The next part of the plan was where things got complicated. I know, I know, things were already complicated. What I mean is that we were committed to this plan now, with no guarantee of success, and far too many failure points along the way for my liking. Problem was, we didn’t have a whole lot of options available to us. It wasn’t a brilliant plan, in fact, it was downright ludicrous, but it was all we had. When the dealer slides you a pair of deuces and you’ve got bills to pay, you smile confidently and bluff like there’s no tomorrow.

Because what other choice do you have?

It didn’t take long for Elder Brother to get back to us. He was practically salivating at the thought of having the Precursor homeworld within his grasp, though it was obvious he had given little thought to what came after that. Assuming the Oivu were right, and I had no reason to believe otherwise, that planet had jealously guarded its secrets for over a billion years, annihilating anyone who got too close. Maybe he thought the Yīqún had given me the keys to the front door along with directions; if so, I was going to have to disappoint him. I had no freaking idea how to get in, and neither did he. If he tried bulling his way past whatever was protecting it, this was probably going to be the shortest trip on record.

Hopefully, things wouldn’t get that far. I still had a card or two left to play.

As the monitor came to life, the Chell spokesperson came straight to the point. “We have configured the navigational systems to interface with your software,” he explained. “You should have no problems in guiding us to the Precursor homeworld.”

A blinking icon on my virtual console caught my attention. A quick tap, and suddenly a holographic display appeared, mimicking a standard starship control panel. I gave it a cursory glance and nodded in grudging approval.

“Should be fine,” I agreed.

“Excellent,” he all but purred. “I should also point out that you will be unable to take control of our systems via the link. Any data packet over a predetermined size will automatically be deleted, and the link terminated.” He gave me a hard stare from the other side of the viewer. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” I answered, glaring back at him.

“Then I look forward to our continued partnership,” he preened, before blanking the screen.

“I am really starting to dislike that guy,” Raven commented.

“Join the club,” I grunted, setting myself in front of the console setup. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Do you have another way out of this mess?” she replied acerbically.

I sighed, shaking my head. “Not at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“Then I guess I have to be ready, don’t I?” she shrugged. “I’m not going to lie, though, I’m a little nervous about this. I mean, it should work, but I’ve never actually attempted it before.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it, because being honest here? I think it’s nuts. Take a moment and consider the source to get a good feel for just how crazy this is.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed. “But it’s either this or wait for our Chell friends to decide we’re excess cargo. I don’t feel like sticking around for that, do you?”

“Of course not,” I sighed as I accessed the controls. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Give me a minute to prepare,” she answered, sitting down on the couch and folding her legs into the lotus position, closing her eyes as I watched and waited.

Despite what some people may think, interstellar navigation isn’t just “Point-and-click”. Even the simplest of commands require continuous monitoring because of gravitational interference, not to mention the occasional hazard that comes your way. Knowing that, there were two different ways Elder Brother could have rigged the connection from my virtual console to the actual one on their bridge. The first was the simplest, but by far the most labor-intensive. They could have created an actual gap between the two systems, requiring them to input all course corrections manually. If they were paranoid enough, and God knows the Brotherhood certainly qualified in that department, it would ensure there was no way I could infiltrate their network.

The only problem with that option is it’s a massive pain in the ass to do it that way. It’s like something from an ancient Earth naval manual, where the captain orders, “Ahead two-thirds, right full rudder!”... only to have the executive office repeat those orders word for word, before passing them onto the crewman whose job it is to actually carry them out, who will also repeat the command verbatim. It’s a proven system, designed to prevent errors in transmission, but it takes training, discipline, and the will to use it consistently. Very few individuals qualify… and I was betting the Chell weren’t among them.

The other method was much easier. Hacking into a network isn’t easy, requiring not only skill but also a fair amount of data being ferried back and forth. If you’re concerned about being hacked but are either unable or unwilling to isolate your computer from the system, then placing an electronic sentinel in the middle of the data stream to monitor traffic is a smart way to go. Data packets being used to infiltrate a network are of significant size, so the simplest method was to set the data packet size at something small, and then program your sentinel to ruthlessly enforce the restriction. Not only is the problem solved, but in a manner requiring minimal effort on your part.

If I’ve learned anything in my travels, it’s that most individuals are inherently lazy, no matter what the species.

I’d hoped Elder Brother would pick the second option, and finally getting confirmation of it was a massive weight off my shoulders. But that still left the problem of getting into their systems, and with that data packet restriction you could rest assured they’d be watching my traffic like a hawk. I couldn’t send anything sophisticated enough to burrow into their system, and I certainly couldn’t send myself. Being chopped up into sushi wasn’t something I could just walk off.

Raven, however, claimed that she could survive the experience, and what’s more, she’d volunteered to be sent across the chasm in small chunks to break us out. My first question, as you might guess, was... how the fuck is that even possible? I mean, even for an AI, assuming that’s what she is, how does than not scramble her code so badly she ends up like Humpty Dumpty? Unlike the shattered egg-man, I don’t have a king’s army aiding my efforts to piece her back together.

… how could she even maintain consciousness?

“It’s not as complicated as you make it out to be, Alphad,” Raven explained. “In essence, I’ll be deconstructing myself into a distributed network. It’ll mean slower computational times, but luckily that’s the one thing we have plenty of. Each data packet will have the equivalent of a tracking device hidden away, along with the command to seek other packets emitting the same signal. Bit by bit, I’ll be able to put everything back where it belongs, with our friends none the wiser.”

“And what’s preventing those various data packets from just wandering off to God knows where, like some rambunctious toddler?” I insisted. “What happens if you can’t get them all back?”

“I expect I’ll lose a few,” she admitted, “but I should be able to reconstruct them using the same method as human DNA,” she explained. “Each digital connection point will only lock into place with a specific set of code, in the same way that the Adenine nucleotide will only link with Thymine. If a section is absent, the existing blocks should be able to reverse-engineer the missing piece.”

“That’s a lot of ‘Should’ and ‘If’s’ to be risking your life on,” I said dubiously, reaching out and taking her hand. “Raven, are you sure about this? One hundred percent? Because once we pull the trigger, there’s no going back.”

She covered my hand with hers. “I’m sure,” she said confidently, seeking to put me at ease.

I closed my eyes and slowly nodded. “I’m sorry I shot you,” I mumbled.

“I know,” she answered. I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I said nothing.

Raven smiled and took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she announced.

I gave her one last look. “Good luck,” I told her, and pressed the blinking icon.

Raven’s image grew fuzzy as she began deconstructing herself, losing its crisp sharpness. It was like watching a sand sculpture being eroded away by the wind, her expression frozen in time as it was slowly erased from existence. Her form grew even more indistinct, looking less like a statue and more like a weathered stone pillar, as it whisked away more and more of her code.

“Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair,” I whispered, as she disappeared from sight.

… what the hell have I done?

I rubbed at my eyes, but I couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity at the moment. First things first. I sent a mental command to the domain, and a moment later Raven reappeared, just as she’d been mere moments ago. She turned to me and smiled, looking exactly the same... with one minor difference.

It wasn’t her.

It was another simulacrum, Raven 2.0, a copy of a copy of a human, given just enough form to fool Elder Brother and his ilk. She could mimic Raven’s speech and movements easily enough, as long as you asked nothing too complicated of her. She could do idle chit chat or dance a waltz, as long as I led. But if you tried asking the meaning of life or requested a samba, all you’d get was a twitch and a blank stare. Thankfully, our jailor had always ignored her, so the ruse should hold long enough for the actual Raven to work her mischief.

That done, it was time to fulfill my part of the devil’s bargain. I pointedly ignored the copy and got to work.

I’d memorized the location of the Precursor homeworld, though it remained buried solely within my consciousness. I didn’t dare risk storing it anywhere else, for fear the Brotherhood might stumble across it and decide my services were no longer required. Yet I’d promised them I’d guide them to the planet, which put me at something of a quandary… how did I convince them I was taking them to the Promised Land, when in fact I was sending them on a wild goose chase?

Pulling up the navigational charts, I chose a random direction and input the coordinates. The heading I’d chosen wouldn’t go anywhere near a star system, and certainly nowhere close to the grand prize itself. It wouldn’t take the Chell long to realize that; in fact, I could probably expect an angry conversation right about…

The monitor came to life as Elder Brother glared at me. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

… now.

“You didn’t think I was just going to hand you the Precursor planet on a silver platter, did you?” I retorted. “The instant I do that, my life is forfeit. So I’m taking a few precautions.”

“This was not part of our arrangement,” he retorted. “I insist you take us to the planet at once!”

“Actually, it was,” I disagreed. “‘My way, or no way’, remember? I told you then we’d be taking the scenic route. Once I’m sure it’s safe, then and only then will I input the proper coordinates. Not before.”

It didn’t seem to calm his nerves much. “You play a dangerous game, Terran,” he sneered. “Do not assume our patience is without limits.”

“Duly noted. Until then, I have work to do. Call me if there’s a change.” With that, I cut the circuit, leaving him spluttering as he disappeared from the screen.

“He seemed awfully mad,” Raven 2.0 said dubiously, staring at me in confusion.

“He’s having a terrible day,” I sighed. I mean, I knew she was going to be a simpleton, but this? “Here, why don’t you work on a crossword puzzle?” I suggested, handing her a tablet.

“Oooh, that sounds like fun!” she brightened, taking the tablet and reading the clues, her brow furrowing as she mulled over the first clue. Her tongue stuck out at a jaunty angle while she struggled to solve the problem until I finally leaned over and read it myself.

The body’s covering. 4 letters.

Oy vey.

Raven, stay safe, I prayed, don’t strand me with your dimwitted doppelganger.

Time passed. Slowly.

I had no way of contacting Raven, no way of knowing if she was all right. We had no idea how long it would take to transfer her program, how much time she’d need to reconstitute herself, or to infiltrate and subvert the ship’s systems. Everything was a ballpark guess with plenty of built-in leeway, and by those wide ranges of estimates she was barely at the halfway point, yet I still worried. There were so many ways it could go wrong, always a danger when you were in uncharted waters.

I finally sent Raven 2.0 off to the bedroom and told her to go lie down and take a nap, and that I’d wake her when it was time to get back up. That was two days ago. She was seriously creeping me out, the way she looked so much like the real thing, only with some form of brain damage. It was disturbing as hell. I’d check in on her now and then and make sure she was okay. Not like she was going to starve, or anything.

I’d also done a couple more course corrections, still choosing directions at random, and I could tell it wasn’t doing much for Elder Brother’s peace of mind. I hoped Raven got back here soon, before he finally snapped the tether on his self-restraint. It took little imagination on my part to picture him destroying the hardware that housed my gestalt in a fit of pique, only to realize too late how badly he’d just fucked up.

Oops. Wouldn’t my face be red.

In fact, I was staring at the makeshift console, contemplating my next course change, when something from the corner of my eye caught my attention. At first I thought it was my imagination, or perhaps a trick of light, but as I peered closer, I saw what looked to be grains of sand wafting through the air, before eventually landing upon the sofa.

Raven.

My heart caught in my chest as the miniature sandstorm grew, creating a pile and then a pillar that slowly grew to approximate a human form, albeit one sculpted by an impressionist. The figure slowly fleshed itself out, filling in the craggy gaps and smoothing over the rougher layers, until finally the last grain settled into place, revealing her just as she’d been. She was still, frozen, carved from marble and plaster, as I feared even to draw a breath and risk breaking the spell.

And then she blinked.

Still I hesitated, unsure, as she carefully tested her limbs, performing a function check as thoroughly as any I’d ever witnessed before she finally turned to face me.

“Are you… all right?” I asked her.

“I think so,” she nodded as she took in her first breath of air. “Everything seems to operate the way it’s supposed to.”

“Thank God,” I sighed in relief. “And the mission?”

A wry grin graced her features. “I believe our new friends are going to get a big surprise.”