Destroyer of Worlds Part 23

The bridge hatch. Thssthfok said nothing. If they thought it possible he had not recognized the bridge, why should he enlighten them?

"The breach is very odd," Er'o said suddenly. "The opening appears melted, but something more complex has occurred. At the molecular level, the material surrounding the hole is stronger than the door. The bulge shows too few microscopic gaps and voids. Trace impurities are too regularly distributed. The material is, for lack of a better word, improved."

Alien and and perceptive. perceptive.

Through their questions and comments, Sigmund and Er'o revealed clues about the s.h.i.+p's systems and their manner of thinking. Thssthfok, through his silence, revealed nothing. Not how he had cut s.h.i.+p's gravity. Not how he had bypa.s.sed the security system or operated the emergency hatches or exited this cell. Not how he had injected false images into the wirelessly networked surveillance cameras-although that, given the repair-kit instruments they had confiscated from Thssthfok's cell, his captors would doubtless soon determine. Not anything.

Thssthfok wondered when his captors would try coercion. He would resist torture, but he would not enjoy it. He could not stop them from stunning and immobilizing him. But reawakened for questioning, he might surprise them. He had done nothing to reveal his true strength.

And then Sigmund did something surprising. He opened a pouch in the leg of his armor and removed a sheaf of flimsy sheets, fastened along one edge. When he dropped it, it fluttered to the floor. "You need something something to occupy your mind besides escape. These pages deal with plants and animals on a world far away. Jeeves can speak the words aloud while you learn to read English. We can provide more material. And we can take it away. Understood?" to occupy your mind besides escape. These pages deal with plants and animals on a world far away. Jeeves can speak the words aloud while you learn to read English. We can provide more material. And we can take it away. Understood?"

"Understood," Thssthfok said.

Mostly he understood that Sigmund expected to be too busy for a while to continue the questioning.

Leaving Thssthfok trying to deduce what Sigmund considered more urgent.

38.

"This is unacceptable," Baedeker trilled. The peculiar thing was, he complained to to, not about about, Nessus. Somehow, imperceptibly and un.o.btrusively, Nessus had become the voice of reason.

In calmer moments, Baedeker wondered what this newfound rapport said about himself. For now, he was anything but calm. "I cannot work in these conditions," he sang.

Heads swinging in opposing directions, Nessus pointedly surveyed the s.p.a.cious office. "Your surroundings seem comfortable enough."

"That's the problem!" Baedeker intoned, stressing the second harmonics for emphasis. "I'm here, in an office. Taking reports. Providing a.s.surances. Giving direction to others."

Nessus turned his gaze to the office window, beyond which stood the small, hexagonal building in which the planetary drive resided. "Then leave your office. You are hindmost of this project, are you not?"

Sides heaving, Baedeker controlled his anger. Anger was a most un-Citizen behavior, a bad habit learned from living too long among humans. Surely Nessus would understand that that.

Baedeker was was hindmost here-and yet he could seldom do what he wanted. With authority came responsibility. How could it be responsible to perform any of the experiments he envisioned? The s.h.i.+elding of the planetary drives was imperfect-it could hardly be otherwise, when its effects must encompa.s.s an entire world-but the s.h.i.+elding obscured hindmost here-and yet he could seldom do what he wanted. With authority came responsibility. How could it be responsible to perform any of the experiments he envisioned? The s.h.i.+elding of the planetary drives was imperfect-it could hardly be otherwise, when its effects must encompa.s.s an entire world-but the s.h.i.+elding obscured enough enough.

Outside his office window, wind howled. Snow swirled. Snow! Nature Preserve Five, as yet untamed, had been made available for his experiments. He had determined during an earlier crisis that the planetary drive drew upon the zero-point energy of the vacuum. By somehow shaping an asymmetry, the mechanism effectively created a slope in empty s.p.a.ce. The steeper the slope, the higher the acceleration. But how to tap those energies, or control them, or what might happen if control was lost ...

Baedeker found himself staring into a ragged trench his hoof had torn in the lush meadowplant carpet of his office.

"The fate of the Concordance is no small thing," Nessus crooned. He crossed the room, a little awkwardly, to brush flanks.

And that show of empathy permitted Baedeker, finally, to confront his real problem. "The issue is not the lack of progress, Nessus. It is the rate of our progress." Along a great arc of wall display, digital herds milled and sang. Unaware of the catastrophe coming their way. Unaware of the catastrophe Baedeker's experimentation could unleash even sooner. "My engineers are ready to attempt constructing a scale-model prototype drive." And as Sigmund would say, only Finagle knew what would happen then.

Nessus hummed wordlessly, waiting. Supporting.

Baedeker sidled to the window and looked up into the sky. The final string of suns had set. Hearth was rising, an indistinct glow through the blizzard. You know know what must happen, he wanted to shout. But this was not something for Nessus to propose, but for Baedeker to admit to himself. He said, "Nessus, such experiments are dangerous. We must do them far from the Fleet." what must happen, he wanted to shout. But this was not something for Nessus to propose, but for Baedeker to admit to himself. He said, "Nessus, such experiments are dangerous. We must do them far from the Fleet."

"The New Terrans might help," Nessus said.

Indeed, they might. Even Sigmund, whose escape, like his incarceration in the Fleet, was known only to a few. Baedeker knew, because Nessus had shared the information, and felt shame at abandoning a colleague. A friend.

Nessus generally knew more than he chose to divulge. When, Baedeker wondered, had such antisocial behavior come to seem wise? And which of us has changed?

Baedeker resumed pawing the carpet, this time fully conscious of his desire to flee. "I would welcome New Terran support, but I will not endanger them, either. This work must be done elsewhere."

"Understood," Nessus trilled. Grace notes alluded, deniably, to unspoken levels of agreement. Or was it approval?

Something was happening between them, something Baedeker could not now take the time to a.n.a.lyze. It was sufficient for the moment to know that Nessus would help.

So, they would test somewhere else. Deep in s.p.a.ce. Far from the Fleet. Far from New Terra. Far from all those for whom Baedeker felt so responsible.

Finagle knew where.

39.

If Sigmund were a Puppeteer, by now he would have plucked himself bald.

Admittedly, he had a lot on his mind. The existential threat posed by the Pak. Baedeker's experiments, for which Nessus was circuitously forwarding progress reports. The evolving mystery of Thssthfok's second escape.

While refitting Don Quixote Don Quixote, the s.h.i.+pyard had located the many taps, bypa.s.ses, and splices by which s.h.i.+p systems had been compromised. That only replaced one question-how had Sigmund's crew gone so long without seeing the changes?-with another. Circuits had been altered far from any wiring closet, cover plate, or recognizable access point. It was as though someone had reached through the wall! Still unaccounted for, despite tearing the s.h.i.+p nearly apart, was whatever had been disposed of inside the ducts. And Defense Ministry experts continued to scratch their heads as to how plasteel had been altered around the hole in the bridge hatch.

Maybe Thssthfok was a magician.

Or maybe the Gw'oth were involved. Perhaps only Sigmund had thought to wonder. Alas, searching an ally's habitat on only suspicion was not a viable option (ignoring how long it might take to fabricate waterproof robots to fit the little water lock-and whether the Gw'oth would figure out how to compromise them).

"We'll take you home," Sigmund had told Ol't'ro as the refitting neared completion. "It's almost on our way."

That last was not-necessarily-a lie, because Sigmund had not yet known where to go next. Only to whom: the last party, yet to be located, who could conceivably aid New Terra.

The group mind had declined, as had every Gw'o when asked individually. "Our kind also has a stake in this crisis," Ol't'ro said. "We wish to continue helping."

Continue helping. Setting aside the mystery surrounding Thssthfok's last escape, the Gw'oth had helped, time and again. Sigmund finally decided that, like Thssthfok, the best place for these Gw'oth was where he could keep an eye on them. And if Sigmund's suspicions were misplaced, he really could use their help. helping. Setting aside the mystery surrounding Thssthfok's last escape, the Gw'oth had helped, time and again. Sigmund finally decided that, like Thssthfok, the best place for these Gw'oth was where he could keep an eye on them. And if Sigmund's suspicions were misplaced, he really could use their help.

DON QUIXOTE'S REFITTING on New Terra proceeded glacially-and yet pa.s.sed far too quickly. Children changed a lot lot in a few months. During Sigmund's absence, Hermes had broken an arm playing football and grown two inches. Athena had begun to read, made and changed best friends forever three times, and wheedled her mother into a pet lamb. But Penny was Penny, unchanged, as delightful and adorable as ever, as impossible to leave. in a few months. During Sigmund's absence, Hermes had broken an arm playing football and grown two inches. Athena had begun to read, made and changed best friends forever three times, and wheedled her mother into a pet lamb. But Penny was Penny, unchanged, as delightful and adorable as ever, as impossible to leave.

Endless meetings with Sabrina and her cabinet, endless simulations and exercises to run at the Defense Ministry and the Office of Strategic a.n.a.lyses ... the universe conspired to keep Sigmund at work late every evening. With what little time the crisis and the kids left, what pa.s.sed for pillow talk concerned the slow-motion disaster with which Penelope continued to grapple. Oceanic dead zones kept spreading as, without tidal mixing, rotting vegetation sucked the oxygen from more and more of the sea. And the oxygen depletion would keep getting worse.

New Terrans would not die from the lack of tides-if they should live so long-but the handwriting was on the wall. The economy would tank from a lack of healthy algae mats and seaweed, delicacies, to export to Hearth. (Something about seaweed tickled Sigmund's memory. Seaweed, Sarga.s.so Sea, Bermuda Triangle, the a.s.sociations ran. So maybe he had another clue, a triangular island, for the well-nigh hopeless hunt for Earth.) Worst case, people here could survive on synthesized food, eating no worse than ninety-nine percent of Puppeteers.

If they should live so long.

Sigmund's family, for the fleeting, precious few minutes he saw them, reminded him daily why he must go back out among the stars, must look anywhere a solution might hide. He did not have it in him to sit, counting down the hours and days and years, planning a n.o.ble but futile war, hoping Baedeker would invent a technical solution to the Pak problem.

So instead Sigmund waited here here, far from home. Glued, more or less, to the copilot's seat. Waiting. Waiting. Until- "An incoming hyperwave message, Sigmund," Jeeves announced.

"On the bridge speaker," Sigmund answered. He gave Kirsten a confident smile.

"New Terra vessel Don Quixote Don Quixote, this is s.h.i.+p Twenty-three. Your request to trade is accepted. We will reach your coordinates shortly. When we arrive, you will maintain a separation of six miles. Our escorts will meet your representative outside your air lock."

Kirsten leaned forward. "I have them on radar, making point nine light speed. They'll be here in fifteen minutes."

"Radio an acknowledgment, Jeeves," Sigmund said, standing. "Kirsten, the s.h.i.+p is yours."

Sigmund swung by the main air lock to retrieve his pressure suit and armor from a locker. With one cargo hold home to the Gw'oth and a second cargo hold a prison cell, pallets of supplies clogged the corridors. The only reasonable s.p.a.ce aboard in which to wriggle into his vacuum gear was the relax room. He headed that way, with helmet in hand and suit draped over his arm.

Faint noises emerged from a closed hatch as Sigmund pa.s.sed. He paused to listen closely. Metal clanking. The hum of electric motors. These were the sounds of a Gw'o wearing his exoskeleton. On the last voyage this storage s.p.a.ce had served as small-arms locker. Putting an observatory there for the Gw'oth eliminated the unpleasantness of explaining why the weapons had been moved. Everyone could pretend to believe no weapons were aboard this trip.

The Gw'oth were better astronomers than anyone on New Terra. Even if Baedeker had been available for this trip, Sigmund would have authorized retrofitting this little facility. Kirsten swore the firewall between external-instrument control and the rest of the s.h.i.+p's network was hackproof. Her a.s.surance was good enough for Sigmund.

Almost.

Whenever the observatory was in use, a New Terran would happen to be nearby. Today it was Omar, the newest member of the crew, searching nearby stacks of provisions.

Omar Tanaka-Singh was tall and wiry, with a square jaw and a shock of thick, dark hair. If he minded being posted on this s.h.i.+p rather than being captain of his own, he kept the opinion to himself. Omar had as much naval experience as any New Terran and better skill with small arms than most. And unlike Baedeker, Omar would not run at the first sign of trouble.

With Thssthfok aboard, Sigmund could not imagine the voyage pa.s.sing without trouble. Unfortunately, neither could he imagine leaving the Pak under anyone else's supervision. And so Thssthfok remained aboard.

Sigmund crooked a finger: Come with me. Omar nodded and set off, in his long-legged lope, after Sigmund.

From the next deck, Sigmund used his pocket comm to reach Eric in the engine room. This This flight the intercom was only for emergencies. The less Thssthfok overheard about the s.h.i.+pboard routine, the better. flight the intercom was only for emergencies. The less Thssthfok overheard about the s.h.i.+pboard routine, the better.

While climbing into his pressure suit, Sigmund gave his final directions. Kirsten listened in from the bridge. "I can't say how long the bargaining will take. Kirsten has the bridge and is in command in my absence. Eric, keep an eye on Thssthfok's cell door. Omar, watch the observatory. And both of you armed."

Omar frowned. "That leaves you you unsupported, Sigmund. I think you should bring one of us along." unsupported, Sigmund. I think you should bring one of us along."

Sigmund was about to visit a veritable city in s.p.a.ce, miles long, with a population of millions. If the Outsiders meant him any harm-then he was dead. A companion would not change that. "Thanks, but I need you here."

"If Er'o returns to his tank that will free up one of us," Omar persisted.

Only Er'o, because the Gw'oth tended to stay in their habitat. Since Ol't'ro revealed themselves, the Gw'oth had been slightly more forthcoming. Melds attempted short of two members generally failed. Sigmund could not confirm that a.s.sertion, but it felt right to him. Or maybe the group mind simply refused to risk two pieces of itself at the same time.

Omar cleared his throat, pressing for a response.

Sigmund said, "Let Er'o stay where he is. He may learn something useful by monitoring the Outsider s.h.i.+p."

Throughout Known s.p.a.ce, and in unknowable regions beyond, the Outsiders were the source of the most advanced tech. Some tech they sold: hyperwave radio, hyperdrive, and occasionally-at a very high price-the planetary drive. Even when the Outsider devices were reproducible, such as the hyperdrive shunt and hyperwave radio, the underlying science remained illusive. Some tech, like the Einstein-s.p.a.ce drive their s.h.i.+ps used, the Outsiders had yet to sell.

And knowledge is power.

Before Sigmund's birth, an Outsider s.h.i.+p sold hyperdrive technology to a human colony. That sale saved humanity from certain defeat at the talons of the Kzinti. Who was to say another Outsider sale wouldn't tip the balance the other way, or empower other aliens to threaten Earth?

And so Sigmund had, in his time as an ARM, worried about the Outsiders. That they disclosed little about themselves only deepened the mystery-and Sigmund's fears. Throughout that era of his life, he had never encountered anyone admitting to have learned much by studying an Outsider s.h.i.+p.

But no previous observer had been a Gw'o scientist radio-linked with his Gw'otesht. Sigmund would not miss this opportunity-nor would he leave an armored Gw'o unsupervised on Don Quixote Don Quixote.

"And we we might learn something, accompanying you," Eric said. might learn something, accompanying you," Eric said.

"True," Sigmund said, to show he had heard the comment. With a final bit of contortion, he got his second arm into the pressure suit. "Let's stick with the plan I outlined." He put on his helmet by way of declaring the matter closed. He opened a link to the Gw'oth shared channel. "Er'o, you should be seeing the Outsider s.h.i.+p now."

"Affirmative, Sigmund."

Minutes later, pressure suit sealed and safety-checked, Sigmund was cycling through the air lock to await his escorts.

ER'O SCUTTLED about his tiny observatory, tubacles groping systematically among the optical-telescope display, neutrino sensors, and readouts of antennae spanning the electromagnetic spectrum.

Sigmund had ruled out all active sensors except the occasional, very low power lidar pulses necessary anyway to maintain separation between s.h.i.+ps. "What we can see is free," he had lectured. "Any data we take, even by a radar scan, carries a price. Maybe we can't afford it. The Outsiders are very private."

Not that Er'o could could release a radar pulse. His readouts were slaved to the bridge, where Kirsten held control. Maybe Sigmund's explanation to him was really a reminder to her. release a radar pulse. His readouts were slaved to the bridge, where Kirsten held control. Maybe Sigmund's explanation to him was really a reminder to her.

Subtle, that Sigmund.

In the habitat, meanwhile, Ol't'ro monitored additional instruments. All were undisclosed. Sensors fabricated to investigate hypers.p.a.ce phenomena might also reveal something useful about other technologies-for like the Outsiders, humans protected their secrets. The undisclosed sensors were pa.s.sive, in another application of the principle that "what can be seen-and goes unmentioned-is free."

Sigmund's voice sounded over the Gw'oth public channel. "Er'o, you should be seeing the Outsider s.h.i.+p now."

"Affirmative, Sigmund." Er'o had an image to study, but only through Kirsten's intervention. The Outsider s.h.i.+p was moving at almost light speed. Tracking and blue-s.h.i.+ft correction took computer correction, and computing was another of those technologies the humans declined to share.

Starlight flickered through through the Outsider s.h.i.+p. Was it transparent? Not solid? Er'o exchanged inconclusive speculations with Ol't'ro. the Outsider s.h.i.+p. Was it transparent? Not solid? Er'o exchanged inconclusive speculations with Ol't'ro.

"I'm in the air lock," Sigmund called.

"They're almost here," Kirsten answered.

In the blink of an eye, they were were here. Stationary in s.p.a.ce, beside here. Stationary in s.p.a.ce, beside Don Quixote Don Quixote. Instantaneous deceleration! And yet the Outsiders and their s.h.i.+p were not squashed flat. Shedding all that the kinetic energy did not reduce the s.h.i.+p to a glowing cloud of plasma. And none of Don Quixote Don Quixote's instruments showed where that energy had gone.

But Ol't'ro's instruments did....