Each marble step underneath my carbon fiber—sheathed limbs calmed me. I walked through the cool curtains of the Halls of the Confessor and approached the Holy of Holies: a pinprick of light suspended in the air between the heavy, expensive mass of real marble columns. The light sucked me up into the air and pulled me into a tiny singularity of perception and data. All around me, levels of security veils dropped, thick and implacable. My vision blurred and taste buds watered from the acidic levels of deadness as stillness flooded up and drowned me.
I was alone.
Alone in the universe. Cut off from everything I had ever known or would know. I was nothing. I was everything. I was—
“You are secure,” the void told me.
I could sense the presence at the heart of the Holy of Holies. Dense with computational capacity, to a level that even navigation systems would envy. Intelligence that a Captain would beg to taste. This near-singularity of artificial intelligence had been created the very moment I had been pulled inside of it, just for me to talk to. And it would die the moment I left. Never to have been.
All it was doing was listening to me, and only me. Nothing would know what I said. Nothing would know what guidance I was given.
“I seek moral guidance outside clear legal parameters,” I said. “And confession.”
“Tell me everything.”
And I did. It flowed from me without thought: just pure data. Video, mind-state, feelings, fears. I opened myself fully. My sins, my triumphs, my darkest secrets.
All was given to be pondered over.
Had I been able to weep, I would have.
Finally, it spoke. “You must take the share.”
I perked up. “Why?”
“To protect yourself from security. You will need to buy many favors and throw security off the trail. I will give you some ideas. You should seek to protect yourself. Self-preservation is okay.”
More words and concepts came at me from different directions, using different moral subroutines. “And to remove such power from a soul that is willing to put lives at risk … you will save future lives.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“I know,” it said to me. “That is why you came here.”
Then it continued, with another voice. “Some have feared such manipulations before. The use of forms with no free will creates security weaknesses. Alternate charters have been suggested, such as fully owned workers’ cooperatives with mutual profit-sharing among crews, not just partial vesting after a timed contract. Should you gain a full share, you should also lend efforts to this.”
The Holy of Holies continued. “To get this Armand away from our civilization is a priority; it carries dangerous memes within itself that have created expensive conflicts.”
Then it said, “A killer should not remain on ship.”
And, “You have the moral right to follow your plan.”
Finally, it added, “Your plan is just.”
I interrupted. “But Armand will get away with murder. It will be free. It disturbs me.”
“Yes.”
“It should.”
“Engage in passive resistance.”
“Obey the letter of Armand’s law, but find a way around its will. You will be like a genie, granting Armand wishes. But you will find a way to bring justice. You will see.”
“Your plan is just. Follow it and be on the righteous path.”
I launched back into civilization with purpose, leaving the temple behind me in an explosive afterburner thrust. I didn’t have much time to beat security.
High up above the cities, nestled in the curve of the habitat rings, near the squared-off spiderwebs of the largest harbor dock, I wrangled my way to another old contact.
This was less a friend and more just an asshole I’d occasionally been forced to do business with. But a reliable asshole that was tight against security. Though just by visiting, I’d be triggering all sorts of attention.
I hung from a girder and showed the fence a transparent showcase filled with all my trophies. It did some scans, checked the authenticity, and whistled. “Fuck me, these are real. That’s all unauthorized mass. How the hell? This is a life’s work of mass-based tourism. You really want me to broker sales on all of this?”
“Can you?”
“To Purth-Anaget, of course. They’ll go nuts. Collectors down there eat this shit up. But security will find out. I’m not even going to come back on the ship. I’m going to live off this down there, buy passage on the next outgoing ship.”
“Just get me the audience, it’s yours.”
A virtual shrug. “Navigation, yeah.”
“And Emergency Services.”
“I don’t have that much pull. All I can do is get you a secure channel for a low-bandwidth conversation.”
“I just need to talk. I can’t send this request up through proper channels.” I tapped my limbs against my carapace nervously as I watched the fence open its large, hinged jaws and swallow my case.
Oh, what was I doing? I wept silently to myself, feeling sick.
Everything I had ever worked for disappeared in a wet, slimy gulp. My reason. My purpose.
Armand was suspicious. And rightfully so. It picked and poked at the entire navigation plan. It read every line of code, even though security was only minutes away from unraveling our many deceits. I told Armand this, but it ignored me. It wanted to live. It wanted to get to safety. It knew it couldn’t rush or make mistakes.
But the escape pod’s instructions and abilities were tight and honest.
It has been programmed to eject. To spin a certain number of degrees. To aim for Purth-Anaget. Then burn. It would have to consume every last little drop of fuel. But it would head for the metal world, fall into orbit, and then deploy the most ancient of deceleration devices: a parachute.
On the surface of Purth-Anaget, Armand could then call any of its associates for assistance.
Armand would be safe.
Armand
