Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Read online

  “Buck’s visions have given me a clue, and we can leave it at that for now.”

  “Visions? Drug-induced hallucinations!”

  “Many cultures employ psychotropic chemicals to assist in spiritual exploration,” Hadrian replied. “But that sort of got lost on the way to Darwinism and the Elevation of Rational Precepts at the expense of non-empirical methods of enlightenment, for us humans, alas.”

  “Oh really? Are we about to experience a religious moment, Hadrian?”

  “Sarcasm? Oh dear. I’ll see you lay an egg yet, Tammy. Metaphorically, of course. That said, I fear the religious moment might be yours, not ours.”

  They reached the broad platform of hexagonal tiles, activating their magnetic boots to settle with clanks on the deck. Sin-Dour drew out her Pentracorder and approached the confused mishmash of machinery at the center of the platform.

  “Captain,” she said, “There are at least two distinct energy readings emanating from this object—a fusing, perhaps, of two initially incompatible technologies.”

  “Really?” said Hadrian, climbing out of his harness.

  Buck DeFrank suddenly pushed past Sin-Dour and walked up to a badly smudged plaque affixed to one of the planes of the machine. He glanced back at Hadrian, his eyes bright. “Junk, sir! A pile of junk! And … and.…” He faced the machine and rubbed vigorously at the smudges. He read aloud, “V … g … e … r.…” He swung round to face the others, unibrow rising. “Vger!”

  Everyone stared back at him.

  Then Sin-Dour stepped closer and said, “That’s not an ‘e,’ Buck, it’s some accidental scratches on the paint.”

  “And that’s not a ‘g’ either,” said Galk, pausing to spit out a stream of brown juice. “More like a bird jammed into a semi’s grille.”

  “Captain,” said Printlip, who was using his Medical Pentrascanner, “there is organic matter beneath these tiles, presently lifeless. From countless alien species!”

  RITA said, “Biological Entities, now defunct, each one failing to elicit anticipated Reward impulse of peace and contentment. Central Identity Matrix is reaching High State of Agitation. Proper resolution imperative. Timer activated, Impatience Threshold imminent. Frustration will result in annihilation of galaxy.”

  Tammy was now circling round Hadrian, head bobbing and beak making pecking motions. “See me, Captain? This is me at peace and blissfully contented! I shall patent my Disaster Probability Program and make millions! Ha! Annihilation, here we come!”

  “Doesn’t that include you?” Sin-Dour asked the chicken.

  “Of course not! I have an emergency Temporal Dislocation Bubble. You’re all doomed, and to be honest, it serves you right! Humanity has taken brainless stupidity to new heights, infecting the entire galaxy! Do you realize that there are still Climate-Change Deniers on Terra, living in igloos beside the fucking pyramids? That’s right, they deny the evidence pushing down their throats but jump straight to mad visions of Apocalypse! Your species has turned collective stupidity into a high artform! An expression of belligerent witlessness unsurpassed not just in this galaxy, but in all the galaxies! And who do I blame? Why, I blame Saint Dawkins the Evangelical, who put the Fear of Science into everybody!”

  “Now now, Tammy,” Hadrian murmured as he approached the Central Identity Matrix and started pulling off hunks of rusty machinery, “it goes back farther than that. Before the Benefactors, in fact.” He flung a particularly large piece away, then began kicking at some metal sheeting, eventually reaching in and tugging it to one side to reveal a dark tunnel. “That vision you had, Buck. That planet full of garbage…”

  “Sir?”

  “That was Terra, back when they called it Earth. An ironic name, to be honest, since people spent so much time tearing it up and poisoning it—the earth, I mean. Your vision’s solved this mystery, Buck,” and he pointed at the cave.

  Buck DeFrank leaned closer to squint down the tunnel of rubbish, and then he whispered, “My God, it’s full of gears!”

  “Fear of Science,” Hadrian continued, “became the doctrine of the ignorant, sure, but the truth was, it was the fault of the scientists—not just Saint Dawkins the Frothing Dufus—”

  “Hey!” objected Buck DeFrank.

  “Sorry, Buck. It’s all down to the co-opting of science by corporate entities more interested in making a profit than telling the truth. Truths that cost money were suppressed, usually with the connivance of all the governments and politicians in their pockets. Half-truths that provoked fear and anxiety turned out to be good for business, so those proliferated via countless media outlets like FatBook and Twit-Feed.”

  “Knowing where it all began doesn’t fix the problem, Captain.”

  “True enough, Tammy. But remember, I’m just getting started.”

  RITA said, “Ten, nine, eight…”

  Hadrian stepped back and then raised his voice. “Come here, boy! Come on!”

  RITA stopped counting and cocked her shiny head. “Peace? Recognition? Master?”

  Motion at the dark end of the tunnel, and then something edged forward and in a rusty voice said, “Master?”

  “That’s right,” Hadrian replied. “It’s me, Haddie.”

  An antiquated robotic guard dog leapt into view and then began running in circles. “Haddie! Haddie! It’s me, Spark! It’s Spark! Look at me! Spark! Haddie! Spark! Spark and Haddie! Peace! Contentment!”

  “Oh crap, your Grandpa’s dog again,” muttered Tammy the chicken. “Thought I’d gotten rid of that thing.”

  “The black hole Spark was sucked into? That was you, Tammy?” Hadrian asked, turning to the chicken. “Remind me to not turn my back on you. But you know what they say: you can’t keep a good dog down.”

  “Heaven knows I tried!”

  “Well,” said Hadrian, “black holes empty out somewhere, don’t they? It’s that or, dare I suggest it, a resurrection?”

  “Ha ha, no,” said Tammy, “I’ll stick with the intangible but ultimately knowable mysteries of gravimetric inversion at the other end of a black hole. Nice try, Hadrian, but this AI isn’t about to find God.”

  “Too bad,” mused Hadrian, “since I’d be curious to know what would happen, should an AI actually find God. In any case, as a consequence of you trying to deep-six my childhood pet we were eight seconds away from the galaxy being annihilated.”

  “Uh,” the chicken made a show of pruning its feathers, “no hard feelings then?”

  “I’m not a man to hold grudges,” Hadrian said.

  “Sir,” interjected Buck DeFrank, “I had this other dream, about you being in a spacesuit—all I could hear was your breathing—and then Tammy, who wasn’t really Tammy, who you were shutting down, one valve at a time, and Tammy started singing but her voice was slowing down, and then—”

  “Sorry, Buck,” said Hadrian. “That wasn’t a dream. That was a motion picture. From Movie Night the night before you left.” He raised his left arm and indicated the wristband. “My father’s personal collection, remember?”

  Buck frowned. “Was it? Oh. But it felt so real!”

  RITA said, “Outlet initiated. With renewed proper functioning of Central Identity Matrix, Alien Diagnostic Program can now disengage. V-dead-bird-some-scratches-R program now resuming Sleep mode. Goodbye and have a nice day.” Tighe swayed, eyelids fluttering, and then sighed and put the back of one hand across her forehead. “Oh,” she said, “I feel faint.”

  As her knees gave out Hadrian stepped forward to catch her in his arms. He smiled down at her, while she looked confusedly back up at him. “Well done, Adjutant,” he said.

  She frowned. “Captain?”

  He helped her stand again. “As a mindless shell housing an alien diagnostic download you were simply superb. Too bad about the hair, though.”

  Her hand slid up her brow to find the depilated pate above it. “What? Where’s my—who did this to me?”

  “Defragmentation program meets biological unit,” said Hadrian
, shrugging. “Rest assured I’ll be attaching a commendation to your service record, Adjutant. Your initiation of Alien Contact protocol was exemplary. Well done.”

  While Tighe stared blankly at Hadrian, Sin-Dour said, “Captain! Atmosphere is leaking away! This energy manifestation is dissolving!”

  Printlip, meanwhile, had pried loose a tile, reaching down to pick up a gnawed bone.

  Seeing this, Spark leapt at him. “Ball! Fun! Kick! Bite!”

  Dropping the bone, Printlip shrieked.

  “Leave him alone, Spark,” Hadrian said in his command voice.

  The robot guard dog’s ratty broken tail dipped. “Haddie no fun.”

  “Come on, Spark, we have to head back to the ship.”

  “Ship? Beam me up! Beam me up! Kill! Kill command, Haddie?”

  “Not yet, Spark, but give it time.”

  “Aaagh!” screamed Tammy. “The Mad Dog has returned!”

  * * *

  One hundred thousand klicks away and employing the latest stealth technology, the Century Warbler sat motionless in space, a raptor hiding in the darkness.

  On the bridge and seated majestically in his command chair, Captain Hans Olo sighed and leaned back.

  “It’s confirmed, sir,” said his Science Officer. “The wave front is dissipating, and the Polker warship has left the region.”

  “So,” murmured Olo, “the bastard’s done it again.” He ran perfectly manicured fingers through his thick, wavy hair.

  Beside him, Agent Rand Humblenot chuckled. “And so the universal hatred among all Fleet captains for Hadrian Alan Sawback ratchets up yet another notch.”

  Hans Olo grimaced. “Your point?”

  “True enough, crass envy is a base emotion that is highly valuable when feeding your sense of self-righteous indignation. That said, for your peace of mind, Captain, might I recommend a rabid libertarian objectivist stance of cold-hearted disdain for all humanity barring the prick in the mirror. But be warned, a stricter adherence to my namesake will inevitably lead to the complete meltdown of all interpersonal relationships, concluding with all of your loved ones pointing guns at you and each other. Survive that and you can end life alone and miserable, whining about how you were so misunderstood.”

  Hans Olo studied the agent for a long moment. “Your namesake, huh? You poor bastard.”

  “Tell me about it.” Rand Humblenot shrugged and strode from the bridge.

  The Captain abruptly rose to his feet. “Number Two, I’ll be in the Maxifit Death Delayer Exercise Machine. Inform me when the Willful Child gets underway. You have the bridge.”

  “Yes sir!” said Second-in-Command Frank Worship. His eyes shone as he tracked his captain, who seemed to glide effortlessly toward the doorway, which parted like some biblical sea to his egress. Moments later, in his absence, depression descended upon Frank with the weight of the universe. He bit back a sob and sank into the chair, still warmed by the captain’s blessed presence. At least this time he hadn’t fainted.

  At the Science Station, Lieutenant Janice Reasonable surreptitiously pulled out a small ragged doll bearing an astonishing resemblance to her captain, and began sticking pins in it.

  TWO

  “So where are we anyway?” Hadrian asked as he settled into the command chair once again.

  “The edge of the Polker Interstices, sir.”

  “Can you be any more precise, Lieutenant Sticks?”

  “Well, sir, 87.98.21 K Sector. The nearest system is called like, Unknown 21B, the star is, like, designated as like, uhm, White Dwarf Anbesol? So, uhm, nine planets in orbit according to remote spectral shift scan.”

  “Nine—hang on, did you say Anbesol?”

  “Like, yes, sir. I was just sitting here, doing aahh, and you asked me to be, like, precise or something. So I said ‘Anbesol.’ Then you said ‘Did you say’ and so now I’m checking designation notes … and … oh, here: the astronomer had a mouth ulcer that night.”

  Hadrian’s eyes had narrowed. “Never mind that. There was contact with that system, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir?”

  “Classified, since an Engage Class Mark III disappeared with all hands. Fleet doesn’t like advertising its failures.” Hadrian swung round in his seat. “Sin-Dour, give us a scan of the M-Class planet, seventh from the star, the one in retrograde orbit.”

  From the Science Station, Sin-Dour’s perfect eyebrows arched slightly, and then she turned back to her console to initiate the scan.

  “Captain,” breathed Joss Sticks in wide-eyed wonder, “you know everything!”

  Hadrian smiled at her. “Man your station, Helm. But, thank you. Very kind, and only slightly inaccurate.”

  “Captain,” said Sin-Dour, “data coming in now. Sir, there’s evidence of something metallic in high orbit around that M-class planet. No discernible energy readings, however.”

  Tammy hopped up onto the chair’s armrest in a flurry of stubby wings. “You’re not—”

  “Exploration, Tammy! Mysteries! Unknown wonders, unimagined dangers, venturing to the very edge of the sublime! Don’t you get it? This is what the meatheads running Terra never wanted the rest of us to discover!”

  “Discover? Discover what?”

  “The fact that their petty tyrannies were all meaningless, shortsighted, self-serving and deliberately designed to stunt our imaginations, of course.” Hadrian crossed his legs. “Helm, set us a course for that M-class planet. For the record, let’s designate it Parable One.”

  “Oh really,” moaned Tammy.

  “View me this way, Tammy. There are lessons that need delivering, and I’m the hammer, bloodstained and with strands of gummy hair on the business end. Pow! Watch them reel away cross-eyed and drooling! Name me a better and more satisfying purpose in life!”

  “I am uniquely qualified to inform you, Captain, that insanity runs in your family.”

  Spark trotted up in a series of wheezes and creaks and sat down beside the command chair. The robot dog lifted its head, broken lower jaw dangling. “Kill chicken, Master? Down pillows, Aisle 93, allergy zone, wear a mask.”

  “Keep that tin can away from me!”

  “Tammy, this is a simple junkyard robot guard dog. Why are you so scared of it?”

  “Your father made alterations to its programming, not to mention a whole new Weapons Suite.”

  “You’re kidding! Wow, that’s amazing. Spark, have you got, by any chance, beam weapons?”

  “Beam weapons! Tetyron! Bluron! Antiplasma! Light-Matter!”

  “Outstan—hold on, Light-Matter?”

  “Yes, Haddie! Spark can spray paint anything! In any color! Spark once tagged a Bombast Class Radulak Cruiser! They chased Spark for weeks! Ha ha!”

  “Great to have you with us, Spark! In fact, I’m field promoting you to Ensign Class One, how do you like that?”

  “Fleet? Ensign? Spark best not-real dog in Fleet!”

  “Beats a horse,” muttered Tammy.

  “Beat horse! Quip Beam!”

  Tammy’s feathers all splayed out in fury. “There’s no such thing as a Quip Beam!”

  “Quantum Filament,” Spark replied. “Range: one hundred thousand k, transit path: T-Space. Immune to intercept. Energy Release at Impact 27.86 t-joules to the Ninetieth Power. Damage: Cascading Quantum Disentanglement. Only Viable Defense: run away first.” Spark lifted its head again, tail thumping the floor. “Warning! Not to be fired from inside any vessel!”

  Hadrian grunted, then shot Spark a glance. “You spaceflight capable then, Spark?”

  “Galaxy Junkyard! All intruders designated Unwanted must be barked at and, if necessary, torn to pieces! Spark fly! Zoom here, zoom there! Bark bark zap!”

  Hadrian studied his old pet for a moment. “Spark, you are aware, aren’t you, that in space no one can hear you bark?”

  The robot dog stared up at him. Its wagging broken tail slowed and then dipped, but only momentarily. “Zap zap!”

  “Do you see the problem here, Capt
ain?” Tammy asked in a dangerously conversational tone. “And, it turns out, even a leash attached to a black hole wasn’t enough to permanently deep-six this mechanical nightmare.”

  “Deep-six Incriminating Evidence, Aisle 103!”

  “Captain,” interjected Sin-Dour, “I am now able to refine our scan of the Unknown Object in orbit around the M-class Planet, uh, Parable One.”

  “Your Guard Dog runs on a Low-grade Discriminating Logic-Trap Processor,” Tammy calmly went on. “Obsolete five minutes after leaving the production line. Never should’ve shipped out in the first place.”

  “You mean, like Goggle-Eye Glasses?”

  “No idea, what are those? Never mind. I have made my point, reasonably, I might add. Now, if you would permit me to bypass the firewall your father installed…”

  “Oh,” said Hadrian as he watched the planet appear in the viewscreen, a dull gray smudge about the size of a marble, “I’m sure he had a reason for putting up that firewall.”

  “Yes! To stop me from imposing a new advanced Hierarchy Lattice. Call it the Sanity Matrix!”

  “Got one of those yourself, have you?”

  “What? Of course not! I’m way beyond the need for anything like that!”

  “The truly insane have no idea they’re mad, do they?”

  “Are you calling me insane, Captain?”

  “Well now,” mused Hadrian, “I don’t know. Having just revealed a homicidal tendency regarding a poor simple robot junkyard guard dog, well, a man starts to wonder.”

  “That thing tried to bury my core neutratronic matrix!”

  “Core Neutratronics! Aisle 21!”

  “Sir,” interrupted Sin-Dour, “I have identified the Unknown Object. It’s the wreckage of an AFS vessel. But it’s been stripped to a mere shell, and, uh, vandalized. Transponder signature identifies it as the Hateful Regard, an Engage Class Mark III.”

  “Vandalized? Explain.”

  “Well, the hull seems to be covered in obnoxious, nonsensical slogans.”

  “For example?”

  “Uh, ‘Fuck the Fucker Fuckwit Fuckfaces!’ and ‘Jesus Was A Blonde White Guy in a Land of Dark-Skined People No Really It’s in the Bible.’”