David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

The master-at-arms turned to one of the stewards. “I think it’s time the Captain learned about this.”

“Craig, you haven’t fully considered the consequences of interfering in an alternate timeline,” the A.I. urgently began to explain.

“Spare me,” Craig said, cutting off the voice in his head. “There are thousands of people onboard and their lives are no less valuable than yours or mine. I’m going to save this ship whether you like it or not.”

WAKING UP, in this instance, was akin to resurrection. Samantha’s eyes opened, but the room in which she found herself was as black as the inside of a coffin. Her first instinct was to ignite a pulse of green energy on her fingertips to illuminate the area, but it was to no avail. She opened her mind’s eye, glad it was still functioning at least. A few clicks later, she had selected the night vision setting, and the room suddenly appeared before her, green and black.

She was sitting upright on a concrete floor. The room was nearly perfectly square, only a handful of meters by a handful of meters. Her hands were covered in some sort of liquid—it appeared black in the fluorescent green hue night vision. She rubbed her thumb and index finger together before darting out her tongue to taste it.

Blood.

What the hell is going on here? she thought. She flipped through to a search screen on her mind’s eye, searching for anyone else nearby. A signal was quickly approaching her position: Sanha .

The door to the room began to open, and she closed her eyes to shield them from the bright light as she switched back to normal vision. When she reopened her eyes, Sanha was in the doorway, but he wasn’t walking. A Purist super soldier held him by the back of his neck, suspending him above the floor with only one of his cybernetic prosthetic arms. The soldier tossed Sanha roughly to the ground. Pale and covered in blood, Sanha crawled pathetically to the far wall and propped himself up against it before looking up at Samantha. “Hi, Sam.”

Samantha looked up at the super soldier. He was leaning casually against the door frame as he lit an already half-smoked cigar. His helmet was removed, revealing his head of thick salt-and-pepper hair. Samantha’s lips curled downward with disgust as she regarded the crosshatch of stretch marks that surrounded the soldier’s cybernetic eyes.

“You don’t know me,” the soldier began, “but I know you.” He stepped into the room and grinned as he shook his head. “Or at least I knew your former husband, Doc Emilson.”

Samantha nearly gasped at the mention of Craig—what did this man know? Did he know Craig was back? How could he?

“I was his commanding officer fourteen years ago when he gave his life for his country—and all of humanity. Maybe he mentioned me?”

“Colonel Paine?”

Paine smiled. “That’s right. That’s right. Good memory.” He scratched his head with his clawed fingers and then placed his mechanical hand on the back of his neck. “He gave his life. He gave his life.” He looked toward the door as he spoke, as though he were conjuring the image of Craig’s sacrifice in his imagination. He appeared genuinely moved. “Good solider. The best. Better than me.”

His mouth shifted, forming a tight grimace as he turned to Samantha, the golden irises of his cybernetic eyes burning into her. “And here you are, pissing on his memory, exchanging wedding vows with the devil himself.” He shook his head, true disgust in his voice as he spoke. “Lady, I don’t have one damn ounce of sympathy for you.”

“Samantha? Sam, it’s me,” Aldous suddenly said over her mind’s eye. “Don’t react. Don’t let him know you’re in contact with me.”

Samantha’s eyes were wild with astonishment.

“I thought you’d been killed, my love,” Aldous continued. “I’d never have left if I would’ve known that you were still alive. It’s bordering on miraculous.”

Aldous had escaped? The Purists had overwhelmed the complex? What did they want with her?

“You know,” Paine continued in his gravely voice, “I warned him about you. The day he gave his life to destroy all A.I. and save the species—I warned him. Goddamn it, lady. Your husband was a hero. How could you betray him like this?”

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” Aldous cautioned. He’d stolen a Jeep and was now speeding through the mountain pass, away from Mount Andromeda and toward the nearest city. “That man is a killer. He executed more than a dozen people without a second thought. Listen to me, Sam. You have to get away. Whatever you do, you have to get away. He’s going to kill you if you don’t . ”

She couldn’t reply, but her throat was too knotted with fear to speak anyway. She looked toward the open door. Why weren’t her powers working? If she could just fly—

Paine watched her eye line and grinned. “Heh. Want out?”

She looked up into his cold, lifeless eyes.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the small, spherical MTF generator that had previously been inside her. He tossed it to her, but it slipped out of her hand, the surface of the generator still wet with blood and tissue, and rolled to the corner of the room. Paine laughed. “While you were recovering, I had to do a little impromptu surgery,” he said as he held the sharp fingers of his hand up like pincers to punctuate the point. “I think you’ve taken your last flight.”

“What time is it?” Craig asked the priest.

Befuddled, the priest looked to the master-at-arms, who pulled out his pocket watch.

“11:36 p.m.,” he replied.

“What time does the ship go down?” Craig asked the A.I.

“Go down?” the priest replied, pale and terror-stricken.

“It strikes the iceberg at 11:40 p.m., Craig,” replied the A.I.

“What?” Craig grunted in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus! Let’s go!”

“Craig,” the A.I. calmly began in protest, “I cannot help you interfere in this timeline. It would be highly unethical.”

“Unethical? You’ve gotta be kidding me. Letting more than 1,000 people die is ethical, then?”

“If you interfere here, Craig, you will open a Pandora’s box the likes of which you do not comprehend—”

“Just spare me, okay?” Craig shouted in return. “This is simple. We have the power to act, to stop a tragedy, so we act. Got it?”

“I cannot participate—”

“Fine, but don’t get in my way.”

The A.I. fell silent, but Craig remained floating in a stationary position just above the floor, still at the mercy of the A.I.

“Are you going to let me go?” Craig asked.

“I-I’m not sure I could stop you if I tried,” the master-at-arms uttered in response.

“I’m not talking to you,” Craig said. He pointed to his temple. “I’m talking to the computer in my head.”

“What the devil?” the master-at-arms reacted in dismay.

“Computer?” William Stead suddenly spoke, his head cocking as he shook a memory loose—one buried deep. “You mean, like a difference engine ?”

Craig’s eyebrows knitted quizzically.

“A machine that computes?” Stead elaborated.

“Yes,” Craig answered, “a machine that computes.”

After a short moment of stunned silence, Stead finally guffawed. “Damn it, man, that’s as daft a notion as I’ve ever heard. A difference engine is nearly ten feet tall and weighs a ton.”

“It’s not daft,” Craig replied. “Remember this: when it comes to computers, the technology always gets a lot smaller and a lot more powerful—and in a hurry. And I’ll prove it to you, if the machine in my head will release me.”