Emperor Mollusk Versus the Sinister Brain (20 page)

I couldn’t say if Zala’s lecture motivated me or if I would’ve snapped out of my spiritual ennui on my own. It’d be a lie to say my defeat in Paris didn’t weaken my normally invulnerable self-confidence, but I’d never been one to drift on the current. Even when I should’ve known better.

I’d nearly destroyed Terra as many times as I’d saved it. I assumed there was a better than average chance that one day I would. But that wouldn’t prevent me from exploring the edges of dangerous science. It was a driving compulsion, and I couldn’t pretend to be in control of it.

The Pluvian philosopher kings had suggested that there was no good or bad. There were only order and chaos, and by the laws of physics, entropy was bound to come out on top. But to not fight against chaos was still the ultimate sin because it was a tacit betrayal of the foundations of all sentient life-forms everywhere. And a universe without life was entirely pointless while a universe with life was only mostly pointless. And in a mostly pointless universe, having to decide whether to wallow in defeat or go forward toward certain defeat, there wasn’t much choice at all.

Zala had been right. The Brain might be my one unsolvable problem, but one way or another, I had to see it through.

I passed the next twelve hours modifying and planning for our next encounter. Zala left me to it, and after I was confident enough in my powers of science, we were aboard my saucer, flying toward the sacred city of Shambhala.

“How do you know they’ll be there?” Zala asked.

“I don’t,” I replied. “But after acquiring the Eiffel Tower, I can only assume they’re planning on transmitting some sort of signal. And that takes power. Given that the tower is the most powerful transmitter array on Terra, I’m assuming the most powerful power generator will be next on their list.”

When she didn’t pose another question, I wasn’t sure how to react.

“It’s only a wild guess,” I said. “Educated, but with nothing to back it up.”

She sat back, folded her arms across her chest, and nodded. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Aren’t you going to use this moment to point out the very likely possibility that I’m wrong?” I asked.

“Should I?”

“No, you shouldn’t, but you usually do. Or at least make some passing reference to my arrogance. Or something like that.”

“Would you like me to?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I won’t.”

She smiled slightly. Her thoughts were obvious. Though it wasn’t in my nature to dwell on my defeat, my confidence remained shaken. For the first time since…well…forever, I didn’t trust my judgment. I didn’t need Zala to question my competence, but there was a certain ritual we’d developed in the last few days.

“You don’t have to take it easy on me,” I said.

“Oh, I’m not.”

Her smile remained. We both knew what she was doing. Her respectful acceptance of my plan, without challenge, was a reminder of my own fragility in the guise of an act of compassion. It was irritating, and that was precisely the point.

She glanced at the snowy caps of the Himalayas passing below the saucer. “Why is the generator in such an out of the way place anyway?”

“The engine taps into a previously unknown form of energy I call molluskotrenic. It’s present across the planet, but is strongest and easiest to tap here.”

“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?”

“I discovered it. I get to name it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Although I didn’t quite discover it,” I said. “Some Terra Sapiens had tapped into the field in the past, using it for basic weather manipulation, life extension, and other things. They used it to found a secret city called Shambhala.”

“Then shouldn’t it be called
shambhalotrenic
?” she asked.

“They didn’t really know what they had,” I replied. “And they would be dead if I hadn’t built the engine and harnessed the power more efficiently. So I think getting to name the thing is a small price to pay. The Shambhalans are a humble people in any case. They don’t care what it’s named as long as they’re free to continue their lives of quiet meditation and philosophy.”

“They sound delightful,” she said flatly.

“You’ll probably like them. They follow a strict warrior monk code. They like to talk about honor. A lot. So that’s something you have in common.”

Shambhala was a radiant green patch in the snowy mountains. The proper city possessed certain qualities of traditional Asian architecture, a cross-section of the various cultures of the region. There were even Western influences, no doubt brought in by wanderers and truth seekers from across the globe. Everything was stone and wood. I’d offered to update their building materials, but the monks refused. They’d chosen an isolated way of life, and as long as the molluskotrenic supported them, they had no reason to look elsewhere.

The engine stood beside the city.

“That channels unlimited energy to Terra?” Her skepticism was understandable. The engine didn’t glow. It didn’t shoot bolts of power into the sky. Aside from being a steel construction in a primitive realm of wood and steel, it was unassuming.

“And then some,” I said. “The source of the energy remains mostly a mystery, even to me, and it isn’t enough in itself. But with it, I was able to build a perpetual-motion machine that generates m-rays that are transmitted across the planet and converted into electricity.”

“M-rays?” she said.

“When you discover a new form of radiation, I’ll let you name it.”

Shambhala had a landing pad just outside the city. We disembarked and were greeted by a bald Terran in an orange robe. He smiled and bowed.

“Emperor Mollusk, you honor us with your presence.”

I returned the bow. “Most Illustrious Master of the Ten Sacred Palms, be assured the pleasure is all mine.”

I quickly introduced Zala and the Illustrious Master. But I skipped the chitchat.

“I have reason to believe your city is in danger from outside forces,” I said.

“Shambhala is a place of peace,” he replied. “We offend no one. In a thousand years, no one has set foot in our paradise with violent intent. The gods smile upon Shambhala.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

The Illustrious Master always smiled, but he smiled a little less. “You have been a great friend to Shambhala. And we would be honored to hear your concerns. Your council has proven a blessing in the past, and I would not easily dismiss them. Apologies if I have offended you in my actions.”

“And I apologize if the perception of my own offense has offended you, Illustrious Master.”

We bowed.

“No apology is necessary,” he replied. “If I have given you the impression that one was required, I sincerely apologize for the error.”

“And I apologize if the error seems in need of apology.”

We bowed again.

Zala stepped between us. “Didn’t you want to take a look around, Emperor? To be sure everything is in order?”

The Master said, “Of course. How inconsiderate of me. I apologize for my inconsideration.”

He started to bow, but Zala stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, apologies all around. Apologies for everyone. But we should get on with it.”

The Master led us through the city streets. Shambhala was a quiet place. It didn’t bustle. The only noise was that of songbirds, children playing, and the unified grunts of dozens of monks practicing martial arts.

He nodded toward Zala. “Your companion speaks her mind. It is admirable.”

“Sometimes,” I said.

Zala slowed as we passed a monk going through the seventeen righteous sword motions. The peculiar weapon favored by the monks had holes in the blade that whistled as the sword sliced through the air.

“The ancients say enlightenment is found in the song of a blade,” said the Illustrious Master.

The ancients also said enlightenment could be seen in the green leaves of a cabbage. And heard between the beats of a hummingbird’s wings. And in a thousand and one drops of sweat. And beneath the rock that never moves. And in a thousand other places.

“I must confess, Emperor Mollusk, that your visit doesn’t come as a surprise to us.”

“No, I didn’t think it would.”

I’d noticed the monks gathering around us as we walked through the city. It was hardly subtle. Every person we passed joined us, and soon we were surrounded by several hundred citizens. Men, women, and children of all ages. Their gently smiling faces portrayed no threat beyond their growing numbers.

Zala must have noticed too, but she didn’t offer comment.

“You understand that we of the sacred city owe you a great debt, and that when the outsiders came to pervert your technology, we almost considered fighting against them. But, of course, it isn’t our way to raise our fists in violence. For this, I must apologize most sincerely.”

He stopped and bowed.

“If your esteemed companion would surrender her weapons to us, it would make things easier.”

Zala laughed. “If you want my weapons, you’ll have to take them from—”

A monk’s spinning kick nearly took her head off. She was just quick enough to avoid it. He threw several punches at her. She dodged, smashed him in the nose with her elbow. He collapsed. An elderly woman and a child rushed forward and helped him limp away.

“I thought these people were pacifists,” said Zala.

“We are,” answered the Illustrious Master. “But we have been violated most unfortunately.” He bowed and turned his head to show the scar under his right ear. No doubt some sort of implant was at work here. “Now the skills that have aided us in our quest for inner peace have been perverted, and I can only humbly beg your forgiveness for our actions.”

Three swordmasters advanced on Zala. She drew the pistol on her hip.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “You’ll be shooting innocent people.”

She grunted, put the blaster away, and drew her scimitar.

One of the swordmasters whirled his weapon in a flashing pattern. “I apologize if my blade prematurely ends your own journey toward enlightenment and only hope you can forgive me in your next life. And should you end mine, I apologize for forcing you to spill—”

Zala punched him across the jaw, sending him sprawling.

“You’re forgiven.”

The Shambhalans, every single one aside from the Illustrious Master, rushed Zala. I lost her in the chaos, but her battle cry came from somewhere in the muddle. She couldn’t win this fight, but she wasn’t going to make it easy on them.

“Your companion is very stubborn,” observed the Master. “But as the ancients say, enlightenment can be found in the unwinnable battle.”

“It seems you can find it anywhere,” I replied.

“Ah, so continues your own journey.”

I left Zala to fight her own quest for enlightenment in her own way. The Master led me to the temple at the center of the city. I wasn’t surprised to see the Brain, in a seven-foot exo, standing on its steps.

“So good of you to join us, Emperor. Where is the Venusian?”

“I’m afraid her path to enlightenment may involve some bruising,” said the Master.

“No matter,” said the Brain. “I’ll take it from here. After you’ve subdued the Venusian, bring her along.”

The Illustrious Master bowed.

“Where is it?” I asked. “Where’s the tower?”

The Brain pointed behind me. The air shimmered as he deactivated the stealth field that hid the Eiffel Tower standing beside the molluskotrenic engine.

“No doubt you have many questions, Emperor, and we will answer them in good time. But we have a few minutes before everything is in final preparation, and it’s about time we get the formal introductions out of the way. We’ve been waiting to meet you, face-to-face, for far too long.”

He led me into the temple. Once an open space where the monks of Shambhala would meditate to the sounds of a sacred gong (there were many sacred things in the sacred city), it was now an audience chamber. Along the walls, hundreds of disembodied Terra Sapien brains sat in their own fluid-filled spheres.

“The Council of Egos welcomes you, Emperor.”

And the Council cheered.

It was difficult to distinguish one Terran brain from another. Fortunately, they had metallic nameplates screwed to their spheres. I had a cursory self-education on Terran history, and I recognized many of them. The Marquis de Sade, Countess Elizabeth Báthory, Genghis Khan, Julius Caesar, Florence Nightingale, Pol Pot, Chairman Mao, Soupy Sales, Cleopatra, Susan B. Anthony. Just to name a few.

“Where’s Hitler?” I asked. “I don’t see Hitler’s brain.”

“That idiot?” replied P. T. Barnum. “He was too annoying and demanding. There’s no place for that in the Council of Egos. We serve a higher purpose, a grand design.”

Mussolini snickered. “We flushed him.”

“Not everyone is worthy of the Council,” said Zu Ding. “For some, the conversion process is too difficult. It doesn’t take. Greta Garbo, Confucius, Oscar Wilde, the wondrous preservative elixir distilled from the undying waters failed to work for them.”

“Terrible shame,” said Buffalo Bill Cody.

“Indeed,” said Zu Ding. “And others go mad. They usually fall into a catatonic state. Or worse.”

“Jane Austen wouldn’t stop screaming,” said Archimedes. “And Madame Curie descended into a bestial state. Although as you learned, there were other side effects that proved to be beneficial to keeping her around.”

“And, of course,” said Zu Ding, “still others insist on clinging to antiquated notions of morality. Einstein called us insane. He claimed the preservation process must have unhinged our minds. Can you imagine the absurdity of that? We have found a way to transform ourselves into demigods of pure intellect, and he thought us delusional megalomaniacs.”

The Council burst into cackling. They fed off each other, continuing for some time.

Zala was brought in by a pair of monks. She was battered, but the Shambhalans had retained enough of their restraint that she was still able to walk under her own power. She stood beside me.

“I’m surprised they didn’t have to kill you,” I whispered beneath the laughter echoing off the walls.

She wiped some blood from the corner of her mouth. “If experience has taught me anything, Emperor, it’s that you seem to delight in walking us into traps. I wasn’t shocked by this turn of events. But I could hardly be expected to surrender meekly, could I?”

The laughter died down, and for a moment, I thought the Council might be done. But then Tolstoy burst into raucous guffaws, and it triggered a new burst.

“They certainly are a jolly bunch,” she said. “Should I be worried?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied.

The Council’s laughter stopped, shut off like someone had thrown a switch.

Zu Ding said, “The Council of Egos share a singular vision of tomorrow. Old rivalries, old ideas, must be set aside if one is to join us. We cannot tolerate those who are unwilling to adapt to the new order. We were very close to voting to remove Davy Crockett and López de Santa Anna at one point. But now look at them? The best of friends.”

“We play mahjong on Wednesdays,” said Santa Anna.

“I don’t even remember why we used to squabble,” said Crockett.

“All the bickering and infighting that defined us as a species,” said Otani Kozui. “A waste of time, a distraction. The system is waiting for us to bring order to its chaos and instead, we’ve wasted thousands of years quarreling over borders and nations and other meaningless inanities.”

“Until you came along, Emperor,” said Barnum, “and showed us that Terran unity is possible. The Council has worked from the shadows for thousands of years, but all our efforts were slow and ineffective. Even as our number grew, we found ourselves unable to overcome stubborn Terran nature. It took an outsider, a true master of science and conquest, to show us the way.”

The brains murmured their approval.

“You’re their hero,” said Zala. “You’ve been trying to stop them, and all this time, they’ve been admiring you.”

“And why shouldn’t we?” asked Zabaia. “Since the dawn of Terran civilization, haven’t we looked to the heavens for guidance and salvation? And hasn’t Lord Mollusk come from above to save us from ourselves, as dreamt of by prophet and peasant alike?”

Zala laughed. No one laughed with her, and the sound echoed through the chamber.

“Oh, tell me you aren’t serious.”

She laughed again.

“You think Emperor is your messiah?”

“It is not an inappropriate word,” said Barnum. “He has come to deliver us from ourselves, to show us the way.”

I smiled, despite myself.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” she asked.

“It’s nice to be adored,” I admitted.

“This is absurd. He isn’t a god. And this ill-conceived religious nonsense—”

The crowd murmured over her.

“This isn’t a religion,” said Cleopatra. “Such childish things are beneath the Council.”

“Religion offers nothing but empty promises to desperate mortals who know only fear,” said Joseph Lyons.

“Some promises are emptier than others,” added Torquemada.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked L. Ron Hubbard.

“Oh…nothing,” replied Torquemada.

“Fellow consuls,” said Martin Luther, “this is not the time for this particular argument.”

“Nobody asked you for your opinion,” said Hubbard. “Not that they ever had to.”

“Consuls, please,” said Mussolini. “Don’t make us consider flushing you.”

“Wouldn’t want to look bad in front of the messiah,” said Zala with every bit of sarcasm at her disposal.

Barnum said, “You misunderstand us, Venusian. We aren’t suckers who place our hopes behind blind faith and irrational wishful thinking. That is the way of the old Terra Sapiens. We’ve transcended our distracting flesh and blood to become beings of pure intellect. And that intellect tells us that Emperor Mollusk has come to save us from ourselves.”

“You’re all mad,” she said.

“But of course, you couldn’t comprehend,” said Sigmund Freud. “It’s the flesh that surrounds you, that smothers your rationality with all its confusing neurological impulses. Once we’ve separated you from such confusion, you will see.”

The floor opened up before us, and a small steel table and several surgical robots rose into the temple.

Several monks, apologizing over each other, seized her. She fought like a Turillian devil, knocking several to the floor. But there were too many. They dragged her to a table. She struggled with every bit of her strength and training, but it didn’t do any good. They strapped her down and still she struggled. A brain containment sphere was wheeled into position by her head while the robots sterilized a buzz saw.

“We’ll save her from herself,” said Barnum. “Unless you have any objections, Lord Mollusk.”

The chamber went quiet.

“You can’t let them do this, Emperor,” said Zala. “I’m a Venusian warrior! I deserve to die on my feet with a sword in my hand.”

I said nothing.

The Brain put an arm around me. “Say the word, and we’ll do whatever you desire. No tricks. No loopholes. You are the leader we’ve been waiting for, and you have our absolute loyalty.”

“What are you waiting for?” said Zala. “Tell them to let me go.”

I remained silent, pondering.

“You aren’t actually considering this?” shouted Zala. “How many times have I saved your life?”

“How many times have you told me you’re going to lock me away?” I asked in turn. “We aren’t really friends, are we?”

She sneered. “You could at least do me the honor of killing me rather than turning me into one of these bodiless abominations.”

She made a good point.

“Before you make your final decision,” said Queen Victoria, “there’s something we’d like to show you. Something we know you’ll find enlightening.”

The room dimmed, and an image projected in the air above the Council. My image.

“Hello, Emperor.” My recorded voice crackled with static and the image fizzled. “Good to see you, so to speak. As you’ve already grasped, I am the one who sent this message from the future. I apologize for the poor quality of the transmission, but as you know, anti-time projection is an imprecise science.”

Zala said, “You? You’re the one who has been behind this the whole time?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true,” said Future Self. “Pity you figured it out too late, my dear Zala.”

“Is this a live transmission?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “It’s not live. I just have memorized this conversation from the last time I had it, and am recalling your end of it. It’s merely a simulation, as I can’t hear you right now, but I did hear you then and that’s close enough.”

“How do I know you’re me?” I asked.

“Who else could I be?” he said. “I suppose I could be a second renegade Neptunon. We do look alike, and this garbled transmission isn’t helping. I have no way of proving who I am. I could have recorded your responses from an outside source, so that isn’t conclusive. Or I could be a clone. Perhaps one you didn’t even know about. A clone of a clone. And from the vantage point of the future, there is any number of tricks I could use to my advantage.”

The image faded into gray static, then slowly clarified.

“And the question you’re now asking yourself is what would I have to gain from lying to you? To what grand purpose would this sort of deception work toward.”

“He’s good,” I admitted.

“I’m you,” he said. “And, regardless of how impossible this assertion is to prove from your point in the space-time continuum, you know that this is true. Who else would be ingenious enough to manipulate you so expertly, to lead you on a grand chase designed to remind you of who you are? Who else but you could possibly outsmart you?”

“My gods, Mollusk,” said Zala. “He is you. No one else could say something so obnoxiously self-satisfied with a straight face.”

Future Self laughed, and the Council of Egos laughed with him.

“A being of your talents doesn’t belong on this pitiful little world,” said Future Self. “You were made to conquer! It is your destiny to lead the universe to glory!”

He raised his fist. The council roared.

Even I felt that was a bit much.

“Perhaps that was a bit much.” He smiled wryly. “This is less about destiny than inevitability. You can’t stop being who you are, Emperor. This misguided retirement leaves you unsatisfied. Don’t bother lying about it.”

I didn’t.

“And I don’t have to ask you how the last few days have left you feeling more alive and stimulated than you have in years.”

I did.

“Your retirement was an experiment, but that experiment is over. It’s a failure, and you are too intelligent to deny that. I get your reluctance. I know there are unpleasant aspects of this hobby that don’t appeal to you. But if you don’t do it, someone else will. And we both know that they’ll do it with less style and subtlety, with armies and death rays, and all sorts of unimaginative destruction.”

“They’ll fail,” I said. “The system can’t be conquered. It’s a logistical impossibility.”

“Yes, it’s impossible,” he agreed, “and that’s exactly why you’ll do it.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve already done it?” I asked.

“No. I’m in the future, but not far enough that I can guarantee results. But guarantees are boring. No, I can’t make any promises other than to say that it’ll be a hell of a lot of fun trying. And if you fail, at least you can say you gave it your best shot.

“In ten seconds, these fine surgeons will remove Zala’s brain. Or they’ll release her. The decision is entirely in your hands. I trust you’ll make the right one.”

The image panned to the right to reveal a brain in a sphere. The purple brain had a distinctive partition down the center of its frontal lobe. It was a Venusian brain.

Zala’s voice came from its voice synthesizer.

“Hello, Emperor.”

The surgeon’s saw whirred as he lowered it toward present, full-bodied Zala.

“It’s a trick!” she shouted. “It has to be! That could be any Venusian brain! By the Fifth through Eight Gods, if you let them remove my brain, I swear I’ll—”

“Stop,” I said.

The surgeon’s saw switched off.

Zala exhaled with relief. “I knew you’d come to your senses, Mollusk.”

“You could at least anesthetize her,” I said.

A nurse placed a mask over her mouth and switched on the gas. Zala cursed my name for the minute or two it took for her to lose consciousness.

The Brain bowed. “The Council of Egos awaits your first order, Lord Mollusk.”

“I assume there’s a machine somewhere,” I said. “A device nearby that is the culmination of our journey.”

The Brain bobbed in his fluid in way of a nod. “It is nearly complete.”

I inwardly winced at the distinctive sound of a motorized blade cutting into bone. It had to be done, but I doubted Zala would understand the necessity of the decision.

“Well,” I said. “Let’s get to it then.”