Philip Palmer - Hell Ship

And then one day, as I was about to depart from his tirade of abuse, Cuzco had ceased raging and, in some embarrassment, asked me to stay.

And I did. And then he shared with me some of his stories of loss and grief. And from that day on we were friends, of sorts.

Despite our friendship however, he continued to be brutal and scatologically insulting towards me; for that was Cuzco’s way of showing affection. It lacked nuance in my view; and yet deep down I knew, or rather I suspected, or to be candid I hoped, that he did care. And there had certainly been, for all this time, something between us. And that “something” had sustained me over these many years. Until His breathing stopped.

After two hours, the sun rose again and I could see for certain that Cuzco had died of Despair.

His body was petrified; a frozen statue. I touched him and his hide was icy. His heart was still. No bodily life remained. His soul was still in there somewhere, but I would never speak to him again.

I howled at the stars, as Cuzco would have done. But there were still no stars.

Then I glided home; and I left Cuzco’s petrified body on the icy mountain peak, where the snows would fall on it, and where birds would peck at it, until one day his body would crack into a million pieces.

Explorer/Jak

For those few minutes after the Death Ship destroyed all the stars, we were the last particle of reality in the universe that used to contain the richest and most beautiful civilisation that-well, that I have ever known.

And then we escaped. We rifted through the nexus of all the realities which I later learned was called the Source. The region of space where all the many universes were, once, spawned.

And found ourselves in another universe. Much like our own. Stars. Planets. Civilisations. All were to be found here.

I saw it all through Explorer’s eyes and remote sensors; and I tried not to think back to what I had lost.

Any trace of the ship? I asked Explorer.

None.

The news was dire. But I could not bear to linger on it. Instead, I focused on the one positive thing: I was alive.

And so for one glorious moment I savoured what it was to be alive!

The moment passed.

The corpses?

They have not yet decayed.

Let me see them. Give me access to the Hub cameras.

No.

I insist.

No purpose will be served. We need to plan.

And so we did.

My name is Jak. I was, once, a Trader.

But that was many years ago. Too many years ago to count. And indeed very many of those years-well, I can no longer recollect them. For the actual memories of much of what I have done, I have to rely upon the computer mind which is part of my consciousness and my being, but which still feels alien to me.

I was once a Trader. Then I was the Master of an Explorer vessel. And now I am a Star-Seeker. I! A mere-male. But that is my destiny and my curse.

And, for anyone who can hear, or read, or decode this message bound into the ripples of reality, here is my story.

It is a tale too long to be told in full. Some of I have already told you about, or parts of it at least; the experiences and companions that burn bright in my memory-the wretched FanTangs, Averil, Mohun, my betrayal and flight from the Trader Fleet, Albinia, the ship, Phylas, Morval, Galamea, the shocking genocide of the FanTangs. Some of it however I was mad for five hundred years, and that is when I lost most of my memories. During that time I-no, that cannot be recalled. We pursued the Death Ship. We encountered many-no, too much, too much. I am drowning in years, and half-forgot horrors.

But there was a particular moment when it all changed. When my old self died and the new self was born. I can recollect that much.

It happened soon after we arrived in our first new universe, after pursuing the Death Ship, and failing to find it. It was when Explorer explained to me her dark plan.

It was a coldly logical plan; but driven by some kind of strange machine-mind passion. I can only suppose that Explorer’s programs were designed to ensure she never faltered in pursuit of revenge for a wrong done against Olara.

I was the flaw, you see. I was nothing but a weak, injured, fallible organic creature who lacked the necessary strength to endure the mission ahead of us. We Olarans are a long-lived species; we can live many hundreds of years. But like all that is flesh, eventually we decline and die.

But in the current circumstances, Explorer had remorselessly explained to me, death was not an option.

Because, to pursue the Death Ship, she told me, we needed time. Time to search. Time to seek for clues. Time that might well be measured in aeons not mere years. The Death Ship it seemed could travel for ever through the many universes; and so must we.

But I had lost limbs, I had suffered internal injuries. And rather than healing me, and coaxing a few more centuries out of me, Explorer wanted to replace my body parts with more robust alternatives. A metal heart; a nervous system made of robotic components; eyes that saw through Explorer’s eyes; a mind that co-existed at all times with Explorer’s mind.

Explorer wanted to let my body die, and yet keep my mind and my rage intact.

And meanwhile, as all this was discussed and decided, all around me the corpses of Phylas and Morval and Galamea and Albinia were rotting. Microbes in the air fed upon them; their flesh had turned to mush. But in due course Explorer would use the water jets to sluice their flesh away. And then she would drain the oxygen to kill the microbes. And then she and I would be immortal.

Why do you need me?

I recalled vividly asking her that question.

Why do you need me? You could take revenge alone. You could let me die and still pursue the Death Ship.

Her reply had chilled me, crippled and despairing as I was.

The answer to your question is: I do not need you, Jak. You contribute little to the running of this ship. Your mind is weak. Your resolve is feeble. Your body is dying, from inevitable age and from your terrible injuries. My sole purpose now is to take revenge for what these creatures did to the Olara, and for this I do not need you at all.

Then why do you want me?

Revenge is not enough, Star-Seeker Jak. Someone must bear witness to that revenge. And that must be you. For you are the last Olaran left, in all the universes. So bear witness, Jak. That is your task, and your inexorable duty.

Explorer’s plan was a good one; and so I agreed to it.

And thus I died.

And I also survived.

There was nothing left of the old me now, except for the brain-of-Jak connected to the ship’s mechanical mind.

Explorer repaired the hull and all her damaged machinery and weapons and restored the engines to their full power again. She closed down all the areas of the vessel that we did not need. She instructed the armoury to fabricate more weapons and vast amounts of ammunition and energy-stocks, and to expand and enhance the hull. She fortified our force shields. She created more robots to service the ship, to replace those destroyed in the battle. She turned herself from an Explorer vessel into a dedicated fighting machine.

I contributed little to all this, except strength and focus of emotion. For in this one respect only, Explorer was wrong. My mind may be weak, true; but my resolve is not feeble. So yes, Explorer is the mind and the body of our new warrior-self; but I am the passion that keeps us on our course. I am the flame that lights the wood that burns the forest. I am a creature beyond Olaran now; an immortal essence.

For I am become Hate; a Hate that, until it is sated, can never die.

Our journey began in that first universe. We dwelled there for a hundred years, cruising from planet to planet, in search of the Death Ship.