Planet Earth shone its serene light back onto the observation deck. The underside transparent as the ship appeared to any outside observer, and for a while disconcertingly vertiginous, like actually being suspended in space. Of course, Roidon hadn’t admitted to this giddiness. As far as his b’tari supervisor was concerned he was perfectly at ease. Looking below at the passing continents was beginning to imbue him with a sense of imperiousness he hadn’t felt since the time he’d been master of an artificial reality network – although that could be thought of as a totally different life, a different person. Here he could perfectly understand the B’taris’ assumed role as guardians of Earth. 12.7billion people unaware of their presence (at least the B’tari believed); struggling to fulfil their hopes, dreams, worrying about troubles that from up here seemed ever more starkly trivial set against what potential fate awaited. But even he had experienced how the world can subsume you in its everydayness. Just being physically human – with all its desires and basic needs – only encouraged these trivial concerns; to then be reinforced by those who claimed to accommodate them but with something to gain, something to sell. Even he needed to be removed from that hub of unending supply and unquenchable demand, to see how easy it was to be taken in by such distractions. Perhaps people sensed there was a threat to their existence even without the evidence; they were reassessing their lives, looking to shore up what really mattered, asking the bigger questions. The Transcenders were the only ones who seemed to have the big answer.
Zardino’s voice echoed from behind. ‘It’s a good thing to get away from it all once in a while.’
Roidon was jolted out of his thoughts, obviously startled, foolishly embarrassed. He turned half round to the b’tari.
‘Given how restricted my life has been since I was brought back,’ he said, ‘I do find this a considerable relief.’
‘Restricted. Really?’ said Zardino, sounding detectably dismayed. ‘We let you use one of our premium vehicles---’
‘Over which you have ultimate control,’ Roidon countered. ‘Seriously: how far could I have got without you summoning back your precious vehicle. Think I mightn’t have noticed the leash because it’s extended long?’
‘You don’t need me to remind you what a dangerous person you were in a previous life.’
Roidon turned fully to face the b’tari. Still – in his neat white suit – looking impeccably human, either from mental manipulation or genetic modification; Roidon had given up trying to determine (they hated discussing it). He suspected the latter, given what they had learned from their old enemy, the Darangi. He said, ‘You – the B’tari – brought me back precisely because I was that dangerous person; because I outwitted your old enemy, and the council deemed it worthwhile deploying the old subversive again … to do their dirty work.’
‘Indeed, Roidon. Without you we’d be lost.’ Roidon, in all the time he’d know the B’tari aliens, had never experienced sarcasm. And he still wasn’t sure it really was meant in the way it sounded.
‘I’m guessing, though,’ Roidon said, ‘that I’ve been a bit of a disappointment to you and the council. I mean what progress have we really made?’
‘Roidon, it’s not all about some dramatic salvo against an advancing enemy. This is not even a war, it’s more about holding back the tide – a tsunami.’
‘I understand that perfectly well: we’re on the back foot,’ he said, sounding more petulant than he intended. ‘But you know what I did to end it all last time was my dramatic salvo. Don’t tell me the council hadn’t kept that in mind when they decided to have me brought back.’
‘I would not claim to know the minds of the elders, even if I do consult with them occasionally,’ Zardino said in his formal manner. ‘I only know what needs to be done right now. There is a man at this base who believed himself to be Torbin Lyndau, until the results of our tests convinced him otherwise. He is sure, though, you have some information regarding our enemy’s technology.’
‘So the enemy does believe I’m preparing something devastating against them.’
‘That is what we’d like to determine; what we hope you can elicit from our captive.’
‘Captive. Interesting.’
Roidon followed Zardino into a brightly lit white room. The man was lying in a translucent casket amongst the usual mysterious array of monitoring equipment, with its reconfiguring symbols. There were various-sized patches attached to his shaven head. He still wore the smart casual clothes he’d been wearing during his tirade of destruction.
Zardino stopped at the base of the casket. ‘To all intents and purposes that is Torbin Lyndau,’ he said. ‘At least a very lifelike clone, until you analyse his cortical neural structure.’
‘Well, I didn’t find this version very convincing. I mean the original Torbin may have been slightly unhinged, but he wasn’t psychotic.’
‘I’m not sure this version is. He may simply have been tasked – programmed if you will – to destroy our work.’
‘He wasn’t entirely unsuccessful, then.’
‘But he failed to destroy himself. And now we have our link to the Elusivers.’ Zardino then gave a command in the B’tari language, which elicited a dramatic change in the monitor’s symbols. The clone gasped as he woke.
Zardino then turned to Roidon. ‘Ask him what he knows about you.’
Roidon considered this strategy; would he have gone for the more direct interrogation? He knew the B’tari had the means to read memory, even if it was a fatal process. It would have made logical sense if they had threatened to do so. He moved in closer to the casket, and said: ‘I suspect you know more about me than does the real Torbin Lyndau – that your knowledge is implanted from the Elusivers. Then you know what I did all those years ago, and that now myself and the B’tari are striving to understand the process – to reverse it.’
‘The Elusivers have been observing you,’ the man rasped. ‘None of you has even begun to approach a counter measure for the wave.’
‘The Elusivers do not see everything. They are not gods.’
‘As far as you are concerned – they are gods.’
‘I know what it’s like to feel omnipotent – a certainty that no lesser being could possibly be hiding anything from my vast perception.’
‘We know all about you. You were no god, just arrogant and deluded, and ignorant of the true ramifications of your actions.’
‘And you are no more than a clone, a fake, a simulacrum indoctrinated with his creator’s proclamations.’
‘Are we so different? Are you any more than a creation to serve a purpose?’
‘The difference is, I would not allow myself to be captured.’
‘Maybe that’s because we don’t need you. Capturing Torbin Lyndau and your chief astronomer provided us with all the knowledge we need.’
Roidon turned to Zardino. ‘I hope you got that recorded for the council.’
‘Of course,’ replied Zardino. ‘It will certainly inform their strategy. We then only require some coordinates.’
The clone laughed in a comically deranged manner. ‘You think I would be given specific information like that?’
‘Since you won’t tell us,’ said Zardino, ‘we will have to use a more effective method of extracting information.’
The clone smiled serenely. ‘They have come to take care of me.’ His eyes then glazed over, a yellow film formed over them. His now expressionless face, like a mask, began lose its shape; it was as if it had once been filled with air and was now deflating. Eventually it became a pulpy mass, as with the rest of his body.
‘Self destruction without carrying any device. Interesting,’ Zardino observed.
Roidon said, ‘Surely you managed to capture his mind-state.’
‘Unfortunately, that was to be our next option. At least we did get a few memory fragments that might be some use. We’ll have to analyse those later, we now have a more pressing concern. Our immediate survival.’
***