians still in suspended animation, but, thanks to Eldgh's remodulation of the brain wave transmitters mounted in the infirmary, all previously installed memories were removed and the chips permanently disabled.
“They're like children, ready to believe anything,” Namiko said to the First Officer.
“They'll finally know reality, for the first time in their lives,” Eldgh declared.
The reawakened Taahrians' mental abilities showed themselves to be excellent, although part of their memories had been reset, as though a memory drive had been reformatted. Being absolutely blank about their own origins, it was easy for Namiko, Eldgh and the C6 units to find fertile ground in which to plant new seeds.
Although it was somewhat difficult to reawaken the initial few, they became much more familiar with the process for subsequent ones. The first Taahrians to regain their mental faculties were given the task of instructing their brethren, until every single one on board the Betelgeuse was conscious.
In order to pursue the plan of attack against the Ikalians, Eldgh and Namiko had to first succeed at three things: having their leadership role accepted, making the revolt against Ikali every single Taahrian's mission in life, and assigning tasks to properly run the ship.
After a month of intense work, the majority of technical knowledge remaining in the recesses of their minds would return to the surface, allowing each member to regain a satisfactory level of operation. Completely eliminating the chips also meant giving up their most useful functions. It had been a difficult decision, but it was necessary. It was the only way to insure that the Ikalians couldn't resume control. It was difficult to resist the temptation to act by means of telepathy, which, if properly directed, could transform the Taahrian collective into one giant, unequalled mind. In any case, the element of surprise was going to floor their enemies.
To Namiko, all the confusion with the phases of awakening looked like something between military academy training and reeducating disabled children from an asylum. It was an absurd situation. In her mind, fear and skepticism alternated with comforting words from Eldgh and Xnoris' messages. They had won the first battle and would eventually win the war. The Earth, the Taahrians and all the peoples of the galaxy would eventually be free. It was a wonderful, and literally universal, idea.
“I think that I'm becoming insanely selfish,” Namiko said to Eldgh, in one of the anonymous corridors of the ship.
“Why do you say that?”
“The Earth, the galaxy, freedom... none of that is the real reason I'm doing any of this.”
“Oh no? And what's the real reason?”
“Sirio!”
Eldgh didn’t reply. He had nothing to say. He couldn't judge her; not him. Not one who had come to believe that their cause was pointless. In fact, once they had prevailed over the Ikalians, what would they do? What would be his brethren's role in the galaxy? They h
ad no purpose, no authentic free will, no origin except that of being clones or automatons who served the ends of others.
What's the point of our existence? was Eldgh's Hamlet-like question. His traveling companion, firm in her Terrestrial beliefs, had tried to convince him that he had a soul. And, with developed minds and a soul, they could do marvelous things: undertake extraordinary lives and make a difference; initially inside themselves, then in the world, and finally, throughout the galaxy.
A prodigious idea, that of the soul, Eldgh thought. What a pity that it was a concept too distant and inconceivable for his synapses. Once all of this was over, if they survived, he would ask Xnoris to reprogram his chip, to rewrite the fake memories of a marvelous origin. So that he could live a happy life.
For once.
In the meantime, the only thing he could do was prepare for battle. Perhaps he could help get Sirio and Namiko back together. Yeah, Sirio. Who knows how he'll react when he sees his beloved again.
41
The T'anjakhaal was the most imposing building that had ever been constructed in all of Ikali's history: it was as big as a city; its summit touched the lower layers of the atmosphere. It was the capital of their empire, constructed in the basic form of an octagon. From there, one could see the entire area, until it became lost in dense forests and huge lakes. The T'anjakhaal had ended up being the most impressive building in history for one simple reason: it was the imperial palace, and nothing and no one would dare to attack it. People from all over the planet had to look up to admire its summit. Even the local shuttles had to fly at a lower altitude, observing special protocols, to avoid crashing into it. It was a kind of paranoia so strong that some emperors, to avoid having to look at anything over their heads, had gone so far as to ban astroports that were visible from the T'anjakhaal. Having a healthy dose of common sense, at least from the perspective of public opinion, the current emperor, Saarin, had decided to reopen and even expand observable astroports.
Saarin's physical perfection, a product of genetic engineering, was marred only by the presence of a visible scar on his face. Medical science could've removed it entirely, but the emperor had chosen to keep it. It was a difficult decision, motivated more by politics than aesthetics. The wound had disfigured him only a few days after he was installed as emperor. It was the result of an attack carried out by one of the many resistance groups. The wound had been inflicted by a steel hand weapon, since any instrument capable of firing or generating a laser discharge of any kind would've been identified by one of the five million detectors installed in the T'anjakhaal. After the emperor was struck during the celebration, along with one of his advisers, he seized on the idea of letting the scar remain clearly visible forever; as a warning to terrorists. In fact, the traitor in question had been given a public execution by kiu'niq, seen via galaxyvision. It was a form of capital punishment intended to kill the condemned by hitting him with an ion beam that would literally shatter the biochemical ties in a living being. The system, according to its creators, was more painful than being burned at the stake or hit with a cascade of microwaves, as they had used in the past. When one of the information editors asked the emperor if the scar on his face might make him appear vulnerable, his response was legendary: “Anyone who wants the kiu'niq, come forward!”
Having taken office by right of succession at the age of sixty Ikalian years, Saarin embraced his role in a distinct way. While his father had been indifferent to the politics of conquest, attempting to manage the empire by means of endless delegation so that he could devote himself to the pleasures of privileges granted to him, Saarin had taken on his duties with a sense of responsibility. While on the one hand, new conquests didn't excite him as much as some of his predecessors, on the other, he aspired to continue the traditions and objectives of Ikalian culture with immense zeal; an attitude which was greatly appreciated by his people. Since the age of thirteen, when he began to acquire serious knowledge of what it meant to be heir to the throne, he had pondered how he would run his government. Half a century later, when he was in power, he had no doubts: he would make Ikalian history. And for any who might harbor doubts: he was the first emperor to take over three new worlds.
42
“We have to find Sirio and get him away from that blonde's clutches, before it's too late.” Mike was clear. “There's no time to lose!”
Tylor and the American left quickly in the car.
“Where are we going?” asked Mike.
“To Ingrid's house.”
“Do you know the address?”
“No.”
At six in the evening, the civil registry was closed; but, from Sirio's accounts, Tylor knew in which section of Canberra the woman lived. However, they'd have to scour at least a thousand homes, if he and Mike were lucky. To tighten the circle, they decided to go house to house, using the old excuse of looking for a girlfriend whose address and phone number they'd lost.
“Be careful. Use discretion,” the American reminded Tylor.
“We might have to stop and talk to a hundred people. Speaking discretely seems risky.”
“I mean don't be too obvious. Try to stop people one at a time, maybe even zigzag from one street to another.”
“You're afraid they'll find out that we're looking for them?”
“Something like that.”
It took five hours for the two friends to arrive in front of Ingrid's house. They actually thought about giving up and abandoning their search three times. Then, exhausted and discouraged, they read the name Olsson on a mailbox in front of one of the yards.
“Are you ready?”
“Dammit, Mike, we're not in Iraq!”
“Yeah, this is a lot worse.”
Tylor shook his head. Then, following the American, they arrived at the door of the house. Without stopping to think, they rang the bell.
“Who is it?” asked a woman's voice.
The Australian thought fast: “Good evening. Sorry to bother you. We're friends of Sirio. We're looking for him...”
No reply.
“You weren't very convincing,” Mike whispered.
“My name is Tylor... Sirio must've surely told you about me. He's been gone for a few days and I was concerned. I have a dear friend of ours with me. He's traveled a long way to come see him. He'd like to say hello.”
Silence.
The two looked at each other. Among all the things they'd thought of, they'd never considered this type of reaction. Now what should they do?
Then they heard a lock being released and the door opened.
“Welcome!” Ingrid said with a huge smile.
I can see how Sirio fell in love, was Tylor's first thought. But all he said was “hello”.
“Hi, my name is Mike. Pleased to meet you,” the American said confidently, putting his hand out and stepping into the house without asking permission.
“Sirio is upstairs, in the bathroom. I'll go call him now.”
“Thank you,” Tylor replied with a fake smile.
When the woman seemed far enough away, Mike said: “I know she seems irresistible, but don't let her fool you.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think!”
After a period which seemed longer than necessary, Ingrid returned to her guests.
“He'll be with us in a moment. In the meantime, would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Both declined her offer.
It seemed like Sirio would never arrive; but then, as though it was nothing, he came down the stairs and happily greeted his friends.
“Hi, Tylor! No... I don't believe it! Mike! It's great to see you again! What a surprise!” The Italian embraced them.
Mike wasn't all that surprised, unlike Tylor, who, knowing him better, thought he was looking at someone he didn't know who had Sirio's features. The fact that he hadn't offered any justification for being away so long and th
at he seemed so at home with Ingrid was disconcerting.
“So why are you all the way out here?” From the way he behaved, it was as though Sirio hadn't seen Tylor in years.
“Vacation,” Mike explained. “After being out of touch for so long, I decided to go find my old friends and ask forgiveness.”
“Great idea. I'm so glad you did. I'm really happy that you're here.”
“Sure you don't want a beer?” Ingrid interjected.
The American declined this offer too. “No, really. I can't accept.”
“Oh come on! You didn't come all the way out here to be altar boys!”
Sirio went to the kitchen and returned with bottles and glasses. “Why are you just standing there? Make yourselves comfortable on the sofa!”
Sitting down, Mike, asked to tell them about his last few years in America, decided not to shy away and played his part. Tylor's heart was beating faster. He hated that kind of situation. They were in that house, talking about nothing, without any real plan to save their friend who had been brainwashed. What's more, Ingrid didn't have Betty's tact. She constantly interrupted their conversation with unwanted comments. But as soon as he tried to look at her directly, he was filled with a sense of well being. It wasn't just a question of her beauty.
How are we going to get him out of here? Mike wondered, as he kept talking without knowing what he was saying. It would be a mistake to try to take him by force. And it's impossible to convince him with mere words.
“My love,” Ingrid said loudly, assuming control of the conversation. “Don't you remember that we have to get up at five tomorrow morning for that thing?”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot....” Sirio agreed. “Sorry guys. I'd like you to stay and talk all night, but we have to get up really early and... basically, I need four hours of sleep...”
“Of course. Don't worry about it. It's us who should be apologizing to you,” Mike replied, playing along. “We just show up suddenly like this...”