Union, page 13
“We’ve still barely had any time to relax,” Kaya pointed out. “How long did you say that your father needed to chase down the contact info?”
“A few hours,” Dorian said, his smile fading and shoulders slumping as if an invisible weight had been draped upon them. “But since we’re putting everything else on the table, there is one other thing you both need to know…and won’t be happy about.”
“What is it?” Mysha asked. From the way her tail and tendrils had frozen stiff, she must have sensed a major emotional shift in him as well.
He let out another sigh, then gently helped her off his lap so he could stand. He paced away from the chair, hand rubbing across his face, before he turned on a heel and pointed. “I’ll let Ghost tell you himself.”
The AI’s shimmering orange avatar materialized near the vid-screens. It whirled on its axis several times as if it were reluctant to speak. From the way Dorian was staring at it, Kaya had a feeling that the two of them were having a silent argument.
“Given the information we discovered and the threats we still face, I do not believe that this is an appropriate moment for a confession,” Ghost said, his voice sounding oddly strained. “However, in the interests of transparency, Master Dorian wishes me to share certain details about the events on Talinus Station.”
Kaya frowned, the back of her neck suddenly tingling. “What details?”
The avatar spun on its axis again. “You may recall that Convectorate authorities were waiting to apprehend Master Dorian when we arrived. That was not the result of circumstance. They were prepared because I alerted them.”
At first, Kaya’s only response was silent disbelief. She stared blankly at the hologram, wondering if she might have somehow misheard. Even when she convinced herself that she hadn’t, she still couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“I…I don’t understand,” Mysha breathed. “Why would you have possibly done that?”
“My primary function is to aid Master Dorian, which includes protecting him from any and all threats,” Ghost replied. “At the time, I calculated that the greatest threat to his safety was his own poor judgment. I anticipated that Convectorate authorities would be eager to recover and return the son of one of their most important weapons developers. In retrospect, I have concluded that my calculations were erroneous.”
“Erroneous?” Mysha breathed, recoiling. “But…”
She trailed off, glancing between Dorian and the AI. Her face was twisted in a combination of confusion, shock, and horror.
Kaya, for her part, felt like a light had suddenly flicked on inside her head. “The Echo knew that the Vecs were on alert and that we had kidnapped Dorian,” she whispered. “I assumed he had intercepted one of the encrypted messages that Dorian had sent to the Union…but it was the one you sent.”
“I informed the Convectorate that the Union had hired Syndicate thugs to kidnap Master Dorian. I believed that this would spur them to act quickly. I knew that associating Dorian with a terrorist organization was potentially dangerous, but I believed that he was far too important to the CDF war machine for the Tarreen to risk harming him, even with the potential implication of psi-tech. Clearly, I underestimated their irrational hatred for such technology.”
“And now they’re dead,” Mysha breathed, now looking hard at Dorian. “You said that the Vecs killed the Union operatives before you even arrived.”
“Ghost told them where we were meeting,” Dorian said softly. “I doubt they ever stood a chance.”
Mysha’s tail froze again, and her skin seemed to lighten at least two shades as she eyed him. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?”
“Because there was never a good moment.” His face twitched as if he realized how pathetic the excuse sounded. “I should have—I know that. I was so disgusted I could hardly see straight. But then we were all getting shot at, and then we were fighting the Echo’s minions and getting that bomb out of your head…”
“You little shit,” Kaya hissed, scowling at the hologram. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“As I previously stated,” Ghost replied, “I calculated that it was the only correct course of action.”
“Your calculations got people killed! They almost got all of us killed!”
“I am fully aware of the ramifications of my actions. And I submit myself to your collective judgment. Master Dorian can wipe my memory or simply terminate my program at any time.”
Kaya hissed, half tempted to unleash a blast of lightning at the avatar even though it wouldn’t accomplish anything.
“I almost deleted his program,” Dorian said. “If one of a hundred things had gone differently, I probably would have. But after we left that station, there was just one thing after another. We needed him on Cira Narn, we needed him on Ziphrades…”
Kaya bit back a curse and continued glaring daggers at the little orange ball instead. To think, she still had a copy of that slimy little shit embedded in her own implant! It was like a stain she couldn’t wash out.
A stain that had, annoyingly, been an absolutely critical component of everything they had learned so far. They never would have been able to infiltrate Garen Ruto’s lab or scour his computers without the AI. Mysha and Dorian might not have even survived without the AI’s help. And then, of course, there was the database on Ziphrades they couldn’t have accessed, let alone reconstructed, without him…
“Even basic semi-sentient AIs have controls against this sort of thing,” she said. “The Convectorate has a lot of stupid laws, but even they don’t let AIs run free. How could you design something that could betray you?”
“He didn’t consider it a betrayal,” Dorian said. “And from a certain point of view, it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, well, if he fucked you over once, there’s nothing to stop him from doing it again. What if he decides we’re better off in a Convectorate cell and sicks them on our asses? What if he thinks the galaxy is better off without us and detonates the Prowler’s engines?”
“I assure you, that is impossible,” Ghost protested. “My programming—”
“Fuck your programming,” she countered. “And fuck you!”
The AI remained silent beneath her glare, and Kaya was once again tempted to blast him with lightning just to make herself feel better. But as the flash of anger began to burn out, she forced herself to take a deep breath and remember the lesson she had learned countless times in the past. Rage was like a hit of hurricane—fulfilling in the moment, but toxic if you let it control you.
“Like he said, I could reset him,” Dorian said, his dark tone making it clear what he thought of the solution. “It will obliterate his personality until he builds a new one. And it would give me the time to do some serious tweaking to prevent this kind of thing from happening again.”
Kaya raised an eyebrow. “But?”
Dorian sighed. “But I designed him to evolve and develop over time. He’s considerably more powerful and effective now than he was originally. And considering we’re going to need every advantage we can get to survive…”
“I’d rather have a less effective tool than one that might stab us in the back,” Kaya replied tartly.
Dorian winced. “I really don’t think he’ll do something like that again.”
“Are you willing to bet our lives on that?”
He fell silent for a long moment, his eyes settling on Mysha. She was staring right back at him, blue eyes wide and glowing expectantly. Dorian was probably sick to his stomach knowing that he had disappointed her, even if it wasn’t exactly his fault. Kaya knew the feeling all too well.
“There is another potential solution,” he said after a moment.
“Fire him into the sun on the way out of the system?” she asked.
“I could leave him here. With Dad.”
Kaya had been primed and ready to shoot down anything he offered, but the suggestion caught her completely flat-footed. “What?”
“Dad needs him more than we do anyway,” Dorian said. “He had a lot of enemies even before all this went down, and it’s only a matter of time before the Vecs come after him. Having Ghost on board will make a huge difference.”
Kaya considered. Compared to all the suggestions she could come up with—like the aforementioned sun-firing or figuring out a way to trap the glowing bastard inside whatever counted as purgatory for a computer program—Dorian’s idea was certainly more pragmatic, if not as viscerally satisfying. And in a way, being trapped alone in a ship with Samir Garr seemed like a harsher punishment than total obliteration.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Mysha asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Dorian admitted, shoulders slumped. “I need to think about it. But Dad needs the help, and it seems like the only sensible compromise.”
“If that is your decision, I will of course abide by it,” Ghost replied. It might have been her imagination, but he sounded subdued. “However, it will take several hours to fully integrate my program with the Last Stand’s systems.”
“And get it out of our implants and the Prowler,” Kaya added.
“Yes.”
She looked back at Dorian. A few minutes ago, he had looked shell-shocked. Now…well, now he just looked like he had been punched repeatedly in the gut.
“For once, we’re not in a rush,” Kaya told him. “Maybe you should take some time and think about it.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes drifting back to the floating orange sphere. “I think you’re right.”
Interlude
“And sooner or later, they all come to me for answers.”
Vestri glared at the alien standing in front of her, searching his bluish-purple face and glowing violet eyes for any trace of duplicity. She remained surprised that Gizahri had allowed her to walk right into his room, but when she reached out with her telepathy to probe his surface emotions, she couldn’t detect the slightest trace of fear or apprehension. Was he truly that poised, or were Yarasi somehow resistant to telepathic intrusion? It seemed plausible, given that they were one of precious few known species who possessed innate psionic abilities before the Psychophage.
“Others have come here?” she asked, standing a few meters from him. His workstation continued to beep softly, the floating holographic displays in the air beside him continuing to update with scrawls of new information.
“Of course,” Gizahri said in his cool, accented voice. “But you took longer than I expected—much longer.”
Vestri frowned, wondering if she was being toyed with and wishing that she understood why her instincts had brought her here in the first place. All she knew was that he was somehow connected to the Shadows and that she had met him before. The details were scattered among the detritus of her shattered memories.
“I’m here for information,” she declared. “And you are going to give it to me.”
A vaguely amused smile touched his lips. “Yes, I will. But first, you need to—”
A com unit on his wristband beeped. Keeping his eyes fastened upon her, Gizahri slowly lifted it toward his mouth. Normally, Vestri would have slammed him against the wall to prevent him from alerting anyone to her presence, but if he had planned to summon security, he never would have bothered letting her in here in the first place.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Your report is overdue,” a caustic, unmistakably Tarreen voice growled back. “You claimed it would take you twelve hours. It has been fourteen.”
“You will have it soon, you needn’t worry,” Gizahri replied. Turning to his left, he waved a hand at one of the holographic displays on his workstation. It responded to the movement by projecting images of what looked like samples taken from the local vegetation. “But if you’re that eager to get your teams started, sample three is your best overall choice. Eight has enormous short-term profit potential, and sixteen is worth a long-term investment. The rest are insignificant.”
The Tarreen grunted, though most of the venom had drained out of its voice. “Very well. I expect your full report soon.”
“And you shall have it, Administrator. Until then, I have work to do.” Gizahri tapped the com and sighed. “I apologize for the interruption, but you of all people know how impatient Tareen can be.”
Vestri studied the displays, but the chemical notations on the samples meant nothing to her. “What was that about?”
“One of the little tricks people like us learn to prevent a panic. The Science Ministry would never tolerate a clairvoyant in their midst—you know how the Tarreen feel about our gifts. Yet at the same time, they are desperate for knowledge. I’ve had to learn how to balance being indispensable without being conspicuous.”
Gizahri gestured to the data. “I could have told him which samples were worthwhile within thirty seconds of looking at them, but I prefer to wait at least a day or two before providing them with my full analysis. The delay is just enough for them to consider me a genius rather than a threat. Especially since time inevitably validates my results.”
Vestri continued staring at the displays, an unsettling tingle crawling up her neck. She had seen the Intelligence Ministry files claiming that male Yarasi were often clairvoyant, but reading a report was quite different than seeing such powers in action. It was hard to even fathom the resources that could be saved by precise glimpses into the future. Knowing which avenues of research to pursue, which military strategy would prove victorious…the benefits were incalculable.
“You’re wondering why your mistress would keep someone with my unique talents here in this research station rather than at her side in the Nest,” Gizahri said, answering a question her brain hadn’t even gotten to yet. “It is a curious phenomenon, isn’t it? After all, most overseers prefer to keep their servants close. Proximity is the most reliable means of control.”
He chuckled softly, as if he were laughing at some private joke. “But fundamentally, the answer is the same thing that allows you to be here now: arrogance. Your masters are blessed with an abundance of it. They are neither as brilliant nor as cunning as they would have you believe.”
Vestri turned her gaze back to him. If his strategy to deal with her had been to throw her off-balance, it was definitely working. This was so far afield of anything she had expected that she was finding it difficult to even formulate questions.
“He’s lying.”
Her mental phantasm suddenly appeared beside the alien man, arms crossed and green eyes narrowed. She paced around behind him, studying him as if he were a lab specimen.
“Do you honestly believe that the Master would allow an alien out of his sight if he were dangerous?”
“I’ve met you before,” Vestri said, her voice soft and stiff as she tried to ignore the phantasm. “More than once…”
Gizahri nodded. “Yes. Though I assure you, our relationship runs much deeper than that. You see, without me, you would not exist.”
She blinked. “Explain.”
“Not so long ago, you weren’t all that different from these,” he said, gesturing at the projections. “An embryonic sample with infinite potential but prohibitive costs. It didn’t take long for your creator to realize that there was little point in leaving to chance what I could determine with near certainty.”
The unsettling tingle on her neck blossomed into a full-blown shudder as she considered the implications of what he was saying. Unlike some of the other Shadows, Vestri knew exactly what she was—and how she had been made. Her womb had been a cloning cylinder; her childhood had been telepathic memory imprints. She was nearly as far from a natural-born human being as the security mechs down the hall.
Had this man literally stood in front of cloned embryos and judged what they would become?
“It is a haunting feeling, to be an arbiter of life and death,” Gizahri said, his gaze drifting away as if looking at something beyond a horizon that didn’t exist. “A firing squad with one fewer bullet than victims. Except I wasn’t punishing anyone for sinful deeds—I was punishing them for potential they did not possess. Your makers gave me the burden of a god…and I loathed them for it.”
His violet eyes, now little more than glowing slits, returned to her. But after a few more seconds, his vaguely amused smile reappeared. “I can still remember the look on your master’s face when he discovered your…imperfections.”
“Imperfections?” Vestri breathed. “You mean…”
“Your condition, yes,” Gizahri said. “Quite painful, I imagine. One that none of your ‘competitors’ would have experienced. Your Master believed that I had made a miscalculation, and he nearly killed me for it. But I insisted that your vulnerabilities would make you strong—that your suffering would give you a clarity of purpose the other prospects lacked. From then on, I think he wanted you to fail, if only to validate his belief that no alien should ever dictate the future of the Seraphim.”
Vestri shook her head, acutely aware of the flash of pain when she inhaled. Your pain is your power. Your suffering is your purpose. You will earn what others have been given. That is what makes you strong…
“You must understand, I had no desire to cause you discomfort,” Gizahri told her. “But I foresaw what pain would do to you—how it would mold you, forge you into something greater. If I had chosen a different sample, she wouldn’t be here standing before me right now. And that simply wouldn’t do.”
Vestri blinked, the pain in her lungs fading as she processed his words. “You’re saying you knew I would come?”
“Knew is too strong a word. Clairvoyance is not omniscience. Those who believe otherwise are doomed to suffer for their hubris.” He snorted derisively, his luminescent eyes flickering indecipherably. “What I saw was a path forward, a single means of escape from a web so vast it often seems impenetrable.”
“Fool!” the phantasm scoffed. “Why would you waste time with this con-artist? Are you truly that desperate?”
