The baryonic halo beyond the galaxy’s outermost arm was probably the loneliest stretch of space accessible by living beings. If not for the ever-present bustle of the Megacosm, a Torth might go stir crazy this far from civilized life.
But rough living did not bother the Red Rank known as the Steadfast Aplomb.
He lounged on a recliner, sipping a smoothie, with a govki slave massaging his feet. His job was supposedly undesirable. But these days, babysitting a super-genius seemed a lot more pleasant than, say, living in a megalopolis on some hub planet.
During the past few months, the Torth Empire had lost nearly half a billion citizens on Umdalkdul and Verdantia. While those former citizens labored as penitents, the Steadfast Aplomb had gotten a lot of rest.
One of the Green Ranks lounging nearby mentally poked him. Aren’t you late with doing Your duty?
Oh. Right.
The Steadfast Aplomb dropped out of the Megacosm. He wasn’t supposed to do his duty with any sort of an inner audience. That was protocol.
Losing the Megacosm was tough, even when the loss only lasted for a few seconds. He missed his orbiters so much. How were those so-called penitent Torth able to survive without mental feedback? They must feel so…
Well, he didn’t know how emotions felt.
They must feel sick every day. It probably felt akin to severe arthritis or something.
Sipping his tranquility smoothie, the Steadfast Aplomb paged through cargo bay records, which were streamed to his private data tablet. He accepted supply packages. His underlings would go through the supplies later, and their slaves would repackage any items that needed to be sent to the scientific vessel that his military vessel guarded.
He checked his inbox for the latest top secret military research update. It was his duty to obfuscate the location stamp, and then send each update to a relay station, which would then distribute it to other military scientists. That way, super-geniuses could disseminate their research to lesser scientists without accidentally sharing their locations.
His inbox was empty.
The Steadfast Aplomb was annoyed, yet rather unsurprised. The super-geniuses all claimed to be hard at work. But … well, the Steadfast Aplomb had private access to the surveillance feeds which came directly from that scientific vessel. He could spy on the boy Twin any time he wanted to.
And that chunky kid was not sweating every second.
Oh, sure, most of the time, the boy Twin was busy calculating data at a workstation, or monitoring mysterious experiments in test tubes or beakers. He did look studious.
But every once in a while, the Steadfast Aplomb caught the boy Twin gazing off into space with a decidedly slave-like expression. Perhaps that was just the way he looked when processing complex equations? But more likely, the boy Twin was still pining away for his erstwhile roommate, the girl Twin.
They had mentally screamed when torn apart from each other.
How melodramatic! The Twins were pubescent, so perhaps some immaturity was excusable, but they had both passed their Adulthood Exams. Why couldn’t they put aside childish tantrums and behave with adult dignity?
Really. Most citizens would appreciate all the perks the boy Twin received. His own private ship! Luxury accommodations! Twenty fresh new personal slaves!
How spoiled did one have to be, to want private companionship on demand? The Twins could easily converse with each other in the Megacosm, the way everybody else in the galaxy chatted.
Ah well.
The Steadfast Aplomb sent a ping to the boy’s on-location guardian. She was a Servant of All who resided on that scientific vessel with him. The boy was late with his daily report, so it was her duty to oversee him and make sure he uploaded his research.
No response.
Five seconds passed.
Ten seconds.
The Steadfast Aplomb thought this was odd. The boy Twin might be irresponsible enough to neglect to upload his top secret military research, but his guardian was reliable. She was better than a typical, average Servant of All. The ones chosen to guard super-geniuses were exceptionally loyal to the Torth Majority. They were elected by their peers based on that quality.
He pinged her again. And again. She wouldn’t be asleep at this hour.
He toggled to the surveillance camera feeds. He paged through views of various laboratories and other rooms aboard the scientific vessel, searching. Part of his duty was to make sure the boy Twin and his Servant of All guardian were all right. If they were in trouble, he would have to save them.
And if the boy Twin turned into a problem?
Well, there were the nuclear warheads, with preprogrammed trajectories permanently locked onto the relative coordinates of the scientific vessel.
The Steadfast Aplomb had memorized the unlock-and-send code for those warheads. In a worst case emergency, he would do his duty for the Empire, and destroy that scientific vessel, with its valuable occupant trapped inside. The Torth Majority was not going to allow another super-genius to turn renegade.
Superior officer? A Green Rank mentally intruded on his private thoughts, seeking his attention.
That was rude. The Steadfast Aplomb glared at her, hardly able to believe such uncharacteristic rudeness. Private thoughts were … well, private. He wasn’t in the Megacosm. That fact should be enough to ward off any—
We may have a problem. The Green Rank radiated fear. It leaked off her in a repulsive mental stench.
Everyone in the control room looked alert and fearful. They sat on the edges of their lounge chairs. The Steadfast Aplomb smelled something odd in the air, like chlorine mixed with fermented ale.
What is it? The Steadfast Aplomb gave up on his duty for the moment. What is that scent in the air?
The Green Rank radiated (?) uncertainty. She didn’t know.
The Megacosm would surely provide answers.
The Steadfast Aplomb ascended into the gloriousness of the collective, gathering bits of news as he went. CloudShadow MetroHub on Nuss had been invaded and defeated. Its captured citizens were still crying for help, but so what? That had nothing to do with him.
Other than that? It was the usual. Neighbors watched each other for aberrant behavior. Everyone in the Empire was jittery or using tranquility meshes. Anyone might secretly attempt to become a minion of the enemies. Anyone might be capable of mind control and secretly hiding it. The Giant and his army might pop up anywhere and wreak havoc.
Ugh. The news.
Something is wrong (something is wrong) something is wrong. The Green Rank foamed at the mouth. Maybe wrong with You, maybe wrong with Me. I don’t know but I have to protect Myself!
The Steadfast Aplomb jumped back to get out of her range. Really, she ought to be considerate enough to self-isolate until her strange mood passed. Nobody sane wanted to share a mood like that.
She swiped at him.
Her fingernails tore at his cheek, drawing blood.
The Steadfast Aplomb did not scream. Like any Red Rank, he was trained to endure more pain and more surprise than an average Torth. He had been in combat situations.
But this was not a slave. This was a peer! A fellow citizen! What in the galaxy was wrong with her? Had she consumed an illegally caffeinated substance?
DEATH! Another of the crew members leaped at him. This one was a man with a potbelly, and he was normally quite tranquil.
The Steadfast Aplomb reflexively shielded himself with one elbow. He whirled in a combat kick, knocking away the out-of-shape crew member.
This time, he did not hesitate to don his blaster glove.
!!!
When the female Green Rank leaped at him again, he thumbed his trigger, and her head exploded in a fountain of gore.
The headless body thumped down. The Steadfast Aplomb sensed her mind blink out of existence. All that remained of her mind were floating afterimages, like the visual blotches that could occur after a bright light went out.
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The slaves in the room huddled near the doorway.
The potbellied man lunged at the Steadfast Aplomb with bloodstained hands, knocking over smoothie cups in the close quarters. DIE YOU NEED TO DIE!
Green Ranks were supposed to be levelheaded technicians. Red Ranks were trained for combat. This was insane. Greens never attacked Reds!
The Steadfast Aplomb cured the potbellied Green Rank of his insanity by shooting him. What else could he do? There was no protocol for dealing with such wild, unpredictable behavior.
Everyone else in the control room was either dead or gone. The slaves had quietly sneaked away.
Blood spattered the walls.
Close the air vents, his orbiters suggested.
There might be a floating neurotoxin in your ship.
Your heart rate is elevated.
Careful. You are being affected.
The Steadfast Aplomb was grateful for the advice from cool, rational listeners. His mood seemed to be curdling in strange, unfamiliar ways.
He dragged a chair so he could reach the nearest vent.
Were slaves affected? some Torth wondered.
If it is a neurotoxin, could it have been custom-tailored for Torth physiology?
We need to track down WHY and HOW.
His orbiters replayed scenes of violence from elsewhere aboard his military vessel. The whole ship had somehow been poisoned. Everyone was acting paranoid and violent, and killing each other.
The Steadfast Aplomb closed one air vent, then dragged the chair to close the next one. He was shaking with unfamiliar rage. He had never felt any emotion this intense in his life. He wanted to rip the eyes out of someone’s sockets. Whoever had done this would pay.
It was almost certainly that fat little super-genius.
But how had the boy Twin contaminated the military vessel? He was on a separate ship. Besides, there were safeguards. Protocols. The boy had a guardian. If she had failed in her duty…? The Steadfast Aplomb would beat her with her own—
Grab a tranquility mesh, his inner audience advised.
Dial it to the maximum setting.
Drink more of that tranquility smoothie.
That smoothie is probably why you fended it off for longer than the others.
The Steadfast Aplomb dove towards a table, where one of his now-dead crew-mates had left her mesh. He fitted it around his temples, then dialed it to maximum tranquility.
He did not feel calm.
Maybe it helped, a little bit.
The Steadfast Aplomb sipped the last dregs of his smoothie, and opened himself to advice. Sane commands might help him fend off the chasm of rage which now occupied his mind. Help Me. Tell Me what to do, you lazy idiots!
Eight hundred billion Torth mobbed his brain.
They lounged on beds, or trained on exercise machines, or shopped in forums, or sunbathed, or picnicked in wildernesses, or flew transports above bustling metropolises. How nice. None of them were having rage seizures.
Release the nukes.
They sounded rational, but the Steadfast Aplomb hesitated. Was he imagining this command?
Release the nuclear warheads, billions of distant Torth chorused.
Kill the boy Twin.
This attack must have been his doing.
We cannot imagine why or how, but—
—just to be safe—
—DESTROY THE BOY!
The Steadfast Aplomb hurried to his data tablet. There were many, many voices inside his head. They were legion, they were infinity, they controlled the cosmos. He had no choice. He was honored to serve the Majority.
DO NOT.
A singular, godlike mental voice thundered through his brain.
The girl Twin was buoyed by her own immense audience. Billions of admirers orbited her. She was, after all, the eldest living super-genius. That counted for a lot. She might not be the elected leader of the Torth Empire—the Torth had no Majority-elected leader, currently—but she was very close to that position, just by default.
Of all the Empire’s super-geniuses, the girl Twin was voted to be the most knowledgeable, the most intelligent, and the most trustworthy. She had clout.
DO NOT MURDER THE BOY TWIN. The girl Twin used her vast influence to dampen the Majority’s thunder. Check on him, she urged. He would never betray the Empire. He is as loyal as I am.
The Majority reeked of doubt.
Kill him, many insisted.
The Steadfast Aplomb picked up his data tablet, ready to obey. He was eager to make a ship explode.
DO NOT, the girl Twin insisted.
Her towering mind bristled. It was not rage, precisely, but she did emit a thorny feeling. She was irked.
The Steadfast Aplomb did not think he had ever personally experienced an irked super-genius mind. It was intimidating, like standing beneath ominous storm clouds, unsure whether to expect rainy drizzle or a deadly tornado.
Another super-genius entered the fray. Minds rippled in her wake, like stars orbiting a black hole. The Death Architect whispered solely to the Steadfast Aplomb. Send Me the boy Twin’s latest research.
So many sycophants echoed her command, it was inescapable. The Steadfast Aplomb shuddered.
He checked his inbox again. But it was still empty.
Let Me guide You. The Death Architect’s mind became a mirror of his hands. She showed him exactly what backend protocols he needed in order to access data packets on the scientific vessel.
The Steadfast Aplomb followed her mental lead. He opened files and tapped in codes which he had never known existed.
This. This. And this. The Death Architect selected whatever top secret military data updates she wanted. Now let’s send it.
She did not seem interested in stripping away any location data. She did not seem concerned about the safety of the boy Twin, or anyone else.
Once the top secret military update was on its way, bouncing from relay station to relay station, the Death Architect withdrew from the Megacosm. Presumably she wanted to get back to work.
NOW DESTROY HIM, the Majority commanded.
The Steadfast Aplomb was shaking. Saliva dripped onto the tablet screen. His mouth was foaming, he was so furious. And so thirsty.
DESTROY THAT SCIENTIFIC SHIP.
DESTROY.
DESTROY.
He tapped a military access code onto his tablet.
The girl Twin twisted taller in the Megacosm. Her gigantic mind seemed to spit hailstones at random orbiters. If You (the Majority) are so quick to accuse and execute loyal super-geniuses, then We have already lost the war.
Her mind was as certain as death. There was no halo of doubt, no room for questions.
If We (the Twins) were traitors, the girl Twin went on, then I would not be so stupid as to remain vulnerable in my floating lab like a sitting target, with nuclear missiles aimed at Me and ready to fire. I would have called for help from the Betrayer long ago.
That made sense. Maybe.
The iciness that swept off the girl Twin’s mind caused teeth to chatter throughout the Empire. If You (Majority) (in Your moronic impulsivity) murder a super-genius without any investigation into his guilt or innocence, then You will lose all of Your remaining super-geniuses. Not just Me. You will lose the Geodesic Flux, the Rind Topographer, the Spin Overture, the Mechanized Meeter, the Stemmer Linguist, the Neurobioticist, the Death Architect. Why would any of Us work for stupid, greedy, shortsighted murderers of Our kind?
The Majority spun, as if in shock.
…
The Steadfast Aplomb hesitated. None of the super-geniuses who had tuned in were disputing the girl Twin’s assertions.
We are loyal, the Stemmer Linguist thought.
We are doing Our best, the Spin Overture thought.
Both of the younger super-geniuses emanated weariness. They were overworked, and tired of exceeding deadlines. Small promotions did not seem like enough of a reward for the innovations they were making. They opined that super-geniuses deserved greater respect.
And they wanted to be sure that the boy Twin was all right.
The girl Twin went on. I want to serve You (the Torth Majority). But You seem to purposely want to lose My respect. I serve stoic minds ruled by logic and rationality. Not small minds ruled by fear. Please explain: If you turn into paranoid, trigger-happy murderers, then how are you any better than a bunch of slaves? I am not a so-called penitent. I will not serve idiotic, terrified inferiors, who murder their betters on a whim.
The Majority fractured into a cacophony of suspicions and doubts and uncertainties and certainties.
Without super-geniuses, the girl Twin thought, the Betrayer will go unopposed. She imagined the mass-enslavement of cities and the conquest of worlds. Is that what You want?
The Steadfast Aplomb choked on his own homicidal mania. He had a duty to perform. Didn’t he?
Electric shocks of fury kept slicing his thoughts into incoherence. His face was wet with saliva, and that was worse than pathetic.
He didn’t want to die like a clueless slave, writhing on the floor. That was so undignified. So unworthy of his rank and his title.
Amazingly, he still had a mental audience, despite his bestial mood.
Billions of Torth urged him to calm down. They wanted him to toggle through surveillance feeds. Find the boy Twin.
A minority harmonized within that thunder, urging him to unlock the warheads.
He could not remember why his job mattered more than his own survival. Every one of his crew-mates was dead. He was the only one left.
His thirst was crippling. He wanted to demand water, but the slaves had fled.
He would go find them. Tear open a throat. Drink its gushing blood.
Do your duty, his waning audience urged.
He could hardly remember what that duty was. He had trouble remembering his own name title, or why there were dead Torth on the floor. He himself was writhing on the floor. Salivating.
His vision was clouded with irrationality. Even so, he found enough wherewithal to enter his secret trigger code on the data tablet.
Do NOT. A hailstorm of righteous dismay radiated from the girl Twin. STOP.
Her outsized influence no longer mattered to him. Rage thundered through his skull, making long-term consequences impossible to think about. He was just eager to see a big kaboom.
Which never came.
The nuclear warheads sailed through space, charged and ready to detonate upon impact, but they went straight through the emptiness where the scientific vessel was supposed to be.