Ocean in the Sea Read online

  Arsus shook his head rapidly to clear it. “Heticus…” he croaked.

  “Down and out,” said Jenny. “Beloris needs help in the cockpit. We’re losing air. Might be a hull breach.” Putting her arm under his, she grasped Arsus by the shoulder and pushed off, floating both of them through the cabin and past Lewis. Arsus climbed around Beloris and flipped several switches.

  “Good,” Randuu said over the speakers. “Running diagnostics. Get the hull patches ready.”

  “Hull patches?” Arsus curled his upper lip. “I never ordered hull patches, Randuu. We might have silicone gel. We weren’t supposed to be in vacuum for long. I didn’t…”

  “Forget it,” Randuu interrupted. Several flashing lights went off along with the beeping alarm. “It wasn’t the hull. It was a broken gas line running along the starboard fuselage. It must have cracked. I was able to close it.”

  “How lucky.” Herman smirked.

  “What about oxygen?” asked Beloris.

  “You lost some,” said Randuu. It will be close.”

  “But not that much,” said Herman. “We’ll make it.”

  The Russian sighed in relief and sniffed. “Good.” He cracked his knuckles and looked at Heticus. “Then I force-jump Nastarii shit-sucker now.”

  “Hold on,” Herman held up his palm. “I just shot him full of ketamine.”

  “Waste of ketamine,” rumbled Beloris. “Throw him out airlock.”

  “We don’t have an airlock,” said Arsus. “We’ve got a docking port. Open that and you’ll expose the cabin to vacuum.”

  Beloris threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Then I break his neck.”

  Arsus rubbed his eyes and sighed. “He’s Paradisian, Beloris, and his jump-timer’s reset. If we can keep him unconscious until we reach the station, we’ll medicate him until his timer expires. THEN you can throw him out the airlock.”

  Senjiita appeared, floated toward them in the body of his old Chinese host. He hovered near the cockpit. “For once,” he rasped, “I agree with Beloris. Heticus is a danger, particularly in space. It is better he dies now to plague us no more.”

  “He’s one of us,” argued Arsus. “Sure, he’s gone Nastarii, but is that his fault? No. He was left alone for eons to cook off by himself. He helped us, Senjiita. Without him, we’d never driven Tanandor here. He deserves to ask his questions. He deserves his answers.”

  “It is your decision,” said Senjiita, “and therefore you will be responsible for the lives he takes if he becomes violent. Our lives. The lives of the simulants on the station.”

  “We’ll be safe if we keep him on the ketamine,” said Jenny. “I’m with Arsus. We aren’t murders. Well… excepting you Senjiita. No offense.”

  Senjiita shrugged. “It is two against two. Herman Lewis, you must choose.”

  “Me?” Herman tilted his head in surprise. “You want to leave this up to me? How, um, equitable of you. I didn’t expect to get a vote.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.” Arsus folded his arms. “If the decision were truly important, I’d make it myself.”

  Herman narrowed his eyes at the Deputy Director. “So when it comes down to brass tacks, you’re still the hammer?”

  “It is my obsession,” stated Arsus. “How do you vote?”

  Herman looked at Heticus and shrugged. “I guess he lives. For now.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The tender was not aerodynamic. It was never intended for use in atmosphere. Arriving out of the dark void, the boxy craft’s attitude control thrusters fired as it slowed near the X-423. Its arrowhead cockpit poked out from a long rectangle covered in struts, crossbeams, and cone-shaped maneuvering nozzles. At the rear, three large rocket engines protruded from spherical tanks attached to the aft end of the craft.

  With a beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean glistening in the background, the lumbering craft slowly eased over the sleek stealth bomber, firing its jets to adjust its vector. Arsus confirmed their approach over the radio and flipped open a set of safety covers. As he snapped the switches beneath and pressing a recessed button, a hiss and a bang followed. In the vacuum outside the crew cabin of the X-423, a tiny flare and a burst of light ran in an oval around the crew cabin, burning through release plugs and connectors. Separated from the body of the aircraft, the pressurized crew module floated away and the body of the X-423 continued its slow drop toward Earth. It would eventually reenter the atmosphere and burn into unrecognizable trash scattered over the ocean.

  The tender’s extendible robotic arms unfolded and grasped the lozenge of the cabin, retracting it against the tender’s belly where docking clamps locked it fast.

  Inside, Herman and the previous disciples of Tanandor watched through the canopy windows, listening to the banging against the hull. Once the clamping completed, they were ordered into their acceleration chairs. The tender’s crew gave them a countdown to thrust, and the loud rumbling of rocket motors kicked in, vibrating them through the connection with the larger vessel. It sounded like one long continuous cannon blast. After several minutes of this, the thrust cut out and they were once again in zero-g.

  Sitting across from Beloris, questions rattled through Herman’s head. The same questions he’d been wondering since he met these people. Now that he had them trapped in a tin can with no way out, the excuse of ‘it’s too long’ or ‘some other time’ wouldn’t apply. They had nothing else to do. He had them right where he wanted them.

  “Since no one has a deck of cards,” began Herman, “how about we play a game of enlighten the messenger? Tell me, Beloris, how did this all start? I get that you people are from someplace called Paradise, but I don’t know much else. How’d you get your ‘blessings?’ How did you meet Tanandor?”

  Beloris groaned and wrinkled his nose. “Things you should know, yes, but is not story with good ending.” Beloris looked at Arsus. “Perhaps you tell story, Arsus? You were one of first. I was chosen later.”

  Arsus nodded. “Yes… I suppose I should tell it.” he looked at Herman. “I only ask that you reserve your condemnation of our acts until you’ve heard it all. If you’ll agree to that, then I will speak of the past.”

  Herman shrugged. “How bad could it be?”

  Beloris rolled his eyes.

  “Ethics,” said Senjiita, “can be relative to a culture’s viewpoint and perceptions. Morals can be immoral. Black and white can merge to gray. You will judge us, Herman Lewis, but consider not only what evil we have done, but what good we may yet do.”

  Herman stared at the old man, remembering Professor Sandaw and his lab. Sandaw had said the same thing while removing brains from tortured monkeys. Herman raised an eyebrow at the old male Chinese body Senjiita now inhabited. “How… philosophical of you, Senjiita. Do you always talk like this?”

  “No. It came with the host.”

  “Hunh. Well, at least you don’t have the CRAP to deal with. Go ahead, Arsus. I will withhold my judgement until the end.”

  “Very well.” Arsus leaned back and cleared his throat. “It began on Paradise, a world similar to this Earth in many ways. Water, continents, breathable atmosphere, temperate climate. We were an ancient and advanced species – or so we were told. War, disease, famine, and death had been conquered long ago, and though we still had jealousy and fear, we’d done away with greed. Anything and everything a Paradisian could want was freely given by the Sahrhadree, a biological computer system that encompassed our world’s ecology. The Sahrhadree looked over us, managed us, took care of our needs. We were also part of it on a mental level, a shared mentality somewhat like a dreamscape where we could meet and commune as we wished.”

  “But you weren’t human,” interrupted Herman. “What did you look like?”

  Arsus frowned. “Yes… I suppose that matters to you at this stage. We appeared a lot like humans, but with some differences. We are a blue-skinned species with large almond-shaped eyes and a retractable membrane for water. Somewhat like your
classical aliens from human mythology. We were also longer of limb, delicate I suppose you could say, and we had six webbed fingers on each hand, a sign of our supposed evolution from aquatic mammals.”

  “Why supposed?”

  Arsus chuckled. “In the case of Paradise, our evolution is highly suspect. I will explain that in a moment, but first you should understand how we lived, because that is what changed.

  “Before Tanandor, we had no religion. It was unnecessary, primarily because we had no death, and therefore no concept of an afterlife. Understand, we’d lived this way for so long that it was simply accepted. We did not age. When someone grew so bored they no longer wished to live, they asked the Sahrhadree to wipe their memories so they could begin again. We spent most of our time indulging in our obsessions, of which there were many. We all had one, though we don’t know exactly why. For us, it was a fact of life - an aspect of our species that has carried on as our minds have jumped across the ring. We still have them. Art, science, math, technology, love, rage, these are examples. Mine was power over others, political power, and thus I was on the leading council of our world. It was my fate. My… requirement for existence.

  “The council voted on the weather, on the disposition of poetry and the conservation of wilderness. We judged works and dispensed awards. We determined the speed of our days and nights. We gave advice, and rectified disputes. In short, we ruled, but wisely.

  “When I first met Tanandor, he was already gathering influence outside of the council. His name was spoken in whispers and rumors. It was said that he’d woken from an erasing of his memories and found an awareness of a truth previously unknown to us. A ridiculous proposition, to be sure, but those he had chosen swore their loyalty to him, and it was said that he could perform miracles. I doubted that. It was ridiculous. And I was not alone.

  “The council was naturally concerned that a cult leader was rising to power. It had happened before in our past, and we always took steps to prevent it. Religion, you see, in all its forms, had been shown to be a crippling disease that grew into the hearts of our people as the black roots of the shangum grew into the muddy soil of the most fetid swamps. It was a toxin we could not allow, so we summoned him, this false messiah, to face our judgment and retribution. That was our mistake. We should have asked the Sahrhadree to wipe his mind for us, but that was not our way. In our wisdom, we felt we were equal to the task of questioning this ‘Tanandor,’ just as we had questioned so many others, and so he appeared without fear in the chamber of the high council atop the golden mountain of Bas Athba. And with him came his chosen disciples; among them Senjiita and Perillia, two of his first.

  Senjiita looked away, his eyes distant and forlorn. “We were many.”

  Beloris stared down and picked at a thread on his flight suit. “You did not know what you were doing, Senjiita. You are not to blame.”

  “Perhaps,” muttered Senjiita. “Perhaps not.”

  Arsus continued. “We commanded Tanandor to explain his beliefs and his intentions. He had come, he told us, to reveal truth. That our world was a prison. That our universe was but one of an infinite number of universes existing in a sea of alternate realities all of which existed inside a vast quantum network belonging to a race so old and powerful that we had no hope of comprehending them. We laughed, for such fantastical concepts were not novel to us. They existed in our recorded lore, along with a million others. Why should this one have credence? But he offered proof, and more than that, he offered to give us power of our own.”

  “The system interfaces,” said Herman.

  “Yes. His disciples showed us what they could do, and then explained how they could do these things and why. You see, the Sahrhadree made it possible for Tanandor to channel the interfaces from the Attistar and give them to individual Paradisians. Our minds, linked to the organic computer system that regulated our existence, could be blessed with the miraculous power of a greater interface. A blessing.

  “When we saw Perillia move objects from one place to another, we were astonished. When we witnessed Manrakar create fire from nothing, we were shocked. And when Hanrnakee lifted the chairs of the council and held us in the air, many of us knew fear. Many, but not me. I knew envy. I felt a lust for power that I had never felt before. This power was of a different nature than any I had known, not political, not administrative, but direct and implacable. To force one’s will upon reality and have it bend – I wanted it, and I was willing to give anything.

  “Tanandor swore to the council that the truth would be revealed to our people, and that we would all come to understand what had been done to us. He told us that we had been placed on this world, not born. He told us that our wardens, those who had created our simulation, had put us here as punishment for acts we had performed, though he knew not what they were. And he told us his purpose was to free us from this prison, and that he would show us how to travel across the sea of simulations so that we, like him, might someday find a way out. Find a way to the real universe, a way to question those who had placed us here, and to discover the true purpose of the ring.”

  “So you agreed to follow him?” asked Herman.

  “Not at first.” Arsus pinched his lips. “Tanandor was escorted out of the council chamber to await our judgment. The council had always been composed of an odd number to prevent split decisions. In the end, the disposition of Tanandor was a tie, six to six. That day, I was the last to vote. If I had known why, I would have voted differently. But I did not. I only knew that I wanted the power he offered. Chance, Lewis, what are the odds that it would be my day to cast the final vote?”

  Lewis nodded. “He used his interface.”

  “Many times on Paradise, I’m sure.” Arsus took a deep breath. “Tanandor was free to go, and shortly thereafter, he came to me and offered me the power I desired if I agreed to become one of his disciples. I asked that I be allowed to leave the council first, but Tanandor would not permit it. He needed me where I was. He wanted my influence. Reluctantly, I gave in, and that night in a ridiculous false ritual involving a lot of singing and oath-taking, he ‘blessed’ me with my interface.”

  “Bet you felt pretty shitty about it though?”

  “Feelings I suppressed with the joy of my new power. I could walk through walls. I could move through anything, make anything intangible. It was the most incredible night of my life. I raced through the forests with the others. We took turns amazing each other. The next day, our work began in earnest, and we took Tanandor’s message to our people, using our miracles as proof. Most of those we spoke to believed and joined us. We arranged a gathering and a broadcast across the Sahrhadree, announcing that all who chose to join would be welcome, and that all would be given the power to perform miracles of their own. The truth… and a gift.”

  “The truth and a gift,” repeated Senjiita. “It has been long since I heard you speak those words, Arsus.”

  “Long ago,” agreed the Deputy Director. “We all spoke them, my old friend, you included. And the people listened. They came in droves, across the Sahrhadree to participate in Tanandor’s dream. He gave a date – a time for the great uplift when every Paradisian who chose the truth would be granted power over our shared reality. When the high council learned of it, they convened to discuss its ramifications and vote upon allowing this travesty to continue further. Reluctantly, at Tanandor’s behest, I joined them in communion and shared my mind with theirs.”

  “Shared?” Herman tilted his head. “How did that work?”

  “It is a merging of minds,” explained Arsus. “Nothing can be hidden. It is an aspect of the high council – a protocol established eons ago and adhered to by tradition. As you can probably guess, the other members of the council perceived my alliance with Tanandor and balked at witnessing one of their own corrupted by his influence.” Arsus stared out the front of the cockpit at the billions of stars visible in the darkness. “They moved to eviction proceedings. I was forced to defend myself. The ancient codices w
ere simple enough. Proof was required, so I gave it to them, just as Tanandor had asked of me. Power comes in many flavors, Lewis.”

  “Call me Herman. You showed them your power?”

  “I dematerialized the floor and left most of them embedded in the ground. Murder, a long forgotten aspect of civilization, had returned to Paradise. Returned by me. I was the first to kill in the name of the new order.”

  “No,” Senjiita said quietly. “I killed in Tanandor’s name before you, Arsus.”

  Arsus turned. “You never spoke of it.”

  Senjiita looked back. “I was not aware that you harbored this guilt. Death means no more to me than life, but if it helps to know, then you were not the first to soil your hands. Continue your story.”

  Arsus turned away and looked down. “Very well. “ He straightened his back. “But I will hear yours later, Senjiita.” He returned his eyes to Herman. “One of the council chose to join us. His name was Karnataf. With his change of allegiance and the death of the rest, the High Council was no more, and there was nothing left to stop Tanandor. Days passed, a dozen before the dreamscape was ready in the Sahrhadree. And then it came, the conjunction of Tanandor’s preparations, eclipsing all the defenses of the Sahrhadree and every aspect of its management over us.

  The offer was made. The truth was revealed. We were prisoners of a greater power, placed in a simulated universe for unknown reasons. Moreover, ours was not the only such simulation. The great ocean of our universe sat within a greater sea of simulations – all unique in their own way – all designed for purposes we could only guess at. And the powers Tanandor blessed many with interfaces into the system’s control architecture, allowing alterations in how the simulation functioned. We were not real. Once, we might have been, but now, we were only simulants.