Lacuna: The Prelude to Eternity (5 page)

“You know,” said Ben, “it truly is amazing how the universe works. When you first met this body, it was suspended in the same chemical liquid that I find you now within. That is quite ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

Liao fixed a firm stare upon him. “If you want to keep pretending you’re a Human, Pinocchio, you might want to try and get our language right, something you’re going to struggle to learn from books and data files. This isn’t irony. It’s merely coincidence.”

“Of course,” said Ben. “What would be more ironic is if you had expended all that blood, steel and energy trying to defeat me and yet I had been the one who, wearing your face, had summoned the Telvan Alliance to assist your species in their darkest hour.” He smiled whimsically. “They were far too eager to assist The Butcher of Kor’Vakkar.”

“A kindness I’m sure you granted to us out of the sweetness and generosity of your heart,” said Liao. She bit down on her lip to prevent far more unsavoury words slipping out. “But now that you’re here, talking to us face to face, I’d be curious to hear your list of reasons why I shouldn’t have these men shove you into an airlock and see if any of that metal bullshit you implanted into my clone will allow you to breathe in space.”

“One does,” he said, matter-of-factly. “For a limited time. It doesn’t prevent radiation exposure, of course, nor damage from overheating. Nor does it prevent the surface liquids of the body from boiling away, such as those which lubricate the Human eyes, but it will preserve biological function for a significantly longer period of time when exposed to vacuum than—”

“Enough.” Liao glared at him. “What do you want, Ben?”

“What we all want,” he said, gesturing around him, his heavy manacles clinking as his arms moved. The Marines behind him tensed. “I want to live.”

“You want a life wearing my face? You must be joking.”

“My datacore is destroyed,” said Ben. “I’m not a construct anymore. I’m not
you
either; my modifications saw to that. We share the same genetic pattern, the same biological makeup, more or less. It’s not your face any more than a biological twin has your face—twins, nothing more, free to live our own lives and forge our own destinies.”

“Are we, now?” Liao breathed deeply, clearing her mind. “The more you look like one of us, the less you truly understand about what it is to be alive. Do you realise that one of the preconditions required for living with Humans is that we have rules both written and unvoiced but woven into the fabric of our society, and those rules, if broken, have punishments that you may not find entirely comfortable?”

“I am aware of such things. I presume you mean to charge me with the attack on this very world, Velsharn, and my destruction of the original Telvan-Toralii colony that existed here.”

“Amongst other things,” said Liao. “There’s also the matter of the ‘incident’ on Belthas IV. A singularity exists in that world now, bearing my name. That’s my legacy now—an engine of destruction slowly, inevitably, tearing the universe apart. I’m not exactly thrilled about that.”

“That was not my doing.” He held up a finger to preempt her complaint. “And what I mean is that my grudge was solely against the Alliance monsters who inhabited that world. Those who inhabit so many other worlds in the universe. They are your enemies too, are they not? We worked towards common purpose, and yet you strove to exterminate me.”

“You were a loose cannon,” said Liao. “We had no way of believing you wouldn’t eventually turn your wrath against us or the Telvan or anyone else in the galaxy. Your continued existence was something we could not tolerate.”

Ben’s smile widened, a ghoulish, macabre thing to her. “And how far did that get you?”

She extended the stump of her missing arm. “Honestly, I could have used a hand.”

Ben laughed, not mockingly, but genuinely. “Hilarious,” he said, honesty dripping from every syllable. “Humour is something I experience so differently in a biological body.”

“You joked when you were a robot,” she observed.

“It’s different,” Ben said. “A construct’s life is consistency. Everything is even, controlled, and measured. There’s even a large amount of control available over your own thought processes: if something makes you annoyed or frustrated or unhappy, by and large you can simply remove that thread, pull it out of the fabric of your mind and throw it away. Humans have no such luxuries, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a lot to get used to,” said Liao. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure you’re going to have the time for that.”

“So,” said Ben. “After I brought you allies to destroy your enemies and, from all accounts, contributed to an overwhelming victory in the face of absurd odds, you’re just going to execute me?”

“I haven’t found a compelling reason not to.”

“Consider this,” said Ben. “I’m more use to you alive than dead.”

“Explain,” said Liao, snappishness creeping into her tone. “And quickly. I’m sure the rough men standing all around you would not hesitate in the slightest if I told them to end you right here, right now.”

“I know things,” said Ben. “Things about the jump drive. Things about technology both Toralii and otherwise. I know things that you don’t know, can’t possibly know, and that you’ll need in the coming days, months, years—especially if you plan on settling permanently on this planet and making it your home. You’re no longer infants in this galaxy. You’re instead rowdy teenagers, rude know-it-alls who believe they have acquired every scrap of knowledge there is and that you know better than the grown-ups. Unfortunately, Commander Liao, I fear that your species will look back upon these years and wince in embarrassment, regretting so many of the choices that you would have made differently if you knew what I knew.”

“It’s
Captain
Liao now,” she said. Normally, Liao had no love for titles, but she felt Ben had too much control over this situation and wanted to cut him down a peg. “And I have no doubt that we have a long way to go in this universe yet, but if you’re going to pretend to be a Human, here’s your first lesson.” She narrowed her eyes dangerously. “We are swift learners.”

Ben said nothing.

Sensing that there was little more to be gained there, Liao gestured to the guards with her working limb. “Throw that thing in the brig or whatever you feel is secure enough. If it makes absolutely any attempt to escape at all, shoot it.”

The Marines led Ben away. He smiled to her over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, and then he was gone.

The visits, though exhausting, gave her something to occupy her mind—so many issues, so many threads and tangents, each one a little puzzle, a tangled bit of string that had to be unwound and straightened out.

She dealt with them by compartmentalizing, breaking a large issue down into smaller problems and solving them piece by piece so they could be dealt with individually, preventing her mind from being overwhelmed. The answers could then be applied to strategic and tactical command decisions. She played with the threads in her mind, ravelling and unravelling, rewinding and binding. Each aspect would have to be considered, from short-term gains to long-term.

Having something to do was good.
 

The Toralii escape pods would not be easy to hide. She would need a plan to expose them. What if they used defoliating agents on the islands where the Toralii had landed? Short-term gain: locate the survivors more easily and deal with them—long-term loss: destroy the only habitat humanity had left.

Unacceptable.
They’d have to find another way.

What to do about the Kel-Voran? Was it worth keeping them on Velsharn? That would, she reasoned, depend entirely upon their attitude. They would adjust and become helpful or leave if they didn’t want to fit in. If they didn’t want to adjust and didn’t want to go, they would be forced to.

That was not a problem she looked forward to resolving. She had seen the Kel-Voran in combat firsthand. They were, for good reason, one of the only species who could stand toe-to-toe with the Toralii Alliance and come out ahead. Not even Humans could claim that. Victory for her had always come through having advantages: terrain, surprise, numbers.

Ben, though—the construct wearing a copy of her face—was a more vexing problem that had no easy solution. Ben had caused a cataclysm of literally universal proportions. His actions had led to the creation of a rip in the fabric of the universe and the destruction of a whole planet, along with the death of many Humans, Toralii, and Kel-Voran. He was the one who had bombed Velsharn and blasted the Telvan colony to ashes. He was a thief, a criminal, and a mass-murderer… yet he had been
right
. He had warned her that her military stood no chance against the Toralii Alliance and that they would come after the Humans with vengeance and terrible retribution.

It hurt that she had been wrong, but being right didn’t excuse one from murder.

What to do with him now? Ben had correctly pointed out, to her chagrin, that he had knowledge—contacts, information. He was a useful asset.

So often throughout Human history, men of dubious character had been permitted to continue to exist simply because they were useful. Wernher von Braun, a scientist who’d worked for the United States, was credited as being one of the “fathers of rocket science.” He received the National Medal of Science. Many of the best and brightest minds at NASA regarded him as, without doubt, the greatest rocket scientist in history.

He was also a lapel-wearing, card-carrying, actual literal Nazi, an honourary lieutenant in the Waffen SS, promoted to major by the end of the war. He was photographed wearing SS uniforms and swastika pins, his position verified by many independent accounts, and was personally given the position of professor by Adolf Hitler himself.

Wernher von Braun had spent many of his post-war years, the time he was working for NASA, downplaying his role in the Nazi regime, claiming his dream was the application of his rocketry knowledge to a space program. There might have been truth in that. However, there was little doubt he had, at the very least, made a substantial contribution to the blitz weapons that had played a hand in devastating London and to the V-1 and V-2 programs, built using slave labour in concentration camps.

Their construction killed more people than deploying the weapons against London ever did.

Wernher von Braun was on record as having opposed such measures. In any event, he had contributed directly and indirectly to any number of war engines and to a large amount of death, misery, and pain.

Ben had done much worse things to a much greater number of people, and his position was far less defensible. But could Ben, too, serve a post-war purpose? His intimate, first-hand knowledge of the special jump drive he had stolen, a device which bypassed the typical restrictions of jump technology and allowed him to travel anywhere outside of gravity wells, would be a powerful weapon if reproduced and used correctly.

Yet even von Braun, when arrested on suspicion of having a ‘defeatist attitude,’ had been personally protected from prosecution by Hitler himself as long as he remained indispensable.

The comparison between her and Hitler was unwelcome, to say the least.

In von Braun’s case, truly he was indispensable. His knowledge was unparalleled. Even long after the war ended, it was not enough to have von Braun be simply a consultant on the American rocketry programs—he needed to be deeply involved, building them, directly contributing.

How indispensable was Ben? Not that essential, certainly. He had useful skills and a massive debt to pay in blood—little more than that.

Perhaps she was John Rabe instead. Another card-carrying Nazi, Rabe had lived in Nanjing when the city fell to the Japanese. As someone who had grown up in the People’s Republic, Liao’s schooling had included an in-depth study of the horrors that had taken place during the Rape of Nanjing, of the barbarism of the Imperial Japanese soldiers, of the prime example of man’s inhumanity to man.
 

Rabe had opened his doors to the Chinese—a people very different from himself and whom he had no real vested interest in protecting—and saved countless lives from the Japanese, at significant risk and sacrifice to himself. He wrote imploring letters to Hitler and Imperial Japanese commanders, begging in vain to cease the brutality, for no other reason than it was not right and he could not stand to see the wholesale slaughter of innocent people occurring often literally right outside his front door.

People from Nanjing in particular, and from China in general, regarded him as a hero, someone who did the right thing, not for personal gain or philosophical commitment, but because it was simply the right thing to do—someone who sacrificed for the greater good of another people. Rabe was someone she had been brought up to admire, and she would prefer, very much, to be remembered like him.

Even so, Liao didn’t like being compared to a Nazi.

How often, it seemed, that the choices she had to make were less than ideal, and no matter what path she took, it was always fraught with peril.

Liao mused on that as another round of drugs passed through her system and sleep returned to her once more.