The Soul Consortium (25 page)

“Even if you brought about the dark age, you more than compensated for that,” he says, as if he read my thoughts.

I try not to remember the early days of those dark times. But Erastus is right. It was through new laws and guidance and the careful concealment of the Codex moon’s location that we clawed away from the darkness of oblivion to enter a new golden age. The Seventh Golden Reign. Some even named that age after me—the Oluvian Era, for it was I who reigned from this hidden location, nurturing the human race back to health during those years. But like the dark age, that era is also history.

“It may not be compensation enough. Everything is changing now, and if we are to survive, I must abandon what is left of my moral pride. Nobody anticipated that the Great AI consciousness would do what they did upon their return.”

“You claim responsibility for too much.” There is a suppressed anger in Erastus’s tone. “The Great AI’s destruction of the Zen Nebula is not your doing. Nobody could have anticipated it. In fact”—the indignant tone escalates—“nobody even believed the Great AI would ever return.”

I warm to his defense but cannot agree with it. It was only a month ago that the peace of our Golden Age was shattered, ended in less than an hour with terrible violence. The Great AI returned instantaneously, enveloping the Zen Nebula in a cloud of diamond light, demanding the human race merge with them or face annihilation, and they wanted an answer within one standard day. There was no explanation, no warning, and no mercy. The Great AI that had lived harmoniously with us for so long before their disappearance returned after a three-million-year absence to initiate a war. We have no idea if they even completed their own analysis of the Codex, but I suspect they have, and I also suspect that analysis has influenced their act of genocide. Again, that makes this my responsibility.

I tried to help. Tried to negotiate with the Great AI and the governments of the Zen Nebula. Unable to agree on a solution and not believing that the threat would be carried out, the governments refused to cooperate. The threat
was
carried out.

They split every atom within two thousand light-years. Two hundred billion stars turned instantly to novas, six hundred million inhabited planets incinerated, an unfathomable amount of lives erased in seconds. And each one of incalculable value. There was no chance of genoplant resurrection; the maximum range of five hundred light-years was not enough to reach their neighboring galaxy. There are no words to express such an atrocity, just numbers. The loss was so great we hardly knew how to grieve. Nor dare we even now, for the Great AI has moved on to their next target, making the same demands as they enshroud the Terran Galaxy, the birthplace of humankind.

“Thank you, but blame and compensation are irrelevant now. We thought we’d closed Pandora’s box. But we hadn’t.”

“So the question remains: Is it even possible to close it?”

“Even if it were, it would be too late. Why close the box when there is nothing left inside? There is only one place left to hide if its evil has already been unleashed.” I point at the Singularity.

“The box.” Erastus nods.

I offer him a mirthless smile. “Yes, the Singularity. We might not be able to put our tribulations back inside the box, but we might be able to run far away from them.”

“If we have enough time.”

I lift my chin slightly. “My last negotiations with the AI did not go well. They have granted us a little more time, but I am surprised they gave us even that.”

“Is that why they said they would return again in ninety days?”

“Yes, but it’s not enough time for an entire race to decide upon its fate. It is barely enough time to decide how to
face
destruction, but ninety days
is
time enough for me to make sure that Project Prometheus is ready.”

“Can you really be sure if … Can you be certain the project will succeed?” His tone carries a weight I have never heard from him before.

“Project Prometheus deserves more time for us to ensure success. But we have to try. What other option is there? We cannot defend ourselves against the Great AI, so we must take those we can and run.”

He looks at the floor. “I know.”

Erastus rarely shows emotion, but I can feel it ebbing from him now. He’s thinking of his family. He could spend the last ninety days here with me, gambling on a slim chance for survival, or he could spend his last days with his loved ones. He’s ashamed to ask me, but I know it’s what he wants.

“You can go,” I whisper.

“Oluvia, I—”

“No.” I sigh. “No. You have been an invaluable asset to me and the Consortium for over a century. A leave of absence is long overdue.”

Erastus forces a breath before meeting my gaze. “Thank you.”

“Just one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Will you be able to find me a replacement? I know it may not be an easy task, but there are still other important projects to which I must divert my attention. I need someone competent to relieve me of my administrative tasks.”

“Of course, that goes without question.”

“Thank you. It will be appreciated. And one last thing.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to be completely honest.” Time for me to take a deep breath now. “Executing Project Prometheus in complete secrecy without anyone else’s consent will be considered a crime of the highest order. I need to hear from you, someone I trust, that this is the right thing to do. I do not want your agreement because I am queen. I want your agreement because you believe it is right.”

I can almost hear him chewing over his answer as he looks back at the Promethean Singularity. It is the source of all our woes but possibly our only chance for salvation too. With the threat of genocide looming again, our plan is to take our moon, with the Codex and a group of carefully selected survivors, straight through this cradle of creation. Our hope is that it will separate us from the known universe and take us beyond the reach of the Great AI.

It is not a reckless plan; we have been preparing this voyage since the discovery of the Singularity. It was originally planned as an escape from the inevitable collapse of the universe, for it is not an idle metaphor to describe the Promethean Singularity as a beating heart. It
does
beat. Out: an explosion of existence, casting matter and energy out into the void. In: the gathering of all creation back into itself, ready for the next inevitable explosion.

Over and over the cycle repeats—a complex harmony of matter and energy—the same every time down to the finest detail so that life duplicates itself in a never ending identical reincarnation with no progress and no change—or so the theory states. Our aim is to escape that stagnation, to pilot the Consortium through one of the Promethean cyclones and punch a hole through the Singularity before all creation is gathered back to its womb and crushed, ready for rebirth. We can then watch from a vast distance, eternal beings, safe from harm, freed from the eternal cycle of death and rebirth.

“Dig deeper,” Erastus says after consideration.

I shoot him a questioning look.

“The Greek legend. Dig deeper. Find out what Zeus did to Prometheus and then search beyond our current troubles. See if you still have your doubts then.” He turns to leave. “I’ll come back in two days with my replacement.”

I scan the files again.

The Punishment of Prometheus:
Zeus binds him to the great mountain forever. The crows feed upon Prometheus’s liver by day. At night his flesh regenerates only to be eaten again the next day. The cycle repeats.

And there the buried memory returns. Kilkaine Nostranum. He volunteered for an old experiment of mine, an experiment that went terribly wrong and left him insane. We could do nothing for him.

But Erastus is wise. He knew nothing of those days, and that terrible time has nothing to do with what he is trying to tell me now: regardless of the Great AI’s threats, we still have to leave. For humanity to continue without stagnation there must be change, but how can we change if the cycle of the universe forever ensnares us, sending us to the same fate time and time again? At least with Project Prometheus we have a chance to end that, and if the Consortium survives the journey, eternity will truly be ours to explore. Whether it happens sooner or later hardly matters; the Great AI merely accelerated our cause.

“Thank you,” I say to Erastus, but he has already left.

“H
e is here,” says Erastus.

Slowly, I descend the spiral steps from the roof of the Observation Sphere, each individual island of white metal appearing, then dipping a fraction with the press of my bare feet. The lights have been kept low to allow the ambience of the K7 Nebula to bathe the sphere in its nectar glow, and the fibers of my gown shimmer as I cross the brightest of the beams. A suitable grandeur in which to greet my new aide.

“You will address me by my title, subject 3.23519E+7.”

Erastus straightens. His gray jowls twitch slightly as he observes the spheres shining through the dome above our heads. Anything to avoid eye contact. I feel a tinge of regret when I notice the wounded look in his eyes. He hides it but allows just enough of it to show. “I apologize, Majesty.”

I reach the bottom step, face Erastus with an expression of bronze. The formality is necessary now. I have known him far too long to allow sentiment to tarnish our last day. He’ll not see me falter. “He is late.” My voice is purposefully cold. “Perhaps your selection techniques need to be revised. Your replacement ought to know better than to make such a terrible mistake on his first day.” “I apologize, Majesty. He—”

“Do not compound his mistake by acting as proxy for his excuses. He must explain himself in person.”

“Of course, Majesty.” He tilts his head in obeisance. “Your Majesty should also know that … I have told him nothing of Project Prometheus.”

I study Erastus for several seconds. I’ll miss that somber face, but most of all I will miss his trust and loyalty. Even now, despite my plan to abandon this universe to the cold mercy of the Great AI, he protects my secrets. I owe him at least the courtesy of rewarding that trust. “We are ready.”

“Majesty?” Erastus lifts his head.

“Everything except the slipstream drive. That will take another eighty days to charge to full capacity.”

“Then you have the names?”

“All of them. I have made my choices, compiled the list, and programmed them into the Prometheus protocols so there will be no delay. As soon as the drive is ready, matter transfer will be initiated for the eight thousand candidates, and together we will leave this universe behind. We will escape the Great AI, but more than that, we will be the first to break from creation’s never ending cycle.”

“I wish …” Erastus grinds his teeth.

He doesn’t need to speak. We wish for the same thing. That the Great AI never returned, that it was not necessary to flee. That he could stay. But Erastus made his choice, and it was the right one. For him and for his family. He needs to return to comfort his kin in the last days before the Great AI will inevitably make good on their threats.

“You may go. Show in your replacement. I will come to see you later before you leave.” I turn my back on him.

There is a pause. Then the cross fade of footsteps as Erastus leaves and his replacement strides in. Then silence. My new employee is waiting for me to turn and greet him. I don’t.

“Sincere apologies, Majesty.” The new aide’s diction is perfect, his voice like a deep massage on tired muscles.

I turn my head just a fraction to regard him with a sideways glance.

“I needed more time before making your acquaintance, Majesty. Erastus insinuated that there may be no return to normal society if I accept the post here, and naturally that raised questions about how you plan to overcome the AI threat. He was most reluctant to elaborate, hence my late arrival.”

“Indeed.” I finally turn, wanting to make a closer inspection of this man. “And you think it appropriate for him to disclose such information before I have even acknowledged you as his replacement?”

“Yes, Majesty.” He’s not looking at me but directly ahead with his chin raised.

I circle the new arrival slowly. He stands a full head and shoulders taller than me, and he’s toned and muscular, with smooth shoulder-length hair the color of deep space and eyes like warm suns. It will be difficult to hide my instinctual attraction to this man. He’s not handsome, but his features are sculpted with character that I am sure were forged in life’s furnace for more years than most can imagine. He was probably born to look like this, too, with perhaps only a few physiological enhancements. I respect that. After several millennia of learning to read the subtle signs of genoplant perfectionism—or
Genofects
as we were once labeled—it’s a refreshing change to find a man with very little genetic manipulation, except the necessary augmentations to prevent death.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“I was born on Old Earth, Majesty.” He looks at me for the first time.

Those magnificent eyes compel me to stop walking. My instinct is to break from his gaze, but it would be the first time I have conceded that honor to anyone in centuries. “Old Earth? Truly?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“But you’re several hundred billion years old at least. Even older than I am. You must know I can discern deception in a matter of seconds.”

He still holds my gaze. “I have no reason to lie to you. It would serve little purpose, and, as you say, you would find out quickly enough.”

It would be easy to lose oneself in those eyes. There is a rare strength of spirit in this man, a raw, biological charisma: evidence that he has found his way through life without resorting to the usual technological solutions to find acceptance in his community. He’s a man of the old school, no doubt a survivor. Interesting then, his choice to be stationed at a place that warns of such danger.

“Why did you volunteer to be my chief aide?”

“I have the skills you need.” His lips stiffen slightly. “And I have no wish to perish in the coming war. As long as I am here, that won’t happen.”